romanczukowsky

[romanczukowsky]

Caught in the Dark part. III

Pairing: Fred x George x Reader (threesome)

Summary: A secret, intense encounter unfolds in a hidden room as Fred and George share a passionate, intimate moment with the Reader. The tension builds between them, exploring themes of trust, surrender, and desire in a slow-burning, sensual threesome.

Content Warnings: Explicit sexual content, threesome, consensual non-monogamy, sexual exploration

Fred hadn’t let go of my hand for a second, guiding me quietly through a corridor that felt less and less familiar with every step. George followed just behind — silent, but no less present. I could feel both of them under my skin like a charge in the air. My steps were light, but my heart was pounding.

Finally, Fred stopped in front of a tall, dusty bookshelf stacked with old, faded tomes. He glanced over his shoulder at George, asking something silently. George nodded.

Fred lifted a hand and lightly touched one of the books — an ordinary one, at first glance. Hogwarts: A History. The irony almost sparked. I heard a soft click, and the shelf trembled before sliding smoothly aside, revealing a narrow passage cloaked in shadow.

“Ladies first,” Fred whispered, leaning close to my ear.

I shivered. The darkness behind the shelf looked like something out of a forbidden tale — but their presence made me want to step in, not run.

Inside, it was quiet. Brick walls, dusty shelves, a few candles flickering like they’d just been lit. It smelled of old wood and dust… but also something else. Something that smelled like them.

Before I could take it all in, Fred slid the shelf closed behind us. We were alone. Sealed off. Hidden from the world.

George’s fingers brushed the back of my neck. “No one comes here. No one will hear. No one will find you… unless you want them to.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

Fred stepped closer until my back touched the cold wall. He braced his hands on either side of my head, leaning in so close I could feel his breath on my lips.

“Look at her, George,” he said quietly. “She just stepped inside and she’s already burning up.”

George approached from the other side. His fingers lifted my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his.

“You know what I love most about places like this?” he murmured. “Anything goes. And nothing has to end too quickly.”

Their bodies closed in on mine, surrounding me. Fred brushed his lips against my cheek, while George’s hand settled on my hip, his thumb tracing slow circles over the thin fabric of my skirt.

“Close your eyes,” Fred said suddenly.

I looked at him, questioning.

“Just for a moment,” he added gently. “Trust us.”

I did.

The darkness sharpened every touch. Every whisper.

Their hands moved slowly. One touched my neck. The other, my wrist. Gentle. Exploring. I no longer knew who was where — and it was perfect.

“Guess,” came a whisper. “Is it me… or my brother?”

Their game was only just beginning.

Fingers undid the buttons of my shirt with almost ceremonial care, as if each fastening were part of a ritual. My skin trembled where they touched it for the first time, and I couldn’t tell which of them it was — and that only made it more intense.

One of them pressed a kiss to my collarbone, slow and deliberate, while the other traced his hands down my sides from behind — careful, confident, and impossibly steady.

“We’ve imagined you so many times,” one whispered. “But none of those fantasies came close to how you’re reacting now.”

“Didn’t you know?” murmured the other, brushing the skin near your hairline. “That we’ve been watching you… for a long time?”

I gasped softly, my breath catching at the contrast — mouth on skin, fingers on fabric, both unraveling me in quiet synchrony.

"You're trembling again," one of them whispered, voice close to my ear — low, amused, and entirely too knowing. "Do you know which of us has you now?"

I shook my head, eyes still closed. I didn’t want to know. Not yet.

Fingers slipped beneath the hem of my shirt, knuckles brushing my ribs, spreading warmth through me like fire. The kiss at my throat deepened, lips parting just slightly, while behind me, the other one pressed closer, letting me feel the full intent of his body against mine.

"You’re not saying stop," the voice murmured again — maybe the same one. Maybe not.

I barely managed to breathe, "Don’t."

That was all they needed.

Buttons gave way under careful hands — not rushed, but reverent, like every inch of me was something to be unwrapped, discovered. One of them brushed their knuckles across my bare stomach, a touch that made my entire body tighten in response. The other kissed a path up my neck, slow and patient, like he had all the time in the world.

"You’re letting go now," one of them said, voice low, almost a purr. "Good."

And I was. Because in this hidden room, wrapped between two shadows I knew too well, I wasn’t thinking anymore.

I was only feeling — a slow, deliberate heat spreading through me, each touch igniting a fire beneath my skin. Fingers moved with purpose, tracing lines I didn’t know I was aching to feel, mapping out my body as if it were a secret they were desperate to uncover.

A breath, hot and shallow, brushed my ear. “You’re mine,” a voice whispered — low, possessive, impossible to ignore.

My knees weakened. I couldn’t tell who was where anymore. Lips grazed my neck, sucking softly, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. I gasped, barely able to hold myself together, caught between wanting to surrender completely and the fierce need to stay in control — even if just a little.

My hands were searching for the bulges in their pants. Eyes still closed, I stumbled into something firm just below his waist. A voice low and mischievous whispered, “Not so fast.”

Before I could protest, strong hands spun me around. The light in the room caught the glint in those eyes — wild, hungry, daring. “We’re not just here to play with fire,” the voice murmured. “We want to watch you burn.”

One hand slid to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, while the other pressed firmly at my hip, pulling me closer — dangerously close. My breath hitched, heart pounding against ribs that felt too fragile to contain it.

“Open your eyes,” came the command — and when I did, there was no hesitation. Their faces were inches from mine, expressions raw, almost predatory.

Fred grabbed my hands, leading me toward a small wooden stool tucked away in the corner of the room. My legs were unsteady, but I let him lead me, my heart pounding loud enough to drown out everything else.

With careful firmness, he planted me, and his hands stayed on my wrists for a moment before letting them go. Then, without a word, Fred knelt in front of me - his eyes were dark.

George circled behind me, his breath warm on my neck, and his hands traced slow patterns along my arms before moving down to kiss my breasts through the thin material of my bra. The sensation sent a shiver through me. I was completely surrounded - held in their arms, yet untethered.

“You'll love it.” - whispered Fred. My pulse quickened, and despite the fire burning inside, a calm acceptance swept over me.

Fred’s fingers stopped at the thin edge of my underwear, gently shifting the fabric before he kissed my bare skin.

His tongue licked and teased my most sensitive, intimate spot. The warmth of his touch spread over me, making my muscles tense and my legs part slightly.

Fred took his time — every movement deliberate, measured. I could feel his tongue exploring new, inflamed places. Every touch, every whisper from his lips increased my readiness and desire, making me lose control.

Behind me, George continued kissing through the material, his hands boldly roaming my body, amplifying every sensation Fred was evoking from the front. I was trapped between them — theirs completely, vulnerable and willing.

Fred’s tongue traced slow circles, each one sending a fresh wave of heat rushing through me. His breath was warm, almost intoxicating against my skin, while his hands remained steady, grounding me in the moment.

The contrast between Fred’s teasing tongue and George’s bold hands overwhelmed my senses. I was caught in a delicious tension — every nerve alive, every inch of me craving more.

Without breaking contact, Fred’s tongue flicked sharper, more demanding, and a soft moan escaped my lips. Fred’s tongue moved with purpose, teasing and exploring, coaxing every nerve to life beneath his touch. Heat coiled deep inside me, tightening with each stroke, each flick, until I couldn’t hold back any longer.

With a low, breathy moan, I arched into him, my body trembling as I surrendered to the waves of pleasure rolling through me. My hands found his hair, fingers threading through the dark strands as I guided him closer, needing more, wanting to show him exactly how he made me feel.

Fred pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire. He slowly wiped his mouth with his thumb and murmured in a low, sexy voice, “You’re irresistible.”

Behind me, George’s lips continued to press against the fabric of my bra through the open shirt. Slowly, his fingers slid under the edge of the fabric, gently lifting the material upwards. His breath warmed the exposed skin as he kissed my nipple, tender at first, then with growing hunger.

A soft gasp escaped me, the contrast between Fred’s teasing tongue below and George’s warm mouth above setting every nerve on fire.

George’s kisses grew bolder, his tongue flicking lightly over my nipple, sending sparks that danced through my entire body. His hand slid around my waist, pulling me closer against him, grounding me even as my senses threatened to unravel.

Fred’s fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns along my inner thigh, his breath warm against my skin. The tension between us thickened, every touch igniting something deeper inside me.

I bit my lip, heart pounding, caught between control and surrender as their hands and lips explored with confident intent.

Then, George’s hand slid up gently, cupping the back of my neck. With a slow, deliberate motion, he pulled my head toward him, his eyes dark and hungry. Our lips met in a fierce, electric kiss — fierce but loaded with unspoken promises, pulling me deeper into this intoxicating moment.

His hands tangled in my hair, guiding me with a mix of tenderness and urgency. The taste of him was sharp, addictive — a heady mix of heat and desire that made my knees weaken. Every second stretched, every breath shared, until I was lost between the flames of passion they ignited.

Fred’s hands slid from my thigh up under the hem of my shirt, fingers skimming over the curve of my waist, tracing slow, teasing paths that made me shiver. He pressed closer, his lips barely grazing my skin as he whispered, “You belong to us now.”

George broke the kiss, his eyes locking with mine—intense, dark, and utterly possessive. One hand slipped down to my back, pulling me flush against him, while the other lingered on my neck, fingers warm and firm.

The room seemed to pulse with their presence, their touch, their breath. I was caught in a delicious, dizzying storm—every nerve alight, every sense overwhelmed.

“Ready for more?” George’s voice was a low rumble, a challenge and a promise all at once. As he spoke, his fingers moved to the buttons of his own shirt, slowly undoing them, revealing the skin beneath.

I nodded, my voice lost in the fire burning through me.

Fred smiled—a slow, dangerous smile—before lowering his head to claim the bare skin of my collarbone with a searing kiss.

Fred’s lips left a trail of heat along my collarbone, his breath hot against my skin. Meanwhile, George’s hands traced a bold path from my waist up to my shoulders, fingers curling gently around me, pulling me closer with an intensity that made my knees weak.

He cupped my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek as his eyes bore into mine. Without breaking the gaze, he leaned in, his lips barely brushing mine before he whispered, “Tell me what you want.”

The question hung heavy in the air, charged with promise and need. I swallowed hard, heart racing, and met his dark, searching eyes.

“I want you,” I breathed, voice trembling but honest.

George's kiss deepened, and his hands slid from my face to my back, drawing me even closer. I felt every inch of his body pushing against mine, grounding me, igniting a fire that spread faster than I could control.

George pulled back just enough to purr into my mouth: “We're just getting started.”

Fred followed behind me, his fingers sliding slowly, deliberately—tracing my skin through the thin fabric of my shirt. His touch sent electric shivers down my spine.

“You’re mine,” he whispered softly by my ear, his voice low and promising.

I looked up at him, took a breath, and without hesitation, kissed him deeply—giving myself over fully to the moment.

Meanwhile, George stood in front of me, his hands gripping my thighs firmly. His movements were steady, confident—I felt him sliding inside me slowly, intensifying the connection between us.

I was stretched between them, their touch and presence consuming me completely—irresistible, unstoppable.

The contrast between Fred’s teasing fingers at my back and George’s steady rhythm before me was dizzying. My breath hitched as every nerve flared to life, caught between their hands and mouths.

Fred’s lips traced a fiery path down my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make me gasp. His fingers pressed into my waist, holding me close, anchoring me as waves of pleasure built within me.

George’s hands tightened on my thighs, pulling me closer, every movement deliberate and sure. His eyes never left mine—dark, intense, demanding.

“Look at me,” he murmured, voice rough with need.

I obeyed, my gaze locked on his, and in that moment, the world narrowed until only the two of us existed—yet I could still feel Fred’s warmth behind me, a constant, thrilling presence.

My hands found George’s shoulders, gripping tightly as the sensation overwhelmed me. I was falling—falling into them, into this exquisite torment of desire and surrender.

“Hold on,” George whispered, his voice thick with promise.

And I did. Because there was nowhere else I wanted to be.

His breath hitched as the tension in him built, and just as he was about to lose control, I slid slowly off the stool and sank to my knees before him. I looked up at Fred, my eyes locking with his. “Come here,” I whispered.

Fred stepped closer without hesitation, a low smile spreading across his lips as he allowed me to pull him toward me. Now, with both of them within reach, the heat between us ignited even further—each ready to give and take in equal measure.

They looked down at me, their eyes dark and heavy with desire. I looked up, breathless and open.

Slowly, their bodies tensed, and with whispered moans, they reached their peaks — their release finding its way to my lips, warm and urgent.

I held them close, tasting the fire between us, feeling every shiver and sigh that passed through our shared moment.

In that silence afterward, with hearts still racing and breaths mingling, I knew this was just the beginning — a promise of all the nights to come.

[romanczukowsky]

Magic Meets Muggle part. II

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader (Y/N) Summary: A magical encounter that turns into an intimate journey of discovery, where boundaries between the Muggle and wizarding worlds blur, and feelings deepen beyond mere attraction. Content Warning: Explicit scenes of intimacy and romance; mature content Author’s Note: I hope this story enchants you and brings a little magic to your day. Thanks for reading! ✨💫

-----------------------FRED POV ------------------------------

I was sneaking through the garden like some kind of thief. Shoes in hand, shirt half-buttoned, hair completely messed up. Not that it was anything new — but this time, it felt... different.

I was getting close to the house when the kitchen door creaked open softly. And of course — as if he’d been waiting for me — George.

He was leaning against the doorframe, in his pajamas, holding a mug of tea, one eyebrow raised.

"Funny, little brother… since when does a walk in the park end at three in the morning with a half-open shirt and a suspicious blush?"

"Funny, since when do you drink tea like Mum and wait up to interrogate me?" I replied, trying to sound light, but I knew I was caught.

George smiled slowly. "So… Muggle girl?"

I sighed and dropped heavily into a chair. "It wasn’t just… you know. She’s different."

"Different like... ‘maybe I’ll introduce her to Mum’ kind of different?" George clutched his chest dramatically.

"Shut up." I muttered with a grin.

But inside... I barely recognized myself.

-----------------------Y/N POV ------------------------------

The sound woke me.

Still half-asleep, I sat up on bed. I turned my head toward the window — and froze.

There, perched on the outer ledge, was an owl.

A real owl.

Large, dark, with feathers that shimmered subtly in the morning light. Her eyes stared straight at me. For a moment, we just looked at each other in complete silence. I didn’t move. Neither did she. Then, slowly, she lifted one leg. Only then did I notice the small roll of paper tied neatly to it with a thin cord.

I stood up cautiously, suddenly aware of how absurd this all felt. Still, I walked toward the window. Carefully.

As I unlatched it and pushed the glass open, a breeze slipped in — cool and clean. The owl didn’t flinch. She tilted her head slightly and raised her leg a bit higher, as if to say, “Come on now. Don’t keep me waiting.”

— “Alright... ” — I muttered under my breath, fingers moving gingerly toward the parchment.

As soon as the note was free, she launched off the sill with a quiet sweep of her wings. I stood there for a long moment, heart thudding a little too fast, holding a message from God knows who.

The paper was warm, like it had been carried a long way. Unrolling it slowly, my eyes scanned the handwriting —

Y/N, If you thought it was just one night, then you really don’t know how stubborn I can be. I want to show you more. Meet me today. I have something special for you. — F

I read it twice. Then a third time.

Something twisted in my chest — nerves, maybe. Or hope. Probably both.

I should have felt ridiculous. I should have questioned it more. But instead, I looked out the window, toward the open sky, and whispered:

"Alright, Fred. Surprise me."

It was just past eleven when I heard the car. A beat-up, sky-blue Ford Anglia parked just outside my house.

“Morning,” he said, eyes glinting.

I felt a rush of warmth creep up my checks— unmistakable blush. Without a word, I stepped outside and slid into the passenger seat.

Fred glanced around, once, twice — checking the street. Then, satisfied no one was watching, he reached for a small switch near the steering wheel.

‘Hold on,’ he said, grinning.

He flicked it.

The car gave a faint, vibrating hum… and lifted off the ground.

We rose — gently, impossibly — above the houses, above the trees, above everything familiar. I gripped the edge of my seat, breath caught somewhere between terror and awe.

“Now,” he said, reaching into a little compartment, “these are for you.”

He handed me a pair of glasses — strange ones. Round-lensed. The glass shimmered faintly, almost like it wasn’t glass at all.

“You’ll need these. Muggle eyes won’t catch the good stuff.”

I took them, hesitating slightly. “They won’t explode, right?”

Fred tilted his head, thinking. “Statistically? Unlikely.”

“Comforting,” and I put them on. The moment I did, the world cracked open.

Lines of light ran through the air like invisible threads — glowing trails in the sky. Far off, between clouds, floated creatures I couldn’t name — long, weightless things that shimmered like sea glass. A castle-like building hovered in the distance, its towers slowly rotating, casting shadows that bent physics. Beneath us, a small lake glowed from within, like it held stars at the bottom.

Fred glanced over, watching my expression. “Well?”

“This is…”

“Bloody brilliant? I know,” he smirked. “Made the glasses myself. Took ages to get the enchantments right.”

I turned to him, half-laughing. “You made these… yourself?”

“‘Course I did,” he said, voice softer now. “Can’t have you missing out just ‘cause your world didn’t bother to show you this part.”

We flew in comfortable silence for a while. He dipped the car slightly, steering toward a valley covered in deep green, then rose higher, skimming the edge of a cloud that shimmered like champagne bubbles.

At some point, I reached for his hand without really thinking. He let me take it — didn’t say a word — just squeezed it gently.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything this beautiful,” I said, eyes still on the sky.

“Same,” he said.

I looked over at him, catching the way his eyes were on the sky anymore. They were on me.

His lips twitched into a barely-there smile before he looked forward again.

“We're landing,” he said casually, like that was a perfectly normal thing to say while levitating in an invisible car above the countryside.

The car began to descend smoothly, clouds parting as the valley below took sharper form.

“Where are we?” I asked, leaning forward slightly.

“Little place called Wickers Hollow. Magical town, but quiet. Mostly locals. It’s… safer than most. Still,” he added, reaching across me to open the door once we hovered low enough, “stay close to me, yeah? Not everyone’s used to Muggles just… walking in.”

Something about the way he said it — low, careful — made my heart skip, but I nodded.

“Close,” I echoed, stepping out beside him.

The ground underfoot felt strange. Like the cobblestones had their own pulse. I kept my hand near his without meaning to, and he didn’t let the space grow.

He led me through the small marketplace. Stalls bustled with things I couldn’t name — self-stirring teacups, parchment that whispered, bottles of ink that changed color with your mood. A man with wild white eyebrows offered Fred something from a velvet pouch. Fred shook his head, grinning.

We stopped at a little cart with a striped awning. Fred handed the woman a few coins — not paper money, but large, bronze ones that clinked with weight. He caught me staring.

“This is Galleons.. Sickles...Knuts. Want to try something?”

I eyed the display. Most of it wiggled.

“What’s… that?” I pointed cautiously to a pale purple sweet that floated just above the glass.

“Levity Drops,” he said, already buying two. “They’ll make you feel a little lighter on your feet. Just don’t eat more than one, or we’ll have to fish you down from a tree.”

He handed me one. I took it, watching it hover an inch above my palm.

It melted like cool fog in my mouth, and suddenly my arms felt lighter — not floaty, just… free. I laughed, giddy.

“I can’t tell if this is amazing or illegal.”

“With us? Probably both.”

After a while, he pulled me gently away from the town square, leading us down a mossy path behind an old bookstore. We stepped into a clearing, and then I saw it. The shape emerged: tall, slender, white as snow with opalescent fur that shimmered in the shade. Antlers twisted like silver vines above its head. Its eyes — enormous, watchful — locked on me.

“A mooncalf,” Fred whispered. “Technically you shouldn’t be able to see it. They’re shy, even from most wizards.”

It blinked once. Then, with impossible grace, turned and disappeared into the underbrush, leaving a faint glow behind.

I exhaled. “That was…”

“I know,” Fred said, barely audible. “I wanted you to see it.”

The sun dipped low, bleeding gold through the trees. The path home was quieter, softer. I stayed close as we returned to the car, my head still spinning from everything I’d seen, tasted, felt.

We flew back under cover of twilight, streetlights blinking on far below as the Muggle world reassembled itself under us — plain and quiet and unaware.

He parked near my street.

He leaned in and kissed me. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t the wild kind of heat we’d shared before. This was slower, deeper. Like he wanted me to remember it long after the magic faded. When we finally broke apart, he brushed his thumb along my jaw.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” he said.

We reached my doorstep. I turned to him, still flushed from the kiss, from everything.

“You want to come in?” I asked, trying to sound casual, but my voice caught on the last word.

His lips curled into a slow, lopsided grin.

“Well, I was hoping you’d say that.”

I reached for the door, heart thudding stupidly loud in my chest. The lock clicked. I pushed it open, and without giving myself time to overthink it, I reached back — found his hand — and pulled him gently inside.

But he didn’t move right away.

He let himself be tugged forward just enough to step over the threshold, then stopped — leaning against the doorframe like he owned it. One shoulder pressed lazily into the wood, his free hand sliding into the pocket of his jacket.

“Are you sure?” he asked, head tilted slightly, eyes dark and glinting under his lashes. “Because once I’m in, I don’t plan on leaving in a hurry.”

There was a pause — not nervous. Electric.

I raised a brow, fingers still wrapped around his.

“Fred,” I said, voice low, “get inside.”

He smirked. And with that, he pushed off the frame, stepped in, and kicked the door shut behind him.

I didn’t wait.

The second the door clicked shut behind him, I stepped into his space. My hands found his collar, pulled him down. I kissed him like I meant it, like I didn’t have time for second thoughts. His mouth was still curved in that smug smile, but I swallowed it whole.

I walked him backward through the narrow hallway, lips never leaving his. When his back hit the wall I pressed in closer, one hand sliding under his jacket, the other curling in the fabric at his waist.

“Not wasting time, huh?” he muttered against my mouth, just barely.

I dropped my hand to his belt.

His eyes flared — startled, but not objecting. He let out a low sound, something between a breath and a laugh, and tipped his head back as I worked the buckle loose.

“You sure you don’t wanna—”

“Talk later,” I said.

Before I could say more, his hands were on me—strong, sure. He grabbed me at the waist and lifted me effortlessly. My legs instinctively wrapped around him, holding him close as if I never wanted to let go.

He carried me through the room without hesitation, the heat between us thick and undeniable.

Without breaking eye contact, he lay me on the sofa, him above me, his gaze heavy with intent. His hands slid gently along my sides, fingers tracing light patterns that made my skin prick. Slowly, his lips found my neck again—soft, deliberate kisses that sent shivers down my spine.

As he kissed, one of his hands moved, slipping beneath the hem of my dress. His fingers hesitated for a moment, then gently lifted the fabric just enough to reveal the smooth curve of my thigh. I didn’t stop him; instead, I tightened my hold on his arms, silently giving him the green light.

His mouth left my neck and traveled lower, trailing kisses down my collarbone and over my chest, careful not to rush, savoring every inch. Then, his lips moved further, across my stomach — warm, featherlight kisses that felt like electricity sliding beneath my skin.

His fingers continued their slow ascent under the dress, brushing against my bare skin. When he reached my thigh, he paused again, eyes flickering up to meet mine, searching, waiting.

I held his gaze and nodded almost imperceptibly.

Without hesitation, his lips pressed against the soft skin of my upper thigh, kisses slow and teasing, full of promise.

His lips hovered just above the smooth skin between my thighs, his warm breath teasing me, slow and deliberate. Each gentle kiss was like a spark - soft, electric, stirring something deep inside.

He took his time. His hands rested lightly on my hips, stabilizing me, while his lips explored this most intimate place - tender and hungry at the same time. The warmth of his tongue, the slow rhythm, sent waves of heat through me, grounding and releasing me at the same time.

His lips barely left my skin as he whispered: “You have no idea how good you taste here.”

His breath was warm, full of promise and warmth. "I could lose myself like this forever."

His mouth was slow and deliberate as he kissed the most sensitive part of me, again and again, never rushing. His tongue moved with a rhythm that made my hips lift toward him on instinct. I gasped, fingers tightening in his hair, barely able to keep still.

I could feel it—tightening, building—the pressure coiling low in my belly, stronger with every movement of his mouth, every soft sound of breath against my skin. My thighs tensed around his shoulders. I was close. So close I could barely breathe.

He felt it too. The way my body responded to him, the way I trembled under his touch.

Then he slowed, just enough to make me open my eyes. He looked up at me—his lips still warm against me, his voice a low rumble.

“Let’s not stop here,” he said, his gaze steady, full of heat. “I want to be closer. To feel all of you.”

He rose without breaking eye contact, his hands sliding up along the insides of my thighs as he moved. My breath caught when he leaned over me, pressing his lips to mine — deep, warm, tasting everything he’d just taken from me.

I could still feel the echo of his mouth between my legs, that tight ache in my lower belly that hadn’t gone away, just shifted, waiting. My hands found his jaw, then his shoulders, pulling him closer.

He pressed against me, and I arched instinctively, needing him. One of his hands slid down, guiding himself as he shifted forward — slow, steady — until I felt him enter me in one long, deliberate movement.

His hands framed my waist as he started to move — deep, even strokes that made it hard to keep my eyes open.

There was nothing hurried in the way he touched me now. He was focused, fully there, watching every reaction, every sound I made. The friction, the heat, the rhythm — it pulled me back toward that edge, sharper now, closer than ever.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

A soft moan escaped my lips before I could stop it — quiet but raw. His name, half-breathed, caught in the back of my throat. My head tilted back against the cushion, and I could feel how flushed I was, how the heat was rising all the way up to my cheeks.

His gaze dropped to my mouth, then to where our bodies met, and he let out a rough breath.

“God, you feel…” he didn’t finish the sentence — just leaned in, kissed me again, harder this time, like he couldn’t hold back any longer.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look me in the eye.

“Turn around." he said softly, but with that deep edge in his voice that made me shiver.

I didn’t hesitate. I turned slowly, my cheek brushing the cool fabric of the couch, fingers gripping the edge for balance. Behind me, I heard him shift — hands on my hips, steady, grounding. His mouth found my shoulder, then the curve of my spine, as if he couldn’t help but press kisses along my skin, even now.

And then he entered me again — deeper this time, fuller — and I let out a sound that didn’t even feel like mine. His rhythm changed, not rushed, but purposeful. Each movement was strong, controlled, like he knew exactly how to push me closer to the edge again.

One of his hands slid up my back, then tangled gently in my hair, not pulling — just holding.

“Don’t hold back,” he whispered, breath hot against my neck. “I want to feel everything.”

His voice — low, rough with need — pushed me closer to the edge I’d been teetering on. My body trembled beneath him, tension tightening like a wire strung too tight, seconds from snapping.

He moved deeper, slower, then faster — perfectly in sync with the rhythm my body had already set. I gripped the edge of the cushion, gasping, my eyes closing as that pressure inside me surged, sharp and overwhelming.

And then it hit.

Pleasure broke over me in a rush, heat rippling through every inch of me. My breath caught, then spilled out in a cry I couldn’t hold back. He didn’t stop — held me, moved with me, through every wave of it, until my body began to still beneath his.

A beat later, he followed — groaning low against my shoulder, his grip tightening as he gave in fully, completely.

We stayed like that for a moment, our bodies pressed together, hearts racing in sync, both of us breathless, silent except for the sound of slowing breaths and the soft rustle of the room around us.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. His body was still pressed against mine, warm and heavy in a way that felt grounding, not weighty. My cheek rested against the cushion, eyes half-lidded, breath slowly finding its rhythm again.

His hand slid from my hair to the small of my back, tracing lazy, feather-light circles against my skin. A small shiver went through me — not from cold, but from the way he touched me like I was something precious.

After a while, he leaned in and kissed my shoulder. A soft, unhurried press of his lips that made my chest swell with something deeper than desire.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, voice slightly rough, still catching its breath.

I nodded, turning just enough to glance back at him over my shoulder.

He smiled — a real one this time, slow and tender. His fingers found mine where they’d relaxed against the couch cushion and curled around them, squeezing gently.

Neither of us said anything for a few seconds. There was no need. The silence wasn’t empty — it was warm, filled with the afterglow of something that felt not just physical, but real.

Eventually, he shifted, easing out of me with a slow care that made me exhale softly. He helped me turn onto my back, his hands always guiding, always there. Then he lay down beside me on the narrow couch, one arm slipping beneath my head as I curled instinctively into his side.

We lay like that, tangled up and quiet, listening to the hum of the city outside the window. His fingertips traced idle shapes on my bare shoulder. My legs were still a little shaky, but I felt strangely calm — the kind of calm that only comes when you know you're exactly where you're meant to be.

After a while, he spoke again, lips brushing the top of my hair.

“I knew tonight would be trouble,” he said with a grin I could hear in his voice. “But I didn’t think it’d ruin me this good.”

I laughed softly against his chest. “Trouble?”

“The best kind,” he murmured, brushing his lips over my temple. He was quiet for a moment, then added, more gently, “Shame I’ve got to leave again in the morning.”

My smile faded just a little, but I didn’t pull away. Instead, I nodded, tracing idle circles against his chest with my fingertip.

“I know." I said quietly.

He kissed the top of my head, breathing in as if trying to commit the moment to memory.

" I’m staying for every second I’ve got,” he whispered. “Don’t plan on wasting a single one.”

(If you haven’t read it, you should definitely check it out. part I. https://www.tumblr.com/romanczukowsky/786692845160513536/with-fred-weasley?source=share)

[romanczukowsky]

Caught in the Dark part. II

Pairing: Fred x George x Reader (threesome)

Summary: After what happened in the shadows of the third-floor bathroom, Y/N can’t forget — and she certainly can’t let go. The memory of Fred and George haunts her every hallway step, and the tension only grows with each teasing glance, whispered word, and subtle touch. She wants to catch them again, but perhaps she’s the one being hunted now. When tension spills into the corridors of Hogwarts, the twins remind her that desire doesn’t follow rules — and neither do they. What begins as a game of cat and mouse turns into a heated encounter in the most unexpected of places.

Content Warnings: high erotic tension, suggestive touching (m/f/m), semi-public setting, dominant/submissive energy, teasing, possessiveness, mutual consent, emotional vulnerability (no explicit sexual content – sensual and psychologically charged)

Since that night in the bathroom, I haven’t been able to get them out of my mind. Fred and George — their touch, their glances, the words that still echo in my ears like whispered spells. Every step down the corridor sends a shiver through me, because I know they could appear at any moment.

For the first few days, they acted like I didn’t exist — avoiding my eyes, passing me by as if I were nothing more than a shadow on the wall. That silence was louder than their laughter, and I felt myself slowly unraveling, trying to decode what they were really thinking.

Then, just as I was about to give up hope, the little signs started appearing — a light brush of a hand on my shoulder during a break, a quick half-smile from across the hall, a look that said more than words ever could. And the notes — simple but heavy with meaning: “Miss me?” — written in their unmistakable handwriting that I knew by heart.

I began to realize it wasn’t a coincidence. This was their game — and I was their pawn. But the question was: was I ready to lose?

Every day became a silent battle of wills. I’d wander the halls, pretending to focus on my duties as a prefect, but my eyes were always searching — hoping, aching for even the smallest sign from them.

One evening, just as the sun dipped low and the shadows stretched long, I felt it again — that familiar brush, light as a whisper, against the back of my hand. I froze. Turning slowly, I caught Fred’s eyes gleaming with mischief, his lips curved into a knowing smile. George was just behind him, eyes dark and unreadable, watching me like a secret waiting to be shared.

“No hiding now,” Fred said softly, voice a low murmur that sent a shiver through me.

My breath caught as George stepped forward, closing the distance between us until his fingers lightly traced a path along my jawline — gentle, deliberate, igniting every nerve. Their touch promised danger and desire, a game with no rules but the ones they’d write together.

“Come,” Fred whispered, breath warm against my ear, “We have a lesson left to teach you.”

Fred’s voice was low, urgent as he took my hand, pulling me gently but firmly down the dim corridor. George followed close behind, their presence a magnetic force I couldn’t resist. My heart hammered—not just from anticipation, but from the fear someone might see us. The castle was mostly asleep, but what if someone rounded the corner? What if the wrong eyes caught us?

They seemed completely unbothered by the risk.

Halfway down the hall, they suddenly stopped. Fred pressed me gently against the cold stone wall, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns along my bare arm. George’s hand slid beneath the edge of my cloak, fingertips skimming the soft skin of my waist. Their touch was electric, teasing, sending shivers that raced down my spine.

I bit my lip, glancing nervously down the corridor, but they only smiled—confident, wild, untouchable.

“You worry too much,” George whispered, his breath warm and teasing against my ear. “Let them watch if they want. Tonight, you’re ours to discover.”

Fred’s fingers tightened gently around my wrist, pulling me closer until the heat of our bodies pressed together. “And we’re going to take our time.”

George’s hand slid beneath the hem of my skirt, slow, deliberate, fingers grazing the inside of my thigh. My breath caught. His touch was warm and confident, exploring without hesitation.

Fred leaned in from behind, his lips brushing my ear, voice low and smooth. “You feel that?” he murmured. “That’s how much we’ve missed you.”

His breath tickled my skin, and I shivered, pressing back against him instinctively.

George’s fingers curled higher, teasing skin that had ached for this. He didn’t rush — he knew exactly what he was doing. His fingers slipped higher, just beneath the lace edge of my underwear. I gasped—quietly—but he heard it. He looked up at me with a half-smile.

Behind me, Fred leaned in closer, his breath hot against my skin. “You’re trembling,” he whispered, his lips brushing my jaw. “Are you scared… or just hungry for more?”

George’s fingers were more daring now. He kissed me slowly. My knees wobbled, and Fred caught me with an arm around my waist, steady and possessive.

“You’re so warm,” George murmured, voice thick, “and so ready…”

Fred’s hand covered mine, guiding it even lower as his mouth grazed the shell of my ear. “You want us to stop?” he whispered.

I shook my head before I could even find the breath to answer.

He chuckled darkly, fingers curling with mine. “Didn’t think so.”

My hand moved before I even had time to think. I slipped my hand back, found the hem of his shirt and slid beneath it, fingers brushing over his abdomen. He inhaled sharply through his nose as my hand drifted lower.

“Careful,” he whispered, voice rough with restraint. “You touch me there, and I might forget we’re still in a hallway.”

George chuckled against my thigh, clearly amused by Fred’s unraveling. “Let her,” he murmured, lifting his eyes to meet mine. “She wants to know what happens when she pushes too far.”

And I did.

My fingertips slipped beneath the waistband, brushing over the coarse fabric of his boxers, then lower, cupping him gently through the material. Fred hissed a breath, his body tensing as though trying to restrain a thousand urges at once.

“That’s it,” he growled softly, his voice a delicious mix of warning and praise. “Just like that…”

His hand tightened around my waist, pulling me harder against him. I could feel how much he wanted this—how much he wanted me—and the power of it, the closeness, made my knees weak.

“You have no idea what you’re starting,” he murmured into my ear. “And no way of stopping it now.”

Fred’s breath burned against my neck, his fingers tightening on my hip, while beneath my palm, his body throbbed—hard, hot, barely restrained. Every quiet sound he made sent shivers spiraling through me, low and deep.

My other hand, still braced against George’s shoulder, drifted downward slow and unsure—hesitant at first, then bolder. His head tilted, gaze dark and locked on mine as he realized what I was doing. I brushed over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my fingertips, then slipped lower, over his ribs, the curve of his waist, and finally to the front of his trousers.

George inhaled slowly, his pupils dilating as my fingers traced the outline of him through the fabric. He was just as ready, just as tense as his twin—and now I had them both.

“Merlin… She’s learning fast.”

Fred let out a low laugh, laced with heat. “Not just learning,” he whispered, dragging his lips along the shell of my ear. “She’s taking control.”

But I didn’t feel in control.

I felt owned by their attention, drunk on their heat. My hands moved between them with a rhythm guided by instinct more than thought—palming, pressing, teasing through the layers of their clothing. Their responses were electric, their bodies coiled and desperate beneath the surface, but still held back.

“Tell us if you want to stop,” Fred whispered, mouth grazing my jaw. His voice was lower now, rougher. “Because if you don’t…”

George finished for him, voice tight, hungry: “We won’t.”

George’s lips brushed mine, feather-light. “You sure you want this here, little prefect?” he asked, even as he pushed two fingers deeper inside me, curling just right.

And I was already gone.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered, body arching into them both.

And then — just as my breath caught and my fingers trembled against Fred’s lower stomach — we heard something.

A creak. Maybe a footstep. Maybe the shifting of wood along the corridor walls.

I froze.

My entire body stiffened between them. My lips hovered over Fred’s skin, and George’s hand… didn’t move. Neither of them did. They stayed exactly where they were — steady, unfazed, like the world outside them didn’t exist.

Fred leaned in, his voice a low rasp at my ear. “Don’t stop.”

George chuckled against the back of my neck, his hand still buried under my skirt. “They won’t come this way. Let them listen.”

My pulse thundered in my ears. Every instinct screamed to pull away — but my body ached for the opposite.

George’s fingers moved again. Deeper. Slower. More deliberate.

I gasped — not loud, but sharp enough that Fred caught it. His hand moved swiftly to my mouth, covering it with a warm palm, his thumb brushing just under my cheekbone.

“Shh…” he whispered. “Be quiet for us. Can you do that, sweetheart?”

I whimpered into his hand as George curled his fingers with cruel precision. I couldn’t hold still. My knees buckled slightly, pressed between their bodies like a secret. My hips began to move on instinct — helpless, aching, desperate.

“That’s it,” George murmured, his voice thick and dark with desire. “Don’t hold back. Let go.”

My grip on Fred tightened. My free hand trembled as it slid back to his waistband, clinging to him like an anchor as I came undone. The pleasure built so fast it was dizzying, unbearable — and then it shattered through me like fire. My legs shook, vision blurring, body trembling in their arms.

Fred held me steady, pressing his lips to the side of my head. “You’re so good for us. So fucking sweet.”

George didn’t move his hand right away. He drew the moment out, dragging every last ripple from my body, until I was breathless, pliant, and shaking in his arms.

Only then did he pull away — slowly, deliberately — and bring his fingers to his lips with a wicked smirk. “Missed this.”

Another sound echoed at the far end of the corridor.

Fred turned toward it, fingers still locked with mine.

He looked back at me, eyes blazing. “Let’s go.”

George slid his hand down my back, possessive. “We’re not done with you yet.”...

(If you haven’t read it, you should definitely check it out. part I. https://www.tumblr.com/romanczukowsky/787239462420758528/caught-in-the-dark )

(And now, here comes part III: https://www.tumblr.com/romanczukowsky/787422875624898560/caught-in-the-dark-part-iii?source=share )

[romanczukowsky]

🌾The Burrow Breathed With Us

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader (Y/N)

Setting: The Burrow, pre-relationship, wedding night, slow burn → first time

Summary: The Burrow is bursting with life — laughter, chaos, and quiet, hidden glances. You’re just a family friend helping out, tying Fred’s crooked tie before the wedding. But between the soft brush of fingers and the heat in his gaze, something unspoken begins to take shape. When the music fades and his hand drifts higher on your thigh… the line between friends and lovers disappears — with one whispered promise and one slow, breathtaking night.

Author's Note: This story is soft, poetic smut — written with more emotion than filth, more touch than thrust.

The Burrow was living by its own rhythm today. The Weasley house had always felt just a little too small for the number of feet, voices, laughter, and love that passed through it—but today? Today, it seemed like the very walls were trying to breathe with us, swollen with emotion, with the scent of baking bread, the sharp calls of Molly’s voice echoing down the halls, and the frantic clatter of shoes running up and down the stairs.

Downstairs, George was muttering to himself about missing cufflinks, Percy was arguing with his reflection in the mirror, and Fleur was close to tears over... something delicate and dramatic. Even the family cat looked agitated, darting in and out of rooms like a living streak of fur and annoyance, as if to remind us all that chaos was the natural order of things.

And me? I stood at the top of the stairs, just outside Fred’s room, holding his tie like it was some sacred object—fragile, significant, electric in my hands. He was waiting for me, wearing that crooked, shameless grin that made it impossible to think clearly.

"Come on," he called, voice playful. "Save me before I accidentally strangle myself with this thing."

I stepped into his room, trying not to look too long. He was only in a dress shirt, half-buttoned, the collar loose, his freckled chest peeking through just enough to make me feel flushed. His hair, that wild, familiar mess of ginger, fell over his forehead like he hadn’t even tried to tame it. And his eyes—those endlessly mischievous eyes—held something softer in them today. Or maybe it was just the light. Or maybe it was me.

"You still haven’t learned how to tie a tie?" I asked, standing in front of him and beginning to thread the fabric through my fingers.

"Nope," he replied, his tone casual, but softer than usual. "But it gives me an excuse to have you stand this close to me, so..."

I stepped in. Too close, really, for just ‘helping’. My fingers brushed against the hollow of his throat—his skin still cool from a morning shower. He didn’t move. He just looked at me, eyes a little too steady, too open.

And I felt it—barely there, but undeniable. That moment. The shift.

The point where something unspoken passed between us like a breeze that raises the hairs on your neck. The place where teasing ended and tension began.

"You look good in white," I murmured before I could stop myself. The words just... slipped out.

Fred raised a brow, smiling lazily. "Does that mean I shouldn’t look even better on my own wedding day?"

I laughed—nervous, breathy. "It’s not your wedding, Weasley."

"For now."

I didn’t answer. What could I have said? That I’d been thinking about him for weeks? That every time I closed my eyes, I could feel the echo of his laughter like a ghost against my skin? That somewhere between the jokes and the late-night talks, he’d gone from my favorite friend to my quietest ache?

No. I didn’t say any of it.

I just tied his tie. And I left.

The ceremony had been beautiful, of course. Laughter threaded through the vows, people weeping into handkerchiefs, and a blush on the bride’s cheeks that made even the sun look shy. I stood off to the side during the final cheers, my hands clasped in front of me, but my eyes? My eyes were on Fred.

He had been smiling—grinning, really—like he meant it, like something inside him had bloomed and refused to close again. I watched the light kiss the edges of his hair, watched the way he leaned in to whisper something to George that made them both laugh too loudly. And yet, even through the celebration, he looked at me.

Not always. Just enough. Like he didn’t need to search the room because he already knew where I’d be.

By the time the sun had softened and the music began, we were sitting at a long wooden table strung with wildflowers and flickering candles. Fred beside me. Too close.

I had laughed at something he said, something stupid and charming in that Fred Weasley way. And then I felt it—his hand. Beneath the table. Resting lightly on my knee.

My breath caught.

At first, I thought it was a joke. A tease. But he didn’t move it away. His fingers just stayed there. Warm, casual. Then they curled ever so slightly, as if testing the boundary of skin and cloth.

“Y’know,” he said softly, just near my ear, “I keep imagining this day... but with you in white. Me in a better-fitting tie. And everyone here to watch us.”

I turned to him—eyes wide, heart in my throat. He wasn’t smiling now. Not fully. There was something else behind his gaze. Want.

And then his fingers started to move.

Not fast. Not demanding. Just… exploring. A single fingertip tracing idle circles against the inside of my thigh. Slow, lazy shapes that made the skin beneath my dress feel suddenly too aware. My lips parted, but I didn’t breathe. I couldn’t.

His touch drifted upward, half an inch, maybe less.

And then again.

Higher.

I swallowed, glancing around to see if anyone was watching. The table was loud with clinking glasses and spinning stories. But in my world, there was only him.

Fred’s thumb stroked the soft part of my inner thigh—tender, uncharted skin. I bit the inside of my cheek. My hand gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white. I could feel the heat blooming in my chest, spreading outward, rising to my cheeks.

I was blushing. Fiercely.

And I didn’t stop him.

His fingers slipped higher, brushing the edge of my underwear. So close to where I pulsed for him I thought I might lose my mind. Slowly, deliberately, his hand slipped just beneath the fabric, resting against the warm, bare skin of my inner thigh. The contrast between the coolness of the lace and the heat of my skin beneath made my breath hitch. His touch was featherlight at first, teasing the sensitive skin hidden from view, then growing firmer, more confident.

Every nerve in me awakened under his hand, a delicious shiver spreading through my body. His fingers traced slow, lazy patterns, exploring the secret places where only he was allowed to go. The warmth of his palm pressed gently, grounding me even as it set me aflame.

He paused there, as if asking a silent question. I tilted my hips, just barely—an invitation.

I felt his smile against my temple.

“Merlin,” he whispered, “you’re wet…”

I shivered.

“Fred,” I murmured. Just his name. But it carried every unanswered want, every imagined kiss, every second I’d lain awake wondering what his touch might feel like.

He didn’t wait this time. He leaned in, lips ghosting over my ear. “Come with me.”

I nodded, already standing, already following.

The hallway blurred behind us as Fred took my hand, weaving me through the dim, quiet upper floor of the Burrow. Laughter still floated from downstairs like a distant memory, but it no longer belonged to us. Not now.

He opened the door to his room with one smooth motion and let me step inside first.

It was exactly as I remembered—chaotic, warm, a little too full of mismatched things. A half-made bed, a crooked poster on the wall, a sweater tossed carelessly over a chair. But it felt safe. Like him.

Fred closed the door behind us. The soft click of the latch made my skin prickle.

Neither of us spoke.

I turned to face him and found him already watching me, his tie slightly askew from earlier—my knot, still clumsy but real. He reached up, loosened it slowly, and let it fall to the floor between us.

"You’re quiet," he said gently.

"I’m…" I tried to find the word. But my breath was shallow. My heart, wild. "Thinking too much."

He stepped forward and lifted a hand to my face, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"Then don’t," he whispered. "Let me think for you."

His kiss came soft at first—his lips brushing mine like he was still waiting for permission. But I leaned in. And when I did, something in him shifted.

Fred deepened the kiss, his hands coming to my waist, then sliding up my back with a care that made me feel cherished, not just wanted. His mouth was warm, slow, tasting. Like he wasn’t in a rush. Like he meant to memorize me.

When we finally parted, I was trembling.

He looked down at me, brushing his nose lightly against mine. “You’re shaking.”

"I know," I breathed.

"Is it too much?"

I shook my head. “It’s not enough.”

Fred exhaled, a low, reverent sound, and guided me gently backward until the backs of my knees touched the edge of his bed. He kissed me again, slower this time, while his hands moved down—over my ribs, over my hips—before slipping beneath the hem of my dress. His palms were warm and steady on my thighs as he knelt in front of me.

His lips found the inside of my knee first.

Then a little higher.

Then higher still.

Each kiss a question. Each breath against my skin, an answer.

By the time his mouth reached the softest part of me, I was already undone.

He looked up once—eyes burning, waiting for any sign of hesitation. But I reached for him, fingers in his hair, and he took that as his yes.

His tongue was gentle, patient, tasting every inch of me like he had all the time in the world.

And in that moment, maybe he did.

I moaned, soft and aching, the sound escaping before I could even try to hold it back. Fred’s grip on my thighs tightened just slightly, keeping me open for him. My body arched into his mouth, my hips restless against the unbearable sweetness of him.

Every circle of his tongue. Every stroke of his fingers. Every breath between kisses made me feel like I was glowing from the inside out.

He wasn’t teasing. He was worshipping.

And when I finally shattered—quietly, breathlessly, his name spilling from my lips like prayer—he kissed the inside of my thigh once more, as if sealing it there forever.

When he rose, I pulled him to me. My arms around his neck. His forehead rested against mine.

“Y/N,” he whispered, and nothing in the world had ever sounded more tender.

I kissed him again. Slower now. Certain.

There was no going back.

And neither of us wanted to.

His lips found mine again, and this time the kiss was deeper. More grounded. There was no rush — only the thrum of his heartbeat echoing through mine, and the quiet, sacred space between each breath.

Fred laid me gently back on his bed, his body covering mine with a kind of reverence I hadn’t known I needed. The sheets were a little messy, the lamp on the nightstand flickered softly, casting gold shadows over his face. But none of that mattered. It was him.

He hovered above me, one hand braced beside my head, the other stroking a line from my shoulder, down the curve of my waist, and over my hip. I felt him against me, hard and patient, pressed to my thigh — and every inch of my skin came alive beneath him.

He looked down at me. Eyes soft. Serious.

“Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of this?” he whispered, his breath warm against my lips. “Of you?”

I cupped his face with both hands, trembling. “Then stop dreaming,” I breathed. “Take me.”

And he did.

Fred leaned in and kissed me again as he gently slid his hand between my thighs, easing them apart. His fingers moved with the same care he had shown me before — learning, exploring, preparing. I gasped softly as he found me, still trembling from what he'd already given me.

When he finally positioned himself, his breath hitched — just slightly. Our foreheads touched. My legs wrapped around him on instinct, drawing him in. Welcoming him.

He pressed into me slowly. Inch by inch. The stretch was real — tender, intense — but never too much. He paused once, kissing my cheek, as if asking with his body: Is this okay?

“Yes,” I breathed, wrapping my arms around his back. “Fred, please…”

That was all he needed.

He began to move — slow, grounding thrusts that rocked through me like tides. His hands were everywhere: cupping my cheek, cradling my hip, brushing down my arm. Every roll of his body against mine made me feel more open, more wanted, more known.

We barely spoke — just small, sacred sounds between kisses and gasps. The occasional broken whisper:

“God, you feel—”

“Don’t stop—”

“I’ve wanted this… wanted you…”

His rhythm built gradually, the tension coiling and tightening deep inside me. I met him with every motion, hips rising to meet his, breath catching with every deep, aching thrust. He filled me completely — not just physically, but emotionally. His presence, his touch, the way his fingers threaded through mine as he moved within me — it was all too much and somehow never enough.

He kissed my shoulder, my jaw, the corner of my mouth. His pace faltered — just slightly.

“Y/N,” he whispered. “I’m close—”

“So am I,” I gasped, wrapping myself tighter around him.

And when we finally tipped over the edge — together, shaking, mouths pressed in a silent cry — it felt like falling into something infinite. Something honest.

Afterward, he didn’t pull away. He stayed, his forehead resting against my collarbone, our breathing slow and tangled. His body heavy over mine in the most perfect way. I ran my fingers through his hair, and he kissed the center of my chest like he never wanted to leave.

“I don’t know what this means now,” I said quietly, barely trusting my voice.

Fred looked up, his lips still close to my skin.

“It means,” he said, “I’m completely yours, if you’ll have me.”

I smiled, heart pounding, lips brushing his.

“I already do.”

[romanczukowsky]

Caught in the Dark

Pairing: Fred x George x Reader (threesome)

Summary: Being a prefect means keeping order — but what happens when chaos decides to play with you instead? Y/N is determined to finally catch Fred and George Weasley red-handed. Her search leads her to the abandoned third-floor bathroom… where she doesn’t find detention, but a lesson. Tension rises in the darkness as the twins prove that not all rules are meant to be followed — and not all games are innocent.

Content Warnings: erotic tension, psychological teasing, subtle dominance dynamics, consensual touching, enclosed space (no explicit sexual content – more sensual than graphic)

The corridor was cloaked in silence, stretched thin like a veil, as I slipped out of my dormitory, my cloak wrapped tightly around me. I was a prefect — a title that carried weight, but more than anything, I had one stubborn goal: to finally catch the Weasley twins in the act. They never admitted it openly, but they knew I was hunting them. And they? They just laughed, claiming I’d never manage to pin anything on them.

The Weasleys. Fred and George. Two boys always one step ahead, their mischievous grins as unbreakable as their endless stream of pranks.

Tonight, I felt like this might be my chance.

From a distance, I spotted them leaving the common room — quiet, confident. Their shadows flickered along the walls as they headed toward the third-floor bathroom, an old, abandoned space that had long been the subject of rumors. No one really knew what happened there, but the twins seemed to have some secret hiding behind those cracked tiles.

I decided to follow them, careful and silent, step by step, hoping this time I’d catch them red-handed and finally have something to write in my prefect’s journal as proof. But they clearly suspected someone was watching.

Before I could react, the bathroom door slammed shut behind me with a soft but final click.

Darkness fell so thick I couldn’t see my own hand in front of my face.

Then I heard their laughter.

“Not so easy, nosy girl,” one whispered, while the other’s hand brushed lightly against my shoulder.

I was about to learn that with Fred and George, there were no games. They knew how to teach a lesson — especially to a curious girl who dared to chase shadows.

The laughter danced in the shadows, low and teasing, wrapping around me like a challenge.

“Thought you’d catch us, huh?” Fred’s voice was smooth, dripping with amusement, as his hand slid from my shoulder down to my wrist, gentle but firm. “But you see, being a prefect doesn’t mean you’re in charge of everything.”

George’s breath ghosted near my ear, his tone equally playful, “Especially when it comes to us. We play by our own rules.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding louder than the silence around us. The cold bathroom tiles beneath my feet didn’t match the heat suddenly radiating through my body. I’d come in looking to expose them, but now I was the one caught in their game.

Fred’s grip tightened just enough to remind me he was in control, then released, tracing a slow line up my arm with his fingers. “You’re persistent. I like that. But being nosy… that’s dangerous. You never know what you might stumble into.”

I tried to step back, but George’s hand caught mine. “Where do you think you’re going?” His smile was wicked, and that glint in his eye told me this was going to be far from a simple reprimand.

Fred chuckled, low and deep, and leaned closer until I could feel the warmth of his breath on my neck. “We might even show you a secret or two. If you’re lucky.”

My breath hitched, both wary and inexplicably drawn to the dangerous promise in their voices.

“Come on,” George whispered, his lips barely brushing my earlobe, “We don’t bite. Much.”

I swallowed again, caught between the thrill of defiance and the magnetic pull of the twins’ unspoken command.

In that pitch-black bathroom, surrounded by the echo of their laughter and their teasing touch, one thing was certain:

With Fred and George, this was a game I’d never simply win or lose.

I was theirs to challenge — or be claimed.

Their hands didn’t let go. Fred’s fingers brushed the back of my neck while George’s hand traced lazy circles on the inside of my wrist. The cool darkness of the abandoned bathroom suddenly felt electric, alive with unspoken promises and quiet power.

“You really think you can outsmart us?” Fred murmured, voice low and teasing, “We’ve been at this game a lot longer than you’ve been sneaking around these halls.”

George stepped closer, their breath warm on my skin. “And you? You’re stubborn as a Kneazle. I admire that. But stubbornness can get you into trouble. Big trouble.”

I bit my lip, trying to keep my composure. “Maybe I like trouble.”

Fred grinned, his teeth gleaming in the faint light. “That’s the spirit. But remember — trouble with us means you’re not just playing; you’re part of the game.”

George’s eyes locked onto mine, mischievous and dark. “So, what’s it going to be? Keep chasing shadows, or let us show you how the real magic works?”

The silence stretched just long enough for my heartbeat to fill it. Their teasing wasn’t just a game — it was a challenge. One I couldn’t back down from.

Fred leaned in closer, his lips barely brushing my ear. “Be careful, prefect. We like to win.”

“And we never lose to someone who underestimates us,” George added with a wicked smile.

I swallowed, a mix of fear and thrill twisting inside me. “Maybe it’s time I learned the rules from the best.”

Fred and George exchanged a glance, their smiles widening. “Now that is what we wanted to hear.”

The game was on...

Fred and George never took their eyes off me, and the atmosphere in that abandoned bathroom grew almost tangible — thick with tension and unspoken promises.

Fred slowly moved his hand down from my shoulder, and I felt a gentle touch on my thigh. His fingers brushed my skin through the fabric of my skirt, light but deliberate, as if reminding me who was really in control. George, meanwhile, grabbed my hand and pulled me closer, making me drop to my knees on the cold stone floor.

“Kneel down, it’ll be easier that way,” Fred murmured with a smile that was both teasing and warning. George leaned in low, his nose brushing against my cheek, while his hand slid slowly along my neck. “Nosy, stubborn, but sensual. You fit us perfectly.”

Kneeling in front of them, I looked up, my breath stopped at the intensity in their eyes. George's fingers slowly moved along my jaw, gently lifting my face upward.

I gently pressed my lips to the zipper of Fred's pants, a quiet, careful kiss - more a question than an answer. Their smiles deepened, their eyes shining with approval and amusement. Without a word, I moved a little further away, and unzipped his pants, which automatically slid down.

They exchanged glances that promised both mischief and mastery. “Good girl,” muttered Fred, his voice low and satisfied.

George's hand tightened for a moment on the back of my head, guiding me with firm but tender control. “You're a fast learner,” he added, his tone mocking but marked by a certain dominance that made my pulse quicken.

The room grew warmer, the quiet hum of their presence surrounding me like a mystery I was only beginning to understand.

George's hands didn’t leave me, steadying, guiding, but not rushing. I could feel the weight of their expectations — a silent command wrapped in the softness of their touch. Fred’s fingers curled gently into my hair, while George’s thumb brushed along my cheek, anchoring me in the moment.

My lips slowly enveloped the full length of him — unhurried, obedient, and aching to please.

“See?” whispered Fred, in a voice full of satisfaction. "That's how you get our attention.”

George giggled low, the sound vibrating in the quiet space. "And how to hold it.”

The tension tightened, the air between us thick with unspoken challenges and the thrill of pushing boundaries we had not dared to before.

I lifted my gaze to George encountering his shy, mischievous smile. I unzipped his pants, and they slid down on their own.

They smiled, twins in this game of shadows and desire.

Kneeling there, I felt the weight of their gazes on me - intense, playful and utterly commanding. Fred's hands rested lightly on my shoulders, supporting me, while George's breath brushed my skin like a warm breeze.

Without a word, they moved in closer, their presence wrapping around me like a spell. I closed my eyes as their warmth brushed against my lips, and then, with slow, deliberate intent, they traced a teasing path along the inside of my cheek.

A gentle finger combed a stray strand of hair behind my ear, and I felt a shiver run along my spine. Despite the darkness and silence, an unspoken understanding between us filled the space - it was a game, a dance of control and surrender, trust and discovery.

Fred's voice was a low murmur, barely audible. "You're learning, little one. Just remember - this is our world and we make the rules."

I looked at them, my heart pounding. And although I was on my knees, in that moment I felt more powerful than ever.

They both reached their climax almost at once, painting my flushed face with heat and pleasure. George's fingers rubbed my lip so that nothing escaped, and to make sure everything was swallowed.

Fred leaned in and his breath warmed my ear. "You are exactly where you belong. See you next time."

[romanczukowsky]

Magic Meets Muggle

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader (Y/N)

Summary: A summer day at a Muggle park turns unexpectedly magical when Fred Weasley meets a curious and fearless Muggle girl. What starts as playful banter evolves into a night filled with discovery, desire, and promises that bridge two very different worlds.

Content Warning: Contains mature themes, sensual content, and explicit scenes of intimacy.

Author’s Note: Thank you for joining me on this magical journey blending the wizarding world with the thrilling unfamiliarity of the Muggle life. Fred’s charm and Y/N’s fearless openness made this story an exciting exploration of connection and desire. ✨💫

The hot summer was in full swing, and we, the Weasleys, were stuck on a trip invented by Dad to a Muggle park. Dad, with great enthusiasm, said to me, “Fred, this is going to be educational!” — and in my mind, I was just thinking: educational, yeah right...

We were sitting under a big oak tree, spreading out a blanket under the burning sun, while kids with balloons fluttered around and the smell of freshly cut grass filled the air. Dad was fascinated, showing us a pocketknife that Muggles use to carve initials into trees. Everyone seemed excited, but George and I exchanged looks full of disbelief.

Then I saw her. She was sitting a few meters away on a blanket, absorbed in a book, smiling with an elusive charm.

“Hey, George, look at her,” I whispered, unable to take my eyes off her.

“Yeah, quite nice, huh?” he replied in a hushed voice, like we were talking about some forbidden fruit.

I didn’t know her, I didn’t know who she was, but I felt this day was already going to be anything but ordinary.

The sun was blazing, and I could feel my shirt sticking to my back. Even the shade under the massive oak wasn’t helping. George was lying on his back beside me, arms folded behind his head, staring up at the sky like he was counting clouds just to avoid listening to Dad — who was still going on about the muggle pocketknife like he’d just discovered a new magical creature.

But I wasn’t listening. I was watching her.

She was sitting a few meters away, one leg tucked beneath her, the other stretched out lazily toward the sun. That white summer dress she wore clung just enough to make my brain short-circuit, and the warm breeze played with her hair like it had a personal vendetta against my self-control. Every time she tucked a strand behind her ear, I wanted to get up and do it for her.

"Think she’s a Muggle?" I muttered, still staring.

George shrugged without looking away from the sky. “Definitely. One of those with no clue about our world. Pure ignorance. Kinda hot, isn’t it?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I stood and stretched like I was just shaking off the heat — but my legs knew better. They carried me straight toward her. I could hear George snorting behind me, but I ignored him.

As I got closer, I realized I had absolutely no idea what I was going to say. Hi, I’m a wizard and I’ve been staring at you for twenty minutes like a complete creep? Brilliant, Fred.

She looked up from her book, and her gaze caught mine. Her eyes were something else — slightly squinting from the sun, but sharp and focused. And that smile… not wide, but knowing. Like she’d been aware of me watching her this whole time.

“Hey,” I said, with my best attempt at casual charm. “Is this spot taken?”

Her smile deepened.

“Only if you’ve got something better to offer than pocketknife conversations.”

I laughed. Okay. Muggle with a personality. I liked that.

“I’m afraid my father already ruined my entire family’s image by showing off a glorified tree-scratcher.”

“That was your dad?” she asked, clearly amused.

“Yeah. Please don’t judge me by his obsession with sharp objects.”

She laughed, and it was the kind of sound that made my chest tighten. I had a feeling this was going to be more than a passing moment.

We had spent the whole afternoon together, talking. Mostly about small things — books, music, how ridiculous sunburns were, and how lukewarm lemonade should be illegal. But the conversation had been easy. Real. I didn’t even notice when we’d shifted so close that our knees were nearly touching.

“Wanna take a walk?” I asked softly. Maybe too softly.

She looked at me from beneath long lashes and smiled slightly. “Sure. But only if you promise not to impress me again with tree facts.”

I grinned sideways. “No promises.”

We walked slowly along the winding path that led out of the park. The sky was deepening into a muted violet. The lamps hadn’t turned on yet. It was just us and that brief moment between day and night. Her shoulder brushed mine once… then again. I didn’t move away.

My fingers itched to take her hand. But something held me back. Nerves? That wasn’t like me.

“You’ve gone quiet,” she said softly. “Regretting the walk?”

“Not even a little,” I said, glancing at her. “I’m just… wondering if I should tell you something.”

She raised an eyebrow, curious. “Sounds serious.”

I stopped. Gravel crunched under my shoes. She turned to face me.

“Okay, this might sound strange,” I started, rubbing the back of my neck. “But I’m not… exactly normal.”

She tilted her head a little, intrigued — not scared. “I figured that much. You’re definitely not boring.”

“No, I mean… I’m…” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wand. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t step back.

“That’s… what I think it is?”

“Depends. Are you thinking I’m about to pull a rabbit out of a hat?”

“More like… you’re about to make something fly,” she said with a small smile, though her voice was soft with wonder.

With a flick of my wand, a few dry leaves lifted into the air, spinning slowly around us like golden birds in flight. She gasped softly, eyes wide. There was no fear in them. No suspicion. Just pure awe.

“This is… real?”

“As real as I am.”

She stepped closer, face tilted up toward the floating leaves… then looked directly at me. “You’re… a wizard?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “And I’ve never shown this to anyone outside our world before. Never.”

“I feel kind of honored,” she whispered. “And… strangely turned on.”

I laughed — short, nervous. “You’re not afraid?”

She looked at me, her eyes glowing in the twilight. “Should I be?”

“No,” I said, stepping closer, voice low and steady. “But maybe a little.”

She didn’t move away. Her gaze dropped to my lips. That was all it took.

I leaned in slowly — giving her time to pull back if she wanted. She didn’t. Her breath hitched, her fingers curled into the front of my shirt, and then… we kissed.

Gently at first. Curious. Then deeper.

Her lips parted under mine, tasting like summer and something that made my knees feel dangerously weak. Her hands slid to my hips, tugging me closer. Mine moved to her waist — warm, real, soft — and I let myself sink into her.

When we finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against mine, both of us breathless.

“I’ve never kissed a wizard before,” she whispered.

I smiled. “And you’re making it very hard to keep any sort of magical composure.”

She giggled softly. “Show me more.”

“Oh,” I whispered into her ear, “you have no idea how much I want to show you… everything.”

____________________— Y/N's POV —____________________________

I don’t know what I expected when he said that. But the way he looked at me… everything changed.

His breath on my neck sent a shiver down my spine — but not from fear. It was something else. Something deeper. Warmer.

I’d never been this close to someone and wanted more. Not just more touch — but more of him. The way his voice dipped low when he whispered, the way his fingers hovered near my waist like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch me. Like I was something fragile. Sacred.

But I didn’t feel fragile.

I felt like I was burning.

He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes — those impossibly warm brown eyes that sparkled even in the dimming light — and I swear the air between us crackled.

“I want to see more,” I breathed, before I could stop myself.

He searched my face like he was making sure. And then, slowly, his hand slipped to the small of my back and pulled me gently toward him again. Our mouths met — this time with less hesitation. With more intent.

My fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing him to know I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t unsure. I was just… consumed.

Every kiss deepened, his lips demanding, tasting, teasing mine open. I gasped softly against his mouth when his hands explored the curve of my waist, settling there like he belonged.

“I don’t want to stop,” he murmured against my skin.

“You don’t have to,” I whispered back, not recognizing my own voice — breathy, raw.

He kissed down my jaw, slow and reverent, and I tilted my head, giving him more access, craving every warm trail his lips left behind.

The magic wasn’t in his wand anymore. It was in the way he touched me — like every brush of skin was a spell, every breath a charm.

And Merlin, I never wanted him to stop casting them.

“Oh,” he whispered, “you have no idea how much I want to show you… everything.”

I pulled back just slightly, trying not to let my excitement show too much. “Then… come with me. Let’s go to my place.”

He blinked, looking surprised. “Your place? But my family…It’s getting late, and—”

I smiled, biting my lip a little. “They’ll manage without you for a bit. Besides…” I leaned closer, feeling my breath warm against his neck, “I’ve got a feeling you don’t really want to go back just yet.”

He froze, and I saw that mix of surprise and something else in his eyes—like he suddenly realized he had me right there, and wasn’t letting go.

“Well…” he said, swallowing hard, “I guess they’ll forgive me.”

I grinned, took his hand, and led him away from the emptying park toward the quiet streets and my waiting door. His heart was pounding, and honestly, so was mine—not just from the kiss, but from knowing this night was just beginning.

We stepped into my house.

“Are you hungry?” I asked. Fred leaned casually against the kitchen counter, looking at me with that mischievous smile that eased the tension between us a bit. I sat down on the counter and grabbed a bowl of strawberries from the table.

Fred nodded, not taking his eyes off me.

I handed him the first strawberry, slowly bringing it to his lips. His fingers lightly brushed mine, sending a pleasant shiver through me.

He smiled, and I picked up another strawberry. “Have you ever seen the movie 9½ Weeks?” I asked, raising one eyebrow, sensing he might not know what I meant. “There’s this scene with whipped cream… pretty funny...”

Fred furrowed his brow slightly, trying to understand, but his eyes sparkled with curiosity.

Without waiting any longer, our lips met in a kiss — soft and hesitant at first, then growing more confident and passionate. The taste of strawberry and cream mixed with the warmth of our mouths, and for a moment, the whole world disappeared.

Fred’s hands found my waist, steady and confident, pulling me a little closer. His lips left mine for a moment, trailing soft kisses down my jawline, making my skin tingle.

Slowly, he reached to the hem of my dress, his fingers curling gently as he lifted the fabric just enough to reveal the curve of my thigh. I held my breath, the warmth of his touch sending shivers through me.

He looked up at me, eyes dark and full of desire. “You’re incredible,” he whispered, voice low and husky.

The room seemed to shrink around us, every sound fading away except for the rapid beating of our hearts. I let my hands rest on his shoulders, feeling the strength there as he leaned in again, capturing my lips with renewed passion.

Our kisses deepened, slow and hungry, as if we were both trying to memorize every inch of the other. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer while his hands explored more boldly.

The dress slipped a little more as he traced his fingers higher, and I didn’t stop him. The moment was ours — electric, fragile, and intoxicating.

Fred’s lips left a trail of fire as they moved down my neck, tracing slow, deliberate kisses to the hollow between my collarbones. His hands gripped my hips firmly but gently, pulling me closer as his mouth traveled lower, warm breath brushing my skin.

Then, with a confidence that made my pulse race, his lips slipped beneath the hem of my dress. The fabric was soft and thin, offering little barrier. His mouth settled between my thighs, sending a shiver through me that tangled desire and nervous excitement.

His eyes lifted to meet mine—dark, questioning, searching for permission. I swallowed hard, heart hammering in my chest, and gave the smallest nod.

Fred’s lips pressed softly against my skin, his tongue tracing tender, teasing patterns. His hands slid up my thighs, holding me steady but gentle, his touch igniting sparks that spread like wildfire.

Every flicker of his tongue, every careful stroke made the heat inside me rise, leaving me breathless, caught between wanting more and fearing how fast this moment was flying.

Fred’s mouth worked its magic, each kiss, each flick of his tongue sending waves through my entire body. I felt the tension building inside me, my knees going weak, and my breath growing heavier. As my body reached the peak of pleasure, Fred didn’t slow down—in fact, his kisses became even more passionate, more direct.

At one point, he gently turned me on the countertop so that I was lying face down on him. His hands caressed my back, his gaze full of care and desire. His lips traced down my neck, then he began to move subtly inside me, making me struggle to hold back a soft moan.

It was something new, electrifying—tender yet intense. Fred was confident, and I surrendered completely, allowing myself what I craved, even though my heart was pounding wildly.

His movements were slow and deliberate, each one sending ripples of pleasure that spread through me like wildfire. I felt every inch of him, the warmth, the closeness—it was intoxicating. My hands dug lightly into the countertop, grounding me as waves of sensation rolled over my skin.

Fred’s lips never left my neck, his breath hot against my skin. I could hear the quiet rhythm of his breathing, steady and sure, matching the pace he set. It was a dance, a perfect balance between tenderness and urgency.

“Are you okay?” he whispered against my ear.

I nodded, barely able to speak, my voice lost in the rising storm inside me. The connection between us felt raw, real—like the world had narrowed down to just the two of us, caught in this fragile, breathtaking moment.

Fred’s movements grew more urgent, yet never rushed, as if savoring every second. His breath was warm against my skin, mingling with mine in a rhythm that matched the pounding of my heart.

Then, with a low, guttural sound, he pressed deeper into me, his body taut with need. I gasped, the sensation overwhelming yet achingly beautiful. We moved together, slowly, deliberately, until finally—he shuddered, his grip tightening as he reached his peak. I felt him trembling beneath me, a whispered plea and a release that left us both breathless.

For a moment, we simply held each other, the quiet hum of the night wrapping us in a tender embrace. I rested my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, feeling a connection deeper than words could express.

I slowly turned my head to meet his gaze, the soft kitchen light catching the warmth in his eyes. For a moment, the world felt impossibly quiet, like time itself had paused just for us.

Fred’s fingers gently brushed a stray lock of hair from my face, his touch feather-light yet grounding. “You’re amazing,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere.

A shy smile tugged at my lips. “I didn’t expect any of this today,” I admitted, still feeling the lingering tremors inside me.

He chuckled softly. “Neither did I,” he said, then leaned in to kiss me again—this time slower, deeper, as if trying to memorize every sensation.

The quiet was comforting, broken only by the faint sounds of the city beyond my windows. Outside, the night stretched endlessly, but here, wrapped in Fred’s arms, it felt like the only place I belonged.

After a while, I pulled back just enough to whisper, “Stay with me a little longer?”

But then, suddenly, his expression shifted. His brows furrowed, and a shadow of reality crept back over him.

“I have to go,” he said quietly, voice tight with regret. “My family... they’re probably wondering where I disappeared to.”

I nodded, feeling the bittersweet sting of goodbye already curling in my chest.

He cupped my face gently, his thumb tracing slow circles over my cheek. “But I promise,” he murmured, “I’ll come back as soon as I can. You have my word.”

From his pocket, he pulled out a small, worn charm — a simple, silver lightning bolt. He pressed it into my hand.

“Keep this,” he said softly. “So you’ll remember me. Until next time.”

I closed my fingers over the charm, the cool metal grounding me even as my heart ached.

He leaned in one last time, brushing his lips lightly against mine. Then, with a final lingering look, Fred slipped out the door, leaving behind a silence that hummed with all the things left unsaid.

Part.II

[romanczukowsky]

The Weasley Charm part. III

Pairing: Fred x George x Reader (threesome) Summary: Spring in Diagon Alley brings more than just blooming flowers — senior year pulls Y/N away from the Weasley shop, stirring feelings of jealousy and longing. But Fred and George have a surprise: a magical charm device made for the three of them. As tensions rise and touches deepen, the magic of their bond ignites into an unforgettable night of desire and connection.

Content warnings: explicit sexual content, consensual threesome, jealousy, magical enhancement, slow burn, emotional intimacy Author’s note: Sometimes family means more than blood — it’s the magic you make together.

The smell of blooming flowers drifted through the narrow streets of Diagon Alley, mixing with the familiar scents of parchment, ink, and magic wafting from the Weasley’s shop. Spring had arrived, painting the world in soft greens and bright colors — but inside me, the season felt heavy and tangled.

Senior year was swallowing up my time like a hungry Niffler, leaving little room for anything else. I barely had time to help George and Fred at the shop anymore. And that sting wasn’t just about the workload — it was about feeling left behind, replaced. When I heard they’d brought in someone new to cover for me, my heart twisted with jealousy and frustration. Who was this person? Did they already like them better? I didn’t wait to find out. I marched through the shop’s creaky door, my boots clicking hard on the wooden floor, and demanded answers.

“Hey!” I called out, my voice sharper than I intended. “What’s going on? Why didn’t you tell me you hired someone else?”

Fred looked up from a cluttered workbench, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. George, standing nearby with a half-finished prank in hand, raised an eyebrow and exchanged a glance with Fred.

Fred shrugged with that trademark grin. “Calm down, love. It’s not what you think.”

George stepped forward, holding his hands out in peace. “It’s just some kid. Needed a bit of work, some extra galleons. Nothing serious.”

I crossed my arms, biting back the surge of hurt. “So… I’m just gone long enough, and you replace me?”

Fred’s eyes softened. “No way. You’re part of this family, you know that. We missed you — honestly, we thought about you every day.”

He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the cramped back workshop. The air was thick with the scent of smoke, enchanted metal, and bubbling potions — the heart of the Weasley magic.

George reached into a drawer and pulled out a small, gleaming box, covered in intricate runes that shimmered softly under the flickering lights.

“While you were busy being a super student,” Fred said with a teasing grin, “we whipped up something special.”

George’s smile deepened. “Something that’s been on our minds since, well… you.”

Fred winked. “Introducing the latest Weasley wonder: a charm-enhanced device designed for three. All three of us. Think you can handle that?”

I swallowed hard, heat rushing to my cheeks. The idea made my pulse quicken — part nervous, part excited.

“So… you’ve been thinking about me the whole time?”

Fred carefully set the rune-etched box on the counter, fingers tapping the lid with a playful rhythm. “So… ready to see what magic we’ve brewed up?”

I eyed the small device with a mix of curiosity and something deeper—excitement, maybe? Or nervous anticipation. “I’m listening,” I said, my voice steady but my heart racing.

George pulled out a delicate wand-like attachment from the box, sleek and enchanted with tiny glowing symbols. “It’s designed to sync with all three of us—responding to touch, breath, even laughter,” he explained, eyes shining. “We thought it’d be a perfect fit for... well, us.”

Fred laughed softly, his gaze flicking between George and me. “And since you’re the best part of this crazy trio, it seemed only right you be front and center.”

I bit my lip, feeling the warmth of their gazes and the promise behind their words. “Sounds… complicated.”

George shrugged with a cheeky grin. “Complicated is our middle name.”

Fred winked. “And we’re experts in making complicated feel like the most fun thing ever.”

The three of us moved closer, the cramped shop around us fading into a quiet bubble of possibility. The tension in the air was thick but soft, like a warm embrace that begged to be explored.

“Alright,” I said, steadying myself, “show me.”

George carefully pressed the device to my skin, the runes glowing softly as it came alive. Fred leaned in beside me, his breath warm against my neck.

“Let’s see if this thing can keep up with us,” Fred whispered.

And as their hands found me again—this time with that new magical spark woven between us—I knew this spring was going to be unlike any other.

Fred grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief as he traced a finger along the edge of the glowing device. “You do realize, love, this little thing can tell when you’re bluffing.”

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh? And what makes you think I’d bluff?”

George chuckled, leaning in with that devilish smile of his. “Because you’re trying way too hard not to blush. We’ve seen you sweat more than a first-year in Potions class.”

I crossed my arms, playfully defensive. “Maybe I’m just… keeping you on your toes.”

Fred’s eyes darkened with challenge. “Good. Because if you want to keep up with us, you’d better be ready to fall behind.”

“Or maybe,” George interrupted, his voice dropping low and teasing, “I’ll have to slow down just to watch you try.”

The tension between us thickened, playful but electric. I swallowed, heart racing, but held my ground.

“Try me,” I whispered.

Fred winked, his fingers brushing a stray hair from my face. “Oh, we will.”

Fred’s grin deepened as he pressed a small button on the sleek device nestled between us. Almost immediately, a subtle warmth blossomed beneath my skin, gentle but unmistakably alive. It was like a soft fire, teasing its way through every nerve ending, making my breath hitch before I even realized what was happening.

“Ready to see what this baby can really do?” Fred murmured close to my ear, his voice low, thick with promise. The faint pulse of the charm matched the beat of his words, syncing to the moment.

George moved closer from the other side, his hand sliding along the curve of my waist, fingers warm and deliberate. “Three’s definitely better than two,” he said with a sly smile, his voice a husky whisper that sent a fresh wave of heat flooding through me.

The device pulsed gently beneath my skirt, its magic responding not only to the touch of their hands but to the charged electricity between us all. Fred’s fingers grazed over the soft skin of my lower back, sending goosebumps in their wake, while George’s thumb circled the sensitive spot right at the edge of my hip.

I shivered, eyes fluttering closed as Fred’s lips brushed lightly against my neck, tracing a path that made my skin tingle. “This charm reacts to touch,” he breathed, “and with both of us here…” His voice dropped, thick with desire. “You won’t know what hits you.”

George’s fingers were more daring now, sliding beneath the hem of my skirt, brushing over the lace of my underwear, teasing the places that made my breath catch. The charm thrummed in response, the heat intensifying, spreading like wildfire from the point of contact.

My chest rose and fell rapidly as Fred’s hands found my breasts, cupping them firmly but gently, his thumbs teasing over my nipples until they hardened into tight peaks. The warmth from the charm combined with his touch was exquisite torture—sensations blooming and twisting deep inside me.

George’s mouth captured mine, kissing slow and deliberate, his lips exploring and claiming, while Fred’s hands moved with purpose, fingers tracing every curve, every hollow, every sensitive patch of skin exposed. Their combined touch was intoxicating, overwhelming, a dance of fire and silk.

I was caught in the perfect storm of sensation—two sets of hands, two teasing mouths, and the magic of the charm weaving waves of pleasure through every nerve. It pulsed in time with George’s fingers, sending rhythmic pulses that had my body trembling, craving more.

When George’s fingers found that perfect spot, the charm’s hum grew louder, vibrating deep within me. The sensation was electric—soft spirals of heat pulsing outward, coaxing out moans I couldn’t hold back. I gripped George’s wrists, arching toward his touch as my legs trembled, threatening to give out beneath me.

Fred’s breath was hot against my skin now, lips grazing along my jaw and neck, sending sparks racing up my spine. His fingers traced lazy, tantalizing patterns along my ribs and sides, never letting the warmth fade, always coaxing me higher.

The rhythm between the three of us became a slow, sensual dance—Fred’s hands steady and sure, George’s fingers exploring and teasing, and me caught entirely in the exquisite tension. The charm pulsed stronger with every touch, every gasp, every whispered word of encouragement.

My body trembled, the heat building to a crescendo as George’s fingers curled just right, the charm humming louder, sending ripples of pleasure spiraling through me. Fred’s lips found mine again, deepening the kiss as I melted between them.

“You’re incredible,” George whispered, voice thick with desire, “and this charm’s just the beginning.”

I could only nod, breathless, my heart pounding, as the warmth inside me surged in waves and the promise of more lingered in the air.

The magic of the charm pulsed insistently now, almost alive beneath my skin, and with every shift of George’s fingers and every stroke from Fred’s hands, it seemed to awaken more—sending shivers that rolled like electric currents deep inside me.

George’s fingers moved expertly, curling and pressing against that sweet spot with deliberate patience, coaxing out slow waves of pleasure that blossomed and stretched, teasing me mercilessly. The warmth from the charm swirled and pulsed in perfect harmony with his touch, amplifying everything tenfold.

Fred’s hands were relentless—one tracing lazy, feather-light patterns across the curve of my hip, the other sliding beneath my blouse to cup my breast. His thumb circled my nipple with a maddening slowness that had me biting my lip to keep from gasping aloud. The contrast between Fred’s steady pressure and George’s teasing strokes sent my body spiraling higher, caught between slow-burning fire and sharp sparks of delight.

Their breaths mingled at my ear and neck—Fred’s warm and teasing, George’s deep and urgent. “You’re shaking,” Fred murmured, voice thick with lust. “You’re not even halfway there.”

“Halfway?” I breathed out, chest heaving. “I’m already… almost—”

George silenced me with a slow, possessive kiss that sent tingles down my spine. His hand slid lower, fingertips tracing the sensitive skin just beneath the waistband of my skirt. The charm pulsed stronger, responding to the combined magic and touch like it was hungry for every bit of sensation we could offer.

I clutched at George’s wrists, holding on as waves of pleasure built, swirling and folding over me. The world narrowed to the slick feel of their hands, the steady hum of the charm, and the heat pooling deep inside, making my breaths shallow and quick.

Fred’s hand slid to my throat, thumb pressing gently as he leaned close enough to whisper, “Come for us.”

George’s fingers twisted inside me, perfectly timed with the charm’s rhythmic pulse. The sensation broke over me in shuddering waves—long, slow tremors that left me trembling and gasping, every nerve alive and singing.

Fred’s lips moved against my skin, trailing hot kisses down my jaw and along my collarbone, grounding me as I floated on the edge of that exquisite torment.

When the final tremors passed, and I collapsed between them, breathless and glowing, Fred chuckled softly. “Not bad for a new toy.”

I sank down onto my knees, breath catching as I looked up at Fred and George standing before me, their eyes dark with need. The warmth of the room wrapped around us like a secret promise, and I could feel the steady thrum of their anticipation.

Fred’s hand found my hair first, gripping gently but firmly as he guided me closer. My lips parted, sliding over him with slow, deliberate care—warm, wet, and teasing. I took my time, tracing every inch with my tongue, feeling the pulse beneath my touch as he let out a low, ragged breath.

George shifted beside him, pressing the length of his desire against my cheek. Without hesitation, I leaned in, my mouth closing around him, my tongue flicking along the sensitive underside, drawing a sharp moan from deep in his throat.

Their hands rested on my head and shoulders, steadying me as I moved between them, worshipping both with eager devotion. The scent of their skin and the taste of their urgency filled me completely, drowning out everything but the heat that pooled low in my belly.

Fred’s fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, deeper into this delicious chaos. My lips slid faster, more hungry now, matching the quickening rhythm of their breaths, their murmured names spilling from my mouth like a spell.

“Good girl,” Fred murmured, his voice thick with need. “Don’t stop.”

George groaned, eyes locked on mine, “You’re perfect.”

I swallowed around them both, my hands resting lightly on their thighs, grounding myself in the dizzying pleasure of being their willing captive.

Fred caught my eye first, his usual playful grin softening into something more tender. “Hey,” he murmured, his hand brushing a stray lock of hair from my cheek. “You’re ours. Always.”

George nodded, his fingers gentle as they rested lightly on my shoulder. “We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t want you — all of you.”

Their words wrapped around me like a protective charm, easing the knot of doubt in my chest. I let out a shaky breath and leaned into them, feeling safe and wanted in a way I hadn’t dared to imagine.

The magic between us wasn’t just in their touch — it was in this moment of trust, this quiet understanding that no matter what, I belonged here with them.

[romanczukowsky]

The Weasley Charm part. II

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley

Summary: After an intense, magical encounter in the storage room, the night only deepens between you and the mischievous Weasley twins. What starts as playful charm levels quickly escalates into an intimate, passionate exploration of boundaries and desire — where teasing touches, whispered promises, and the warmth of two brothers entwine in an unforgettable night. Ready for round two, the real magic is just beginning.

Content Warnings: explicit sexual content, ménage (f/m/m), cunnilingus, oral sex (f/m), masturbation, consent, praise kink, emotional vulnerability, slow burn intimacy, strong physical descriptions

Author’s Note: The charm isn’t the only magic in the room — sometimes the sparks between twins and the one they desire burn hotter than any spell. Proceed with caution and anticipation.

...You clung to each other, panting, shaking — bodies tangled in sweat, heat, and the afterglow of pure chaos and magic.

Finally, Fred chuckled against your ear.

“Level four might kill us.”

You laughed breathlessly. “Then we’ll die happy.”

For a while, you both just stayed like that — tangled limbs, slow kisses, the occasional groan as the charm's aftershocks faded to a low thrum beneath your skin. Fred eventually helped you down from the shelf, his hands gentle now, brushing back your hair, touching you like you were made of something fragile and rare.

“C’mon,” he said quietly. “Let’s go upstairs before we both pass out in the storage room.”

Upstairs, the warmth of the flat wrapped around you both like a second skin. Fred grabbed a bottle — some experimental firewhisky he and George had been perfecting — and poured two glasses. You sat together on the worn couch, limbs still loose from everything that had come before, the drink softening the world even further.

"You’re trouble," he murmured, nudging your glass with his.

"You like trouble," you replied.

“I really do.”

It was quiet for a few minutes. Just the crackle of an enchanted candle and the distant hum of the city. Then, from below, the shop door opened.

Fred raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Guess George found his way home.”

You heard the footsteps on the stairs before the door creaked open. George stepped in, brushing snow from his shoulders, his hair damp and windblown.

He stopped when he saw the two of you — flushed, tangled, half-dressed and draped across each other like you belonged nowhere else.

Fred grinned lazily. “You’re late.”

George’s gaze flicked to you, taking in the glint in your eye and the way you leaned against his twin like you belonged there.

"Looks like I missed something interesting."

Fred raised his glass, then nodded toward you. “My girl’s been helping with more than deliveries today…”

He let the words hang in the air before adding, tone low and teasing, “Want to see how she handles two Weasleys at once?”

The room didn’t move. The air didn’t shift. But something sparked — sharp, electric — between the three of you.

George cocked his head. Slowly. Thoughtfully.

And then he shut the door behind him.

You swallowed, heart pounding, caught between the mischievous brothers and the promise of what might come next.

“Looks like the real magic’s just beginning,” George said with a grin, his eyes flicking between you and Fred.

Fred’s laugh was low, wicked. “Ready for round two?”

You bit your lip, a spark of daring lighting inside you.

“Always,” you whispered.

George’s grin widened, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm—a touch electric enough to send a shiver down your spine. Fred stepped closer, closing the space between the two brothers, his breath warm against your cheek.

“Careful,” Fred teased, voice low and playful. “She’s got us both wrapped around her finger already.”

George laughed softly, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, we’re just getting started.”

You felt the weight of their gaze, the heat of their presence pressing in on every side. The room seemed smaller, charged, as if the very air was thick with anticipation.

Fred reached behind you, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. George’s hand found yours, squeezing gently.

“Let’s see how far we can push this,” Fred whispered. His fingers trailed slowly down your spine, sending tiny sparks that made your skin tingle with anticipation. George leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear, and you felt his hand glide up your thigh, fingers tracing lazy circles that made your pulse quicken.

“You’re making it hard to focus,” George murmured, his voice thick with amusement and something darker, something hungrier.

Fred chuckled, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Good. We want you distracted.”

Your breath hitched as the two brothers closed in around you, their touches a tantalizing dance—sometimes gentle, sometimes urgent. You couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began, only that every caress, every glance, sent waves of heat through you.

Fred’s hand curled possessively around your waist, pulling you flush against him, while George’s fingers slipped beneath your skirt, the teasing slow and deliberate.

“Ready for round two?” Fred whispered, lips tracing your jaw.

You smiled, eyes sparkling with challenge. “Bring it on.”

George’s smile was slow, wicked, and full of promise as he slid closer, his hand now boldly exploring the curve of your hip. Fred’s grip tightened, a low growl vibrating in his chest.

“Two Weasleys, one you,” George murmured, voice dripping with mischief. “Think you can handle that?”

You swallowed hard, the heat pooling low in your belly already. “I’m ready to find out.”

Fred’s lips pressed against your temple as George’s fingers danced upward, sending shivers of delight spiraling through you.

George’s fingers caressed me gently, slow and deliberate, sending shivers curling through my body. I gasped softly, caught between the warmth of Fred behind me and George’s touch—my senses completely on fire. Fred’s lips pressed into the curve of my neck, his voice low and rough.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured. “And we’re just getting started.”

For now, I pulled back just enough, my breath shaky, eyes sparkling with promise.

“Maybe this is only round one,” I whispered, my voice husky. “But I think I’m already winning.”

Both brothers smiled—Fred’s grin mischievous, George’s sly and knowing—and for a moment, the world shrank to just the three of us, tangled in heat, laughter, and endless possibility.

George’s fingers moved with deliberate slowness, tracing circles along my skin, sliding beneath the waistband of my skirt. The teasing touch sent sparks racing through me, igniting a fire that burned hotter with every stroke. His eyes locked onto mine, dark and filled with promise. His fingers found the place where I ached most. The gentle pressure turned urgent, coaxing waves of pleasure that rippled through my body, each pulse building on the last. Fred’s hands held me steady, grounding me even as I spiraled higher.

My fingers clenched at George’s wrists, my body trembling as his touch became a sweet torment I never wanted to end.

“Come for me,” George urged softly, his voice the thread pulling me over the edge.

I reached through George’s fingers, my body still humming from the wave of pleasure he’d coaxed from me. His touch was slow, deliberate, teasing every nerve awake, and I felt the power he held — the way he could unravel me with just a few strokes. My breath caught as I pressed closer, letting my fingers curl around his wrist, anchoring myself to him even as the fire inside me threatened to blaze out of control.

Fred’s hands slid under my shirt again, fingers warm and sure, mapping the curve of my waist as if memorizing every inch. I could feel the heat of his breath against my collarbone, his mouth hovering just out of reach, teasing me with anticipation. The two of them — so close, so different, yet both equally consuming — had me caught in a storm of sensation and desire.

George’s voice was a low murmur, rough with need. “You’re incredible. I could get lost in you.”

His fingers traced a slow circle over the spot that had just pulsed with pleasure, and I gasped softly, my body arching toward him without thinking.

Fred’s hands tightened, pulling me back just enough to steady me, his voice a teasing growl. “Don’t think I’m letting you forget who’s in charge.”

Before I could answer, George shifted his weight and knelt down in front of me. His eyes locked onto mine with a wicked gleam as he lifted one of my legs and draped it casually over his shoulder.

“You think Fred’s the only one who knows how to spoil you?” George murmured, fingers trailing along my thigh, sending shivers racing through my skin.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, his mouth followed his hands, kissing a trail up my leg as he lowered himself to taste me — teasing, skilled, and utterly consuming. His lips and tongue worked magic, exploring every sensitive inch as Fred watched from behind, his grin dark and possessive.

The warmth of George’s mouth, the strength of his hands holding me close, and Fred’s heavy breaths against my neck twisted inside me, spinning a delicious web of need and pleasure. I was caught between two storms — and I never wanted to break free.

“Which one of us are you going to choose?” Fred teased softly, voice low, as George’s ministrations deepened. I could only gasp, lost in the moment — the answer hidden somewhere in the way they both made me feel alive.

George’s lips traced the soft curve of my inner, sending jolts of pleasure shooting through me. His tongue flicked and swirled, each motion more intoxicating than the last. I was already trembling, breath shallow, caught in the delicious tension between him and Fred.

Suddenly, without warning, Fred’s strong hands gripped my waist and bent me forward just enough to push me off balance. His voice was a rough whisper against my ear. “Hold still, love.”

Before I could react, Fred slid inside me from behind, deep and sure. The unexpected fullness made me gasp, and the rush of sensation was overwhelming—sharp, electric, relentless. Despite the intensity behind me, I kept my focus on George, who looked up at me with wide, hungry eyes. Between gasps and moans, I leaned down, lips parting as I took him into my mouth. The taste of him was sweet and intoxicating, grounding me even as Fred’s movements quickened.

George’s fingers tangled in my hair, steadying me as I took him deeper, my mouth warm and eager around him. The taste, the feel of him — it was intoxicating, grounding me even as Fred’s thrusts from behind sent shivers rippling through my body.

Fred’s hands slid down my sides, gripping my hips firmly, guiding me with a rough tenderness that made me arch back into him. The delicious pressure, the sound of our breaths mixing, and the weight of two sets of hands and lips pulled me further into a perfect storm of sensation.

“God, you feel incredible?,” Fred growled softly, his voice low and rough, vibrating through me.

I moaned around George, the vibrations feeding Fred’s urgency. Each movement, each gasp, each flicker of sensation drove me closer to the edge.

George’s eyes met mine, dark and full of promise. “Almost there, love. Let go.”

I nodded, swallowing hard, letting go of all control.

The world shattered into waves of pleasure — warm, fierce, overwhelming — as my body tensed and shook beneath them. I clung to George’s hips, my mouth still busy with him, while Fred’s pace quickened, driving us both deeper into the afterglow.

When the trembling finally slowed, I collapsed against floor, breathless and completely spent.

Fred leaned down, his finger brushing gently against the corner of my mouth, wiping away the faintest trace of his brother. The touch was soft, intimate, sending a fresh shiver down my spine.

George knelt beside me, his eyes warm and steady before he lowered his head to press a tender kiss to my lips. It was slow, sweet — grounding me even more after the storm of sensations.

Fred grinned, standing up and heading toward the small counter. From a cabinet, he pulled out a third glass and poured a generous splash of amber liquid. “For the brave,” he said with a mischievous glint.

Meanwhile, George’s hands worked quickly, zipping up his pants with a practiced ease, then reaching out to help me to my feet. His touch was steady, reassuring.

“Feeling alright?” he asked softly, eyes searching mine.

I nodded, a small smile playing on my lips as Fred handed me the glass. “Better than ever.”

After a while, we settled onto the worn leather couch, the soft glow of the shop’s lights casting warm shadows around us. Glasses in hand, the amber liquid swirling gently, we sank into the comfort of each other’s presence.

Fred stretched out one long leg, grinning mischievously. “So, my girl’s survived two Weasleys in one night.”

I laughed, the sound light and full of satisfaction. “You’re lucky I’m in a generous mood.”

George nudged Fred playfully with his elbow. “Careful, or she might start thinking she’s the one in charge.”

Fred’s eyes sparkled with challenge, but I leaned into George, my fingers curling around his wrist. “Maybe I already am.”

The room hummed with warmth—of the fire, the drinks, the closeness between us—and a teasing energy that promised this night was far from over.

Part. III

[romanczukowsky]

A Slughorn Soirée

Pairing: Fred x Reader Summary: When Fred unexpectedly agrees to accompany Y/N to Professor Slughorn’s lavish party, what starts as a night full of charming banter and elegant appearances soon turns into a heated, private escape away from the crowd. In the quiet sanctuary of the prefects’ bathroom, the playful tension between them ignites into something more intense and urgent, as they explore a new level of their connection. Content Warnings: explicit sexual content, consensual intimacy, teasing, private moments Author’s Note: Sometimes it takes a party to break out of your shell—and a Weasley to show you how much fun that can be.

I never thought Fred Weasley would actually say yes to coming with me to Professor Slughorn’s party. Me — y/n, the girl who probably bored him silly with all my potion theories and meticulous notes. Yet here he was, grinning like he owned the place as we stepped into the lavishly decorated Hogwarts hall, filled with candles and glittering glassware.

“It’s all about appearances tonight, y/n,” Fred whispered in my ear, his voice low and mischievous. “But I promise, I’m here for you. Mostly.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips. Without Fred, I probably wouldn’t have even been invited. His help in class had gotten me nearly top marks in potions.

“Thanks for dragging me out of my usual ‘library bubble,’” I said quietly, adjusting the elegant gown Slughorn had insisted I wear.

Fred’s grin deepened. “Someone’s gotta keep you from turning into a book monster.”

The room buzzed with conversation. I spotted Harry Potter near the fireplace, laughing easily with a few others. I had always admired Harry — his courage was legendary, and being near him somehow made the daunting castle feel a little smaller. Not far from him stood Hermione Granger, looking every bit the scholar, though her occasional smiles showed a warmth beneath the intensity. We had similar habits — I saw her often buried in books, much like myself.

As I moved through the crowd, a few people glanced our way. Fred leaned closer, murmuring, “Ready to charm the socks off everyone?”

“I think you’re the one who’ll do that,” I replied, feeling my cheeks warm.

Throughout the evening, the conversations flowed from magical theory to tales of daring adventures. Fred kept me laughing, easing the tension I felt in such formal surroundings. But beneath his usual playful banter, there was a quiet intensity whenever his eyes met mine.

Later, as the music softened and guests paired off, Fred took my hand. “You know, you are in my debt,” he said with a wink. “For all those potions nights where I had to help you not fall asleep over those cauldrons.”

I laughed softly. “I think I’ll make sure you get paid back properly.”

His smile was wicked as he leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m counting on it.”

Without another word, he tugged me gently by the hand, guiding me away from the crowded hall. The warm murmur of conversations faded behind us as we slipped through the corridors of Hogwarts, heading toward the prefects' bathroom — a quiet sanctuary away from prying eyes.

The heavy oak door creaked softly as Fred pushed it open, and the scent of lavender and steam greeted us. Dim candlelight flickered across marble surfaces and the large, mirror-lined walls.

Fred pulled me inside and closed the door behind us, his playful grin deepening as he caught my gaze.

“Well, y/n,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “let’s see how good you are at paying debts.”

I felt my heart hammering in my chest as his hands found my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. The teasing, the laughter, the careful politeness of the party seemed worlds away now — replaced by something raw, urgent, and impossible to ignore.

His lips brushed mine in a slow, hungry kiss, and I melted into the warmth of his touch, ready to repay every late night he’d saved me through — and maybe even more.

Fred didn’t give me a moment to hesitate. His hands boldly roamed my hips, pulling at the fabric of my dress until I felt the cold marble against my back as I leaned into the wall. His lips found mine again, this time with a fierce hunger, as if trying to make up for all the moments we’d spent apart. Fred’s fingers gripped my waist, while his other hand slid under my dress, moving higher and higher—slowly, deliberately. My heart pounded in my chest, my breath quick and shallow.

There was no room for words anymore—our bodies spoke for us. Fred slid my panties down, and I wrapped my arms around him tighter, feeling every touch ignite a fire inside me. His hands were sure and strong, every movement carrying the promise of pleasure. He didn’t wait long before entering me, slow and gentle, giving me a moment to adjust to what was coming.

His warmth filled me completely, moving with a steady, relentless rhythm that matched the pounding of my heart. Each thrust sent shockwaves through my body, raw and electric, igniting every nerve ending. Fred’s breath was hot and ragged against my neck, his whispered words rough and urgent.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured, his voice thick with need.

His hands gripped my hips, pulling me closer, driving deeper. The marble wall pressed cold against my back, but all I felt was the burning heat between us. My fingers tangled in his hair as waves of pleasure crashed over me, each one more intense than the last.

My breath hitched as his pace quickened, every movement sending sparks through my body. I clung to him, lost in the overwhelming sensation of being consumed. His hands roamed with desperate hunger, sliding beneath my dress to grip my bare skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

“Fuck, you feel incredible?” Fred groaned, voice rough with need.

I gasped, arching into him as the pressure inside me built, tightening with every stroke. His mouth found my shoulder, teeth grazing gently before biting down in a fierce claim. The sound of our breaths mingled with the distant hum of the castle, but all I could focus on was the relentless rhythm driving us higher.

A sharp knot twisted deep inside me, coiling tighter and tighter until I shattered, my body trembling against his. Fred didn’t relent, moving through my release with steady determination, his own breath catching in ragged gasps.

He pulled me close, forehead resting against mine, his voice a low growl. “You’re mine, you know that?”

I could only nod, heart still pounding, completely lost in the heat of the moment.

Suddenly, faint voices drifted from the hallway outside — laughter and murmurs of passing students. Fred’s eyes flicked toward the door, then back at me with a sharp glint.

Without a word, he pressed a firm hand over my mouth, silencing me instantly. His other arm tightened around my waist, holding me close.

“Shh… be quiet,” he whispered urgently, his breath hot against my cheek.

We froze as the voices drew closer, footsteps echoing on the stone floor just beyond the door. The tension thickened — every second stretched, every breath held.

Then, just as suddenly as they’d come, the sounds faded away, the corridor slipping back into silence.

Fred slowly removed his hand from my mouth, his eyes dark with desire. “Now,” he said low, “where were we?”

He pushed me gently against the cold marble once more, sliding inside me with slow, deliberate thrusts. He moved with steady determination, each motion building on the raw urgency between us.

Then, gently guiding me down to my knees, he slid his hand into my hair, his fingers threading through the strands as he whispered, "Suck me off, will you?"

I looked up, eyes shining with both desire and teasing challenge. "Gladly," I whispered.

I obeyed, the taste and touch of him overwhelming, every move sending sparks through my body. His voice, steady and warm, grounded me even as desire set my senses aflame.

When at last he pulled me back up, our foreheads rested together, breaths mingling. “This,” he said with a sly smile, “I could get used to.”

I smiled up at him, fingers still tangled in his hair. “You know, it’s mostly thanks to you that I have such good grades in Potions,” I teased, my voice low and playful. “Maybe I should repay you like this every time.”

Fred’s grin deepened, eyes glinting with mischief and something warmer. “Well, I’ve been dreaming about this for ages. And who knows? Maybe I could help you with other subjects too… if you’re willing to let me.”

He pulled me closer again, his lips brushing my forehead softly. “Looks like this year just got a whole lot more interesting.”

[romanczukowsky]

Hogwart Express

Pairing: George x Reader Summary: A seemingly ordinary train ride to Hogwarts turns electric when George chooses to stay behind with Y/N, sparking a connection that’s been quietly simmering beneath the surface. Between stolen touches and whispered promises, what begins as school talk soon becomes a night charged with desire and unforgettable firsts. Content Warnings: explicit sexual content, consensual intimacy, teasing, mild jealousy, private moments Author’s Note: Sometimes, the best magic happens on the way to school — especially when someone’s really listening.

It was a crisp afternoon at King’s Cross Station. The familiar hum of chatter and the distant whistle of the Hogwarts Express filled the air, but I barely noticed. My fingers trembled slightly as I adjusted the strap of my worn leather bag. Three boys waiting for me in the third compartment of the train — Fred, George, and Lee. Same year as me, same chaos, but somehow… different.

I boarded the train, the chatter around me fading as I found my way to their compartment. Fred’s mischievous grin welcomed me immediately, but it was George’s eyes that caught mine, sharp and unexpectedly sincere. Lee just gave a nod and a tired smile, like he was already dreaming of the end of the journey.

“Hey,” I said, settling down between them. “How’re you feeling about Transfiguration this year?” I started, eager to spark some school talk.

Fred rolled his eyes, “Transfiguration? Come on, y/n, it’s all about the new pranks we’re cooking up. Forget the lessons.”

George’s gaze didn’t waver. He actually listened.

“I’m serious,” I continued, deliberately dragging my words, “I mean, there’s so much to prepare for… and the new professors… and the exams—”

Fred and Lee exchanged glances, their smiles growing sly. George, though, stayed fixed on me, as if every word mattered.

After a particularly long, dull sentence, Fred sighed dramatically, “We’re gonna step out — gotta test a new ‘Slytherin surprise.’ You guys want to join?”

Lee was already heading for the door, grinning.

George hesitated, then glanced back at me, eyes filled with a spark I couldn’t ignore. “I’ll stay,” he said softly.

The door slid shut behind the others, leaving just the two of us in the dim compartment.

The quiet between us was suddenly charged, thick with possibility. I felt the heat of his gaze, the way his fingers tapped nervously against his knee.

I kept talking, my voice softer now but steady, weaving through the topics I’d been thinking about for weeks — potions and their delicate timing, the mysterious patterns of numerology, and even a bit about Muggle studies, which most found boring but fascinated me. George didn’t interrupt; instead, he just watched me.

His eyes were dark and warm, absorbing every word. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, cradling his chin in his hands. That crooked grin spread across his face — the kind of smile that made you forget the cold outside or the crowded train around us.

“School’s school, love,” he said, his voice low and sure, “You’re going to ace it all. Best in our year, easy.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks, a sudden flush spreading across my skin. I swallowed, feeling the weight of his gaze. “And what about you?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper, “What do you want to talk about?”

George’s smile deepened, eyes sparkling with mischief and something softer beneath. “We can keep talking school,” he said, shrugging as if it was no big deal, “Honestly, I don’t mind. I kinda like listening to you.”

I blinked, my face heating even more. The compartment felt smaller, warmer, like the air between us was thickening — charged with something neither of us dared name aloud.

“Really?” I murmured, heart thudding.

“Really,” he nodded, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against his knee, “So, keep going. I’m all ears.”

“I just can’t wait for the Quidditch matches this year,” I said, a smile tugging at my lips as I glanced out the window, imagining the roar of the crowd and the blur of players chasing the Quaffle. “The Gryffindor team has been training hard, and I swear, this season’s going to be amazing.”

George let out a soft sigh, standing up as if to stretch, then casually slid down beside me, closing the small gap between us. I kept talking, my words tumbling out, but I felt his eyes on my face — attentive, warm, and suddenly uncomfortably close.

Without warning, his fingers brushed a stray lock of hair away from my cheek, tucking it gently behind my ear. The sudden contact made me stop mid-sentence, my breath catching.

George just chuckled quietly, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

His hand slid down slowly to rest on my knee, tracing lazy circles on my thigh beneath the fabric. The warmth of his touch sent a thrill straight through me. He leaned in, voice low and teasing, right next to my ear.

“Go on… What were you saying?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but the words vanished. My chest tightened, breath shallow, caught between nerves and something electric.

Then, just as I was about to give up, George’s tongue flicked softly against my earlobe, warm and unexpectedly bold.

“I like hearing you talk,” he murmured, voice husky. “I really listen.”

My pulse hammered in my ears, and I swallowed hard, managing a quiet whisper.

“Well… there’s just so much to get ready for this year,” I said, voice trembling but determined to keep going. “Classes, homework, potions experiments… and the exams—they’re going to be brutal.”

His hand slid slowly higher, inch by inch, as I spoke. My words became softer, almost a murmur now, and I could feel every breath between us charged with tension — sweet, teasing, and impossible to ignore.

His fingers kept their slow, deliberate path upward, warmth radiating through the thin fabric of my skirt. Each gentle circle sent shivers curling along my spine, making it harder to focus on my own words.

I bit my lip, voice dropping to a hushed whisper, “I really want to do well this year… but sometimes it feels like there’s too much. Like I’m barely keeping up.”

George’s smile deepened, full of that teasing spark that always made my heart skip. He leaned in closer, so close that I could feel the heat of his breath against my cheek.

“You’ll be the best, y/n,” he murmured, voice low and certain. “I don’t doubt it for a second.”

Before I could answer, his hand slid just a little higher, resting now on the curve of my thigh, fingertips barely grazing the skin beneath.

I swallowed hard, cheeks flushing as a delicious tension spread between us — a mix of nervous excitement and something deeper, more urgent.

“Do you… want to take a break from talking about school?” he whispered, his lips just brushing my ear.

My heart thundered in response, caught between wanting to say yes and the fear of what might come next. But his touch was so gentle, so full of promise, that I couldn’t say no.

His hand was already under my skirt now — slow at first, but there was nothing gentle in the way he gripped my thigh and pulled me closer. The soft hum of the train, the chatter from distant compartments — all of it blurred out the moment his fingers found the edge of my underwear.

I gasped, hand catching the edge of the seat. “George—”

He didn’t answer. His eyes burned into mine for a split second before his mouth crashed against mine — hot, demanding, his kiss full of everything he hadn’t said until now. I opened for him instinctively, moaning against his mouth as his fingers slipped past the fabric.

He groaned low in his throat the second he felt how wet I already was.

“Fuck, y/n…” he whispered against my lips, breath shaky. His voice had changed — lower, rougher. I could barely respond. My hips rocked toward his hand, desperate for more friction.

“You like it when I touch you like this?” he asked, fingers sliding over my slick folds, teasing my clit with maddening precision. I whimpered, nodding, too far gone for words.

Then he pushed two fingers inside me without warning — slow, deep, and I nearly cried out.

“You’re so tight,” he growled, pumping into me with increasing speed. “Bet you’ve been thinking about this. Thinking about me. While pretending to be so focused on classes.”

I grabbed his arm, holding on as pleasure curled in my belly like something alive.

“I have,” I choked out, barely able to speak.

“Yeah?” His thumb pressed down against my clit, circling with just the right pressure. My entire body jolted. “Then come for me. Right here. Right now.”

The pressure, the speed, the sound of his voice — everything hit me at once.

And I did. I came hard on his hand, biting my lip to muffle the moan, body tensing then unraveling completely under his touch. He didn’t stop — kept moving, fucking me through it until my legs shook.

When I finally opened my eyes, breathless and flushed, he was licking his fingers clean.

“I fucking knew you’d taste good,” he murmured.

And then — he stood, tugged at his belt with one smooth motion, and his trousers dropped low enough to reveal exactly what I’d been imagining since fifth year.

“Your turn,” he said with a wicked grin, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me up onto his lap.

I let out a breathless laugh, surprised by the sudden shift but not resisting it. Straddling him, I could feel the warmth of his body under me — his hands still firm on my waist, his eyes darker than I’d ever seen them. The playful glint was still there, but now it was edged with something else. Something hungry.

His hands slid slowly under my robes, palms warm as they curved around my hips.

"You really were going to talk about Quidditch the whole ride, weren’t you?" he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his thumb brushing the skin just above the waistband of my skirt.

"I—" I started, but the words caught in my throat when he leaned forward, his mouth grazing the base of my throat. His breath was hot, slow, like he was tasting the moment. My heart thundered against his chest.

"You’re incredible, you know that?" he whispered, kissing just under my jaw. "I could listen to you talk about exams and broomsticks all day. But right now…" His lips curved into a smile against my skin. "I want to hear something else."

His hands moved up my sides, dragging the fabric of my shirt with them. I felt bare heat where his fingers brushed, leaving trails of fire under my skin. I could barely breathe. My hands clenched in the fabric of his robes.

"George…" I whispered, not really sure what I was about to say.

His eyes met mine again, and in that look, so full of confidence, mischief, and want. He kissed me. It was full, possessive, claiming. One hand cradled the back of my head, the other gripped my thigh. I gasped against his lips, and he swallowed the sound with a low groan. My body pressed closer to his, moving without thought. Every nerve felt alive, every breath shared between us like we were suspended in a spell neither of us wanted to break.

The rhythm between us shifted. My hands slid up his shoulders, fingers knotting into his ginger hair as I moved instinctively, chasing every flicker of sensation he gave me. All I could feel was George — his hands guiding, his breath hot against my skin, his chest rising fast beneath mine.

His mouth broke from mine just long enough to whisper, “You drive me mad, y’know that?” And then he was back — lips trailing down my neck, breath tickling my collarbone, his voice deeper now, unsteady.

Somewhere, faintly, the whistle of the train echoed again, reminding us that time was still moving. And when he held me tighter, forehead resting against mine, both of us catching our breath, I knew — this wasn’t just a prank or a passing thrill.

“Fuck, I'll get there soon…” - he sighed. It only took a few more movements for me to feel the heat spilling inside me. I sank down onto his body.

“We should probably…” he began, his voice husky, not finishing the sentence.

I nodded, barely able to think straight. My skirt was wrinkled, and I tugged it down instinctively, cheeks flushed. George shifted, grabbing his shirt and slipping it back on while raking a hand through his hair.

Just as I reached for my bag, the door to the compartment slid open.

Fred stood there with a knowing smirk, Lee peeking over his shoulder with a half-curious, half-smug expression.

“Well, well, well,” Fred said, crossing his arms. “Hope we didn’t interrupt a… deep academic discussion.”

George didn’t even flinch. He grinned and leaned casually back in his seat.

“Y/n was just telling me all about Numerology. Fascinating stuff.”

I cleared my throat, avoiding their eyes, but the heat on my face said it all.

Lee whistled low. “Looks like someone got extra credit.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to suppress my smile. George reached over and gently squeezed my hand.

And as the train rolled forward, I stared out the window, heart still racing, realizing that maybe this year at Hogwarts was going to be different in all the best ways.

[romanczukowsky]

Quidditch trophies

Pairing: Fred x Reader Summary: Detention was supposed to be boring — just you and Fred, polishing Quidditch trophies under Snape’s watchful wrath. But the tension between you builds with every passing moment, until a whispered challenge becomes something far more daring. In the quiet corners of the castle, beneath shelves of gleaming silver and dusted dreams, Fred makes good on his promise to turn your punishment into pleasure. And you? You’re more than willing to play along.

Content Warnings: explicit sexual content, oral (m/f), praise kink, semi-public encounter, slow teasing, power play, mutual consent, emotional tension

Author’s Note: Who knew trophies weren’t the only thing Fred was good at polishing? 🏆💋

The punishment was simple but harsh enough — detention in the potions classroom. Fred and George were each assigned a task: Fred had to polish the Quidditch trophies, while George and Lee were stuck helping Snape with potion ingredients. You got pulled into the mess too, just for talking to them — even though you weren’t really at fault. Now you were stuck beside Fred, elbow-deep in polishing tarnished silver cups.

Fred sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “You know, one day I’m going to get that trophy for myself,” he said, eyes sparkling. “I’ll be the most famous player has ever seen. Girls will be squealing just thinking about me looking their way.”

You couldn’t help but smile despite still being annoyed about detention. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure they already scream when they see you,” you teased. But honestly, you’d heard the rumors in the dorm — the whispers about how many girls Fred and George had caught attention from. “Sometimes I get tired of overhearing those crazy stories.”

"Really?"

You rolled your eyes, but inside, your heart was pounding. The air between you both seemed charged, your hands brushing as you worked side by side on the trophies. Then, suddenly, Fred’s voice dropped to a low, playful growl.

“Bet you didn’t think detention could get this… interesting.”

Fred’s fingers brushed lightly over your hand as he reached for another trophy, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. You caught the movement out of the corner of your eye, but kept your gaze fixed on the photographs scattered across the desk. One showed your brother, always the best Seeker in your eyes, tall and confident, the kind everyone admired.

“He was always the one everyone looked up to,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “So skilled, so focused…”

Fred leaned in from behind, his breath warm near your ear. “So, tell me… are only Seekers interesting to you? Or can just like me catch your attention too?”

You stiffened, determined not to let him see how much his voice affected you. You turned around, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, forcing a small smile. “I’m just here to get this over with. Polishing trophies isn’t exactly my idea of fun.”

Fred chuckled softly, stepping closer, his presence pressing in. “Not with me around, huh? Maybe I can make it a bit more… entertaining.”

You bit your lip, glancing back down at the photos, pretending to study them but feeling the heat from his gaze. Your fingers tapped a rhythm on the silver cup, heart beating a little faster. The room felt smaller, charged.

Fred’s hand found yours again, this time with a confident grip. “Come on, don’t act like you don’t want this,” he whispered, voice low and teasing.

You finally met his eyes, the playful challenge there undeniable. “Maybe I do… maybe I don’t.”

His smile was a slow burn. “We could make this detention one to remember.”

You took a deep breath, the tension thick between you as your hands stayed locked, both knowing this was just the beginning.

Fred’s fingers tightened slightly around your hand, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His eyes searched yours, daring, hungry. The air between you crackled, heavy with unspoken promises. Without breaking eye contact, he lowered his head, lips barely brushing your ear. You shivered as his breath warmed your skin. His hand slid gently down from your waist, tracing slow, teasing patterns.

You swallowed hard, heart racing as his lips moved to your neck, soft and feather-light. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, holding on as his hands explored carefully, as if savoring every moment. Then, with a tender urgency, Fred’s mouth moved lower, planting delicate kisses along your collarbone.

Fred’s lips moved with gentle determination, tracing a slow path down your neck, exploring the sensitive skin with soft, teasing kisses. His breath was warm and steady against your skin, sending shivers racing through your body.

"I’ll make sure to reward you for the detention," he whispered, voice low and promising.

Then, his mouth found the spot that made your breath hitch — tender, purposeful, and impossibly inviting. His tongue flicked lightly at first, exploring the sensitive bud hidden beneath your clothing, learning your reactions, mapping the places that made you sigh and tremble. Every movement was slow and deliberate, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of you.

His hands slid down to your hips, steadying you as he leaned closer, lips tracing every sensitive curve. The room seemed to shrink until there was nothing but the warmth of his mouth against your skin and the electric pull between you. The gentle pressure of his tongue, combined with the careful, teasing rhythm, sent waves of pleasure rippling through your body. He was patient, attentive — every flick, every sweep designed to coax and unravel you slowly.

You arched slightly, a soft moan slipping past your lips. “Fred… almost,” you breathed, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him just a little closer. Your breath hitched as the delicious pressure built, the heat pooling deep and wild.

Fred responded instantly, his tongue moving faster now, sure and skillful, matching the rising tempo of your need. His hands moved with purpose — one resting gently on your lower back, the other sliding a little lower, grounding you as the sensation deepened. Each flick of his tongue was met with a shudder, each soft moan your gift to him.

The rhythm intensified, never rushed but escalating with precise, teasing mastery. You gripped his hair tighter, a trembling moan escaping as your pleasure peaked, waves of warmth flooding through you. He held you there in the moment, savoring your reactions, his lips and tongue weaving a spell far stronger than any charm.

When he finally lifted his head, your cheeks were flushed, breaths coming in quick, satisfied gasps. His eyes locked with yours — full of quiet triumph and unspoken promises.

“Better now?” he whispered, brushing a stray hair from your face with the tender touch of a spell.

You smiled, breathless but utterly content.

You lay there for a few moments, letting your heartbeat settle, your fingers still gently tangled in Fred’s hair. He rested his head on your thigh, looking smug and completely unbothered by the chaos you both had just created.

After a beat of silence, you nudged him lightly. “We should probably get back. If Filch catches us…”

Fred groaned theatrically. “Let him. Totally worth it.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you sat up and adjusted your clothes. Fred stood too, brushing imaginary dust off his robes like he hadn’t just turned your world upside down in a dusty trophy room.

As you both walked back through the dim corridors toward the Gryffindor common room, you exchanged looks — the kind of look that said this wasn’t over. Not even close. When you climbed through the portrait hole and stepped into the warm, familiar light of the common room, it felt different — like something between you had shifted permanently.

Fred shot you a glance over his shoulder and grinned.

“Best detention ever.”

You smirked. “Let’s see how you top it next time.”

And with that, the two of you disappeared into the buzzing noise of your housemates, like nothing had happened — but with a secret that made the night burn a little brighter.

[romanczukowsky]

Not So Sick After All

Pairing: George x Reader Summary: When George stays behind under the guise of illness, you decide to stay too — just to keep him company.What starts as an innocent moment unravels into something deeper, darker, and impossibly tender.

Content Warnings: explicit sexual content, masturbation (m), oral (f/m), intimacy, emotional vulnerability, diary-reading, praise kink, consent

Author’s Note: Sometimes staying home leads to the real adventure — especially when the quiet twin isn’t as quiet as he seems

Winter in Nora had something magical about it — a gentle frost painted intricate patterns on the windows, and the world seemed to slow down, wrapped in the silence of snow-covered fields. The kitchen was filled with the scent of baked apples and mint, and from afar, you could hear the murmur of conversations and laughter — the twins were discussing their latest plan for another adventure.

It was Fred holding a letter from Charlie, full of enthusiasm and excitement. There had been more and more dragons lately, and Charlie needed help — both brothers planned to leave right away to see these majestic creatures with their own eyes.

“This is going to be epic!” Fred said, his eyes shining. “Come on, George, let’s pack up, we can’t miss this!”

At that moment, Molly entered the kitchen, smiling warmly, her hands full of cozy scarves and gloves.

“By the way, boys,” she said, looking at them kindly, “we have a guest today. Y/N just came to visit. She said she wants to help you and join the trip, if you want.”

Fred immediately brightened even more.

“Great! Then we’re going as a trio! What do you say, George?”

George suddenly winced and brushed his hand over his forehead, as if trying to suppress an incoming pain.

“I don’t think I can make it,” he said quietly, coughing. “I don’t feel very well. Maybe this isn’t for me.”

Fred stepped closer, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll go as three, you’ll get better soon.”

But George shook his head, trying to hide how he really felt.

“No, seriously… it’s better if I stay.”

Molly, who had been listening quietly until then, came over and placed her hand on his forehead.

“It’s a bit warmer than this morning. But if you feel bad, you’ll stay home. Don’t worry about us,” she said softly.

You entered the room and greeted everyone kindly, giving them a smile. George groaned quietly and fell back on his bed.

“How do you feel?” you asked.

“Not so good, Y/N. You have to go with Fred alone.”

“I’ll stay with you. You’ll need company.”

“Hope it’s not contagious,” Fred said with a smile and winked at George.

After the others left, the room grew quiet, filled only with the faint sound of the winter wind outside. George seemed restless, his eyes wandering around the room, but after a moment, almost as if agreeing with your earlier suggestion, he finally said, "Maybe I should take a nap."

You nodded, settling into a chair nearby while he lay down on the bed, pulling a thin blanket over himself. His breathing soon became slow and steady, the tension in his body easing.

Curious, your gaze wandered around the room. On the desk, you noticed a few photographs — pictures of you. A warm feeling spread through you. It was nice to see that even here, far from your own home, the boys still thought about you.

Then, tucked between some books, your eyes caught sight of a worn leather-bound journal. You hesitated for a moment, feeling the familiar pang of guilt at invading someone’s privacy. But your curiosity was stronger.

Glancing once more at George, whose eyes were closed and breathing even, you convinced yourself: "He’s probably asleep… and honestly, if the roles were reversed, I’m sure they’d do the same."

So, you opened the journal carefully. Page after page was filled with George’s neat handwriting. You felt your heart quicken when you saw how much he wrote about you — the small details nobody else noticed. About your laugh, the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about things you loved, the curve of your smile. The words grew more personal as you turned the pages. He wrote about your body — how it captivated him, the way your presence affected him deeply. Then, the tone shifted to something bolder, describing with careful words what he would do if you were alone together. How he would touch you gently, explore every inch, make you feel things you’d never felt before.

I didn’t hear him move at first. The room was so quiet I thought I was alone — until I felt it. Warm breath, just behind my ear. And then his voice, low and rough — not with sleep, not with sickness, but something far deeper.

"You always were too curious for your own good…"

My fingers froze over the pages of his journal. My heart thudded against my ribs as heat crawled up my neck. I didn’t dare turn around.

"I didn’t mean to snoop," I murmured, my voice catching. "You left it open."

A soft chuckle, almost amused. "No, I didn’t."

I turned slowly, finally daring to face him — and my breath caught in my throat.

Gone was the pale, feverish version of George from earlier. He looked steady now. Awake. Eyes darker, sharp with intent. And he was standing so close.

"You’re not sick," I whispered.

"Not the way they think," he said, stepping closer still. His chest almost brushed mine now. "But I needed to stay. With you."

His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear — so gentle, I could barely breathe. His fingers lingered against my cheek, as if testing how real this moment was.

"You read it all?" he asked, voice low.

"Not everything," I admitted, barely more than a whisper. "But… enough."

He nodded once, slowly. Then leaned in, his forehead pressing gently against mine.

"Then you know what I want."

I did. God, I did. And it scared me how much I wanted it too.

"Maybe I want it too," I breathed, my lips barely grazing his as I said it.

He didn’t ask again. He didn’t need to. His mouth was on mine in the next heartbeat — warm, sure, tasting of mint and longing and every word he never said out loud. And I kissed him back like I’d been waiting years for this. Because maybe… I had. His lips moved slowly against mine at first — as if he didn’t want to rush it, as if this moment was something fragile, something rare. But then something shifted. Maybe it was the way my fingers slid into his hair, maybe it was the sound I made — a soft gasp against his mouth — but suddenly, his hands were on my waist, pulling me closer, anchoring me against him like he was afraid I might disappear.

I wasn’t going anywhere.

His mouth left mine only for a moment — just long enough to trail a kiss down my jaw, then lower, where my pulse thundered beneath the skin.

"You have no idea," he whispered there, "how many nights I thought about this. About you. About this exact moment."

I swallowed hard, my hands resting against his chest. I could feel his heart pounding beneath my palms, just as wild as mine.

"I think I do," I said softly.

He looked at me again — really looked — like I was something unreal. Like he didn’t quite believe I was still here. His thumb brushed across my lower lip as he studied me.

"You have no idea what you do to me, y/n..."

I felt his voice more than I heard it. Deep, rough, low in his chest as he leaned in again — and this time, the kiss wasn’t soft. It was hungry. Messy. Real. He backed me slowly toward the edge of his bed, fingers still gripping my waist. I could feel the heat of his body pressing against mine, all the quiet tension he’d held back for so long finally breaking free. And when the back of my knees hit the mattress, I didn’t hesitate. I sat. He followed. His hands were on either side of me now, framing my face like I was the most important thing he’d ever touched. I could still see the flush in his cheeks — not from fever, but from something far more dangerous. And God, I wanted him just as badly.

"Are you sure?" he asked, voice rough, breath warm against my lips.

I nodded.

"I’ve never been more sure of anything."

His lips brushed my neck, warm and feather-light, and I gasped softly, my fingers clutching at the thin fabric of his shirt. My breath hitched, a flutter deep inside that built slowly, like a storm gathering just out of sight.Then, one hand slid lower, fingers curling gently, confidently.

“Y/N,” he whispered, voice low, almost like a secret meant just for me. “You’re driving me crazy.”

I swallowed, feeling that flutter grow stronger. My hands found their way to his chest, fingers pressing into the fabric as if grounding myself in the moment. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned closer, his breath warm against my cheek. Slowly, deliberately, he brushed his lips over my jaw, then paused just beside my ear.

“Just relax,” he murmured, “and let it happen. See? Nothing to worry about.”

His hands moved fast now, sliding under my shirt, gripping my waist. I didn’t resist. He pulled me closer, lips crashing onto mine hard and hungry. I gasped, fingers digging into his shirt. He pressed me against the bed, one hand tangled in my hair, the other roaming lower. Without breaking the kiss, he shifted, fingers tracing under my clothes, making me shiver. I moaned quietly, arching into him.

He pulled back just enough to whisper, “You’re mine.”

Then he pushed inside with fingers, slow at first, then faster, matching my quickening pulse. Every movement was rougher now, deeper, raw. I groaned him name, and I lost control, falling into the storm we created. He didn’t stop. His fingers moved with a rhythm that made my head spin, every touch sending sparks through my body. My walls clenched around him, responding without control. His lips found my neck, kissing and sucking softly, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. I tangled my hands in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more of him. He whispered my name again, low and rough, as if it was a spell binding us tighter. And then, just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, he slowed, letting the waves wash over me, grounding me in the moment. We stayed like that for a long time — tangled, breathless, holding on to each other as the world outside faded away.

When he finally pulled back, breathless and satisfied my fingers tracing along his jawline, feeling the rapid beat of his pulse beneath my touch.

“Now it’s my turn,” I whispered.

His eyes widened, a mix of surprise and desire flashing there, but he didn’t pull away — instead, he leaned closer, as if silently inviting me to take the lead. I kissed him deeply. Every touch, every gentle stroke was my way of saying thank you — for the way he made me feel alive and wanted.

I gently sank down, my hands resting lightly on his thighs. My lips followed a slow, teasing path, exploring with a careful touch that sent a shiver through him. He caught his breath, fingers curling into the sheets as my tongue traced delicate circles, waking every nerve. His body tensed, eyes closing as waves of pleasure rippled through him. I let my movements grow bolder, guided by the rising rhythm between us, feeling the magic pulse stronger with every touch.

He reached out, threading his fingers into my hair, holding me close yet letting me set the pace. The world narrowed down to the two of us — the heat, the soft sounds, and the electricity that sparked between our skin.

When he finally gasped, lost in the sensation, I paused, looking up at him through tangled lashes. His eyes were filled with gratitude and desire, and I knew I had given back everything he had just given me — and more.

[romanczukowsky]

The Weasley Charm

Pairing: Fred x Reader Summary: A snowy night in Diagon Alley becomes something far more intoxicating when Y/N visits Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes with a simple delivery. Fred’s playful charm hides a deep hunger, and a brand-new magical invention gives him a way to explore your body in ways no spellbook ever dared. Heat, teasing, and want collide in a storage room no one will ever look at the same way again.

Content Warnings: explicit sexual content, magical sex toys, power dynamics, praise kink, intense build-up, consent, playful dominance

Author’s Note: Fred always said he was an inventor. You just didn’t expect to become the test subject for his most pleasurable creation yet 🔥✨

It was quiet on Diagon Alley, like the snow had covered all the usual sounds of London. The snowflakes danced under the streetlights, and the cold air bit my cheeks as I walked with a package under my arm. My fingers were freezing, but my heart was beating faster than it should — and not because of the cold. Fred.

I loved helping him in the shop. Sometimes I brought a package as an excuse, sometimes for no reason — I just wanted to be near him. To feel the smell of laughter, magic, and… him.

The front door creaked as I stepped inside. Warmth hit me right away, along with the familiar smell of sweet smoke from magical experiments. The lights flickered softly, and the shelves were full of holiday-themed pranks and potions.

"George went out for some hot butterbeer, I’m alone!" I heard his voice from upstairs, where the office was. "I’ll be right down, just finishing something! You can leave the package in the storage room under the stairs, yeah?"

"Sure!" I called back, smiling to myself, even though he couldn’t see me yet.

I walked through the shop and into the small storage room. It smelled like old wood and dust, like ancient books full of secrets. As I bent down to place the package, I suddenly felt something behind me — warmth, presence… and then his breath right against my neck.

"I’m glad you came," he whispered in a low voice.

I froze, but not because I was scared. My body reacted before my mind could think. Gently, confidently, he placed his hands on my hips, pulling me back against him. My heart started racing. I could feel every inch of his chest against my back.

"I have something new," he murmured, his lips brushing my skin just under my ear. "Something we haven’t tested yet…"

I turned my head slightly. Our eyes met. His gaze was full of something I knew well — amusement, but also deep certainty. Tonight, I wasn’t just a helper in his shop. I was something to explore. A mystery. A body he wanted to discover — slowly, carefully, completely.

His hands moved over my shoulders, then down to my waist. The storage room was small, quiet, with barely any light from the main room, but that only made everything feel more intense. The cold winter stayed outside. In here, it was warm. And getting warmer.

"Do you want me to show you?" he asked, his nose tracing a slow path along my neck.

I shivered. The air between us was thick, full of more than just the scent of that package.

"Show me," I whispered.

I closed my eyes when his lips touched my neck. Warm, sure, slow. Each kiss felt like a mark — not of rush, but of deep want. His hands slid along my waist, over the fabric of my coat, until he slowly unbuttoned it and slid it off my shoulders.

"You’re freezing…" he murmured, brushing his fingers along my skin through my thin shirt. "We’ll have to do something about that."

I laughed softly, but my breath was already short. I turned to face him. He stood so close, his eyes dark, focused only on me. In the glow of the shop’s lights, he looked like someone from another world. And I was the center of it now.

"Fred…" I whispered, not finishing the sentence. Because what could I say? That I’d been waiting for this moment for weeks? That every conversation with him left little sparks inside me, and now they were catching fire?

I didn’t have to say anything.

He kissed me. Gently at first, like he was waiting for my permission. I gave it without words — mouth to mouth, breath to breath. When his hand slid under my shirt, I didn’t flinch. I pulled him closer.

The dim light in the storage room, the scent of wood, and the heat of his body created a world where time stopped. Nothing mattered except this moment.

"Do you still want me to show you?" he asked again, this time with a crooked smile. His fingers drifted lower, to the edge of my hips.

I nodded.

"Show me…" I whispered.

Fred leaned in and lifted me gently, setting me down on a small wooden table in the corner. His hands were everywhere — gentle, sure, patient. He pulled my shirt up and off, kissing every part of the skin he revealed like it meant something.

It felt like… time had melted. Like I was part of something more than just this moment. Something just beginning. Something we both understood — without needing to say it.

"You know how George always says we make joke products… but I’ve been working on something different. Something a little… riskier."

I looked at him, breath catching.

"What is it?"

He reached into his pocket — from his robes — and pulled out something small and shimmering. At first, I thought it was a coin. But then I saw the glow — soft, pulsing, warm like skin.

"It’s called Heat Pulse," he said with a proud grin. "Tiny, invisible charms that warm only certain areas… and respond to touch. Your touch."

Before I could answer, he slid the charm gently under the waistband of my skirt, just near my hip — not too far, but close enough that my breath hitched.

And then — heat.

Slow, spreading, targeted heat that sank through my skin and made my legs tremble.

"Oh my god," I whispered, grabbing the edge of the table.

Fred just smirked. "It activates when I touch you here," he said, running one finger along my thigh. The warmth spiked. "Or here…" Another brush of his hand over my lower belly, and another wave of heat surged through me.

"Fred!" I gasped.

"You like it?"

I couldn't speak. I just nodded, biting my lip, thighs squeezing together — but that only made it more intense. The charm was responding to my reactions now, like it was alive. Like it wanted me to melt.

Fred moved between my legs, pressing his mouth to my neck again. "I’ve only tested it once," he murmured. "But I think you’re the real proof it works."

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, trembling from the mix of heat, touch, and pure anticipation.

"What happens if you turn it up?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

He smiled against my skin.

"Let’s find out."

Fred placed his hands on either side of your thighs, leaning in so close you could feel his breath on your neck — warm, teasing, and making your pulse quicken.

"Let’s see how long you last before you beg for more," he whispered, his fingers gliding over your skin, stopping near the spot where he had hidden the enchanted object.

In the same moment, you felt a new wave of heat — not just pleasant, but almost overwhelming. It spread from your hips upward, across your stomach and to your chest, making your nipples instantly tighten, your whole body reacting.

You gripped his shoulders tightly.

"Fred…" you gasped, your voice trembling, unfamiliar, almost desperate.

"Yeah?" He smirked, slipping his hand under your shirt. His thumb brushed over your hardened nipple through the thin fabric. "Warm enough for you?"

When he touched you again, the magic responded like it knew every inch of your body. The heat turned into a gentle vibration, buzzing beneath your skin, pulling a soft moan from your lips.

"Fred, stop teasing..." you whispered, pressing your body closer to his.

But he only chuckled.

"I’m not testing some hand cream here." He raised an eyebrow and slipped his hand under your skirt. "I’m going to test its full potential."

With one smooth motion, he moved your underwear aside and touched you — first gently, carefully… until the spell reacted, releasing another wave of warmth, this time right where you needed it.

Your hips bucked instinctively, your body arching toward him, a breathless moan escaping before you could stop it.

"Oh, it works. And very well," he whispered with clear satisfaction, running his fingers through your slick folds. "But don’t worry, love… that’s just level one."

Before you could even ask how many levels there were, you felt it — not just heat, not just vibration, but pulses of pleasure, synced perfectly with his touch. The magic worked with him, knowing what you needed before you even did.

Fred pulled you closer, your back pressing against the cool storage room wall, and his lips found your neck again.

"You can still say ‘enough,’" he murmured, voice low and teasing.

"Try more'," you whispered, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling his lips to yours.

He didn’t need a second invitation.

Fred’s lips crashed into yours, hungry now — tasting your sighs, swallowing your moans. His hand was still between your legs, fingers slick with your arousal, moving with purpose now.

You could feel the magic shifting — no longer gentle, no longer teasing.

He looked into your eyes and grinned like the troublemaker he was.

"Time for level two."

He twisted his wrist just slightly — and suddenly, the charm pulsing between your thighs responded with a low hum, like something had awakened inside you. A deeper, throbbing warmth spread through your core, then bloomed outward.

You gasped, clutching his arms.

"Oh my God—Fred—"

"That’s not a safe word," he murmured against your neck, nipping your skin with just enough pressure to make you arch.

The pulsing turned into a rhythm — slow, rolling waves that matched the motion of his fingers, as if the spell had synced to both of you. Your body was no longer just reacting — it was melting, unraveling.

Your legs trembled.

"You're going to make me—" you whispered, barely able to breathe.

"Good." His voice dropped to a growl. "That’s the whole point."

Then he curled his fingers just right, and the spell surged — like a fire racing under your skin. Your entire body tensed, your back hitting the wall, and with a loud cry, you came hard, the climax hitting you like a crashing wave.

Fred held you through it, his free arm around your waist, keeping you steady as you shook in his grasp.

But he wasn’t done.

"Still standing?" he whispered with a smirk, his fingers sliding out of you, now glistening. He brought them to his mouth, licking them clean without breaking eye contact.

"Mm. You taste like magic. Let’s try level three."

You blinked at him, still breathless, dazed. "You’re insane."

"Only in the best ways."

This time, he didn’t touch the charm. He spoke to it.

"Intensify — deep spiral pattern."

You didn’t even have time to react.

Suddenly, the pulsing became something deeper, something you could feel not just in your clit but deep inside you — like invisible fingers stroking every sensitive nerve. It built slowly… then twisted.

Hard.

You choked on a moan, your knees buckling. Fred caught you easily, one arm around your waist, the other under your thigh, lifting you onto a nearby shelf like you weighed nothing.

"There we go," he said, looking at you like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted. "Now we’re really testing limits."

You grabbed his shoulders, eyes wide, mouth parted.

"Fred—if you don’t—if you don’t fucking fuck me right now—"

"Say no more."

He undid his trousers, pushed down just enough, and positioned himself at your entrance. The magic was still pulsing, teasing you open, and when he finally slid inside — slowly, deeply — your body didn’t resist. It welcomed him.

You both groaned at the same time — him at the tight heat around him, you at the way he filled you so perfectly it hurt in the most delicious way.

"That’s it, sweetheart," he growled, thrusting into you again. "Let go for me. Let me feel you fall apart."

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, your moans growing louder, breath catching with every thrust, every surge of magic that made each movement feel ten times more intense.

"I can’t—Fred—I can’t—"

"Yes, you can. You’re gonna come for me again, aren’t you? Let it happen."

And you did.

You came again, and harder, clenching around him, shaking, crying out his name like a spell itself. He didn’t stop. Not until he was close too — his thrusts rougher now, desperate.

Then he buried himself deep inside you, groaning into your shoulder as he came, hips pulsing, body shuddering, spell still humming around you both like it was feeding off your pleasure.

You clung to each other, panting, shaking — bodies tangled in sweat, heat, and the afterglow of pure chaos and magic.

Finally, Fred chuckled against your ear.

"Level four might kill us."

You laughed breathlessly. "Then we’ll die happy."

Part. II

[romanczukowsky]

Fire and Sparks

Pairing: Fred x Reader x George Summary: A Hogwarts dance sets the stage for more than just music and pumpkin pastries. Between Fred’s bold flirtation and George’s quiet intensity, Y/N finds herself caught in a fire that’s impossible to put out. What starts as teasing glances and stolen touches ends in a night of passion none of them expected—and none of them will forget. Content Warnings: explicit sexual content, threesome, mild jealousy, sensual build-up, consent Author’s Note: If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if you didn’t have to pick between the twins... this one’s for you 🔥💫

“It’s official!” Lee Jordan bellowed, bursting out of the Great Hall with a rolled-up parchment in hand. “The dance is happening next week! With music, lights, a table full of sweets, and... the chance for someone to finally dance with Crabbe without using the Imperius Curse!”

Laughter echoed through the corridor like a rogue tickling spell.

Amidst the chaos of preparations, Y/N sat in the dormitory with her friends, rummaging through a trunk of dresses. She wasn’t entirely sure who she wanted to go with. She bantered a lot with Fred, but George... well, he had that something. That calm confidence, the thoughtful gaze, the kind of sparkle in his eyes that made her forget what she was saying mid-sentence.

“Don’t tell me you still don’t know who you’re going with,” Angelina laughed, flopping onto the bed beside her. “Fred literally said at breakfast today: ‘Y/N’s going with me and that’s final, before any other losers try and speak up.’”

“He said that?” Y/N raised her brow, but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips.

“Exactly. As for George...” Angelina leaned in, all sparkly-eyed and gossipy. “He asked Katie. But he looked like he was reciting a curse with the emotional range of a rock. He smiled, but his face screamed: ‘my soul is dying.’”

That evening, Y/N finally pulled out the deep navy-blue dress. Smooth satin, a plunging open back, and a soft tulle skirt that swirled like smoke around her legs. Her friends squealed in delight, and though she smiled, a familiar twist of nerves stirred in her belly.

And then came the night of the ball.

Fred, being Fred, showed up in a slightly crooked suit, shirt half-unbuttoned, and his signature wild hair that somehow still worked in his favor. He looked sinful. When he saw her, he let out a low whistle.

“Well damn... you walk in like that and I’m genuinely worried we’ll leave the room in flames.”

“Maybe not the room...” she quipped, raising a brow. They both burst out laughing.

The ball began with high energy. Fred led her straight into the upbeat songs—spinning, laughing, his hands slipping lower with every dance. During breaks, he kissed her, short and hungry, like he couldn’t wait for the night to end and the real fun to begin.

And then... the music slowed.

Fred rolled his eyes. “Oh no, not this mopey stuff again. George, this one’s for you.” He gave his brother a smirk and gently nudged him in her direction.

George didn’t look like he was protesting. He offered her his hand.

“Can’t let you spend the slow songs alone.”

They danced. Close. His hand rested lightly on her lower back, the other holding hers with a steadiness that made her knees weak. He didn’t say much, but his breath near her ear, the way his thumb brushed against her knuckles... it was like a spell without a wand.

George’s date—Katie—stood off to the side, glaring daggers. Y/N noticed and felt a strange mix of guilt and... thrill. She wasn’t sure what she wanted more—for this moment to end, or to never end at all.

During a break, the three of them sat at a long table, snacking on pumpkin pastries and laughing about Lee’s terrible dancing.

And then... she felt it.

A warm hand on her thigh.

She froze.

It wasn’t Fred. She knew his touch.

It was George.

She didn’t look at him. Didn’t speak. Just stiffened slightly, biting her lip. Her heart thumped so loudly she was sure they could hear it. Every nerve in her body lit up like a firework—shock, thrill, desire.

Later, back in the Gryffindor common room, things loosened up even more. The younger students had gone to bed, leaving just their year. The mood was giddy, the air thick with lingering sugar and suppressed teenage hormones.

“Truth or dare? No, no—screw it—bottle spin!” Lee announced dramatically, already giggling.

The bottle spun.

Alicia kissed Thomas. Dean made out with Anna. Katie sat, arms crossed, looking like she was seconds from hurling a hex.

Then... the bottle stopped.

Between George and Y/N.

Silence fell. All eyes were on them.

George didn’t hesitate. He leaned in and kissed her.

It wasn’t a teasing kiss. It wasn’t shy. It was slow. Sure. Like he’d wanted this for a long time. His hand cradled her cheek gently but firmly, and when he pulled away... there was no apology in his eyes.

Katie stood up and stormed out.

The party dimmed. But not for them.

Fred shrugged, giving George a look, then turned to Y/N with a crooked grin.

“Don’t worry about her,” he said lazily. “Plenty more petals in the garden.” Then, lowering his voice and leaning in toward her, he added: “But this body... maybe tonight it’s for the whole bloody room?”

George snorted, half amused, half impressed. Y/N just shook her head, somewhere between flustered and electrified.

Fred slipped behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, his voice hot at her ear.

“Say the word... and we take this party somewhere private. Or stay here. Either way... we’ll make it hot for you.”

And in that moment, she knew— This night wouldn’t end the way anyone expected.

The tower clock struck midnight. The Gryffindor common room was nearly empty, lit only by the soft flicker of the fire crackling in the hearth. On the sofa remained three figures: Y/N, Fred, and George. Everyone else had drifted off—to their beds or somewhere else—unwilling to disturb the thick tension that now hovered in the room like magic gone rogue.

Fred lounged back on one of the couches, one eye closed. George sat cross-legged on the rug, leaning against an ottoman, head tilted as he watched Y/N silently.

She sat between them—seemingly by chance, though deep down, she knew... nothing about this night was accidental.

"You’re too quiet," Fred muttered, cracking an eye open. "What’s cooking in that smart little head of yours?"

"I’m thinking," she whispered back.

"About what?"

She hesitated. George’s calm eyes met hers, but she could already feel that same ghost of a touch she’d felt earlier at the table—unseen, yet unmistakably hot.

"That maybe... not everything has to be chosen."

Fred raised an eyebrow. "Is that a proposal I hear? Am I hearing this right?"

George said nothing. But his gaze said everything.

Fred got up and walked over, sitting next to her. He leaned in and let his breath brush against her ear.

"So… you’re saying you don’t want to choose between me and him?"

"Not tonight."

George joined from the other side. Her heart pounded in her chest, her skin tightening, burning like the room had become too small for her breath.

Fred wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him, his lips finding hers—hot, hungry, shameless. His hands wandered down her back, resting on her hips… then lower.

George watched. Then moved in behind her, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders, then slowly running down to her collarbone, then to her neck, his lips grazing behind her ear, reading her like a spell line by line.

"You’re so soft..." Fred murmured. "So wet, aren’t you?" he added, his hand moving boldly between her thighs.

She trembled.

George wasn’t far behind—his fingers slipped beneath her dress, gliding up slowly toward her waist. He leaned in, his mouth pressing gently to her nape.

"You belong to us tonight," he whispered, a promise more than a request.

"Only us," Fred echoed, lifting her dress over her head, until nothing remained but her underwear.

George slid one strap of her bra down—slowly, purposefully—unwrapping her like a gift he’d waited years to open.

They both touched her—one from the front, one from behind—kissing, exploring, so different, yet perfectly in sync.

Fred was fire, fast and bold, tasting her skin like flame. George was slow, quieter, every brush of his fingertips like static electricity sinking deep into her spine.

Soon she lay between them, naked, breath shallow, nearly untethered from the world. Fred inside her, deep and steady, his body pressed hard against hers. George held her hand, kissing her wrist, then her shoulder, then her lips—until there was nothing left of her but pleasure and heat and breathless moans.

"Yes… just like that," Fred groaned when her body clenched beneath him, all control melting, like the world exploded just beneath her skin.

George didn’t take his eyes off her as Fred pulled back. He slid in behind her, slow and confident, holding her tight—and somehow, gentler. Sweeter.

She let go completely. In both of them. In how much they wanted her. And how deeply she wanted them.

When it was over, they lay tangled together on the couch, in silence. Three breaths. One body. The world had slowed, the quiet was golden.

"So... who’s making breakfast tomorrow?" Fred mumbled. "Because I’m not moving."

George smiled faintly.

"Not me."

"Well then it seems like Y/N is stuck with us forever," Fred added, pulling her into him. "Sorry, love. You’ve been... enchanted."

Y/N smiled, eyes half-closed.

"And I’m not planning to break the spell."

[romanczukowsky]

Confusion in one room with Weasley

Pairing: Fred x Reader x George

Summary: During a magical weekend trip, Y/N ends up sharing a room with the Weasley twins. What started as playful flirting with Fred turns into something deeper with George… and maybe, just maybe, something more with both of them. Content Warnings: explicit sexual content, emotional/physical threesome dynamic, light rivalry, consent Author’s Note: Written for all of us who could never choose between Fred and George 😏✨

Warm rays of the setting sun came through the tall windows of the old magical boarding house, where the students of the School of Magic and Wizardry stayed during their weekend trip. The building, covered in ivy and smelling of spells from the past, was full of creaking floors, enchanted frames, and... surprises.

Y/N, an adult student in her seventh year, sighed as she looked at the room assignment list. Her heart stopped for a moment when she read:

Room 217 – Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Y/N

“A coincidence?” she muttered to herself, glancing sideways at the red-haired twins laughing in the corner of the hall.

Fred – the more talkative, mischievous one, always a step ahead of the rules – was saying something to George, who only nodded with a slight smile, like he already knew the punchline before the joke was finished.

“Well... I won’t complain,” Y/N shrugged. Fred was the one who made her heart beat faster. They had been openly flirting for several months, spending more and more time together lately – walks on the meadow, tea in the tower, secret notes during potions...

But now... something was changing.

It wasn’t Fred’s hand she held while walking through the magical market.

It was George who handed her tea with rum when they sat in the garden by the enchanted fire.

It was George with whom she whispered jokes in the corridor and shared a sweet piece of honey cake.

Fred... Fred just watched. He laughed. He was amused.

But he didn’t interrupt.

They returned to the room late at night – tired, warmed by laughter and the warmth of conversations. The room was spacious, by school standards – two beds, one bigger, one smaller, a chest of drawers, an enchanted window showing the current moon phase, and a big rug that purred when someone walked on it.

“Looks like someone will have to sacrifice their sleep on the floor,” Y/N muttered, taking off her cloak.

“Or we could just cuddle,” Fred said with a charming cheeky smile.

George laughed softly and looked at Y/N in a way that made her unsure for a moment which one she had chosen. For a fraction of a second... she wanted both. Evening talks flowed easily. The three of them sat on the bigger bed – Fred casually leaning on the headboard, Y/N between them, George with his legs crossed, close, maybe too close.

They talked about everything and nothing – how Snape could ruin your mood just by breathing, how the Polyjuice Potion could taste like raspberry if someone dared to break the recipe, that this was their last year... and maybe their last night like this.

Fred kept reaching for chocolate-covered almonds and tossing them into the air, catching them with a theatrical tilt of his head. George watched Y/N – not like a boy flirting, but like someone who knew her breath before it filled the air.

At one point, when Fred went to the bathroom, George leaned toward her.

“You know... I thought Fred interested you more.” His voice was soft, low, gentle.

Y/N looked into his eyes. They had the same color as Fred’s, the same sparkle... but there was something different in them. Warmth. Calm. Intimacy.

“Maybe...” she whispered, “...but today I felt closest with you.”

Before he could answer, their lips met.

It was a surprising kiss – tender, slow, but with a deep, pulsing passion. George ran his fingers along her neck as if trying to remember this moment forever.

Then... the door creaked.

Fred came in with a wet towel over his shoulder. He stopped. For a moment he looked. Paused his gaze. Frowned.

Then... he smiled.

“Well, well. I always knew George had something I didn’t even appreciate,” he joked, but his voice was lower than usual.

Y/N shivered.

“Fred... I…”

“Relax. I’m not jealous.” He stepped closer. “Well... maybe a little jealous.”

He stopped in front of her, looked straight into her eyes.

“But since we’re here as three...” he whispered, “...maybe it’s not worth stopping now?” Fred sat behind her on the bed, his presence almost tangible – strong, dominant, confident. He moved closer, wrapping his arms around her. His hands were warm as they slowly slid over her shoulders, slipping the strap of her thin top.

George was right in front of her. He took her hand and looked into it – deeply, attentively, with desire. When he leaned down and brushed her lips, it was no longer a shy kiss. It was an invitation. To something more.

Y/N felt her breath quicken, her body reacting spontaneously, without thinking. Fred, still behind her, took her hips, then gently pulled her closer, so she felt his body against hers.

George began to undo the buttons of her pajama shirt. One by one. Slowly. As if every button was a spell, and unfastening them – releasing something hidden until now.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly, stroking her collarbone with his fingertips.

“I am,” she answered without hesitation, turning slightly to look at Fred too. “With you... yes.”

Fred smiled and slipped off her shirt completely. He kissed her neck, teeth grazing her skin. Y/N sighed quietly, feeling her body pulse with tension.

George’s hand slid down her thigh, gently tracing the edge of her underwear. He didn’t hesitate – moved the fabric aside, touched her with one, then two fingers, gently exploring her sensitivity.

“So wet...” he whispered.

Fred reached for her breasts, holding them firmly. He kissed behind her ear, between her neck and shoulder, and she began to move slowly to the rhythm of their touch.

Soon George laid her on her back, Fred leaned over her, kissing passionately – lips, neck, stomach, lower... she moaned softly, arching lightly. His tongue was patient and experienced.

George watched her trembling under his brother’s touch and didn’t last long himself – he pulled down his pants and moved closer, bending down near her head. She looked at him and smiled, taking him into her mouth.

Her body was between them – two elements not fighting for her, but working together, giving her a pleasure she never knew. Their moans mixed with her breath, with sighs, with trembling whispers of their names.

Finally, when Fred slowly entered her and George again touched her breasts, Y/N felt that nothing else mattered – only this moment, this room, and two boys who became more than just classmates.

Everything flowed smoothly, without shame or hesitation. Their movements were synchronized, rhythmic – like a dance, like a spell that made each of them feel more than just passion.

When they finally collapsed on the bed, sweaty, close, full... there was silence between them, but not empty.

It was the silence of fulfillment.

Morning came too soon.

Warm, milky light poured through the window, and Y/N woke up between two bodies – Fred snoring lightly on her left, George breathing calmly on her right, his arm resting gently on her waist.

For a moment she lay still, not moving, as if this were a dream she didn’t want to spoil.

But no – it was all real. Every whisper, touch, breath. Every smile and every feeling she hadn’t expected. She felt... good. Indescribably good.

“Are you spying on me?” George murmured without opening his eyes, smiling softly.

“No. Just... checking if I’m still alive.” Y/N laughed quietly.

“Barely. But it was worth it,” Fred said, suddenly waking and stretching like a cat. “So, what now, Miss Wizard?”

“Now...” Y/N looked at both of them, “...the question is if you still look at me like yesterday. Or was it just a joke, a trip, and the magic of the moment?”

There was silence. Awkward for just a second, but Fred didn’t let it last long.

“Y/N, if I wanted to kiss someone out of boredom, I’d pick a mirror,” he said seriously, which rarely happened. “And you are more than just a moment.”

George nodded.

“Maybe it all started as a joke… but something changed. In all of us. Maybe... maybe it’s worth seeing where this will lead?”

Y/N looked at one, then the other. Something new shone in her eyes – calm. Decision. Tenderness.

“Then...” she said with a smile, “...you’re in serious trouble.”

Fred and George laughed together.

“We have experience,” they winked.

And although spells, exams, teachers, and reality awaited them... in this one moment, in this shared room, a magic was born that couldn’t be written in any textbook.