chaeonlyknows

[chaeonlyknows]

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

[chaeonlyknows]

how the harry potter boys would react to you hooking up with someone else. — part two.

featuring: cedric diggory, neville longbottom, blaise zabini, oliver wood, theodore nott.

warnings: lowercase intended. gender neutral reader. informal writing?? they're a bit toxic. bullying. boys are dumb. kissing. unhealthy coping mechanisms. my depiction/fanon!theo. mentions of weed, smoking & other substances. mentions of sex.

note: here's ur part two!! thank u for all the love and support for the first part. y'all had me smiling and shit. send in requests for more prompts if y'all would like that.

part one | comments & reblogs are appreciated! <3

cedric!  there's no doubt that cedric diggory is a people's pleaser. all in all, he has a heart of gold but he's blinded by naivety to realise the red flags of his friend group. unfortunately, their toxicity does sometimes have an affect on the said golden boy. thus how a heated and disheartened rant about how you chose roger davies over him to his friends would lead to gossip, tattletales, and undeniable amounts of insolent comments. the 'rumours' of you and davies would spread like wildfire with those chatterboxes, and especially not positive ones on the ravenclaw guy. you'd caught clear moments where cedric would be snickering along with his mates as their eyes followed the motions of your boytoy.

he'd been laying down on the fresh grass with the support of his elbow, a cheeky grin spread across his lips as his gaze switches back and forth between his friends and the couple. some goon would get the brilliant idea to throw a core of an apple at roger. cedric's cheery expression would immediately drain out of him and be replaced with one of regret — "wait, come on, you didn't have to do that." he'd even shoot you a sympathetic look when your gazes connect.

this would be a common occurrence as his friends only grew more confident with their obvious distaste towards your fling. almost every matter would result in an apology from cedric, whether verbal or not.

"my friend was being a dick so, uhm, sorry about him. truly." his voice soft and airy; it brings the same sensation as a sugar cookie.

on the other side of things, you'd begun receiving bouquets of flowers and hampers of your favourite foods — someone was definitely keeping an eye on what you sneakily snacked on during classes. it would always be signed with a beautiful doodle of a butterfly, and sometimes if you were lucky enough, a short sentence of a romantic affirmation. it would've been creepy had there not been cute attempts from your admirer to prove otherwise. every note addressed to you would always have some sort of psa in brackets like 'i'll totally stop if you want me to', 'i really hope i'm not coming off as creepy' or a silly self-deprecating joke to turn the intensity of it all down. it also couldn't be creepy given the time with cedric's friends and this secret admirer fiasco being so obviously correlated.

you knew for certain that these gifts weren't coming from roger. sure, the attention the ravenclaw gave you made you feel desired and attractive.. but he barely even cared to get to know you. dates with roger were so dang boring — it felt like an awkward, unwarranted staring contest. it was clear he was only attracted to you visually. roger would never know you the way this secret admirer (who was so obviously diggory) did. it made you feel giddy — the epitome of a high school student in love. it wouldn't be long before you dump davies.

entering his muggle studies classroom, cedric would find a note placed on the desk where he usually sits, along with a daffodil. it reads — 'i hope you like flowers, diggory, because our date's going to be at the greenhouse.' unlike him though, the note is signed with the clear letters of your name. it's safe to say cedric was having trouble focusing on the rest of his class, his head in the clouds at the thought of you returning feelings.

neville!  it's unspoken rule that you and neville longbottom were to be herbology partners no matter what. it became a habit after years of doing so. you two worked best in the partnership of each other, earning highest ranks in the subject throughout all your years. but.. that was it, really. the moment you stepped out of the greenhouse and entered to real world of hogwarts, all sense of familiarity between one another left your bodies. you always chalked it up as neville being too shy to interact with you outside of class, and vice versa. it didn't really bother you. something about those tender moments during class hours warmed you up like no other. it was special and vulnerable and if it could only be obtained between the confines of many plants and some jabbering students; so be it. 

to neville, it made sense that you guys were strangers outside of herbology. i mean, merlin, you were one of a kind. you brought a light into a room that no one could resist looking away from. like moths drawn to a flame, you gained sort of a status among popularity. there was no way a guy like neville should be seen near a person like you. or so he thought. 

it shouldn't have been a surprise that neville was one of the last to find out that you were going on dates with dean thomas of all wizards. aesthetically (and probably personally for all he knew too), dean and you were a match made in heaven. both popular enough, well-liked, and most certainly good-looking. yet despite it all, neville still couldn't help but feel so bummed. he didn't even want to think of what it meant for your upcoming lessons in herbology together. how you'd stop clutching onto his shoulder to laugh at whatever awkwardly funny thing he'd said or no longer timidly compliment his good work for the day before leaving the class. would you smile at him less? reserve them for dean instead? the thought was awful enough and neville was certain he didn't want to know the answer to these insecurities. 

when the next lesson of herbology rolled in, you were definitely surprised to see neville seated with hannah abbott instead. you tried to shrug it off, thinking of it as a one time occurrence. but, oh, were you so wrong. 

he was ignoring you. you knew by the way he'd purposefully avoided your eyes with a gulp as you'd try to catch his attention during class. he'd placed himself rows away from you, secretly admiring you with yearnful eyes. the thought of you and dean never left his mind. and if you tried to talk to him? he was straight out the door the minute class was dismissed, running away in his usual, clumsy manner.

the lack of neville's presence in your life saddened you a lot more than you expected. you found yourself drawn to the greenhouses even during odd hours, reminiscing over the memories you had spent there with the gryffindor boy among the years.

the dirt under your hands seems to ease your mind of any worries as you take it upon yourself to fix a broken potted plant. you'd be so preoccupied by the task, you fail to notice a certain boy walk in and get stunned by the sight of you in there. neville's arm flying up and almost knocking over an empty glass jar was what brings your attention to him. you have to resist the small smile creeping up the corner of your lips.  neville, on the other hand, straightens up after he gently places the jar where it supposed to be. his head is down as he mumbles, "right, sorry, i'l—" "stay." your gloved hand immediately flies over to grab his wrist, doing your best not to dirty him. "please." the pleading eyes of yours seem to work as neville makes no attempt to dash out as usual. he stays firm in his place, watching you with wide eyes. seeing that he doesn't speak up, you do the honours instead. "i've missed you. you don't seem to want to sit with me anymore." you gently start with a soft smile.  the words 'i've missed you' knock the wind right out of neville. his heart stutters and mind dizzies. "oh— i just— dean, you know? thought you wouldn't have wanted to talk to me anymore. i—i mean dean's great! perfect! you're super fit. obviously, great. who wouldn't like you? hah, i certainly do, but i didn't want to bother—" your lips are crashing against his the next second with burning cheeks. it shuts neville up from his rambling. he can only gawk at you when you pull away, his face beet red. "i think you're pretty fit yourself, nev." you manage giggle out.

blaise!  michael corner was great. those were the words you used to describe your recent date with him. those were also the words your friends, pansy parkinson and theodore nott, affirmed back to you. they, along with a silent blaise zabini, were the first to hear the news about your love life's new contender. 

sitting by the courtyard, you twiddle your thumbs nervously after revealing your budding romance with corner. pansy, the closest to you physically and personally, happens to notice your skittish demeanour — well, it's hard not to. "michael corner? the ravenclaw? that's great. he's great." her voice slightly strains and you don't know if this is her attempt to ease your nerves or if she's incapable of genuinely complimenting a man.  "oh, yeah — great." theodore adds, with a devillish grin, which earns a shove on the shoulder from the girl. they then share an odd look (well, more of a glare from pansy) together. there's a silent conversation happening which only confuses you. who knew nott and parkinson suddenly gained the ability of telepathy. dismissing their odd reactions, you take the opportunity to glance over to blaise — who has his head down, reading a potions textbook. you don't know why you yearn for blaise's approval but he remains silent, deeply entrenched in his reading. you chalk it up to him being in one of his nonverbal, introverted moods and don't try to take his lack of interest in the news too personally.

over the course of time, nothing much changed between your friend group. it still contained the dynamic of pansy and theodore bickering, whilst you and blaise mediated. though, once in a while, you jumped in on the banter yourself.

"oh, nothing better than ganging up on nott, yeah?" theodore would sarcastically chime in with the roll of his eyes.

things with michael had been going well enough, a little slow maybe. your time spent with your friends on some days got cut short due to your plans with him. sometimes, you swore you saw a twitch in blaise's jaw whenever you brought up your fling's name. but maybe that was your imagination — how could blaise be annoyed or upset if his expression remained completely neutral? had you not known him better, one might think he was bored in the company of his friends with that face of his. 

after weeks of slacking off, you decide to make this particular day a studious and productive one. given your big age, it was best to be responsible and get some extra reading done for your studies. you can't blame blaise for his similar habits — education at hogwarts seemed to be growing tougher day by day. it's why today you'd do your rare visit to the library. struggling to reach for a copy of 'magical drafts and potions', you feel yourself grow a little self-conscious by your foolish-looking predicament. however, a hand from behind startles you, saving you from the plight. you blink in surprise, craning your head to see who this mysterious helper is. blaise is looking down at you with a hint of a smirk. he's still hovering behind you, hand clutched onto the spine of your desired book. the ghost of his smirk is irresistible to look at. you feel a little shameless staring at his lips like this but, merlin, the intensity of this moment has you fully engulfed. you swear you see his smirk widen a little and blaise takes the opportunity to poke fun at your blatant staring. "still think you want corner?" blaise's voice is monotone to a deaf ear, but you can tell he's feeling a bit smug.  he gives you no chance to reply, handing the book over before walking out. you stand there baffled, bewildered and actually questioning if any other wizard could set your heart ablaze the way zabini just did.

oliver!  oliver wood loved his routines. he loved to wake up at dawn to train before the morning birds are even ready to sing. he, well, endured the classes he's forced to sit and progress through in order to keep quidditch in his life. he loved to charge back into the fields after lunch, ready for another day of practice. and surprisingly to most, he loved to hang out with you by the black lake afterwards, all sweaty and disheveled from the exhilarating sport. 

he's not oliver wood if he's breaking these habits.

so the one day he didn't show up to your cute little meeting point, you're stunned. you thought — oh godric, all those jokes you made about 'a bludger getting to him before you-know-who ever did' have finally come true. he must be dead if he's not living up to his schedule! 

but you're wrong. he's certainly not in the care of madam pomfrey or working overtime at the quidditch field as both places were definitely deserted when you came by to check. 

so where the hell was the captain? see, unbeknownst to you, oliver caught you snogging marcus flint right as he approached the lake. slytherin quidditch captain marcus flint. he found it crazy how out of all the students you could've picked to kiss, it was the one man oliver despised. they were practically enemies. and though you owed him no decision-making in your love life, oliver felt betrayed. hence, he turned his heels, making no effort to disturb the two of you as he stormed his way back to his dorm. 

the following silent treatment and petty attitude from him left you more or less disheartened. he was a close confidant, and the way he managed to drop you without a word shattered you. he'd stop talking to you overall. you even learned from a conversation with alicia spinnet that he'd started to become a lot more grumpy during practices — harder on his teammates, giving them lesser breaks, he'd brought forth a sort of 'no pain, no gain' attitude into the environment.

any time you glanced his way, you noticed the bags under his dark eyes. clearly, his nights were nothing but restless. if you thought he was obsessed with quidditch before? you'd hate to see him now. he'd never left the fields or his broom unless madam hooch or, worse, professor mcgonagall dragged him out of there by his ear themselves.

concerned would be an understatement. this man was tweaking out all because of you and flint. pretty sure he'd recovered from quidditch loses better than this. 

you're practically rushing to the hospital wing when you hear the news that wood collapsed in the middle of practice. that lack of sleep must've gotten to him because oliver is beyond exhausted. madam pomfrey has forced him into bedrest (she'd have him shackled to the beds had it not been illegal) — he can certainly lay off quidditch for a while. worry paints your features as you peer down at oliver, clutching onto the side of the bed. he can only (attempt to) glare at you as you flood him with questions about his health. "why haven't you been sleeping? have you been eating? why are you overworking yourself like this — interhouse isn't until next season." oliver scoffs, his throat a little croaky. "why do you care?" he grumbles, crossing his arms like an upset toddler in the process. "don't you have flint to fret over?"  and it hits you — after days of this trivial behaviour from wood — that this man was fucking jealous. you don't know if it's inconsiderate to laugh at this realisation, so you resist. "we ended things." is all you give him, holding back from any sort of expression. it's clear you really don't feel bummed by it. the reaction you get from him is beyond elated. he breaks out into a grin and you can practically see the confidence return to his system. he's looking at you like he wants to sweep you off your feet and kiss you. like he's just won the lottery. so bloody euphoric, all oliver can reply is "oh."

theodore!  he is a pretty codependent person in my eyes. especially since he's recovering from a weighted past. when you started hooking up with ernie macmillan, all his bad habits came crashing down. you were his anchor — he'd often vent to you about his problems with his father at home or whatever struggles he faced with his friends sometimes. he hated to know that any brewing feelings he had towards you were never going to be reciprocated. 

he started going to class high. it's so miserable to witness. he promised you before that he'd quit or at least lay off on his substance related habits a bit — that he'd only do it socially if he wanted. showing up to class with red eyes and a mind elsewhere was not smoking socially. it's a miracle professor snape had his biases towards slytherins because if another teacher as observant as the greasy haired twat were to catch theodore, he could kiss goodbye to hogwarts. thankfully, snape never noticed this change either, too busy shaming a gryffindor during his classes instead. 

soon, you were hearing rumours of nott breaking every girls heart out there. it's one game after another with them. which was all the more surprising because theodore was never really a player. most of the public saw him as one of those untouchable hot guys — he was much less likely to sleep around compared to his other slytherin companions. it was like theodore had done a full hundred and eighty. his mindset was; if you were going to be messy, why couldn't he?

your final straw would be at the news of his newfound habit of getting into fights. seeing him enter the great hall every morning with a black eye became an uncomfortably common occurrence. sporting and piling up this many wounds was a horrific sight. it seemed like even malfoy and his goons were growing concerned.

theodore had been on his way out after breakfast — probably ready to sneak into a hidden cranny or abandoned room to light himself a joint before classes were to start. only merlin knew whether he'd decide to skip a few of these classes or not today. his exit out the great hall was cut short when he passes by the hufflepuff table. in a matter out seconds, one of the boys from the house is pinned to the table, food scattered and other peers watching in horror. theodore's knuckles turn white from how hard he's clutching onto the guy's collar.  you can only helplessly shoot up from wherever you're seated. the expression theodore holds is too grim that you have no backbone to interfere. whatever he's sneering to the hufflepuff is inaudible to the rest of the students present. it's not long before one of the faculty pulls them apart — "it's far too early for such nonsense!" screeches mcgonagall in her distinguished scottish accent.

judging by whatever the hell you had witnessed earlier that morning, you knew you couldn't keep allowing theo to shut you out like this.

pacing around in circles, you wait in the moonlit courtyard for your close friend. without a doubt, he'd show up in need to escape the chaos of the slytherin dungeon. there'd been many nights where the two of you sat here together, hiding from patrolling teachers or mr. filch. the theodore with you then was boisterous, happy, healing. he felt far from the guy you were about to confront. a soft footstep against the gravel behind you is the signal that gets you to whip around. you face the dark haired man with a stern expression, walking over to him in a fierce manner. "what the fuck has been going on with you?!" you whisper-shout, frustration evident when you shove his chest back.  theo's reaction is to clench his jaw, his eyes not daring to meet yours as he looks away. he stumbles back a bit from your push. "i don't know what you're talking about." he attempts to brush you off. feigning nonchalance and disinterest, he keeps his hands stuffed into his pockets. this doesn't stop you from inquiring further. you bring up anything you can — "is it your father again?", "malfoy then?", "stress? merlin, theodore, just talk to me." the two of you bicker back and forth, each sentence spat growing more and more exasperated.  finally, theo fesses up, tired of your endless and awfully oblivious queries. "merlin— it's you!" he hisses out, running a desperate hand down his brown locks. "it's you and your loser loverboy and how my stupid heart can't fucking handle watching you be happy in the arms of another man who isn't me." you notice how the rim of his eyes begin to grow red. it startles you but you can't ignore the excitement in your heart either. "and you thought it was smarter to ignore me rather than confess?" for the first time in the argument, your tone is one of lighthearted humour with the corner of your lips itching to smile. 

[chaeonlyknows]

AMAZING

through the seasons || f.w.

summary: he would love you till the end of time. everyone can see it, and they can only hope that you’ll come to your senses and realize that too.

words: ~6.4k (i went overboard LMFAO)

warnings: light angst, some mentions of death / violence (but dw it's a happy ending)

a/n: first ever hp fic in like, ever LOL so apologies if this seems off in any way. the timeline for this is a lil weird?? but basically the fic starts during the spring of GOF: you’re a year below fred & a year above the golden trio : ) ALSO i highly recommend listening to 'moonlight serenade' by frank sinatra ESP during the parts it's mentioned in. you'll see why :)))) add yourself to my hp taglist here!

spring

Given that springtime was nearly over, it was rather cold outside. 

The sky gleamed a bright, cornflower blue, with the May morning breeze hitting your skin. You, Hermione, and Ginny found yourselves huddling together in the stands and tightly clutching each other to keep warm. 

Anticipation nipped at your insides like tiny needles. You had spent the past half-hour at breakfast listening to a nervous Ron ramble on about how he hardly knew what he was doing, and seeing an unusually quiet Fred pick at his food. You knew it wasn’t like him to spend almost an entire meal without saying more than a few words. 

“You ok?” you mouthed, glancing over at the redhead in concern.  “As long as you’re looking at me,” Fred replied, attempting a small smile. He pressed something warm and fuzzy into your hands under the table. “You’re my good luck charm today. Keep this for me during the match.” You nodded, and felt your heart warm as you looked down to see that it was the fuzzy scarf he always wore during Hogsmeade trips or around the castle when it got particularly chilly. His initials had been hand-stitched into one end—undoubtedly Mrs. Weasley’s handiwork. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” “That’s my girl.”

“Look!” Ginny whisper-shouted, ending your momentary flashback. “I think that’s them!”

The Gryffindor team filed out into the stadium to be instantly met with a cacophony of loud cheers and applause. Your throat was already starting to hurt from screaming alongside the seas of blazing red and gold, though the match had yet to begin. 

Without even realizing it, you found your eyes scanning the area for a particular ginger-haired Beater, and the tension you didn’t even know you had in your shoulders loosened as soon as you saw him. 

“You’re not even playing, yet I’d say you’re as big of a mess as poor Ronald,” Hermione chuckled lightly. “Concerned for someone?”

“Oh shut up,” you muttered, tightening Fred’s scarf around your neck just a bit more. “It’s the last match of the year—I’m just as nervous as everyone else. I need to see someone beat Malfoy’s egotistical arse to a pulp.”

Both her and Ginny snorted at this. 

“You’re right…but that’s not who I was referring to,” your best friend reminded you. 

You rolled your eyes. “Uh huh.”

“Don’t you think you care a little too much? More than a friend should?”

“No,” you stated flatly. But Hermione knew this was a lie—after all, she had known you for five years now and could tell when you were lying. She watched as you fiddled with the ends of the colorful scarf around your neck—a flash of something caught her eye, and she squinted to see F.W. embroidered in delicate gold. 

Of course you were being serious, she chuckled to herself. She decided to not say anything about why you had Fred’s scarf on, and instead joked, “Do you think he or Ron’ll make it without getting a concussion?” 

“Now that’s hard to say…” you began, knowing how the two boys were sometimes often quite clumsy. “Fingers are crossed that my Fred will be just fine.”

“Your Fred? What about Ron?” she raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you care about both of them?”

“—Both of them will be just fine,” you quickly corrected yourself. “They’ll be alright.”

“Okay…” she said, unconvinced that your reply wasn’t just a slip of the tongue. 

Turning your attention back to the game, you heard Lee Jordan’s classic, enthusiastic voice echo across the grounds. “Welcome to the last Quidditch match of the YEAR! We have quite the game in store today, Gryffindor versus Slytherin…” 

Eventually, after the captains shook hands and everyone mounted their brooms, Madam Hooch blew her whistle and released the balls into the air. Loud cheers filled the stadium once again, and all fourteen players shot up into the sky. You were only really focusing on one thing—or person, really. It seemed that you couldn’t take your eyes off him. 

“—aaand that’s a Bludger to the head from Fred Weasley, ouch, that’s gotta hurt…There goes Katie Bell, making a swift pass over to Johnson…there’s Johnson with the Quaffle! And then, ,there he goes…Fred Weasley does it AGAIN! Malfoy gets a hard Bludger to the back—”

Right then, Fred caught your eye and winked. You sent back a shy wave in response. 

Everyone tries their best to ignore the Slytherin section’s jeering taunts and chants of Weasley Is Our King. You didn’t need to look over to know Ron was hardly taking it. 

From there on out it was a blur of motion, noise, and loud sounds, and before you knew it, the match was over and done. 

“—GRYFFINDOR WINS! WITH WEASLEY’S GAME-WINNING BLOCK AND POTTER’S SHEER SPEED, THEY WIN!” The excitement is clear in Lee’s voice. “GRYFFINDOR WINS THE QUIDDITCH CUP!”

The crowd went wild again as Fred made his downward descent. As soon as the tips of his shoes touched the grass he jumped off and immediately rushed over to you as fast as his feet would take him.

Your head was spinning and you could barely tell what was going on amidst the ground-shaking noise and overall chaos. But there he was in front of you now, sweaty and tired but grinning wildly nonetheless as he brought you into a tight embrace. He started spinning you around and you couldn’t help but join in on his contagious laughter. 

“There’s my good luck charm,” he whispered into your ear as he set you down, breath fanning against the skin behind your ear. 

Having no words left except pure joy, you shook your head and smiled as you leaned into him, squeezing him back even tighter. “I’m so proud of you.”

Both of you were too busy to notice that your friends around you had stopped congratulating the other players and chattering with one another, their eyes now on you two. Ginny, Harry, and Hermione exchanged a look, and Ron, amidst his nerves and exhaustion, cracked a grin as he watched his older brother and best friend savoring a moment with each other. 

Hopefully, they’ll realize it for themselves…he thought. Amidst the chaos of the past year, he knew that all of them—especially the two of you—deserved a bit of peace more than anything. 

summer

“Last one there is a rotten egg and has to take the soddy backup broom!” Ginny shouted. You all immediately broke into a sprint at this, scrambling to go outside for yet another round of backyard Quidditch. Harry damn near tripped over his own feet as he and Ron tried pushing over each other to squeeze out the back door. Fred and George were doing the same thing, and you and Hermione used this chance to sneak past them. You silently high-fived each other at this.

“Boys will be boys…” she laughed quietly, linking your arm through hers as you continued walking across the meadow, the grass brushing against the fabric of your trousers. “There’s no catching a break around here.”

Lo and behold, poor Ron was forced to take the backup broom, grumbling the entire time as everyone put their gear on. “I hate you guys. Haven’t I been through enough already?”

Everyone took turns being the score-keeper, and this time it was Hermione (she had also been score-keeper the last two rounds as she was a bit tired, and didn’t really mind). She sat down under the giant apple tree as she chose the teams. 

“Harry, George, and Fred!” she called out. “Versus the rest of you.” 

“That’s so not fair!” Ron complained. “You have two Beaters and the—”

“—youngest Seeker in a century on one team,” Harry finished his sentence with a cheeky grin.

Ron rolled his eyes. “At least I’m with you, Y/N…I guess…”

“Thanks for the compliment, Ronald,” you said with a slight hint of sarcasm. 

It was only a few minutes in the match when Fred found himself distracted. He was supposed to be on guard, but his eyes kept wandering over to you, zipping around on your broom with ease, gliding through the air like a bird. He wondered when he stopped seeing you as just his ‘best friend’ and started seeing you as someone who made his heart beat faster; someone who he desperately wanted to see smile because that’s all he needed to make his entire day. 

“Awe, come on, Freddie, get your head back in the game!” you called out to him in a teasing voice as he just barely blocked a flying Bludger hurtling towards his face. “Don’t wanna be slammed into, now do you?”

He shook his head and quickly snapped out of it. “Of course not.”

“Blimey, Fred! You nearly gave yourself another concussion there from ogling at her!” George exclaimed. 

“I can’t help but be charming,” you joked, sending Fred a wink. “Enjoy the view while you can!”

It was only mid-morning/barely afternoon by the time you finished the last match, but if anything, your sore muscles told you that it felt like days had passed. Adrenaline was still thrumming in your veins as everyone headed in, laughing at the thrill of flying through the skies without a care in the world. 

“Remember that losers have to make lunch!” Harry reminded.

Ginny groaned. “Come on. Way to ruin the vibe.”

You, her, and Ron all let out long sighs before heading straight to the kitchen to whip something up for the six of you. Food bets needed to stop…

After a quick meal of sandwiches, everyone headed back outside to play more rounds of backyard Quidditch. You opted to stay in this time around; the dull ache in your shoulders and lower back telling you you’d had enough for the day. One cold shower and some quiet work helping Mr. Weasley organize his home office later, you slumped onto the sofa.

The remainder of the afternoon and evening went by slowly but peacefully. Eventually, you found yourselves sitting around on the living room floor, playing board games well into the night while the crickets chirped outside. The days were long, and cracking jokes and long talks came much easier than they normally did. Of course, Fred sat next to you the entire time, finding a way to be touching you in one way or another no matter what. Shoulders pressed together closely, fingers tracing patterns into your palms, a hand rubbing your back. 

Harry gulps down his mug of butterbeer before launching into a dramatic retelling of when Professor Moody turned Malfoy into a ferret, earning roars of laughter and “That git deserved it” from all around. Fred follows up with the first time him and George tested prototypes of their Puking Pastilles, which ended with a delirious Lee Jordan and Ron’s face turning greener than mandrake leaves (much to Mrs. Weasley’s horror—she sent both twins death glares at this). 

You were too busy losing it to notice an arm—Fred’s—snaking around your waist, pulling you into his side. But when you did realize it was him, you didn’t say anything, and just simply relaxed against him. It was second nature to you both; you’ve learned to anticipate him sliding up next to you. And, it was comforting to know that he would always be nearby.

Despite being the last one to go to bed, Fred was the first one awake before dawn had even broken over the horizon. The skies were clear but grey, and the roosters had yet to make a sound. 

“Wake up,” you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

“Whaddayawant,” you groaned, voice groggy. “Listen Ron, it’s too early to play Quidditch, tell Wood that you want to go for a round instead…”

“Hey, it’s only me,” Fred replied. “Come on, I’ve got something to show you.”

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you got up, being careful not to step on Hermione or Ginny’s hands or arms on the way out the door. He kept a hand pressed against the small of your back the entire way down the creaky staircase. 

“Ta-da…” he whispered, the classic Weasley grin spreading across his face. “Take a look at this beauty.”

“A…record player?” your brows furrowed in confusion. “This is what you woke me up at 4 a.m. for?” 

“Dad got it at this old Muggle store in central London years ago, he said it was a ‘thrift shop,’” Fred explained as your eyes glanced over the cracked, but beautiful record player on the kitchen table. “D’you reckon it still works, though?” 

“We’ll have to see for ourselves,” you shrugged. 

He placed the vinyl CD into the player and adjusted the needle, and within seconds a slow Muggle tune began to play. 

“Oh, I know this one…Hermione has told me about it before. Frank Sinatra is quite famous in the Muggle musical world.”

“Well, then…may I have this dance?” Fred extended a hand out to you. You shake your head and roll your eyes, but take his hand and allow him to pull you close. His arms wrap around your torso as your hands rest on his shoulders, and you allow yourselves to get carried away by the slow, melodic ballad.

My love, do you know That your eyes are like stars brightly beaming? I bring you, and I sing you  A moonlight serenade

Fred gently twirls you around the kitchen before bringing you back in and smoothly catching you by the waist, and you’re surprised at how easy it is for him. You often forgot that he had a knack for dancing—it wasn’t often that you got to see him do so. 

“And you were about to be upset at me for waking you up,” he leans in to say. 

“You’re forgiven,” you exhale, resting your head against his chest. “But you know I could never be upset with you.” 

Long after the song had ended, you still found yourself wrapped in his embrace.  

Mrs. Weasley was heading downstairs to start preparing breakfast, but suddenly stopped midway. Her heart warmed as she took in the sight of you and Fred standing in the middle of the kitchen, eyes closed as he hummed a foreign tune, slow dancing without a care in the world. 

Deciding not to interrupt, she stands there for a moment, smiling as she watched her boy fall in love with the young woman that she hoped to call her daughter one day. 

fall

“—Godric’s sake, I’m so tired of losing,” Ron groaned as you quickly smacked the top of the deck with your wand, dust flying into his face. “I’m never playing this with you again.” 

You rolled your eyes as he coughed and dusted himself off. “Okay, no Exploding Snap, then no more sweets from Honeydukes ever again.” 

“Fine, I’m playing, I’m playing,” he sighed, rubbing the side of his forehead as the colorful deck of cards reshuffled themselves. “You’re almost as horrible as my brother.”

“Almost as horrible as who—hey, Y/N, is that my jumper?” Fred paused as he approached you and Ron sitting at the coffee table, as Luna, Neville, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny watched on. 

“Dunno, is it?” you shrugged innocently, tapping your chin. “Hey, Nev, you want a go? I have to finish reading my book for McGonagall’s class.”

Neville nodded, and Ron raised a fist in triumph. “FINALLY! Bring it on, Longbottom.”

You shifted onto the couch so Neville could take your spot, and without another word, Fred sat down right next to you. The deep burgundy color of his Gryffindor sweater only further brought out the color of your eyes, he noticed, which sparkled brightly under the dim lighting. 

Fred then shifted to lay his head down in your lap, and you didn’t even do so much as flinch. With your book in one hand, you used the other to start brushing your fingers through his hair. You hadn’t even realized what you were doing until you heard him let out a quiet sigh of contentment. 

“Did I ever tell you that you’re absolutely brilliant?” he glanced up at you from where he lay, watching carefully and intently. “Sometimes I’m surprised that you weren’t sorted into Ravenclaw.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Weasley,” you laughed softly as you turned the page. 

Right as you were about to turn the page again, he stopped you by lightly tugging your wrist. “Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

“What are you talking about?”

He carefully turned your hand to look at the scratches etched into the back of it. They were beginning to fade, but the occasional shifts in movement would cause them to sting and sometimes crack open. 

“When did Umbridge do this to you?” Something unfamiliar flashed in Fred’s eyes, and he seemed angry for the briefest of moments. But the darkened look was quickly replaced with one of concern. “Does it still hurt?”

“No, not at all,” you lied as you set down your book, but he didn’t miss the way you winced slightly as he adjusted your hand to look at it again. 

The rest of your friends had scattered elsewhere at this point, the typical noise now having faded into a soft chatter of sorts. Hermione came back with a bowl of yellow liquid, eyeing you worriedly. “Strained and pickled Murtlap tentacles…these should help…”

“Oh…thank you…” You placed your hand into the bowl and immediately exhaled with relief. 

“I think I’m going to sleep a little early tonight…I’ll see you two at breakfast? Take it easy, Y/N,” Hermione gave your shoulder a squeeze. You nodded as she gave you one last smile and walked away. 

Once the pain had faded into a dull ache, you set the bowl of murtlap on the table and leaned back against the sofa. Fred was now laser-focused on something he was holding, fiddling with it using what looked like a small pair of tweezers. Assuming that it had to do with the joke shop he and George were working on, you paid it no mind, and picked up your copy of Guide to Advanced Transfiguration again. 

You were far too absorbed into your book to notice when Fred had slipped whatever that thing was onto your finger. It was cold to the touch but fit snugly. 

“D’you like it?”

“What is…” You put your book away and glanced down, about to say something half-sarcastic, but immediately stopped. 

It had to have been the most beautiful ring you had seen. Although it was slightly on the thinner side, it glittered brighter than any star you had ever seen. You twisted your hand this way and that as you watched the material catch the light. 

“...You know my ring size,” your voice trailed off as you took notice of the hopeful look in Fred’s eyes. “But what is this for? You know we’re—”

“For when the time comes,” he explained simply, raising your scarred right hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss there. His gaze on you remained steady and comforting in the same way that his presence made you feel. “You’ll wait for me, won’t you?”

Tears prickled at the edges of your eyes, and you nodded, feeling a sudden lump form in your throat. You were filled with a warmth that you knew had nothing to do with the blazing fire in front of you. “You know there’s no one else.”

How your best friend could make your chest ache in this way, you had no clue…For some odd reason, you thought, it wasn’t all that difficult to picture a future with him in it. 

Not when he was your future. You loved him, no doubt, but when it came to describing your exact relationship all words fell short. You were close friends, but was it in the same way that you and Hermione were friends? Or you and Ginny? 

But he’s my best friend, you told yourself. He’s been my best friend for over six years. 

But ‘best friends’ don’t make you feel the way that Fred does. 

Best friends went beyond just saving you a seat at the Great Hall if you woke up late for breakfast or slept through lunch because of a long nap. They didn’t pull you away on Hogsmeade trips and insist on hanging out with you one-on-one when you could very well just hang out together as one big group with all your friends. 

They definitely didn’t fashion you a ring by hand in the middle of one quiet fall night, but he did. 

“Earth to Y/N?”

“Hm…what?”

“You okay? You seemed a little spaced out there, love,” Fred raised a brow at you as he sat up, taking your hand in his. 

“Just…thinking,” you hummed, letting your head lean against his shoulder. He pulled you into his side at this, tenderly brushing his lips against your forehead. 

“About how I’m your favorite person on the planet and that I’m loads funnier than Georgie?”

“As if you’d ever be the only thing on my mind.”

Fred pouted, his bottom lip sticking out. “Ouch. That hurt.”

“I’m kidding,” you glanced up at him, pouting slightly. “You’ll never leave my mind. I’m holding you hostage.”

“And that’s a sentence I’d want to extend for as long as I could,” he responded. 

Voldemort's return and the premise of another war loomed overhead. But he found that when your warm hand slipped into his, body leaning in close, and your laughter ringing through the air like shooting stars, it was easy for him to forget. To fall into you and feel as if you're the only thing that mattered in this world because frankly, you were.

winter

There was one big thing to look forward to today: another Hogsmeade outing. The final weekend trip before Christmas was always a little bittersweet, but filled with the most pure joy. 

The Great Hall was decked out from ceiling to floor as it always was during the holiday season. Bits of snow delicately floated down from the crystalline ceiling as the classic giant Christmas tree stood tall behind the staff table. You stopped every few seconds to admire the decorations despite having been here for nearly seven years now and seeing (and even having helped one time) the grandiose setup.

Excited chatter filled every table as you went over to the Gryffindor table to sit with your friends. Ron was already piling his plate with food, grinning excitedly as he did so. 

“Where’s Fred?” you asked as you sat down next to George. 

“Already missing your lover boy?” the younger twin teased. “He’ll be down in a sec. The lazy arse overslept so Lee went to drag him down here.” 

“Oh, okay…” You paused for a moment. “Wait, he’s not my—”

You felt someone squeeze your shoulder behind you before pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head, stopping you from finishing your sentence. 

“Morning, my love,” Fred greeted casually as he slid into the spot next to you, seemingly oblivious to the stares he got from his gesture. “You sleep okay?”

“Merlin’s beard, Fred, when are ‘ou going ‘o admid it?” Ron groaned, in the middle of chewing his third drumstick. 

“Yeah, when?” Ginny echoed. “I’m going to hex you if you don’t.”

“Tell me what?” you tilted your head to the side as you glanced between them. 

“Oh, uh, nothing!” she said quickly. 

“Nothing!” Fred grinned sheepishly. Ginny sharply jabbed an elbow into his side. “OW!” 

You rolled your eyes, deciding not to question the odd exchange. 

Fred placed a soft hand on your thigh, using his other to swipe a croissant from your plate. 

“Hey!” 

“You know you love me,” he teased. 

“Shut up,” you muttered, feeling your face burn, a smile crept up on your face nonetheless. You continued eating, his hand remaining in place, and pretended like you didn’t mind what he was doing. 

You exited Hogwarts to flurries of snow blowing around, adjusting your hat and (Fred’s) scarf accordingly to protect your face from the biting winds. Hogsmeade was relatively quiet today, so you took every second you had to relish in the peace. 

“Godric, you’re freezing,” Fred’s bright smile turned into a slight frown when he noticed you were shivering, rubbing your gloved hands together. “Here.”

He shook off his coat and handed it to you, helping you put it on by holding the sleeves out. You let out an involuntary sigh of relief once the warmth enveloped your body.

“T-thanks, but aren’t you gonna get c—”

“Trust me, I’ll be alright,” he assured you, squeezing your hands. “Don’t want to get sick before Christmas, right?” 

You managed a nod, and he casually slung an arm across your shoulders. “You’re the best.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” he grinned. “Now come on, I think we have some drinks waiting for us.” 

As always, he had pulled you away from your friend group to “spend extra special time with the coolest and funniest girl in the world” and though you rolled your eyes at this, you allowed him to take the lead. (You weren’t complaining.)

Maybe it was the snow, maybe it was the added heat from Fred’s jacket, or maybe it was something else, but you were in an unusually good mood today. Fred noticed how you smiled more than usual, eagerly tugging his hand as you pulled him from shop to shop. 

“Y/N…you’ll drain my pockets,” he groaned as you stopped in front of Honeyduke’s, positively beaming. “And you’ll rot my teeth.”

“Please…?” you begged. “I’ll die if I don’t get a bag.”

“Y/N, love, come on…” But seeing the blissful and innocent twinkle in your eyes made it damn near impossible for him to say no. “Alright, fine. Pick out what you want, it’s on me.”

“You’re the best!” you squeezed his arm before heading into the shop together, hand in hand. “This is why I love you.”

“Ow? Placing my worth based on how many sweet treats I am willing to bestow upon you?” Fred feigned offense at your statement. “But it’s okay. I love you too.” 

Half an hour later, you were walking out of the sweet shop with a bag filled to the brim, and Fred was magically several Galleons lighter.

The two of you were only a three-minute walk from the castle grounds when the wind started to pick up. What was once a light snowy drizzle had suddenly turn into a full-blown blizzard, obscuring your vision for meters. 

“I can’t even—I can’t see a thing!” you yelled over the whipping winds, trying to shield your face. “Fred, where are you?” 

“Right behind you,” he murmured, circling an arm around your middle. “Don’t worry.” 

But then, you felt something cold and icy slip down your jumper. 

“Fred Weasley!” you yelled as he ran away, laughing with another clump of snow in hand. “You get back here right this instant before I kick your arse—” 

You lunged forward and went sprinting after him, well, as fast as you could through the thick blankets of snow. Fred’s laugh echoed through the frigid air as you rolled up a giant snowball and chucked it at him. It hit him square in the back and he nearly fell from the impact. 

The blizzard added an extra layer of difficulty, but you were determined to win by sheer talent and not take the easy way out with magic. 

Your arms began to ache from forming and throwing snowball after snowball, and you were sure that you’d be getting bruises all over your body (especially from one particularly hard hit between your shoulder blades when you’d been distracted). But seeing Fred so blissfully happy made it worth it—for a split second, you could pretend you were both thirteen again, no worries in the world except for beating each other in Quidditch. 

“Okay, this is so over!” you shouted as you chased him over a small hill and finally jumped on his back to tackle him, causing him to fall face first into the snow. 

“You absolute—” he began, voice muffled. “Ow.”

He fell silent for a few seconds and stopped moving, causing you to worry. “Freddie, you alright? Fred!”

After you panicked for a few more seconds, Fred finally flipped over, clutching his stomach as he laughed at you. “You actually thought I was hurt?” 

“It’s not funny!” you exclaimed in a high-pitched tone. Your face flushed as you realized you practically sitting on him and awkwardly shifted off, opting to kneel by his side as he sat up. “What if you actually were? I’d like to be the one that heals you, not hurts you, thank you very much!”

He smirked. “Aw, so you were worried about me. You care, don’t you?”

“Shut it, I do not,” you scoffed. 

His eyes trailed down your ring, which still shone so brightly, as you absentmindedly fiddled with it. 

“...I think you’re missing a little something, don’t you think? Or maybe it’s me that is,” he said so quietly that you almost missed what he’d said. “A diamond, perhaps….”

“A diamond?” your voice came out in the tiniest of whispers as well. “I think you’d look alright in a little silver…”

Fred then cupped your face in his hands, which forced you to look back up at him. He gently grazed his thumbs over your cheekbones and there was now what seemed like a look of longing in his bright hazel eyes. He’d always gazed at you admiringly but that was because he was your best friend, you told yourself (a lie that, time and time again, you’d try and fail over the years to convince yourself of). Best friends loved and cared for each other, that’s what they’re supposed to do. 

But here he was, making you feel things that a friend normally didn’t. And you didn’t even try to push him away because you didn’t want him to leave; you never wanted him to. 

He finally closed the ever-decreasing gap between you two and kissed you, capturing your lips in his. You buried a hand in his messy hair and pulled him closer; as close as you possibly could, desperate for the way he made you feel so alive because he was the one thing keeping you anchored to the ground. 

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou, he says over and over. You swore you’d explode, feeling him smile against your lips, tugging you even closer. 

the in-between

The chasm of grief, so cold and uninviting, seemed to open up and swallow you whole. 

You hated war. You hated watching the blood of innocent people being shed by the ruthless works of evil. You hated that you had survived while so many you had grown to know and love didn’t. They’re just kids. They’re too young. They didn’t deserve to die the way they did. They’re just kids. They’re just kids. 

You weren’t sure how you even survived. 

As soon as you locked eyes with each other, you, Harry, Ron, Luna, Ginny, Hermione, Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Parvati collapsed into one giant hug on the floor, tightly clutching one another. You had all been incredibly lucky to have made it through together.

Fred’s eyes carefully scanned the room, searching for a familiar face. When he saw you there in the corner, eyes squeezed shut and clinging to your best friends, he wanted nothing more than to approach and comfort you. But he knew you all needed this time together—you had lost many loved ones, and they were some of the only family you had left. So he let you be, leaning against the wall and watching from afar. 

Over the next hour or so, people slowly started trickling out of the Great Hall—parents coming to pick up their kids, families reuniting—until it was just you, Harry, Hermione, Lupin, Tonks, Sirius, Fleur, and the Weasleys. There was an unspoken feeling of gratitude lingering in the air and you could sense the relief all-around. 

Your heart clenched as you watched Harry embrace his godfather. Your mother had died when you were young and your father had suffered a similar fate as the Longbottoms, so watching families reunite always sent a spear through your chest. 

“Hey,” you heard, feeling someone intertwine their fingers with yours. You didn’t need to look over to know it was Fred. “Sickle for your thoughts? Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

Leaning into him, you closed your eyes, attempting to will the tears away. “I don’t…I don’t know.  I just hate war. While I’m glad this is over, I can’t help but think how unfair it all is. People losing each other, being torn apart…Voldemort’s gone, I know, but it just feels like he took a part of me to the grave with him.”

“I hope it’s not the part that made you fall in love with me,” Fred joked, and the corners of your lips quirked up in a grin.

“Of course not…” you murmured, “you’d have to pry your heart out of my cold, dead hands to try and take it from me. I’m here now, whether you like it or not.”

“For good?” 

“For good,” you stated, reaching up to kiss him softly. “I love you.”

“And you know I love you more.”

epilogue (it’s a new spring with you)  

With the Dark Lord gone, there were many loose ends to tie up and much-deserved resting to do. You had stayed behind to help start with cleaning up the castle grounds, before deciding to take the Hogwarts Express back home all togehter—for old time’s sake. 

“What about the shop?” you asked George as you sat down between him and Fred. “Don’t you two need to be there?” 

“We reckon it’ll be just fine—it’s not just us there anymore, remember?” he said, “but, Freddie thought you were more important. That’s why we’re here.”

Resting your head against his chest, you gazed up at Fred and smiled. “You left for me?” 

“You know all that I do is for you,” he explained as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Ew my teeth, they’re going to rot from the cheesy sweetness,” Ron groaned. “You’d think that the war would wipe all that out.” 

“Oh shut it, Ronald,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Let them live.” 

You drifted off and slept through the entire ride home, feeling a tad bit more refreshed when pulling in to King’s Cross station. It was a blur from there: taking the Floo network, carrying bags, washing up, and whatnot. You felt as if you were on autopilot with a barely functioning Muggle battery. All you wanted was to collapse on the floor and sleep forever, but you wanted to sit around the living room floor with your friends and catch up like you always did during the summer. 

Lupin and Tonks had gone home to take care of Teddy while the rest of you were settling in. Chatter filled the Burrow as you spent time unpacking, and you found that you’d missed all the noise more than you initially thought. Dinner was an equally chaotic but also peaceful affair, filled with plenty of toasts, extra servings, and laughter, of course. 

While Sirius was busy telling the table about the Mauraders’ antics, Fred squeezed your hand, jerking his head behind him to indicate that he wanted to go out back. 

Now? What is it? you mouthed. 

Fred nodded. Yes, now, so come on. 

He took your hand and led you out the back door to the orchards, crescent moon shining overhead. A faint smile graced your face as you thought back to the days you spent together under the giant apple tree, reading stories from Hermione’s books to one another, skipping stones by the lake, and tending to the chickens. 

A familiar tune started drifting through the air, and Fred extended a hand towards you.

“May I have this dance?”

You were immediately hit with a wave of déjà vu at his question, and allowed him to sweep you up into his arms. He placed his hands on your waist and you felt sparks shoot up your spine at his touch. Your arms wound their way around his neck as you swayed to the melody, losing yourselves in a dreamy lullaby. Though you had done this with him before on several occasions, it still felt like you were falling in love all over again. 

You swallowed hard as you thought about how you had both been forced to grow up so fast. Moments like these—of pure bliss and childlike innocence—were far and few between, so they were to be greatly cherished. It was easy when he was twirling you around like this; effortlessly guiding your motions, to forget that anything and anyone else existed. 

Closing your eyes, you focused on the feeling of his warm hands through your sweater and the soothing sound of his soft hums, allowing them to carry you away. 

At one point, he briefly stops before spinning you outwards—but this time, he doesn’t pull you back in to catch you. You’re about to be confused but then, you turn around to see him down on one knee, a glittering diamond ring in hand. You froze in place, completely shocked. 

“A diamond, perhaps…” you echoed, recalling that one winter night when you had kissed him for the first time, feeling like your heart was going to explode out of your chest. 

“It’s always been you,” said Fred in a simple, soft tone of voice. “Always has been and always will be.”

Your eyes began to water. “You’re bloody kidding me…”

“Y/N, I know I joke around a lot—hell, I opened a whole shop with Georgie…but one thing I’ve never joked about is the way I feel about you.”

“Fred…”

“...Will you marry me?”

You opened and closed your mouth but no words seemed to come out. All you could manage was a small nod before tears fully blurred your vision and you stepped forward, hand shaking as he slid the diamond ring on. 

When his lips brushed against yours, time seemed to splutter to a stop, and you felt your weary heart slowly but steadily stitch itself back together. 

Except, he was the one holding the needle and telling you that there was no need to be anxious or scared because he’d be by your side for the rest of your life. 

So don't let me wait Come to me tenderly in the June night I stand at your gate And I sing you a song in the moonlight A love song, my darling A moonlight serenade

tags: @htchnr @arkofblake @xhanthexzoria @antriimx @pinkdaiisies @lovely-whale-is-lovely

[chaeonlyknows]

in another universe, your favorite characters are reading fanfic about you. Feel special.

[chaeonlyknows]

“She’s my best friend’s kid.” Haymitch didn’t look up when Beetee stopped next to him, in a corner of the lobby of the Tribute Center, where all the mentors were, briefly, gathering.

They had discovered a few years ago that this corner was a spot with just enough feedback from the climate control system to mess with any recording devices. There was a way they checked, every year, to make sure it was the same, and he was already certain it would be fine. They never discussed anything sensitive, but chose the spot as their place to exchange limited pleasantries in low tones, reassured slightly by the tiny bit of privacy.

“I thought you didn’t have any friends.” Beetee’s reply wasn’t cold-hearted, it was a fact Haymitch had thrown at him year after year.

“I don’t. I pushed him away. Barely knew him by the time he died.”

“But…”

Haymitch should hate the way the older man could bait him into explaining himself. But he doesn’t have the energy. “But that’s still his kid, okay? And I like her, in spite of myself.”

“You’ve never been one to get attached to the tributes.” Again, a fact. Nothing rude meant by it.

“Things change.” He took a sip of his drink, just for something to do. “She reminds me of me. Just luckier, perhaps.”

“Oh?” Beetee’s face flashed for a second, and in that moment Haymitch knew Plutarch had shared the details of their conversation in 11 decades ago with Beetee.

Good.

“If she dies, I’m done.” Haymitch let the words hang in the air for a beat, knowing Beetee would understand him, exactly had he had with his previous statement.

“Haymitch, no.” Beetee’s response was firm, but sympathetic. And was not a real attempt to change his mind.

“He’ll see what it does to me, if she dies. And then the other girl will be back on the block a year from now.” Haymitch knew this conversation was pushing it in length, and he was already looking across the room to find someone else to greet next. “It’s for the best.”

“And if she wins?” Beetee asked, allowing the slightest hint of excitement to break through.

“Then I’m in.” Haymitch crossed the room and greeted Chaff with a hug, not turning back to look a Beetee.

If he had, he would have seen the small smile.

[chaeonlyknows]

fuck babe you’re so hot when you’re just ink on paper

[chaeonlyknows]

Katniss is such an unreliable narrator. She says "Then something unexpected happens. At least, I don't expect it because I don't think of District 12 as a place that cares about me" girl you deliver strawberries to the Mayor, you hunt and trade for the district, when you fell at Prim being chosen someone caught you, when you went to Prim people parted for you, when you volunteered EVERYONE stopped. Idk how to tell you but I think you're a pillar of the community.

[chaeonlyknows]

iconic things suzanne collins did in sunrise on the reaping:

had haymitch declare himself an lgbt+ ally

confirmed snow is still habitually crashing out over lucy gray 40 years later

made me cry over the regina george of district 12

[chaeonlyknows]

𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐎

❀⋆.ೃ fluff ೀ Headcanons. . .ᐟ 0.3k words★⋆.˚ ୨ ୧┈─★

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡.

ꪆৎ You and hermione are best friends for sure, very sassy and chaotic duo.

ꪆৎ Ron loves sharing his chocolate frogs with you whenever he has extra, if you also really like them.

ꪆৎ Youre most likely also a gryffindor, but if youre not then be considered lucky, especially if youre a slytherin.

ꪆৎ If you are in a different house, they'd probably were sisicious at first of you, let alone if you're a slytherin, it probably took a long while for them to see that youre intentions were good and thats when they start being a little more nicer to you.

ꪆৎ If youre a gryffindor, you probably got into some trouble rather on accident or not and they had to save you, resulting in knowing your name and then sticking with them for the rest of hogwarts.

ꪆৎ You four are always making trouble, everywhere you go is trouble dude it's inevitable. 

ꪆৎ If youre foreighn / have an american accent, youd talk british sometimes and they try and impersonate you, probably ask you how to pronounce some words like sum’fin.

ꪆৎ You definitely steal harry’s glasses because you think its funny but he knows youll give them back if he asks.

ꪆৎ You think its funny how sassy ron is, but goddamnit it can be ridiculously annoying sometimes, he’s kind of a smartass, especially as a child. (year 1 through 3, after that he got better with it.)

ꪆৎ you three protect each other all the time, its the only right thing to do.

ꪆৎ its someones being a testa di cazzo to you, don't worry cause the twins, and the three of them got your back and defending you.

ꪆৎ Fred and George are nice to you, you guys probably are good friends since you're really close to Ron. you probably have met at least half of his family.

ꪆৎ they genuinely refuse to get into any trouble without you unless they necessarily have too.

ꪆৎ you and Hermione are the brains of the friendship, the boys share one singular braincell throughout all the years.

ꪆৎ Hermoine and you love to get a break from the two boys, so late night sleepovers or hangouts with just the two of you are more common then you'd think.

ꪆৎ you probably developed a habit of bringing lots of snacks in your bag and dorm because of Ron specifically. boy always asking if you have snacks or food.

[chaeonlyknows]

finding out making up whole detailed scenarios with fictional characters in your head is a “sign of mental illness”

[chaeonlyknows]

Hi there! I absolutely love the short write-up you did for Oliver Wood. <3

Would it be possible to request a short fic of Oliver Wood x Reader (other House) reuniting during the Battle of Hogwarts when they went back to fight, after having previously dated for a short time while they were schooling but broke up probably due to differences in priorities? Like they haven’t seen each other much since the break up and then graduating but seeing each other again made them want to give it another try. Thank you!!

So sorry I'm getting to this late, hope you like it!

Oliver Wood was a Hogwarts prodigy. Everyone knew his name alongside James Potter and Charlie Weasley's; they were the Quidditch Gods of the magical school. The names Regulus Black, Lily Evans and Y/N L/N were also quite famous, but for different reasons. The geniuses, students who soon after their time at Hogwarts became published witches and wizards for their incredible discoveries and talent.

That was one of the main reasons your relationship with Oliver Wood was so short-lived. You both had extreme talents, but they led you in opposite directions, only tugging you both further and further away from each other. Whilst you worked on magical discoveries that went beyond your education at Hogwarts, becoming known as one of the greatest witches of your time, Oliver worked relentlessly to fuel his passion for his sport which would build his career, his future. It only made the few months you spent together during your last year at Hogwarts unpleasant, the love you held for each other being over-powered by ambition, which led to the inevitable break up that shook all your friends, for they thought you would remain together forever, carrying out the legacy of being the one couple that would make it past their Hogwarts days.

Alas, that did not happen.

Instead, your magical discoveries were written and taught in the few years you had developed them and were the main source of protection for all the students who had decided not to fight the war, seeking shelter in the dungeons of the castle. Finally, what feels like days later, you're muttering the counter active spell, the hand holding your wand shaking with the trauma of the war you had just endured. When the protective force field finally breaks apart, you whisper the password to the Slytherin Common room. The portrait swings open and immediately the room falls silent. You announce that Voldemort's dead and spin around, heading into the direction you had just come from. You didn't want the reactions; The good, the bad or the dirty.

You wipe some blood from the side of your face, only to notice that the fabric of your long sleeved top doesn't soak up the liquid fast enough, and that you're bleeding quite heavily. Despite trying to stay calm, you begin to pant, tears blurring your vision, but you don't let them spill, not when you're so close to the Great Hall, where someone will have time to clean you up. Unfortunately, the way you immediately collapse onto a bench alerts more than just one person, and you suddenly have what feels like an audience crowding you. "Hey, hey, give her some space." The voice is familiar to you, but you just can't put your finger on who it is. "Y/N? Can you tell me your date of birth?"

The hand holding your face is gentle, and you can barely feel the tingle of the healing spell against the side of your face, which you take as a good sign. "You know my name." You recognise, slowly blinking. "Hey Y/N try keeping your eyes open for me, okay? Get me someone with skills here!" The demand goes to someone else, but it seems that those are the only words you're able to process. "So I take it I don't look so good?" Your words come out slurred and you feel your body slumping against something, or rather someone.

Oliver has resorted to being your own personal pillow. He didn't want you to look like one of the dead bodies, laying down still on the benches of the Great Hall, which has now become both a morgue and an infirmary. The spell he did on your wound worked, but he had one of the 7th Years going into healing fix you up and get some more blood into you to make up for what you lost. He felt your body sway against his and was immediately alert, even as you gathered balance to sit up on your own. He gave you time to process your surroundings, looking down at his feet instead. It was only when you cried "Oliver!" That he averted his gaze back to you.

"Y/N" He smiled, relieved that there was some colour in your face. You seemed confused yet surprised, putting together what had happened. "I haven't seen you in... A long time. How- are you hurt?" He laughed at your maternal instincts kicking in and shook his head at you. "No, Y/N, you got hurt. You were bleeding from your head and I just barely fixed you up." A look of realisation dawned on your face. "That was you? I... Well I feel bad now."

Oliver shook his head again, an awkward silence settling over the conversation. It was you to break the silence, stating "Well, I hear you're doing well now. I watched one of your games recently, you played nice." Oliver's eyes widened and he grinned, cocking his head to the side. "I can say the same about you, Ms. Published three books. And since when did you get into Quidditch?" It was your turn to act surprised now, retorting with "I've always liked Quidditch, I just didn't used to be into it. And you know, I wanted to see what was so special about Mr. Wood's Keeper skills here." Your eyes scanned the Hall around you, and the smile on your face slowly drops. As Oliver followed your eye-line, his did too.

"You didn't? You know, lose anyone important, did you?" You ask, now sounding a lot more empathetic. "Well I almost lost you for a second there." You glance over at Oliver and smile genuinely, matching the softness in his eyes. "Let me get you home safely. Everyone's already left." You nod at his words, using his arm as a support system for you to stand. You feel his muscles contract underneath you and look back up at him.

Despite the dirt and blood that freckles his face, he looks peaceful. He looks like someone you could find peace in.

[chaeonlyknows]

The accusation

Link to masterlist

Oliver Wood x reader (smut 18+)

A/n: Yay! I posted two stories within a week I’m so happy! Also there’s just not enough Oliver Wood x reader stories, so here I am writing my own:)

Other tags/warnings: NSFW, shower sex, gagging, characters are of age, porn with feelings, nipple play, unprotected sex, enemies to lovers or hate sex (take your pick) once again, do not read my smut stories if you’re a minor thank you

Summary: Oliver accuses you of being the reason he lost the Quidditch game. You’re also on opposing teams.

WC: 2.5k

#gif not mine

“You alright, mate?” Oliver heard one of the Weasley twins ask from the seat next to him.

“Just spectacular.” He clenched his jaw, but his disdain wasn’t directed towards his Quidditch teammates.

Fred and George followed Oliver’s gaze that led to the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. There you were, the only girl on the Slytherin Quidditch team, chatting up with the rest of the otherwise all male team. As soon as he and one of the boys sitting next to you locked eyes, he saw him lean over to you, whispering something to which you laughed as you looked to where he was pointing at: Oliver himself.

“Who does she think she is?” He huffed out from the back of his throat.

“The Quidditch Captain.” Fred’s chuckle died down with the sharp glare that was instantly thrown his way from Oliver.

“You and the rest of the team better hope our early morning practice sessions have paid off for the match today.” Oliver said, initially unaware of how low and threatening his voice sounded until Fred and George scooted away with wide eyes.

Those bastards are lucky they aren’t in the same year as her. They haven’t got a clue what I have to deal with in class. Oliver thought.

There was no denying deep within himself that he was perhaps jealous of you in some ways. As if the steaks weren’t high enough with the circumstances of you being Quidditch Captains in the same year from two rival houses, he was forced to be in close proximity to you in your shared classes where he could not only sense, but was blinded by your gloating with your stupid perfect grades, perfect reputation, and perfect rapport with the teachers. It was too much. Maybe that’s why you infuriated him so much, was because of how perfect and untouchable you came across to him. To Oliver, humans weren’t supposed to be untouchable and perfect. They were supposed to have flaws and faults, but to Oliver, it was as if all this time searching for yours led to nothing (other than your attitude sometimes.)

Your rivalry didn’t stop at the Quidditch pitch. Obviously you could tell that he couldn’t stand being in the same room as you, and you loved it, always sending him that smile in his direction that made his blood boil. To make matters worse, he knew that stupid smile was meant only for him, meaning you thrived on making him miserable.

Speaking of that stupid smile, why were you always wearing lipstick or something else on your lips during your matches? Not that Oliver was intentionally taking a mental note of that habit of yours.

He had to clear his mind and prepare for the game. That didn’t include looking in your direction as he stomped off from the Gryffindor table to see you applying a coat of lip gloss.

It was over for him. He couldn’t believe it. As soon as the Snitch was caught, Oliver knew he had possibly just lost his chances of winning the Quidditch Cup before graduating. Everything was starting to slip out of his hands. Maybe it wasn’t over for him after all, he thought about that as he saw you and the rest of your team walk into the changing rooms laughing and yelling like he didn’t exist.

From his peripheral vision, he could make out the rest of his own team eyeing each other as he stormed over to where you were by the entrance.

“Morning, Wood.” You smiled light-heartedly, as if you were innocent. “Haha get it? Morning wood? Or afternoon, I mean.”

Oliver wasn’t laughing. He never thought those jokes were funny. It was even worse that you were the one telling it at the height of his humiliation.

He crossed his arms, hoping you’d stop laughing upon one look at his enraged frown.

“You’re not as innocent as you make yourself out to be.” He seethed, gripping his broom tighter.

“Meaning?” He could tell through your sarcasm that you weren’t actually interested in all that he had to say.

“You made me lose! You distracted me on purpose!” Lost in his rage, he had let go of his broom, letting it lean forgotten against the wall.

He jabbed a finger at the air between you. Any closer than that, and he’d stick it inside your forehead.

“Stand down, boys. I’ll handle him myself.” You turned around and as you held your hand up to your teammates, who had taken a step forward to attempt to look more intimidating, Oliver assumed although he was used to their antics by now that they had no effect on him anymore.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” You said nonchalantly.

“Why would you ever be sorry that our team lost?!” Oliver’s yelling had eventually caused his own teammates to gather around to observe the commotion.

“I’m not sorry that your team lost. I was talking about your ego.”

That was it. Oliver grinded his jaw, but just as he was about to hurl an insult at you, both of your heads of house came in.

“What is going on here? We thought we heard… What is all this?” Professor McGonagall gestured around to both your teams with her hands.

“She was-“ Oliver pointed a finger at you.

“It was nothing serious, Professor.” You cut him off, your smug smirk had been wiped off your face, leaving Oliver satisfied for now.

“Well I should hope so.” Professor McGonagall pressed her lips into a thin line.

“Shouldn’t it be time for the lot of you to go to your common rooms?” Professor Snape stated, his glare scanning all the players around the room.

“Come on, guys let’s go.” Oliver heard Angelina say to their team from behind him, ignoring the silent battle he was having with you.

Without another word, the two teachers had left the room, letting the dam that was holding the tension flood through.

“As I was saying!” Oliver was the first to shout. “You made my team lose!”

You scoffed.

“Isn’t that the whole point? We’re on opposing teams for a reason.”

“You distracted me!”

“By throwing the Quaffle and scoring the goal? Come on? What’s next? You’re going to accuse me of cheating? Or was that already just a sneaky way of doing it?”

Oliver didn’t say anything. He was fuming, feeling as if he’d have too much steam inside his ears for his brain to think coherently.

“If you think I cheated,” You began, still yelling at him. “You’ve got it wrong! I was doing what every other Chaser’s been doing! Why don’t you ever go off on them too?”

“Because they’re not you!” It was then that with Oliver’s voice ringing out in the dead silence that he realized all the other players from both teams had already gotten changed and left. It was already bad enough just being with you, now he really wished he wasn’t alone with you.

Oliver felt his whole body shaking at the moment.

“I didn’t… I didn’t say you cheated.” He was having a difficult time speaking through his anger. That must have been what was making it so difficult for him to speak whenever he was with you, because he was always angry at you. No, not anger. Something inside his gut told him, but he ignored it while he chose to continue to stare you down.

Although Oliver wasn’t as tall as other guys, he wasn’t short by any means either. Despite that, he felt at that moment that his stance alone could be enough to intimidate you. You were standing as close as you could get to each other without kissing. Not that he would ever think about kissing you… Because of your rivalry.

Time slowed down for Oliver. He blinked as soon as his eyes gravitated towards your lips, being unsure as to why he’d look there.

He couldn’t stop himself and it seemed neither could you as you closed what little space remained between you.

Oliver moved hard and fast into the kiss. He let your hands explore his body over the layers making up his Quidditch robes eventually touching his skin underneath. A shiver electrified him as your fingernails moved over his sides.

Still cupping your cheek, he pulled away, allowing for the both of you to catch your breath. He licked his lips, tasting your fruity lip gloss.

Suddenly, he couldn’t wait to taste you again. So he did precisely that. The combination of the noises you made against him while you tugged on his hair was enough to make his cock hard. He found himself thrusting against your hips to which you responded just as enthusiastically by following his movements.

He didn’t know when he started to feel hot. He knew he needed to shed some layers to help him cool off.

“What the fuck, Oliver?” You whispered, still breathing heavily.

“I didn’t mean to– I can expla–”

At first he thought you were shocked at his actions or maybe you didn’t like what he was doing. Then you started to peel off the outer layers of your clothes, silencing him.

“Shut up” You said, taking him by surprise as you let your hand hover over his very prominent erection.

By the time you and Oliver had rid each other of any clothing, there was a trail of mostly green and red fabrics leading to the showers.

As Oliver turned the showerhead on, he stepped back, letting you lean against the wall. He let his eyes trail over your naked body, admiring what you often hid under your school uniform. He watched the water drip down your breasts, clinging onto your nipples. The hardened buds, wet and perky, tempted him to flick his tongue or his fingers over them.

You arched your back and moaned as he began to suck on one of your nipples while he pinched and swirled the other one with his hand.

“Oh, fuck! Oliver!” For the first time since knowing you, you sounded weak, like you were about to lose control of yourself. It made his pride go up.

You squealed as Oliver began kneading your breast more aggressively, causing him to take his mouth off your other nipple.

That’s when he looked down to see your fingers rubbing your clit, already slippery from the shower and your arousal.

“Stop.” He demanded, the patter of the water drowning out his voice slightly. He grabbed your hand that you were using to touch yourself.

“Think you can do better?” Your mean, teasing voice was back.

“Watch me.” He said huskily. He was leaning towards your ear so close that he could hear your breath coming out long and shaky, as if you were anticipating his next move.

Oliver kept his eyes on your face the whole time he inserted his finger into your slick hole. Your eyes fluttered shut and your mouth hung open. With his other hand, Oliver brushed away a wet strand of hair that had stuck to your face. Once he could feel your walls settling around his pointer finger, he slowly added in another, making you tense up with a loud moan.

He didn’t know what had spurred him on to keep going: your breathless moans or the squelching noises that echoed the room with each pump of his fingers.

All he knew was that he wanted to be inside you. Desperately.

“Open.” He ordered you as he took his fingers out of your cunt. You obeyed him, and he pressed his fingers upon your tongue, letting you taste yourself. You gagged as he pushed further down into your throat bit by bit.

Tears crept out of your eyes and joined in with the water from above that was running down your cheeks. As if your pleasure-stricken face didn’t already stir something inside him, you moved your tongue between his fingers, the movement languid and snake-like.

You pulled away from his fingers.

“Please… Just cum inside me!” Your voice came out strangled.

There was something satisfying to Oliver about seeing you like this. You were at his mercy now, your infuriating and cocky attitude washed away, but you were still so perfect. Everything about you in this moment was perfect to him, from the way your body gave itself to his mercy, the wanting look in your eyes. Best of all, your body fit just right against him, letting him hold you close as you push him to your lips again.

With your lips still dancing against each other, Oliver hooked his hands underneath your thighs, enabling you to wrap them around his torso.

It wasn’t difficult with his already hard cock to find your slit, more than ready for him to slip into you. As he settled inside you, both of you disconnected your lips, tensing and moaning at the same time.

You held onto his shoulders, squeezing with your fingers tighter as he started thrusting into you.

“You feel so good… Oh fuck.” He didn’t know which one of you spoke, as he was too lost in the pleasure of having his cock squeezed by your soft walls to be able to focus on anything else.

Oliver started off slow, letting himself savor the sensation before he picked up the pace. You ran your fingernails up his neck and through his scalp, softly scratching the surface and tugging on his short hair just right. You had no idea what you were doing to him. He had to stifle a groan and slow down or else he’d spill inside you much quicker than he’d anticipated.

With his track record of letting his temper get the best of him with your previous interactions, he was determined to exercise what little self-control he had left.

You weren’t having any of that. Your cunt had demanded Oliver to fully surrender. You had started thrusting into him as hard as he was gripping your thighs, working to hold you up.

As the heat started to make his blood run much faster to his cock, he knew then that there was absolutely no chance he could hold on for much longer.

“Oliver!” Your hoarse sobbing had only edged him further. “I’m gonna cum!”

“Me too!”

He could feel it as your legs started tensing harder around his body. Your walls clenched around him one last time and that's what triggered him to finally spill himself inside you.

Everything slipped from Oliver’s mind, including his humiliating defeat at the Quidditch match. That was so unlike him. As dedicated as he was to the sport, it was that dedication that fueled your rivalry, adding more fire to his attraction towards you he tried hiding from himself.

When you both had calmed down, Oliver set your feet on the floor. Your knees trembled just a bit, so he had to press your body against him to help you maintain your balance.

Oliver didn’t know how he was going to deal with the consequences of what he had just done later, but for now, he was content with letting you rest in his arms as he rubbed circles along your back.

How could he let himself get like this? How could he let a pretty girl distract him from his goals of winning?

[chaeonlyknows]

Dating Oliver Wood !

Pairing: Oliver Wood x Reader Summary: What is it like to date Hogwarts' best Quidditch player?

Oliver first notices you while you're in the stands at his Quidditch game.

He normally was focused, he really was. But today, for some odd reason, he just couldn't. Maybe it was pre game jitters. Maybe it was the air. Maybe it was some fucking hex. But the boy simply could not focus on warm-ups. His eyes kept wandering, studying the people on the stands, studying the other team, studying anything but the warm-up. He was frustrated. That was, until he saw you. You were beautiful. Your hair was messy in the wind, scarf thrown clumsily over your shoulder. You laughed loudly with a friend, hardly paying attention to the game in front of you. He tried to pull his eyes away. Of course, the bloody idiot couldn't do it before you glanced back at him. Your eyes locked. A pathetic blush spread across his cheeks. Then, he sped away on his broom, muttering to himself. “Oi, Wood, you sure you’re not more interested in the stands than the pitch?” "Shut yer bloody mouth, Weasley!"

He could've smacked himself with how awkward your first conversation was. Thankfully, you found awkwardness charming. In the Great Hall, he finally found the guts to approach you.

Oliver had been rehearsing what he was going to say for days. It was stupid, really, considering how he could lead the Gryffindor Quidditch team to victory, but talking to you? That was a whole different ballgame. Every time he thought about it, his palms would get sweaty, and his heart would start racing. But now, sitting across from Fred and George at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, Oliver knew he had to do something about it. His mind was going a hundred miles an hour, but when he saw you across the room, laughing with Ginny Weasley, he stood up, adjusted his sleeves (as though that would help), and tried to calm himself down. He walked over, trying to look casual, but the closer he got, the more nervous he became. You looked up, catching his eye before he even had a chance to say anything. "Oi," he started, and his thick Scottish accent sounded a bit more ragged than usual, “Didn’t think I’d be seeing ye here. Was hopin’ I’d have a wee chat wi' ye at some point." You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at your lips. "You didn't think you'd be seeing me in the Great Hall?" You tease, snorting. Oliver froze for a second, caught completely off guard by the playful teasing in your voice. His cheeks burned a deep shade of red, and he mentally cursed himself for sounding like a bloody idiot. But the sound of your laugh, light and teasing, made his nerves twist in a way he couldn't describe. “Ah, well,” he stammered, scratching the back of his neck with an awkward grin, “Aye, didn’t expect ye to be sittin’ right here, but… that’s a good thing, innit

Eventually, the poor lad’s nerves calmed more and more with every conversation you had. It became easy to talk to you. You got closer, until finally, he asked you out.

The library was quiet, besides the scratching of quills on paper and flipping of pages. You and Oliver sat side by side at a table, both looking at transformations homework. Or you thought you both were. Oliver's hazel eyes were focused on you, looking at how your long eyelashes kissed your skin every time you looked down or blinked. He watched your delicate hands flip pages and scribble notes. You were just so genuinely pretty. He couldn't help it. Besides, homework wasn't that important anyway. You seemed to pick up on his distracted behavior, looking up at him with e/c eyes. "You okay, Ollie?" You asked sweetly. God. He almost passed out on the table. Oliver blinked a few times, trying to pull himself out of his trance. He hadn’t realized how hard he was staring at you until you caught his gaze. The warmth in your eyes only made the pounding in his chest worse. His mouth went dry, and for a split second, he couldn’t even remember how to form words. "Aye, uh.. Fine." He muttered quickly, shaking his head to clear the fog. "Jus' thinking about homework." He added, his eyes darting away. He cursed himself in his brain. He wouldn't even have believed him. Oliver tried to focus on the textbook in front of him, but his mind was far away, lost in the way you looked at him, the way your fingers delicately held the quill, the way your hair framed your face in the soft light of the library. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out, his accent thickening with his nerves. “I know I’m probably actin' like a right twit, but…” He paused, licking his lips as if he was trying to find the right words, but they just weren’t coming.

He wasn’t used to feeling like this. Nervous, unsure. But around you, everything felt different, and it was scary in the best way possible. He looked at you again, the words finally tumbling out in a rush.

“I’ve been wantin' to ask ye somethin' for a while, but I don’t know if it’s—if it’s daft or—” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Would ye—would ye go out with me? Properly, like. Not just studyin’ or talkin’ Quidditch, but… y’know. A date.”

Your first kiss made Oliver realize just how hooked on you he was.

The breeze was cool, blowing your hair into your face. You and Oliver sat below the railing of the Astronomy Tower, legs dangling. You were wrapped in a Gryffindor blanket, sharing it with him, your shoulders and backs covered in warmth. The stars twinkled above you, grey clouds scarce but swirling around the openness of the sky. The silence was comfortable and peaceful. "I love the sky," You broke the silence, nudging Oliver's shoulder. "It's so pretty. And peaceful. Dont'cha think?" Oliver turned his head to look at you, his gaze softening as the corner of his mouth lifted into a small smile. The way the stars reflected in your eyes, the quiet sound of your voice — it was all a kind of magic he couldn’t put into words. “Aye, it’s beautiful. Almost as beautiful as you,” he said without thinking, his thick Scottish accent thickening as he spoke, the words slipping out naturally. He immediately felt his cheeks flush as he realized what he'd said, but he didn’t take it back. Not when it felt so true. Your face flushed as red as his was, but a smile curled onto your lips. You pulled the blanket tighter to your body. His hand brushed against yours under the blanket, and despite the slight chill in the air, he felt warmth spreading through him. The moment felt so perfect, so right, and in that quiet, shared space, he realized just how close you were to him. He swallowed, his heart pounding. This was a side of Oliver that not many got to see—the side that wasn’t just the determined Quidditch captain or the goofy lad with his friends. With you, it was different. He felt like he could finally breathe “I’ve never felt more at peace than this, with you, here,” he added quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "'M not much of a tender bloke, but.. You make me soft." You nudged him again, and this time, your eyes met his in a way that made the space between you feel even smaller. The silence wrapped around you both, but it wasn’t awkward—it was the kind of silence that made everything feel like it was exactly where it needed to be. The space between you was almost nonexistent now. Oliver could feel your breath on his lips, and despite the cool breeze outside, there was an intense heat building between the two of you. Without thinking, he reached out slowly, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered there for a moment, his touch warm and tender, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy the yearning feeling building up inside him. And then, before either of you could second-guess it, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. The kiss was deep, filled with the emotions that had been building up since the moment he first noticed you on the Quidditch pitch. He kissed you as if he was pouring all of his feelings into that one, perfect moment — passion, affection, fear of losing you, and the absolute certainty that he’d never been more at home than in your arms. When the kiss finally broke, Oliver rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath. Yep, he thought as he looked into your e/c eyes. 'M proper fucked. A shaky laugh left his lips.

Oliver's friends realize what's going on — a girl finally has Oliver in her grip. He's fallen for someone.

Fred and George, Oliver's best friends, seemed to be seeing less and less of the lad these days. Usually, they drink butterbeer until they're sick after quidditch practice, ignoring their homework and watching dumb Muggle shows instead. But lately, Oliver had been sneaking off the pitch immediately, changing clothes in a hurry, and disappearing somewhere they couldn't find him. “Next time he sneaks off,” Fred said, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face, “we should follow him. See just what he’s up to. I bet you anything it’s that lass.” "What lass?" George questioned, raising a ginger eyebrow. "The one from the pitch. He was staring at her during the match against Ravenclaw, remember?" Finally, they catch him sneaking away from class. They even catch him slipping into a Quidditch closet, a wide grin on his face. And 30 seconds later, after one little Alohomora, they catch him snogging the girl from the pitch. Real snogging. Hands in hair, rumpled clothes, against the wall snogging. George releases a playful gasp. "Are we interrupting something?" Fred asks, leaning against the wall with a massive shit-eating grin on his face. Oliver froze, his heart racing as he pulled back from the kiss, eyes wide in shock. The sight of Fred and George standing in the doorway, smirking like they'd just discovered the greatest secret in the world, made him want to disappear into the floor. The girl beside him laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, clearly unfazed by the intrusion. But Oliver? He was mortified. "What on Earth are you doing here, you right imbeciles?" He finally speaks, his face red. George's grin only widened as he leaned closer, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, nothing, mate. Just checking in. You know, making sure you’re not too busy to spend time with your best mates." He cast a teasing glance at Oliver and then at the girl. "But I see you’ve got… other priorities." Oliver muttered something under his breath, his face still buried in his hands. "Jeez, could ye leave me be? I’m tryin' to have a moment here." "Sure thing, Ollie," Fred said, giving him one last look before they both turned to leave. "But we’ll be expectin’ a story. And we’ll want all the juicy bits." Once the door clicked shut behind them, Oliver leaned back against the wall, letting out a deep sigh. "Bloody hell," he muttered, shaking his head as he looked at the girl beside him. "They’re enough to make a man lose his will to live, they are." She laughed, her hand gently resting on his. "I don’t know," she said with a smile, "I think they’ve got a point." Oliver smirked, his thumb tracing circles over the back of her hand. "Aye, they’re right about one thing," he said with a chuckle. "I’m proper screwed. But I've never been jollier about it." She leaned in for another kiss, and for the first time in ages, Oliver didn’t care who was watching.

You can’t be in a relationship with Oliver Wood without a fair helping of jealousy. Oh well — Oliver knows how to assert himself. He also scares the shit out of most blokes at Hogwarts.

The Great Hall was buzzing. For once, Ollie was actually with his mates instead of by your side. You didn’t mind — you liked a little bit of time with your girls too. They sat at the other side of the table, laughing and joking. You sat on the other end, with Ginny on one side and Parvati on the other, whispering and giggling. The only issue was the fact that the group of you tended to attract boys. And you weren’t exactly public with Oliver right now. You were taking it slow, waiting for the right moment to officialize things. You knew shit was going to hit the fan as soon as the three Hufflepuff boys, definitely on the Quidditch team, approached you. They had huge charming smiles on their faces — Cedric Diggory led them. You inwardly sighed, crossing your arms to look unapproachable, but it didn't work. "Ladies," Cedric smiled kindly. "How's it going?" You smiled back out of politeness, but you winced in your head. You knew your boyfriend (or almost boyfriend) was going to have a field day with this shit. Speaking of, Oliver and his friends seemed to quiet down slightly, their voices less easy to tune into. They had definitely noticed what was going on — you could tell without even looking in that direction. "So, Name," the third Hufflepuff boy addressed you. "Do you have a travel partner for Hogsmeade next weekend?" Your jaw dropped. You closed it. Then it dropped again. "Um—" You hear a loud laugh, definitely Oliver’s. Then, you feel a strong arm wrap around your waist, lifting you up next to him. The scent of broom polish and his cologne filled your nose. “Well, well, well,” he snorted, in his loud and proud Oliver Wood fashion. “What have we here? A little attempt to pick up some girls, lads? How cute, innit?” Oliver pressed a kiss to your head, partly as a greeting, partly as a way to conduct his show. The Hufflepuff boys all looked at each other, clearing their throats awkwardly. They were trying to find ways to diffuse the situation, not wanting it to get any tenser, but Oliver wasn't having it. If he had an issue, he 100% opted to intimidate and embarrass before he let it go. “I really hope ye aren’t makin’ a pass at a lad’s girl,” Oliver said, his voice light but his grip tightening just slightly around your waist. His Scottish brogue thickened with his irritation, something that somehow made him even more intimidating. “That would be extremely stupid of youse.” You hid your face in his shoulder, trying not to laugh. You could feel the tension radiating off him like heat, but to you, it was almost…adorable. Protective, jealous Oliver was your favorite flavor. Cedric, to his credit, raised his hands in surrender, offering an easy smile. “He didn’t know, mate. No offense meant.” Oliver's smile was broad, but there was something undeniably smug behind it. He knew damn well Cedric wasn’t usually afraid of anything. But Oliver Wood, furious and in love, was something else entirely. “No harm done,” Oliver said breezily, though his hand slid possessively up and down your arm, staking a silent claim in front of everyone. “Just remember next time — she’s already spoken for, aye?” You could hear the cackles of Fred and George from the other end of the table, obviously poking fun at the shocked and embarrassed faces painted onto the Hufflepuff crew. Cedric and the other Hufflepuffs backed off quickly, murmuring awkward goodbyes, and as soon as they were gone, Oliver leaned down, his voice quieter and warmer just for you. “Ye’ll be stayin’ right next to me from now on, yeah?” he murmured, nose brushing your temple. “Can’t have the whole bloody school thinkin’ you're free for the takin’.” You smiled into his chest. “Were you jealous?” He huffed, the sound both grumpy and affectionate. “Jealous? Naw. Just remindin’ everyone who ye belong to.” "Don't worry," you giggled. "I'm all yours." “Good,” he muttered, pressing a soft kiss behind your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “Would’ve hated to start a fight before lunch.”

He used to only be proud of Quidditch related things. However, you are his favorite achievement now. Lord forbid you do anything worth bragging about — Oliver won't shut up about it for a week.

You finally got your N.E.W.T scores back. You almost broke a cold sweat out of nervousness. Your knees struggled not to buckle as you plopped down onto the Gryffindor common room couch, your boyfriend waiting anxiously beside you. "I know ye did just bloody perfect, lass," he reassured. "Take a breath, aye?" Your hands shook slightly as you opened the envelope, heart hammering so hard you were sure Oliver could hear it. He scooted closer, his thigh pressed against yours, one hand rubbing slow, grounding circles along your back. The moment your eyes scanned the parchment, you blinked once. Twice. And then, like the air had been punched out of you, you let out a soft, disbelieving noise. “Well?” Oliver demanded, nearly bouncing on the couch like a bloody first year. "Out with it, woman!" You handed him the letter wordlessly, your hands still trembling. He snatched it up, his eyes darting over the scores — and then his mouth dropped open. “Merlin’s beard, Name,” he breathed. “Ye smashed it! Look at this! Outstanding, Outstanding, bloody Outstanding — ye're a genius! I knew it!” You laughed weakly, the anxiety still bleeding out of you. “I didn’t think I’d do that well…” Oliver launched himself up off the couch so fast that you startled. He grabbed you by the waist, lifting you into the air and spinning you around like you weighed nothing. “That’s my girl!” he shouted proudly, loud enough that the entire bloody common room turned to stare. "Look at her, lads and lasses — smartest witch in Hogwarts, and she’s mine!" Your cheeks burned as you clutched at his shoulders, giggling. "Ollie, put me down!" He did — but only to immediately pepper your face with kisses, muttering in between each one: “So proud…so bloody brilliant…bet no one else's girlfriend's got scores like this…” For the next week — maybe longer — Oliver made it his personal mission to tell everyone about your results. Fred, George, even bloody McGonagall got an earful about how you were not only the prettiest girl in the castle, but the smartest too. At first, you tried to hide your embarrassment. After all, Oliver was worse than a proud mum at a Quidditch final. But seeing the pure, unfiltered pride in his warm brown eyes — the way he looked at you like you hung the stars — made it impossible not to melt every time. At lunch one day, you and Oliver sat with Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny. Hermione proudly held her N.E.W.T scores, flashing them for everyone to see. You leaned over to get a look, genuinely thrilled for her — Hermione had worked harder than anyone else you knew, and she deserved to bask in it. “Bloody hell, Hermione," Ron said, eyes wide as he read over her parchment. "You’re a right genius." Fred and George even gave her a dramatic standing ovation, clapping obnoxiously and bowing like she’d just won the Triwizard Tournament. But before you could even properly join in the congratulations, Oliver’s arm slung around your shoulders, tugging you into his side with a beaming grin. "All due respect, Granger," he said, voice lilting with that unmistakable Scottish lilt, "ye’re brilliant, truly — but no one’s touching my girl." You groaned softly, burying your face in your hands as Fred and George immediately perked up like bloodhounds catching a scent. "Oi, Ollie," George teased, a wicked glint in his eye, "ye're worse than Mum when Percy got Head Boy." Fred snickered, elbowing Oliver. "Think we’ve heard about Name’s scores about, what, a hundred times this week?" "Aye, and ye’ll hear about it a hundred more," Oliver said cheerfully, without a shred of shame. He turned to look at you, his expression softening. "She worked her arse off. I’m bloody proud. 'Course I’m gonna shout it from the rooftops." Ginny laughed around a sip of pumpkin juice, Hermione smiled in amusement, and Ron looked openly horrified at the show of affection. You tried to glare at Oliver, but it didn't stick. Especially when he pressed a warm kiss to your forehead, whispering, "Love ye, clever girl."

You're normally a rule abiding student, you really are. But once Oliver gets a taste of cuddling, he can't help himself.

Oliver Wood is absolutely whipped for you, no question about it. If anyone were to ask, he’d deny it, but the way he looks at you, the way he dotes on you, and how he’d do anything to make you smile… it’s painfully obvious to anyone who’s watching. He’s the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, a strong, confident leader on the pitch—but the moment he’s with you, that whole tough exterior just melts. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, and he knows it. He doesn’t care, though. Not one bit. When he finally finds out how absolutely relieving and fantastic cuddling is, you're on the Gryffindor common room couch. He's exhausted after a Quidditch match, his body tight and sore. The celebratory party they'd had was still evident around the common room, cups everywhere, absolute destruction and mess. Oliver is still slightly tipsy. You are too. He slumped himself in the middle of your body, arms wrapped around your middle. His head is tilted to the side, cheek pressed to your chest. Every once and a while, he leans up and presses a gentle kiss to your face. He could almost turn into a puddle, he could. Your manicured fingers scratch his scalp, running through his messy head of hair. It borderline makes him shiver. It was getting late. You glanced at the clock, sighing, and your hand stilled. "I should really be going, honey." "Nooo." He whined, his arms tightening around you. "I'll miss ya too much if you leave now. Come up to my bed for a lil'. Not too long, I won't get ye in trouble." You pursed your lips, looking down at him. His soft eyes were taking a toll on your resolve. "Please, baby?" He asked, his voice sleepy. Shit. When you reached his dormitory, you were greeted by the familiar chaos of clothes and Quidditch gear scattered across the floor, but none of it seemed to matter when you saw the look in Oliver's eyes — soft, a little vulnerable. You both curled up in his bed under the covers, your bodies fitting perfectly together. The warmth of his embrace was like a blanket of security, and the rhythmic sound of his breathing made you feel more relaxed than you’d ever been. But as you lay there, sleep starting to take over, you remembered the rule: no girls in the boys’ dorms. You weren’t supposed to be here. You sighed quietly, gently shifting in his arms. “Ollie… I should go,” you whispered, brushing a few strands of hair away from his face. Oliver’s eyes shot open, the sleepiness fading as soon as he heard you. He immediately whined, his voice soft but filled with that familiar Scottish drawl. “Nah, c’mon, ye cannae leave now,” he mumbled, pulling you closer with surprising strength. “It’s too late for that, lass. Stay. Just… stay a little longer, please?” You chuckled softly, but his grip around you tightened. “You’re not supposed to have me here, Ollie,” you teased, knowing full well he wasn’t going to let you go easily. “It’s against the rules.” His response was an almost pouty whine, and you could feel his breath tickling your ear. “Rules don’t matter right now,” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep. “I don’t care about the rules when it comes to you. Just stay with me, yeah? Please?” His arms wrapped even tighter around your waist, and you could feel his warm cheek pressed against your shoulder as he nestled further into you, his body like a comforting weight. “Oliver…” you said softly, but it was hard to stay firm when he was being so cute, sounding so sleepy and helpless.

“Just… a little more time,” he mumbled, his voice still slightly whiny but laced with affection. “I won’t let ye go. I swear I won’t be able to sleep without ye here now.”| You could feel his strong arms starting to become more insistent, trapping you against him as he nuzzled into your neck, his hair messy from a long day. He wasn’t letting you go. Not tonight. “C’mon, lass,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “You’ve got me all worked up now… Just stay with me.” You sighed softly, feeling your resolve begin to crumble. With him holding you like this, you couldn’t help but feel safe, and a little part of you wanted to stay too, just to be close to him, to feel the way he cared. “Fine,” you finally whispered, “I’ll stay. But only if you promise you won’t get me in trouble.” “I promise,” he replied almost immediately, his arms tightening even more around you as if to prove his point. And with that, you both drifted off to sleep, his soft, sleepy whines and tight grip keeping you right where you needed to be, and you knew, in that moment, there was nowhere else you'd rather be than in his arms.

Oliver was unflinchingly loyal. Sometimes a little too much.

Oliver was obviously an attractive guy. Six foot two, muscles meant for Quidditch, tousled brown hair, hazel eyes. Chiseled jawline, always smelled amazing, straight white teeth, pink, hydrated lips, and clear skin. He was a Hogwarts heartthrob, right next to Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory. He didn't care. Matter of fact, he didn't even notice. He was all too happy being your heartthrob to pay attention to what other girls thought of him. As long as you held his hand and smiled at him, he was perfectly happy and didn't look elsewhere. However, that didn't mean elsewhere didn't look at him. You weren't insecure. You knew Oliver would ignore it or shut it down. It truly didn't bother you that other girls found Oliver attractive, simply because he was. And he was all yours, which made you the proudest. It bothered Oliver, though. When it started coming out into the open, it appalled him. It was almost comical. It started innocently enough — a few lingering looks in the hallways, girls whispering to each other as he passed by, some even daring to approach him when you weren't around. Oliver never paid them any mind, his focus always on you. But it was when one of those girls, a Ravenclaw who was a bit too bold for Oliver’s taste, decided to go the extra mile that things started to get… interesting. Oliver’s usual cocky swagger had turned into a rare, but thoroughly entertaining, brand of genuine offense. The moment the Ravenclaw girl’s words reached his ears, he went from looking relaxed to looking like he had just been slapped with an unholy betrayal. She stood there, smiling a little too sweetly, her tone oozing charm, as she asked, “So, Oliver... maybe we could grab a drink sometime? Just the two of us?” Oliver blinked at her, clearly processing the audacity of her question. His brows furrowed as if trying to make sense of what she had just said. When it finally clicked, he let out a small, almost incredulous snort. “Oh, ye must be joking.” The girl smiled back, clearly not getting the hint. “I’m serious! You’re so talented on the pitch, I thought we might—” He shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching as though he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. “Ye must be daft if ye think I’m gonna go for a drink with ye.” His voice carried a mixture of disbelief and a hint of hurt, like she’d just asked him to abandon all his principles and common sense. She didn’t seem to take offense. In fact, she raised an eyebrow as if challenging him. “Really? You don’t think you’d have a good time?” Oliver looked her dead in the eyes, his expression morphing into a mix of confusion and complete bafflement. “Och, lass, I don’t need to go on a drinkin’ date when I’ve already got the best bloody lass in all of Hogwarts,” he declared, his voice getting louder and prouder with every word. “And, no offence, but you’re not her.” He let out a small, exaggerated sigh, like he couldn’t believe he even had to explain himself. “I mean, honestly, can ye not see I’m already taken? I’m not a one-man show now, yeah? My whole heart’s already tied up. And it’s not just my heart, it’s my bloody soul, too.” The girl blinked, looking mildly taken aback as though she hadn’t expected such an intense response. She mumbled something that sounded like, “Okay, didn’t mean to upset you…” Oliver, however, was already not paying attention to her. He turned on his heel, muttering under his breath as he walked off, clearly too offended to even waste another moment on the girl. “Some people, I swear,” he grumbled to himself. “Not even a lick of decency to know when a bloke’s already taken. It’s bloody disrespectful.”

To make a long story short, dating Oliver Wood... is a whirlwind of everything. It’s a lot of loud laughs, intense passion, and a bit of jealousy that’s as fierce as it is endearing. You never know when he’s going to show up with a new surprise, whether it’s a grand gesture (because he’s so proud of you) or an embarrassing display of affection in front of his mates. He’ll claim it’s all about protecting what’s his, but deep down, you know it’s because he’s just head-over-heels in love.

It’s a constant ride of feeling like the luckiest person in the world, while also knowing that no one—and I mean no one—better even look at you the wrong way. He’s fiercely loyal, as if it’s his personal mission to make sure you know you’re his one and only. But, honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way. Because when it comes to Oliver Wood, you’re not just his girlfriend—you’re his whole bloody world.

You get an equal mix of sweet moments where he’s overly proud of you (even for the smallest achievements), and the occasional dose of “I can’t believe you’re mine” vibes. And sure, sometimes he gets a little too overprotective, but it’s all because he can’t stand the thought of someone else taking what he knows is his, in the most possessive-yet-charming way possible.

In short, dating Oliver Wood is like winning the Quidditch Cup every day—chaotic, thrilling, and full of pride—but it's your team, and your heart, that he’s ultimately fighting for.

[chaeonlyknows]

Request: Cedric Diggory x Ravenclaw!fem!reader

Plot: Them being cutesy in the corridors and around campus, but instead of the teachers minding, they coo and cheer for the couple?

(professors I thought of specifically would be McGonagall, Sprout-especially bc Ced is in her house-Trelawney, and even Professor Binns)

No disturbances - Cedric Diggory

People never really had the opportunity to wonder if you were dating or not, because the little (or big) displays of affection between you and Cedric had started out from the second you'd become a couple. Hand holding in the hallways was quite common, especially when walking each other to classes, and shared kisses on the field after a Quidditch victory was inevitable, not a shadow of shyness despite all students and teachers being there to witness the rather intimate moment. Surprisingly, your fellow classmates had a bigger issue with your relationship than the teachers did, gossiping about you no matter how far away you were.

'Did you hear that they've been together for half a year now? I was convinced he'd cheat on her by now. ' or even,

'I swear she's spoken to other boys while they've been together though?'

Despite all the talk from those who knew nothing of your relationship, you continued acting as you usually would, linking arms while leading each other through the crowded hallways and having intimate picnics by the black lake on days where the sun shone bright. Cedric, ever so proud of being able to call you his girlfriend, grins widely at teachers every time they cross you in the halls, though you shyly duck your head away, avoiding the intimidating eye contact with those you respect so much.

It was only one night when you'd been making your way down the halls way passed curfew that you thought you'd definitely lose all your 'turning a blind eye privilege' from the teachers. Clad in your warm pyjamas, you'd been making your way down to the Hufflepuff common room. You'd sighed in relief when you turned the last corner to get to the common room, the risk of bumping into teachers or prefects significantly increased due to how far both common rooms were. It was only when you walked further down the corridor that you saw the two figures approaching you, and you froze. It was too late to try to hide or run.

Right in front of the Hufflepuff common room entrance stood Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout, doing their rounds together for students out of bed. Your eyes widened and your jaw went slack, watching as the two older women realised your intentions. A sly smile made its way onto Professor Sprout's face as she chuckled quietly, Professor McGonagall only raising her eyebrows at you in mock surprise. At that same moment, the entrance to the common room opened, revealing your very own boyfriend standing in sweatpants and a Hufflepuff jumper.

"Oh shit." He whispered, eyes widening at the scene. You laughed awkwardly, looking down at your feet. "I didn't see anything." You heard Professor McGonagall mumble as she turned back around to walk down the corridor. Your head shot up at her comment, confusion overtaking you. Professor Sprout followed her movements, adding "Didn't see what?" Giving you the opportunity to run into the common room, all blood having rushed to your face.

[chaeonlyknows]

To My Favorite Victim, With Love ♡ : A Fred Weasley Fan Fiction.

pairing : Fred Weasley x fem!reader

summary : A poetic, heartwarming story filled with laughter, mischief, and growing affection as Fred Weasley turns pranks into love notes—and chaos into something unexpectedly tender.

warnings : Light prank-related chaos, Secondhand embarrassment (mild), Excessive fluff, Teasing banter, One (1) very flirty redhead, No major triggers—just a magical whirlwind of soft humor and affectionate mayhem. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3. This is a drabble, i.e., an extremely short fan fiction.

della’s note : Guys, I am really sorry if it’s bad.. I had to write in a hurry, since I had classes the next day. I had started this fan fiction last night, and finished it in 3 hours. This is the fastest I have ever written, lmao. Had these ideas flowing in my mind and had to type it out in a hurry.. Also, I haven’t rechecked anything, so please excuse if there are any grammatical mistakes or spelling mistakes. I promise the next fiction will be thoroughly checked and properly delivered. Thank you for your patience. <3 Again, hope you enjoy <333

word count : 0.6k

main master list <3

banners : @anitalenia and @cafekitsune

The first time it happened, you thought it was an accident.

Your quill burst into violet ink mid-Charms class, painting a constellation of splotches across your essay—and your forehead. You had sputtered and gasped, wiping at your face with the hem of your sleeve. Professor Flitwick, bless his tiny heart, gave you a handkerchief and a sad, sympathetic smile.

But tucked under your textbook, you found it. A tiny square of parchment that read, in curling, careless handwriting:

“To my favorite victim, Consider it art. Love, Fred.”

You’d blushed so hard, you could’ve ignited the entire Ravenclaw common room.

And that was just the beginning.

── .✦

Week by week, prank by prank, Fred Weasley turned your days into mayhem dipped in sugar. Your morning scrolls would unfurl with whoopee cushions. Your socks would chirp if you walked too fast. One time, a bouquet of tulips in Herbology screeched “Marry Me!” every time you touched them.

Each time, the same note:

“To my favorite victim, I’ve missed you. Love, Fred.”

── .✦

“Why me?” you groaned one evening in the library, picking green glitter out of your hair. “Why not Lee Jordan? Or one of your brothers? Or literally anyone else on this godforsaken planet?”

Fred, sitting across from you and pretending to study (he was clearly drawing a dragon wearing glasses), grinned.

“Because,” he said, not even looking up, “you make the best expressions. Like a tragically beautiful pigeon being startled mid-flight.”

George snorted from beside him. “He’s lying. It’s because he’s in love.”

Fred kicked him under the table.

You choked on your tea. “Excuse me?”

Fred didn’t even blink. “He’s clearly projecting.”

“On what?” George asked. “Her lips?”

Fred kicked harder.

── .✦

You tried to resist him. Oh, you did.

But it was hard not to smile when Fred’s pranks began shifting from harmless chaos to heartfelt mischief. A scarf that tightened when you were sad—just enough to hug. A chocolate frog that sang your favorite lullaby. An enchanted journal that doodled little hearts when you wrote his name (which you definitely did not do intentionally, thank you very much).

And always, those notes.

“To my favorite victim, Don’t disappear. Love, Fred.”

── .✦

The moment of surrender came on a Saturday morning.

You stepped into the Great Hall and were immediately bombarded by soft, floating bubbles. Not just any bubbles—each one contained a snapshot of you. Laughing. Reading. Twirling your hair in the library. Staring dreamily out a window. All moments you hadn’t known anyone else noticed.

And in the center of the room, standing tall on the Gryffindor table, wand raised like a conductor, was Fred.

The hall erupted with laughter and a few “awww”s, but all you could see was him.

His grin faltered just slightly when he saw you weren’t running away or turning red.

You walked right up to him, climbed onto the bench (to a chorus of “oooohs”), and stood level with his face.

“Fred Weasley,” you whispered. “I’ve been plotting your downfall for weeks.”

He leaned in, lips a breath from yours. “You’ve been plotting mine? Sweetheart, I’ve been writing poems about yours.”

You kissed him.

Right there. Among bubbles and giggles and floating, glowing moments of your own joy.

── .✦

Later that evening, he handed you one final note.

No glitter. No ink trap. No prank.

Just parchment that smelled faintly like cinnamon and honey:

“To my favorite victim, You were never the punchline. You were the reason I started laughing again. Love, Fred.”

── .✦

And this time, you wrote one back.

“To my favorite mischief-maker, I love you too. But if you dye my hair purple again, You’re sleeping outside with the garden gnomes.”

[chaeonlyknows]

fred weasley x gf!reader who’s actually incredibly smart. and fred fucking loves to listen to her ramble abt something new she learned, all dazed looking, with a big grin on his face as he stares at her lips move. and when he gets cuteness aggression, he’ll grab her face and kiss her all sloppy, no matter where they are. his favorite thing ever is watching his super smart gf become incredibly dumb when he fucks her. (she doesn’t have to be ravenclaw, she’s just smart kinda like hermione)

Brains and Bedhead ♡ : A Fred Weasley Fan Fiction.

pairing : Fred Weasley x fem!reader.

summary : A playful and passionate look into Fred Weasley’s love for his brilliant girlfriend—where wit meets worship, rambling turns to romance, and being smart has very unexpected consequences.

warnings : Suggestive content / implied sexual activity, Light smut (no explicit scenes, but strong innuendos), Mild language, Overwhelming fluff and humor, Fred Weasley being absolutely feral for his genius girlfriend. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

della's note : Anon!!! Your request was so good, I almost finished the entire fiction in one night!!! IT WAS SUCH A CUTE FIC TO WRITE AND MY BRAIN WAS SCREAMING WITH LINES AND IDEAS. THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING, ANON!!!!

word count : 0.6k

main master list <3

banners : @seldomstardom and @saradika-graphics

There was something almost divine about the way her mouth moved when she was excited about something. Fred Weasley didn’t quite believe in religion—unless you counted Quidditch or pranking professors—but when his girlfriend started talking about something she’d read, or theorized, or revolutionized in her pretty little head, he stared at her like a man at church. Worshipful. Dazed. Slightly drooling.

She was currently mid-ramble, pacing their shared dorm room with parchment tucked under one arm and her dressing gown half-falling off her shoulder—hair in disarray, wand stuck in it like a quill forgotten behind a poet’s ear.

“And if you apply vector transfiguration to a binding hex, you could theoretically reverse it—Fred, are you even listening?”

He wasn’t. He was staring. At her lips.

At the way they curved, pursed, twitched with thought. She was all bright-eyed brilliance and he was the dumb puppy who’d been hit by Cupid’s Howler.

“You’ve got the prettiest little mouth, you know that?” he murmured, leaning against the wall, hair a mess and shirt half-buttoned.

She blinked. “That’s not relevant to the theoretical implications of—mmf!”

He launched. With a gleam in his eye, he crossed the room in three long-legged strides, grabbed her face in both hands, and smashed a kiss to her lips—sloppy, breath-stealing, completely derailing.

“Fred—!” she gasped mid-smooch, but he just kept kissing her, chuckling between breaths.

“You’re too bloody smart for your own good, sweetheart,” he murmured against her mouth. “Makes me wanna kiss you stupid.”

And Merlin did he mean it.

She melted instantly—speechless for once, brain gone fuzzy like someone cast a silencing charm on her intelligence. She clung to his shoulders like they were anchors, and Fred felt the smug grin curl on his lips.

“Was that a theory on transfiguration or just dirty talk?” he teased, pulling back only an inch.

“I—I don’t remember,” she mumbled, dazed, eyes glazed over.

Fred beamed.

── .✦

He loved how clever she was. Really, he did. The way her mind worked was poetry with teeth. She could predict potion reactions like chess moves and memorize spells faster than anyone in the year.

But his favorite thing?

His absolute favorite thing was when that big, brilliant, overachieving brain of hers turned to mush.

Because when he had her in bed—her limbs tangled in sheets and her pretty lips parted with breathless gasps—his genius girlfriend became the most delicious, mindless, babbling mess he’d ever seen.

“Oh, fuck—Fred, I can’t—I can’t think—”

“Yeah?” he rasped, dragging his lips down her neck, utterly pleased with himself. “That clever little brain all scrambled now, love?”

She nodded, glassy-eyed, and he nearly groaned with how hot that was.

“You’re so good at everything, except thinking when I’m inside you, huh?”

Her only reply was a whimper.

── .✦

The next morning, he found her in the library, hair tied up again, glasses perched on her nose, and seven books stacked in front of her. She looked like a war general preparing for an academic siege.

Fred leaned over the table and whispered, “Still recovering from last night’s brain damage, darling?”

She flushed a deep crimson but didn’t look up.

“Shut up, Weasley.”

“Oh, that’s Mr. Weasley, certified IQ destroyer, to you.”

She shoved a book in his face, but he could see the smile tugging at her lips.

Fred kissed her temple and whispered, “I love you, brainiac.”

She rolled her eyes, muttering something about dopamine receptors and oxytocin, but he swore he saw her blush reach her ears.

And as he walked away, he turned and whispered, “Same time tonight?”

She didn’t answer. But she did bookmark her page with trembling fingers.

[chaeonlyknows]

Fred's nerd girl

Summary: Fred gets his loyal admirer to help him pull a prank on a Slytherin. Word count: 1k

⋆. ୨୧˚⋆

Fred never thought he would get to the status of having girls do his homework, yet here he was. He wasn’t surrounded by a swarm of swooning girls (Despite what he might tell people) All he had was one nerdy girl who was his biggest fan. Fred honestly didn't know what he did to deserve such treatment, but he wouldn't let it go to waste. There was no point in doing boring assignments when somebody else could do it for him.

But ever since Fred started to pay his Ravenclaw admirer in kisses when she completed his assignments, she's grown a little too attached to him. At first, it was cute the way she whimpered when the kiss broke, but now it was annoying when she stared up at him with those big doe eyes especially when he was on a tight schedule of being a douchebag.

He knew Molly Weasley wouldn't approve but, he couldn't help it the Ravenclaw was so pathetically adorable. With her big glasses that she had to push up her nose, a timid smile that was cute as a puppy, and clumsiness that always had her fall on her own feet or drop your textbooks. Once you and Fred had gotten acquainted he always kept an eye on you. Not in a stalking way, but admiring from afar how you could get lost in the history of magic books under a shady tree. If nothing else, she was reliable and, more importantly, loyal.

Once Fred saw her loyalty he started to use her to his benefit. When Jasper Pendrel decided it would be funny to curse his broomstick to go wild during quidditch, Fred knew he had to get him back. But he was already serving time in detention for his last prank when he messed with the first years in their transfiguration class. To not further bury himself in trouble he thought about his adorable little minion to do the scheming for him.

He was waiting for her outside the herbology class, ready to give his Ravenclaw his dirty work. As soon as she appeared, arms full of books and an innocent little daisy stuck in her hair, Fred walked alongside her and threw his arm over her shoulder.

"Hi, how's my love doing?" Fred pressed a hard kiss to your lips like he was silently persuading a sap tree for a drop of maple syrup. When Fred pulled away he noticed a frown pull at your lips. "You're not mad at me are you?" His brows furrowed in concern thinking you had finally realized he was using you.

An adorable sigh came out of your lips while you pushed your glasses up your face.

"No, you didn't do anything. It's just-"

"Wonderful! I need my little genius to run errands for me." Fred squeezed your shoulder, planting a manipulative kiss on your cheek. Another exhale came out of you as you turned to look at him.

"Yeah?" You stared up at him with those obedient eyes. Fred felt a mix of pity and fondness stab his heart. He took your books out of your hand and carried them for you like a gentleman. This time he pressed a thank you kiss to your forehead before continuing as you walked down the hall together.

"Pendrel has been messing with me lately and I got to let the prick have a taste of his own medicine" You nodded at his words confirming you understood him. "I've already got my hands dirty and since we're friends I was wondering if you help me?" Fred was getting used to playing his cards right but he did always feel guilty when he requested you to complete his chores. A little ashamed too when your bright eyes gleamed when he said the word friends.

"Okay, what is it?" The little word he had thrown in his sentence was like a pump of serotonin in your veins. You didn't look as upset as you did a second ago.

"What I need from you my little mousey is to sneak into the Slytherin's locker room, put pink hair dye in his shampoo, and take Pendrel's quidditch clothes out of his locker. Can you do that for me?" Fred bent down a bit to see your face. You took your bottom lip between your teeth and nervously furrowed your brows.

"Mh I don't know Fred isn't that kinda naughty?" You stared up at him for reassurance. Fred smirked when you naively used the term naughty. Oh boy, it made him want to do naughty things to you for being so sweet and willing.

Fred gave your forehead another kiss. "Yeah. Technically it is darling— but you're a very good girl and you're doing this for me, not on your own account. That makes it okay."

Before you could protest, Fred gently backed you into the corridor wall and kissed you again, this time deeper. His tongue swiped over your bottom lip, in a seducing yet needy manner. When you broke the kiss, blushing, he didn't stop. He peppered your lips with featherlight kisses, making it nearly impossible to speak.

"But I'm a girl and-"

He kissed you again

"I shouldn't be in the boys locker room. That scares me!" You whined out against his lips. You looked like you were about to cry since he wasn't letting you speak so Fred finally pulled back.

"Love I'll keep watch outside. I wouldn't let any of those grimy Slytherins lay a hand on you." Fred's arms wrapped around your waist pulling you closer. "If they even tried then, I'll have to beat all of them up." You laughed, as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ears. "Would you help me out mousey?" His words had you nodding your head and agreeing to his revenge prank.

Fred did keep his word. The afternoon right after the quidditch game Fred and you escaped out the pitch to the Slytherin's locker room. Fred kept watch from the outside to make sure you didn't get caught. After 3 quick minutes, you were running out of the crime scene with Jasper's Pendrel clean clothes in your hand alongside Fred.

"You did it?" Fred panted as you were close to Hagrid's hut.

"Yeah. But I didn't know which shampoo was his, so I just added the pink dye to any bottle." Fred didn't even care as a smirk smeared on his lips.

"That's even better darling." Fred smiled giving you a tender kiss that had his Ravenclaw swoon.

Then after the Slytherins lost the quidditch game and angrily stomped to the showers. Fred wished he had a camera to capture the lovely moment. They came out of the locker room looking like a circus. Mattheo Riddle and Lorenzo with pink hair. Malfoy with pink-dyed hands. And lastly, Jasper Pendrel ran to out the locker room naked, trying to cover himself up with his arms, with vibrant pink hair and furious.

"Oh that's my baby!" Fred celebrated by picking you up and making you squeal.

If Fred freaked you out you didn't understand the vibe lol. I'm sorry for my top gun girlies! Hate to switch roads, this was out of the blue idea