#james and oliver phelps

[romanczukowsky]

Under the Cover of the Storm

Pairing: George Weasley x fem!reader

Summary: A summer storm traps you in the attic of the Burrow with George — and what begins as playful storytelling soon turns into something much deeper.

Content Warnings: Slow burn / Sexual tension / Explicit content / Smut / One shot

Author’s Note: I wanted to write something sensual but emotionally grounded. George's quiet confidence and playful tenderness made him the perfect character for that. ♡

I was spending yet another summer at the Burrow.

A group of us sat huddled together in the attic, surrounded by old trunks and dusty books, lit only by the flickering glow of candles. The storm outside raged on, rain pelting the roof while the wind howled through the chimneys, whistling and moaning in the dark corners of the house.

Fred, George, Ron, and I were doing our best to scare one another with creepy stories.

Fred was in the middle of another chilling tale, while Ron tried to keep up — though his stories were more funny than frightening. We laughed, jumping slightly at each thunderclap.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, I could feel George watching me.

With that unreadable little smile of his, the one that made my heart beat just a bit faster. I could feel his burning gaze even when I wasn’t looking at him. Once or twice our fingers brushed during the conversation — accidental, probably — but it was enough to make the air between us spark.

Fred gave Ron a pointed look and said, “Oi, I think it’s time we helped Mum in the kitchen, yeah?”

Ron, a little confused, nodded. Fred shot me a knowing glance before disappearing down the stairs, leaving me alone with George.

The silence in the attic grew thicker, warmer. George shifted closer, his eyes catching the candlelight with a quiet gleam.

Our conversation drifted to the neighbors. George, of course, was still trying to scare me — dead serious as he talked about real ghosts in their house. He leaned in, lowered his voice, and told me stories of vanishing objects and strange noises coming from the attic.

Caught up in his tale, I didn’t notice how close I was to one of the ceiling beams — and when he suddenly shouted to spook me, I jumped and smacked my head right into it.

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, wincing.

George’s face shifted from mischievous to concerned. He leaned in gently and pressed a soft kiss to the spot where I’d hit my head. The touch was so tender it knocked the breath right out of me.

“And here,” I said with a fake whimper, pointing to my elbow.

“No,” he replied with a grin — but kissed it anyway.

“What about here?” I asked, pointing to another spot.

“You didn’t hit yourself there,” he laughed, moving in closer, the space between us disappearing inch by inch.

"I might’ve," I said, tilting my head slightly, looking at him from beneath my lashes.

He raised an eyebrow, amused. "You're just making things up now."

"Maybe." I smiled, daring him. "But what if I do feel a bit bruised right here?" I tapped the side of my neck lightly.

He hesitated for a moment. Then, slowly, he leaned in — his lips brushing just beneath where my fingers had been, barely a kiss at all.

I forgot how to breathe.

“You're terrible at scary stories," I murmured, my voice softer now, almost a whisper. "But that was a good trick.”

His eyes met mine. “I wasn’t trying to scare you anymore.”

For a heartbeat, we just looked at each other. Our lips met — soft, tentative at first. But then his hand came up to gently cradle my cheek, and it deepened, the warmth of it sending a shiver all the way down my spine. The kiss was sweet and a little clumsy, but real — the kind that made your toes curl and your heart hammer against your ribs.

When we finally pulled back, it was only by a breath. His forehead rested lightly against mine, both of us smiling like we couldn’t quite believe what just happened.

My hands were still on his chest. Warm. Steady.

Without thinking, I slid them up — fingertips brushing under the hem of his sweater. His breath hitched. I paused.

He blinked at me, a little startled.

“Oh—sorry," I whispered quickly, beginning to pull away. "I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it’s okay," he said, his voice quiet but certain now. "I… it’s warm up here anyway.”

He reached down and tugged the sweater over his head in one motion, his hair sticking up slightly after. He looked at me, a little sheepish, like maybe he wasn’t sure what to do next either.

There was a silence. Not awkward, just… full. Heavy with something new.

I let out a small breath, trying not to grin. “That was smooth,” I teased, but my voice came out softer than I meant.

He smiled back — a bit lopsided, a bit shy.

And then, slowly, I leaned in again. Our lips met softly once more. His hands moved gently, tracing slow circles along my back, sliding down to my hips and settling at my waist. I felt a sudden boldness and shifted, sitting down on his lap, the warmth between us growing.

We broke the kiss briefly, and I reached up, trying to pull my sweater over my head.

“Wait… a moment,” I whispered, a little embarrassed. I paused and looked at him. His eyes flicked to my bare chest, just covered by the bra.

“Wow,” he breathed, his voice low.

His hands slid up to my back, fingertips tracing light, careful patterns. I leaned in, our lips meeting once more — this time slower, softer.

My hands rested on his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, while his arms wrapped gently around me, holding me close but still uncertain, as if afraid to rush.

The world outside—the storm, the shadows—faded until there was only the quiet heat between us, the unspoken promise of something new, tender, and maybe a little scary.

His hands slowly grew bolder, sliding from my back to the small of my waist, pulling me a little closer. I felt his breath hitch as our bodies pressed gently together, his heartbeat pounding in time with mine.

I tilted my head up, meeting his eyes, which were dark and intense in the candlelight. Without breaking the kiss, my fingers tangled in his hair. Slowly, almost hesitantly, I began to slide my hands under the edge of his shirt, exploring the warmth of his skin. He caught my wrist, giving a soft, reassuring squeeze before letting me continue.

The room seemed to shrink around us, the only sounds our mingled breaths and the distant rumble of thunder. Every touch was electric, every glance charged with silent promises.

When our lips finally parted, we rested our foreheads together, smiles shy but full of something neither of us wanted to name just yet.

He tightened his grip gently on my wrist, his voice low and serious. “If we go any further,” he said, his breath warm against my ear, “I can’t promise what’ll happen.”

I swallowed hard, feeling a thrill run through me. His words hung in the air between us, both a warning and an invitation. My heart raced, but I didn’t pull away.

Instead, I looked up at him, my eyes wide but steady. “Neither can I,” I whispered back, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

He smiled too—nervous, unsure, but honest. Slowly, carefully, he let go of my wrist, his fingers tracing a gentle path down my arm before resting lightly on my hand.

The storm outside rumbled again, but inside that quiet attic, time seemed to stand still.

He hesitated, searching my eyes for any trace of uncertainty—but found only quiet trust. Slowly, with a tenderness that made my heart ache, his hands moved behind me and unhooked my bra. The soft click of the clasp sounded louder than thunder. His fingers lingered at the small of my back as the straps slid down my shoulders.

His mouth found the hollow of my collarbone, warm lips brushing against my skin in slow, reverent kisses. Each one felt like a wordless promise — of care, of want, of something unspoken but understood between us. I let out a soft breath, eyes fluttering shut, head tilting back just enough to give him more of me.

He pulled back slightly, his gaze sweeping over me with a reverence that made me shiver. There was no rush, no greed — only awe. His hands found my waist again, steady and warm.

"You’re so…" he murmured, voice thick, but he didn’t finish the sentence — just looked at me like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I reached for him, palms running across his chest, tracing the slope of his shoulders, down his arms. And then I kissed him again — slower this time. Deeper. Our mouths moved together like they knew exactly what to do. Like we were learning a language we already somehow spoke.

He shifted, laying us back gently onto the pile of old quilts and pillows. Candlelight flickered across the ceiling, casting golden shadows as he hovered over me, his body fitting between my legs like it had always belonged there. We both paused — breathing, trembling, holding on.

"Still okay?" he asked, forehead resting lightly against mine.

"Yes," I whispered, threading my fingers through his hair. "More than okay."

His lips returned to mine — then to my throat, my chest, each kiss softer than the last but more charged, somehow. Like sparks beneath my skin. My hands roamed freely now, memorizing the curve of his back, the dip of his spine, the way his muscles tensed beneath my touch.

He pulled back just enough to tug his shirt over his head, and then we were skin to skin — and it was everything.

His fingers traced the inside of my thigh, feather-light at first, barely brushing skin, like he was asking a silent question. I parted my legs a little without meaning to, a soft sound escaping my lips — and that was all the answer he needed.

The heat between us pulsed. His fingertips brushed higher, teasing the edge of my underwear, then pulling back — slow, deliberate. I let out a shaky breath, hips tilting toward him, silently pleading.

He smiled against my neck, warm and wicked.

"You’re shaking," he whispered, and I was. With anticipation. With want. With the way he touched me like I was something precious and breakable — but also like he was dying to ruin me, just a little.

His hand slipped beneath the thin fabric, and I gasped, knees tightening around him as his fingers found me — warm, wet, aching.

"Bloody hell…" He groaned low in his throat.

His touch grew more focused, more certain — circling, pressing, coaxing sounds out of me I didn’t know I could make.

“George…” I breathed, my voice breaking slightly as I reached for him. “I want—”

He kissed me then, slow and deep, and I felt him press against me, hard and ready — but still holding back.

He nodded, eyes locked on mine, slipping my underwear down. And then, carefully, he aligned himself and slid into me.

Slow.

Measured.

Breathless.

I gasped, nails digging lightly into his back, and he stilled — watching me, waiting, giving me time to adjust, to feel.

We moved together like waves — a rhythm that started tentative and grew bolder with every gasp, every whisper, every look.

George’s hands began to explore with more certainty now — tracing my hips, sliding up my sides, his grip firmer, surer. Every movement from him felt more intentional, as if he’d found his rhythm and wanted to take me with him, deeper into the heat curling between us.

At one point, he pulled back just slightly, his forehead still against mine, breath uneven. His lips brushed mine — gentle, grateful — and then something in his eyes shifted. A flicker of boldness.

“Do you…” he began, hesitating for a heartbeat. “Do you want to try something else?”

My breath caught, surprised — not by the question, but by the way he asked it. Tender. Curious. Like he was offering me the world, not demanding anything.

“What did you have in mind?” I asked, my voice a little shaky but warm with trust.

He kissed my neck slowly, then murmured, “Lie on your side. Facing away from me.”

The suggestion sent a rush of heat through me. I shifted, doing as he asked, heart hammering with anticipation. George moved behind me, curling his body around mine — one arm slipping under my neck, the other draped low across my waist, pulling me close.

When he eased back inside me, it felt different. Deeper. Slower. Intimate in a way that stole the breath from my lungs.

He moved carefully at first, mouth at my shoulder, whispering my name like it was a secret. But with every breathless sound I gave him, every movement of my hips urging him on, his pace deepened — confident now, sure in the way he filled and held me.

One of his hands slid down to my thigh, lifting it just slightly to open me further to him. The new angle made me moan, quietly but helplessly.

“God,” he groaned, voice thick with feeling. “You feel… incredible.”

His lips were everywhere — my neck, my shoulder, the curve where it met my spine. I reached back, tangled my fingers in his hair, grounding myself as he moved within me.

It was tender. It was wild.

It was everything.

And just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, he whispered against my skin, “Tell me if you want more. Tell me how.”

I turned my head slightly, catching his gaze over my shoulder.

“You already know,” I whispered, and then kissed him — twisting just enough to meet his mouth in a kiss full of heat and trembling trust.

Our kiss deepened — awkward at that angle, a little desperate — but neither of us cared. He adjusted behind me, pulling me tighter against his chest, his movements slower now but more intense. Every thrust was deliberate, like he was chasing something just out of reach. Or maybe… like he wanted me to get there first.

His hand slid down, fingers brushing lower again, circling, teasing — and the heat inside me broke open like a wave crashing, loud and bright and unstoppable. I gasped, body trembling as pleasure took over — sharp and sweet and overwhelming. My hips pushed back into him instinctively, needing all of him, needing to feel him while I came apart.

He held me through it, murmuring quiet things I couldn’t understand — my name, maybe, or just sounds of awe. Then, with a rough exhale and one last, deep press of his hips, I felt him follow — groaning low into my neck, every muscle in his body tensing as he surrendered to the moment with me.

For a while, there was only the sound of our breath — ragged, uneven. My back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped tight around me like he never wanted to let go. His heart beat against my spine, fast and strong, matching the rhythm of mine.

He buried his face in my hair, his voice low and muffled. “That was… spectacular.”

I let out a small, breathless laugh, twisting just enough to catch his eye. “Oh yeah?”

He grinned, completely unbothered by his hair sticking up wildly or the faint sheen of sweat on his skin. “I mean, I think I just saw fireworks.”

I giggled, and he kissed my shoulder again, a bit smug now. “Still breathing?” he teased.

“Barely,” I said, smiling against his skin. “I might need a minute.”

He reached for the blanket beside us with dramatic flair, pulling it over us like a cape. “You know,” he added, voice softening a little, “that was… more than I expected. In the best way.”

I turned my face toward him, our noses nearly brushing. “Yeah. Same.”

He pulled me closer under the blanket, one hand finding mine, fingers interlocking with ease.

The storm outside had quieted — or maybe we were just too wrapped up in each other to notice.

We lay there in the hush, tangled up and half-laughing, still riding the warmth of everything we’d just shared. It wasn’t perfect. It didn’t need to be.

And when he looked at me like that — eyes soft, grin crooked — I realized something very simple.

I didn’t regret a thing.

[movfie]

James and Oliver Phelps doing some cake arts n crafts 🧁

12/27/2024

[tabbytabbytabby]

So, I went to MegaCon last weekend, and had a blast. It's still a little surreal to think that I met some of my favorite people that I've wanted to meet for years. Like, I actually met Tyler Hoechlin and he called me love. What reality is this? Everyone was lovely though 😊💜

[underratedmurder]

There's a nice feeling to it (Fred Weasley x Reader fluff)

Hello again!

I'm back and also, I hope you like this, whoever you are, reading this right now, I'm typing this right now, and RIGHT NOW you're reading it. Crazy.

TW: Nothing at all! (#sfw)

Enjoy

_______________

Wind is sliding between the cracks in the window and pooling into your room, tickling your skin and making your feet cold. It smells sweet and ripe, crisp, like a freshly picked apple, or recently washed hair. The smells fill the room like an intoxicating candle, and you watch as leaves drift by outside, gliding down and glittering in the setting sun. The tangy smell of lemon is just penetrating your nose, making your mouth water a bit.

There's a light knock on the door, and you whisk your wand to unlock it, a tiny spark illuminating the keyhole.

The nob turns, and Fred Weasley, pokes his head through, red hair radiating as the sun hits.

"Locking the door again, are we? What are you so afraid of?" he prods, smiling and walking towards your bed by the window.

"You and George's jacklepoppers aren't bursting in here again," you smile back, scooching over as he climbs onto the covers next to you.

He had never done that before; you felt all tingly as the mattress dipped slightly to his weight.

"But I thought you loved them?" he whines, looking up at you as he tilts his head down, eyes all glittery.

You twist your mouth and shake your head disapprovingly. He huffs and laughs a bit, and you can feel the air on your face.

You look at him, quirking a brow. He came up here for a reason, and you would never admit that it was just to see you.

"Mum made lemon loaf,"

"I know,"

"It's good, though she never adds enough sugar, I think she's too afraid since George and I got dust mites in it last month,"

He's wearing a sweater with red, blue, and orange stripes, each detailed with intricate flowers and pretty designs. You aren't sure what the style is called, but you know it's pretty.

"Nice jumper," it felt good to compliment him, even if it was inadvertent and directed at his clothes.

He smirks, looking up and reaching you pinch your arm

"Ye?,"

"Mhm, your mum made it right?"

"Course she did, she reckons I should take up knitting myself soon. Not always gonna have her around to do it for me."

You shake your head, "There's a charm for that isn't there?"

"There's a charm for everything,"

"And I guess you already know it?"

"Of course I do, I'm a genius," he says smugly, holding onto his own arms.

The chill in the air was blowing harsher now, and you shivered.

"Are you cold?" he relaxes a bit and shifts forward.

"I'm fine, it feels nice,"

He pokes your arm, his fingertip warm like a match stick.

"You've got goosepimples everywhere," he mumbles, studying your skin.

He inches closer, and you open your mouth to say something, then stop as you feel his palm flatten on the side of your arm.

You become still, watching his fingers graze you to grasp your arm. His palm is like the sun.

He looks at you, waiting for you to let him, let him, let him what?

You didn't know, but you looked back at him. You said yes, relaxing your arm into his hand.

He sits there, feeling your skin, rubbing his thumb slowly up and down.

He silently reaches behind him, and grabs a soft blanket from your headboard.

"Come closer," he says softly, and you're not sure you hear him correctly.

You just stare at him, until you see he's spreading his legs a bit to make room for you. You can't believe it, and yet you prop yourself up to move towards him.

You come to face him, his face tilted away so your noses aren't literally right up against each other. His cheeks almost look a little red, but that's just because of the sun, you convince yourself.

You turn around, and sit in front of him, hesitant to lay back. He's never been this close to you, other than from a hug. And he's sat back on your bed, and you're in between his legs, and his hands feel soft, and everything happening all at once is making your whole face hot.

He brings his arms in front of you to place the blanket, you instantly feel cozy, the fuzz of the blanket on your arms tickles.

The sun is shining just above your head, and you imagine what his hair looks like, bright, and his eyes, kind and brown. You want to turn around and look at him, but you're frozen again.

Suddenly, his hands are on your shoulders, lightly pulling you down onto his chest.

Your heart skips a beat until, there, you feel it. It's his heartbeat, racing so quickly, you could swear he was a rabbit under attack. Now you're warm all over. The back of your neck itching a bit from the wool of his sweater. But there's a nice feeling to it.

Your heartbeat is picking up to the speed of his, and you feel an immense rush of adrenaline. He's tensing up, hands still, and he's nearly silent except for his shuddered exhales.

You've never seen him so careful, save for when he's pulling off some trick, silent as a mouse and careful on his feet despite being so large. He's deliberate, calculative, and still, excited, like he's trying to reach the ultimate finish line. And you wonder if he feels the same way now. You wonder if you can get him to breath like normal again, even though there is this guilty giddiness you have, feeling just how different he is in this position.

You lay back more, tilting your head back to rest on his shoulder, even daring to move and adjust yourself to get comfortable. And just like that, it stops. His heart is slow, and his arms come to rest around you.

"This is..." you start.

"Bloody perfect? Yeah, I agree," he scoffs, he sounds perfectly content and also in utter disbelief.

Your face turns hot again, and you smile like an idiot.

[thephelpsgalaxy]

James and Oliver in "Fantastic Friends" (1/?)

[emeritusemeritus]

Weasley Twins question of the day:

If you are a Fred girl, are you also a James girl or Oliver? Same with George?

I feel like their personalities are so very different (Oliver is Fred coded way more than James irl)

I’m a Fred/James girl! 🤘🏻

[asphodelsandpomegranates]

The Rebels Across the Street (Callum Anderson x Reader x Finlay Anderson):

You’d noticed them a couple of days after moving in. With a day of not doing much except emptying boxes of your things, you slumped at your window, just glancing out and the endless almost made like back streets when you saw them. Two, tall males with unkempt brown hair, both dressed in the same clothes, a large stereo in hand among other things. You watched them as they both stepped out from their garden and over to a makeshift table with an assortment of…who knows what. One of the males sat the stereo down on the wall and pressed a button. Loud, bass music broke the quiet. 

You found yourself leaning against the window sill of your bedroom, intrigued by the scene before you. You continued to watch the two at work. It seemed as though they were doing some sort of gardening shenanigans. Makeshift potted plants and bundles of compost, fertiliser, seeds and who knows what else. 

You couldn’t help but wonder what this was all in aid of. 

As though sensing being watched, one of the males turned as though looking for something or keeping an eye out. He then caught sight of you watching and tapped his companion and gestured your way. The other male followed his line of vision and it was then that your breath hitched. 

They were twins. Two handsome twins come to that. You felt yourself shrink back a little from the window…but did not tear your eyes away from them. 

The first male said..something to his twin, also not taking their eyes from you. The second and seemed to be chuckling at his brother’s words before giving you a small wave. You felt slightly taken aback by this. You’d expected a rude gesture for your ‘voyeurism’ but not this. 

You gave a hesitant wave back making them both grin and turning back to their work.

Feeling embarrassed, you stepped back from the window and curled up in your bed. 

A couple of days passed before you saw your mysterious twins. You had managed to get a job as a waitress in a small quaint cafe a couple of miles from your home and one of the routes you liked to take started out from the back of your home where you would sometimes see your twins hanging around with their flora. You said goodbye to your family as you left through the back door and out to the garden. You opened the back gate and turned to see the twins from the other day, leaning over the same table that was assorted with gardening wares and some plastic tankers. This time round there was no loud, bass thrumming music adding to the din. You could hear them muttering as they worked. 

Your fingers began to fiddle with the strap of your handbag as you slowly made your way in their direction. The sound of your footsteps must have caught their ears because they both looked up and turned. 

Holy shit, they were even more gorgeous up close! 

“Well, well, well.” one of them said. 

“Our little fan has come to greet us,” said the other. This twin was the one who had noticed you first. 

You came to a stop as you drew level with them. “Didn’t know curiosity was sin.” you countered, tilting your head a little to the side. 

They glanced at each other as they sniggered in sync. Fuck, you could get use to that. 

“So, what are you working on?” You asked, casting a glance to the table next to them. 

“This and that.” 

“That and this.” 

You stared at the twins, the small smile in your face grew into a beam at their strange talk - a twin thing, maybe? 

“Well, if you're gonna be so secretive about it.” you shrugged and walked by them. 

“Be at the construction site for that new supermarket.” one of them called, making you stop and turn to them. 

“At three if you’re still curious.” finished  the other. 

You stared at them, glancing between their faces, waiting for them to give the punchline. When one didn't crop up, you smiled.

“Sure. If I make it in time.” 

***********

Turns out, work today was quiet. The unsure weather had seemed to put people off coming to the middle of town and slipping into the cosy confines of the cafe. So, the small tasks of cleaning, stock check, delivery, cooking and baking became..mundane and dragged on. At around two, you glanced at the time and the memory of the twins’ invitation popped back into your head. 

Three o’clock…at the construction site for that new supermarket. 

Would you make it in time for the twins’ secret…whatever it was? But there was a possibility of this thing being a hoax, a little punishment for spying on them. Though, it was hardly spying, especially when they wouldn’t tell you what they were up to. In fact, you didn’t even know who they were. Why would they want to bother so much with someone they just met? Maybe…they did want you to be there. 

Fuck it, you’d already wasted five minutes just staring at the clock, trying to make up your mind. You collected the dirty cups and plates and headed into the back where the owner was sitting in her office, checking the next days’ delivery. 

“Um, am I okay to go for my break?” you asked her. 

She turned with a smile. “Of course, you can, dearie. Just be careful out there.” 

“Will do, Ruth. See you soon.” 

You quietly put the dirty dishes by the sink and hurried to grab your coat and handbag before hurrying out and off to the construction yard. 

You tracked down a taxi that took you at least a few yards from the site, then you walked the rest of the way. You glanced around to see any signs of the twins but the only thing you could see was the workers hovering round one of their vehicles and looking at numerous blue prints. 

You stayed a good few feet from the entrance and looked round to the main road for any signs of a car or a truck or glimpse of the boys. You were starting to feel a little foolish, standing out here on your own. You tried to make yourself less conspicuous so that the builders wouldn't take any notice of you. 

You looked at your watch. Ten minutes since you’d got here and still no sign of the twins. They’d said three and it was a little after three now. 

Had you been royally stitched up? 

Sighing, you figured you could walk back to the nearest little cul-de-sac and find a telephone to ring for a taxi back to the town. As you took the first few steps, music - blaring loud and bass like - reached your ears. You turned to see a crazy, dark blue and white car speeding its way over in your direction. Your eyes widened and you caught sight of the twins in the car. The car swerved and spun hard as it came to a stop. The moment the car stopped, the doors flung open and the twins stepped out, holding what looked like foil trays. 

Then all hell broke loose.

The two of them ran up to the entrance and began pelting the workers with what looked like balls of compost, along with shouts of profanity with whoops and hollers. The builders tried to duck and make a getaway but the twins were just too quick for them, leaving them no choice but to hide behind their vehicles. You couldn’t help the smile or bouts of laughter as you watched the two at work. Causing a little bit of mayhem to others. 

Suddenly, a man in a suit came with a small compact mobile to his ear. He looked furious. 

“If you lot don’t fucking leave right now, I’m calling the police!” 

“Do your worst, PC Plod!” 

“Have some of this!”

The suited man flinched and recoiled as more rounds of dirt were thrown his way. “Clear off, you unnatural little brats!” 

You have no idea why you got involved but you did. The comment just did not sit right with you. You leapt at the opportunity, running over to the twins’ side as you threw your bag on the roof of the car. You grabbed a handful of the dirt, feeling the dull sting of seeds against your skin and lobbed it. It hit the businessman squarely in the face. 

“Fuck you, you land pinching prick!” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the twins staring at you in awe as if seeing you for the first time. 

“Stupid bitch!” 

“Oi! Watch your mouth around a woman--.” 

“--Or you’ll have us to answer to.” 

Feeling a surge of adrenaline, you grabbed the one of trays and hurled it like a frisbee at the workers. 

“That’s it!” 

You felt a hand grab your arm and turned to look into the face of one of the twins. 

“Come on, we’ve done our part.” and pulled you to their car. You grabbed your purse as the other twin let you hop in the front. 

“Hang on tight.” said the twin in the driver’s seat. 

Slipping on your belt, you reached up for the door handle and soon you were thrown a little into your seat as the car sped off away and onto the main road.

Your heart was racing. You were panting, your head reeling. You could feel dirt under your fingernails. you weren’t too sure what had come over you but it had felt good and you wanted to do it again. 

“Name’s Callum.” said the twin in the back seat as he leaned forward and held out a slim, lanky hand to you. “And this is Finlay.” 

You glanced between the two of them, easily noticed the same devilish grins on their faces. You couldn’t help but give one of your own and took Callum’s in yours. “(Y/N).” you said, shaking your hand with his and then taking Finlay’s. “So…you’re eco-warriors, then?” 

“In manner of speaking.” said Finlay as he turned the car onto a dual carriageway. “Do you have any where you need to be?” 

You glance between them both as they watched and waited for your answer. You really had to stop second guessing yourself. “Not for another twenty minutes.” 

(The end.)

[kimberly-stocks]

Compilation of my celebrity crushes:

1. My oldest crush is Ben Barnes, I first saw him in Prince Caspian in 2009, and have been following his career ever since. His most recent notable performance was in Shadow and Bone as the Darkling.

2. Tom Holland. I love spiderman, he's my favorite marvel superhero ever, I loved him since I was a kid. So when Tom was cast I had to check it out. He's the cutest little bean 🤩

3. James and Oliver Phelps who played Fred and George Weasley in Harry Potter franchise. Fred and George are my favorite characters, and this long hair phase definitely did something to me 🤤

4. Tom Felton. Another HP alum. I had a brief crush on him, probably because he looks a lot like my ex

5. Ryan Eggold was my crush for a second when I was obsessed with the Blacklist.

6. Sebastian Stan aka Winter soldier. Ever since Cap 2 came out I had a crush on this guy, and I go through phases of him every 2-3 years when he promotes a new project and there's a flood of content. I'm currently in the middle of such a phase, and discovered Bucky fanfiction for the first time. And boy oh boy, it's... definitely something 😅

7. And then there was Milo 😍 he's the only crush I've ever made a fan account for. It's been 3 years now ♥️

What are your crushes apart from Milo?

[cocoabubbelle-newblog]

Random Thought

Oliver and James Phelps should play Doctor Who and The Master.

Question is…

[raidermomma]

The Child: Mummy can I watch Harry Potter?

Me: Yes of course you can love, what could possibly...

Also me: Dammit.

[vintica]

Boys in books are just better print

[romanczukowsky]

Jealousy’s Quiet Fire

Pairing: George Weasley x fem!reader

Summary: Sometimes, the biggest magic happens in the quiet moments you don’t see coming. When Y/N steps into the wild world of dates and distractions, George finds himself less prankster and more… jealous sidekick. Between awkward Shield Charms and stolen glances, old feelings bubble up with a hint of tension—and maybe a bit of friendly competition. Because who said love can’t be complicated and hilarious?

Warnings: Slow Burn / Romance / Mild Sexual Content / Emotional Angst /Implied Romantic Tension / One shot

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with the kind of noise only a return to Hogwarts could bring — excited chatter, clattering dishes, and the occasional shout of a prank gone wrong somewhere down the hall.

Fred and George sat on the armrest of the worn leather couch, already holding court like the kings of chaos.

“So this summer,” George started, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, “Fred got this brilliant idea to start selling self-inflating cauldrons. Perfect for lazy potion makers, he said.”

Fred rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his smile. “They were going to be a hit—until the first batch exploded and flooded the entire shed.”

George laughed. “Yeah, flooded the shed, drowned Percy’s toads, and nearly wiped out the garden gnome army. You could say it was a splash hit.”

Fred threw up his hands. “Very funny. Mum made me clean it all up for three days.”

“And don’t forget Mum’s face when she found your ‘experimental fireworks’ under the kitchen table,” George added, still chuckling.

“That was a minor miscalculation,” Fred said, grinning. “The fireworks weren’t supposed to launch indoors!”

“Minor, right. Maybe next time test them outside the Burrow, yeah?”

The whole common room chuckled, drawn in by their easy banter.

Then George caught sight of me walking past and waved me over with that crooked grin — the one that made me forget how much younger I was compared to him.

“Y/N!” he called in a warm and familiar voice. “Come here, don’t lurk!”

I rolled my eyes, but smiled. “Lurking isn’t my style.”

He laughed, “Good. That’s what we like.”

“Missed you this summer,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the way my heart jumped.

George’s smile softened just a bit. “Yeah, well, don’t get too sappy on me now.”

Fred grinned from his spot. “Speak for yourself, Georgie.”

We all laughed, and for a moment, I was just part of their world — younger, maybe, but definitely not invisible.

Autumn melted into winter faster than I liked, and with each passing week, I told myself I'd give up trying — and each week I didn’t.

Every opportunity I had, I slid closer to George — always with a reason, of course.

“Could you show me that Shield Charm again?” I asked one evening in the common room, sliding my books onto the table where George was lounging with a bag of Every Flavour Beans.

He looked up with that same warm, unreadable smile. “Sure. You still can’t get the wand movement right?”

“I can, actually,” I said quickly. “I just thought… a refresher couldn’t hurt.”

He shrugged and moved over to give me space. “Alright then. Let’s see it.”

I tried. I always tried. Not just with the spell — with my hair, with my laugh, with how casually I leaned against the back of the couch while he corrected my grip on the wand.

George, as always, was patient. Helpful. Charming. And utterly, entirely… Oblivious.

He never flirted. Never lingered. Never once looked at me the way I sometimes caught myself looking at him.

Another time, right before Christmas break, I “accidentally” left my Charms notes in the common room, just to circle back and find George still there, sorting through a box of Zonko's leftovers.

“Oh — hey,” I said, feigning surprise. “Didn’t expect anyone else to be up.”

He looked up, startled, then grinned. “I’m basically nocturnal at this point. Want a chocolate frog?”

I nodded, heart skipping. “Thanks. Um… also, I left my notes… do you think you could help me go over Switching Spells again?”

“Sure thing,” he said, already shifting to make space for me on the couch. “You have a test or something?”

“Not really,” I lied.

Fred would’ve winked. Lee would’ve teased. Even Ron would’ve caught on by now. But George? George just smiled that same smile and explained the theory like I was his best mate’s little sister.

By the time February rolled around and hearts were floating in windows, my own was somewhere between frustrated and still hopelessly devoted.

Valentine’s Day at Hogwarts was always an explosion of glitter, pink confetti, and enchanted paper hearts that fluttered through the corridors like butterflies with no sense of personal space.

And every year, I sent George a Valentine. Always unsigned. Always the same: a red card, sealed with a tiny heart and the letter Y.

I used to think he’d figure it out. That maybe one year, he’d smile in that knowing way and say something clever. He never did.

This year, I’d told myself: Enough. No Valentine. No initials. No more trying.

The Gryffindor common room was packed after dinner, buzzing with energy. Enchanted envelopes zoomed from student to student, trailing glitter or heart-shaped bubbles. Girls squealed. Boys groaned. Someone in the corner was already halfway through their fifth chocolate frog.

I was curled in the armchair by the fire, trying very hard not to care. I still got a few cards — sweet, safe ones from my friends. Lavender, Parvati, even a pink scribble from Neville that looked suspiciously like he had panicked halfway through.

Then it happened.

A deep red and violet envelope floated straight to me, glowing faintly, shaped like a heart — and singing.

“Oh Merlin,” I muttered, just as it landed on my lap and burst into a dramatically off-key serenade:

🎵 “Y/N, Y/N, with eyes so bright, You shine like stars on a snowy night. Brave and kind and full of grace, With you, my world’s a better place!” 🎵

The entire room turned.

Fred cackled so hard he nearly fell off the armrest. I sat frozen, cheeks on fire.

When the song finally sputtered to a halt, the heart unfolded into a card. In elegant handwriting, just two words: — Cedric Diggory

The silence lasted a beat too long. Then:

“Wow,” Seamus whispered. “That was… dramatic.”

“Mate has pipes,” Lee added, nodding solemnly.

I risked a glance across the room. George wasn’t laughing. In fact, he looked… Confused? No — caught off guard.

His gaze flicked to the card. Then to me.

No joke. No wink. Just that flash of something — something new.

And for once… he hadn’t gotten a Valentine from me.

The next afternoon, the buzz about The Valentine still hadn’t died down.

Apparently, when a singing, glowing, violet-red heart explodes in the middle of the Gryffindor common room — and it’s from Cedric Diggory — people don’t forget.

I tried to ignore the way heads still turned when I entered the Great Hall for lunch. I balanced my tray, pretended not to care, and slipped quietly toward the Gryffindor table… until I saw him.

Cedric. Smiling. Walking toward me like he did it every day.

I swallowed, half-wishing the floor would swallow me first. Too late.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, stopping just at the end of our table. I knew Fred and George were sitting nearby. “Did you, uh… get my card?”

Every sound seemed to blur except for my own heartbeat.

“Um… yeah,” I managed, trying not to sound breathless. “I did. It was… very impressive.”

Cedric chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Bit over the top, maybe.”

“A bit?” I heard Fred mutter, not even trying to be subtle.

I smiled, even though my face was definitely turning pink again. “I thought it was sweet. Unexpected, but sweet.”

Cedric grinned. “Glad you liked it. See you around, Y/N.”

And just like that, he was gone.

But the table wasn’t silent.

George lifted his goblet, taking a slow, deliberate sip of pumpkin juice — like he hadn’t just heard every word.

“Next year,” he said dryly, “I might send a singing troll in a tutu. That seems to be the new standard.”

Fred choked on his drink. “Bit jealous of Diggory’s flair, are we?”

I looked down at my plate, pretending I hadn’t heard — but my ears were burning.

George rolled his eyes but smirked. “Please. He’s good, but not that good.”

Ever since Valentine’s Day, Cedric had been… everywhere.

In the corridors between classes — “You know, your smile could disarm anyone.”

Outside the library — “Do you always read with your head tilted like that? It’s adorable.”

Even in the Great Hall — “You have the neatest way of arranging your quill and parchment. Very elegant.”

I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to laugh or swoon. Usually I just blinked and muttered something like “Um, thanks?” while stuffing parchment into my bag and mentally screaming.

Fred, naturally, found it hilarious. “Oh, here comes your stationery admirer again,” he said one morning, elbowing me as I sat down. “Better sharpen your quill properly or he’ll write you a sonnet.”

George, who sat across from us, didn’t laugh. He just shoved another spoonful of eggs into his mouth and said, flatly, “It’s pathetic.”

I looked up, surprised. “What is?”

He didn’t meet my eyes. “That he thinks a few cheesy lines make him interesting.”

Fred raised an eyebrow at him, and I caught the exchange. But George just gave a faint smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

And I… well, I didn’t know what to think. Cedric was nice. He was kind. And, okay, objectively very good-looking. And if George couldn’t be bothered to actually say anything — then maybe I should give Cedric a chance. At least he made his interest obvious.

So when Cedric asked if I wanted to sit with him in the courtyard after Herbology — “just for some air,” he said, though the flowers weren’t the only thing he seemed interested in — I nodded. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

And I swear, the second we sat down on that stone bench, laughing at a Puffapod that had exploded on my robes earlier, Fred and George walked straight past. Fred winked. George didn’t even look at me.

But I looked at him. And I felt something strange twist in my chest — like I’d dropped the wrong potion ingredient and wasn’t sure whether it was about to explode… or change everything.

It started with a walk.

Nothing dramatic. No candlelit dinner in the Room of Requirement. Just Cedric asking if I wanted to walk with him after Transfiguration.

“Bit of a breeze today,” he’d said, smiling that unfairly perfect smile. “But I figured, if you’re wrapped up warm, we could do a few laps around the courtyard. I won’t recite poetry. Promise.”

I laughed, tucking a curl behind my ear. “Tempting offer.”

So I said yes.

It felt nice, actually. Easy. He wasn’t pushy, just… attentive. He asked about my favorite subjects, about how I’d learned that shield charm so quickly in Defense, about whether I’d ever tried honeydukes’ cinnamon snaps with cocoa. (I hadn’t. He promised to bring some back next Hogsmeade weekend.)

And yet—somehow—our peaceful walk turned into a thing.

Because two minutes later, we passed Fred and George sitting on the low wall near the greenhouses, casually tossing a Quaffle between them.

“Oh, what a coincidence,” Fred said loudly, catching the ball one-handed. “Y/N! Look who I found loitering near the ivy!”

George didn’t say anything, but his eyes flicked straight to Cedric. Then to me. Then back to the Quaffle.

“Hey,” I said, pretending this wasn’t the most awkward moment in the history of my social life.

Cedric nodded politely. “Fred. George.”

George gave a single nod. No grin. No joke. Just that unreadable look he sometimes wore when someone beat him at Exploding Snap.

“Well,” Fred chirped. “We were just discussing how the weather’s perfect for a walk. Right, George?”

George shrugged. “Guess so. If you’re into walking in circles.”

Cedric raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a race.”

George finally grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Good. Wouldn’t want you to lose at everything, mate.”

My heart skipped a beat.

Fred caught my eye with a little smirk that said he knows. Knows what, exactly, I wasn’t ready to admit — but I felt it.

I felt it everywhere George went quiet.

I didn’t mean to snap at him.

Okay—maybe I did.

But after days — weeks, really — of George doing nothing but tossing snide remarks and making faces like Cedric was a dementor in human form, something in me finally snapped.

“I just don’t get why you’re being like this,” I’d said, arms crossed, standing halfway up the common room stairs as he leaned against the wall, expression unreadable. “You don’t like Cedric. Fine. But why do you care who I spend time with?”

He didn’t answer.

“Is it so awful that I want to try something? Feel something?” My voice shook, and not because I was cold. “Not everything has to be a joke or a prank. Sometimes it’s just... real. And I want something real.”

George had exhaled hard, jaw clenched.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, voice low. “You’re right. I’m being a prat.”

And that was it.

So I went to Hogsmeade with Cedric.

We drank warm butterbeer. He told me I looked beautiful when I laughed. He offered to carry my scarf when the wind nearly took it away. It should’ve been lovely.

But the whole time, George’s voice echoed somewhere in the back of my mind — the way it got quiet when something actually mattered.

And it mattered.

Which is probably why I found myself back in the common room that evening, cheeks flushed from the cold and maybe from the drinks, heart pounding faster than it should’ve.

When I stepped into the common room, the fire was crackling lazily, casting soft golden light across the space. A group of younger boys were huddled near the window playing Exploding Snap, arguing over the rules. Fred was half-sprawled on the rug, flipping through a deck of enchanted cards that occasionally belched glitter.

George was in the armchair by the fireplace, legs over the side, reading a comic that floated slightly above his lap — "The Practical Jokers’ Guide to Defensive Hexes," from the looks of it.

I brushed snow from my coat and offered a small wave. “Hey.”

Fred looked up — and immediately grinned.

“Well, well,” he said, drawing out the words as he stood and stretched like a cat. “Look who’s back from her dreamy date in frosty Hogsmeade.”

He elbowed one of the fifth-year boys, then added, “Alright, lads, looks like it’s bedtime for us common folk.”

There were a few groans, a snort, but Fred merely wagged his brows at me before winking and heading upstairs. The others trickled after him, clearly in on… whatever joke he was making.

George didn’t move.

He just looked at me over the edge of his comic, his expression unreadable — but his eyes a little too focused for someone just casually curious.

“How was it?” he asked finally, folding the comic closed and setting it on the armrest. “Didn’t freeze your nose off, did you?”

I smiled, shrugging out of my coat. “Not quite. I think I’ve still got most of my fingers.”

He smirked softly, then motioned toward the fire. “You want the warm seat?”

I shook my head. “No. You look too comfortable. I’ll take this one.”

I dropped into the couch opposite him, tucking my legs beneath me, heart still racing in a way that had nothing to do with the cold anymore.

The room was quiet now — the kind of quiet that settles in when you’re the only two left awake, with the firelight dancing between you, and too many things unsaid.

George tilted his head just slightly, studying me like he was trying to figure out if I was different now.

“So…” he said slowly, “Did he make you laugh?”

I blinked. That wasn’t what I’d expected.

“He tried,” I said honestly.

George nodded, his mouth twitching — not quite a smile. “That sounds about right.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You sound like you’ve got a scoring system.”

“Maybe I do,” he said with a shrug, voice smooth and teasing. “And let’s just say... he’s not exactly climbing the ranks.”

I laughed. “Well, he did say I have very graceful quill posture.”

George dropped his head back against the couch with an exaggerated groan, clutching his chest like he’d been personally wounded. “Quill posture? Merlin help us.”

I grinned, curling further into the cushions. “You’re just jealous.”

George didn’t answer right away. He just looked at me, for a moment too long, the firelight catching the shift in his expression.

Then he said, quietly — but without looking away, “I am.”

That made me pause. “…What?”

He exhaled through his nose, stood slowly, and crossed the small space between our couches. My heart was pounding before he even sat down beside me.

“I’m jealous,” he repeated, voice lower now. “I’m jealous you haven’t asked me for help with Shield Charms in ages.”

I blinked at him, thrown. “That’s what you’re—?”

“You used to ask me all the time,” he said, resting his arm along the back of the sofa, close but not touching. “Now suddenly you’re laughing at someone else’s jokes, and I’ve been replaced by a bloke who thinks parchment organization is flirting.”

I tried to smother a smile, even as my heart flipped. “You miss tutoring me?”

“I miss you, Y/N.”

He didn’t say it like a confession. He said it like a quiet fact — like it had been true for a while now, and he was just finally done pretending otherwise.

I don’t know what I’d expected him to say — a joke, maybe. A snarky quip. But not that.

Not I miss you.

Something in my chest fluttered, then dropped like a stone.

The fire crackled softly beside us, painting the room in warm gold and flickering shadows. George’s arm was still resting behind me, fingers barely brushing the edge of my shoulder — close enough that I could feel the heat of his skin, but not quite touching.

I swallowed. “I didn’t mean to replace you.”

He tilted his head, eyes still fixed on mine. “Didn’t say you did.”

“I just…” I faltered. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

“It mattered.”

Those two words landed like a weight between us.

Neither of us looked away.

I became hyper-aware of everything — the warmth of the fire, the steady thrum in my chest, the way his knee just barely bumped mine. His expression had shifted into something softer, something careful.

And then, slowly, he reached out — one hand lifting to gently brush a piece of hair behind my ear. His touch was light. Reverent.

My breath hitched.

His voice, when it came, was softer than I’d ever heard it. “You’ve got time, Y/N. You don’t have to rush into anything.”

I searched his eyes, heartbeat thudding in my throat. “What if I don’t want to wait?”

George didn’t move — not yet. But something flickered in his gaze, and I could feel the shift in the air between us. Like if either of us so much as leaned in an inch, everything would change.

His hand lingered at the side of my face, thumb brushing just barely along my cheek. “You’re dangerous when you say things like that,” he murmured.

“Why?”

He pulled back, clearing his throat with a smirk.

“Well, that’s enough serious talk for one night,” he said, rising from the couch. “Don’t want to give the others the wrong idea.”

I laughed softly, but my heart was still racing.

As he walked away, I realized one thing was clear:

Nothing would ever be the same between us again.

The next morning, sunlight spilled softly through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the room. I woke up feeling oddly light—like the weight of the world had shifted overnight.

I stretched, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. The crisp air turning warmer, the faint scent of blooming flowers drifting down the corridors. It was impossible not to feel a little electric inside.

I found myself humming quietly, the urge to dance rising like a secret fire. Spinning around my dorm room, careful not to wake the others, I felt the pulse of something new, something hopeful.

Even though George had joked about helping me with my Shield Charms — half teasing, half serious — I knew, deep down, he saw me differently. Maybe not saying it out loud, but the way his eyes lingered, the small things he did… He cared.

After Herbology, Cedric caught up with me just outside the greenhouse.

“Hey,” he said with that easy smile. “So… how was Hogsmeade yesterday? Did you have fun? Think we’ll do it again?”

I shrugged, keeping my tone light. “Thanks for the invitation. It was… nice.” I didn’t say whether there’d be a next time.

We started walking toward the castle, the sun warming the early spring air. The path was lined with budding trees, birds chirping overhead — everything felt alive, but my mind was tangled in thoughts of George.

We talked about everything and nothing, jokes slipping between us like sunlight through the leaves. When we reached the edge of the grounds, Cedric stopped and sat on a low stone wall. I hesitated a moment, then joined him.

He looked at me with a calm smile. “You know, I really like how you laugh.”

He leaned in slowly, eyes closing, and the world seemed to slow down around me.

My heart hammered as I started to lean back, unsure, trying to keep some distance — but before I could catch myself, I lost my balance and tumbled backward off the wall, landing on the soft grass with a surprised gasp.

Cedric blinked, clearly startled but amused. “Guess I’ll have to watch my step around you.”

Lying on the soft grass, laughing at my own clumsiness, I realized that I should be with George. With someone who made me forget everything else — without even trying.

Deep down, I already knew it: Cedric was kind, sweet even, but he wasn’t the one who made me feel truly seen. It was George who lingered in my thoughts — even when I tried not to think about him. George, who was always there in the quiet, fleeting moments that said more than a thousand words.

I wanted something more between us. Something deeper. I wanted to spend time with him again — just the two of us, away from the noise and the jokes, no masks, no pretending. Just us, with that slow-burning tension that builds until it finally breaks.

And that’s why, one evening, I asked him for help.

“George, could you help me with that Shield Charm?” I asked, trying not to sound too eager, though I wanted nothing more than for him to say yes.

He looked at me, surprised — but with that same warmth I knew so well.

“I’ll make some time for you,” — he said with a playful wink.

The Room of Requirement formed itself just the way I needed — soft candlelight flickered against the stone walls, casting long, golden shadows. Thick cushions were scattered near the center of the room, and the faint hum of quiet magic lingered in the air, like the room itself knew this wasn’t just about spellwork.

George stepped inside a moment after me, raising an eyebrow as he took it all in.

„Cozy,” he said, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. „Is this what it takes to get proper tutoring these days?”

I rolled my eyes, cheeks warm. „It’s just comfortable. In case the Shield Charm throws me across the room.”

„Good thinking,” he said, brushing past me with that familiar ease. „Wouldn’t want you flying into the wall. I’m quite fond of your bones being in one piece.”

I tried to laugh, but my heart was already thudding in my chest. He dropped onto one of the cushions, casually stretching his legs out in front of him. The flicker of candlelight danced across his hair, turning it to molten copper, and when he looked up at me — really looked — I had to remind myself to breathe.

„Alright, Y/N,” he said, patting the spot in front of him. „Show me what you’ve got.”

I tried the charm. Twice. It fizzled both times.

George tilted his head, watching me closely.

„You’re overthinking it,” he said gently, leaning forward. „Your wrist is too tense. Here…”

And then he reached out, his hand closing lightly around mine.

The touch was soft — almost hesitant — but his skin was warm against mine, and suddenly the air between us changed. His fingers adjusted the angle of my wrist, just barely brushing along the inside of my palm, and for a second, the wand slipped from my grip entirely.

I laughed nervously. „Sorry,” I murmured. „Guess I’m a bit… distracted.”

George looked up at me, his eyes searching mine. „Yeah. Me too.”

Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned in, just enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath when he spoke again.

„You’ve been in my head for weeks, Y/N.”

His voice was low, rough around the edges, like it cost him something to admit it. His gaze dropped for half a second—to my lips, then back up to my eyes. Not demanding. Not pushing. Just aching.

"And it’s been driving me mad," he added, barely above a whisper. "Watching you with him. Trying to pretend I didn’t care. Trying not to care."

I swallowed hard, heart hammering in my chest. "You were jealous," I murmured.

A breath of a laugh left his lips. "Completely. I hated how he looked at you. Like he thought he had a chance."

He paused.

"But it wasn't even about him, really. It was the idea that you could want someone else. That maybe… maybe I was just the funny one. The friend. The background noise."

"George," I breathed, shaking my head. "No. It was never like that."

"I know that now," he said quietly. "But watching you smile at someone else while I was trying not to feel anything… it tore me up."

His hand brushed against mine—fingertips first, then slowly, purposefully, his palm slid against my skin until our fingers tangled.

"You drive me absolutely crazy," he said, his voice soft but full of restraint. "And I’ve tried to be patient. Tried to let you figure things out. But Merlin, Y/N…"

He leaned in closer, lips just grazing the edge of my cheek, his breath hot against my skin.

"I want you so badly it’s killing me."

A slow shiver rolled down my spine. I could feel the air shift — heavy with tension, but intimate, close. Like the world had shrunk to just us.

"And the worst part?" he whispered. "I don’t just want to kiss you. I want more. I want everything—the late nights, the stolen glances, your laugh in my bed, your legs tangled with mine."

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

My voice was barely there when I spoke. "Then take it. Slowly."

His eyes darkened—intense, reverent. He didn’t lunge. He didn’t rush.

Instead, his fingers slid up my arm with agonizing care, brushing the side of my neck. His other hand settled on my waist, grounding, possessive—but gentle.

When his lips finally met mine, it was soft. Testing. Like a question and a promise in one.

And then deeper.

Hotter.

Hungrier.

He tasted like heat and hesitation and finally letting go. His kiss wasn’t perfect. It was real—messy, desperate, slow and burning.

And it said everything he hadn’t.

That he’d waited. That he wanted. And that now, finally, he was done waiting.

His lips moved against mine like he was learning me—slow at first, reverent, then deeper, hungrier, as though weeks of restraint had finally cracked. His hand slipped beneath the hem of my shirt, fingers grazing warm skin, not rushing—just exploring, savoring.

I gasped softly into his mouth, and that sound seemed to undo him.

He groaned, low and quiet, pressing me back gently onto the cushions, his mouth trailing down to my jaw, then my neck, slow, open kisses against my skin that made my spine arch.

"God, Y/N…" he breathed against my throat. "You have no idea how many times I imagined this."

His hand found my waist again, holding me like he couldn’t believe I was real. Like if he let go, I might vanish.

"And it was always like this?" I asked, voice thick, teasing—but trembling too.

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, his thumb brushing under my lip.

"No," he said hoarsely. "It was never this—never this good. Never you."

His lips crashed into mine again, this time more desperate, less careful. Our bodies pressed together, warmth building, friction electric. Every touch sparked something deeper—his hand tangling in my hair, my fingers tugging at the edge of his shirt, nails scraping lightly over skin.

And still, even in the heat of it all, he kept whispering things against my mouth, against my collarbone, like he couldn’t stop:

"You’re driving me insane…"

"You feel so fucking good…"

"I’ve wanted this for so long…"

Every word stoked the fire, each breath tangled with mine. There was no room left between us. No doubt. No going back.

Only want. And him.

George.

Burning against me.

And for the first time in weeks, I wasn’t cold anymore.

[movfie]

Oliver and James Phelps at Steel City Con

12/07/2024

[the-silly-jax]

Can't wait for episode 2 of #HarryPotterWizardsofBaking!!!

:D

[thephelpsgalaxy]

James and Oliver in “Fantastic Friends” (11/?)