#george weasley reader insert

[ickle-ronniekins]

the things we left unspoken

 pairing: george x fem!reader

word count: 1.4k

warning(s): angst, breakups, substance abuse

desc: wrote this years ago and never published it and then went through one of the most horribly confusing and heart-rending breakups ever! there’s not a whole ton of my old fic writer friends are still here so this is going to hit a new audience if there is still a weasley twins audience on here -- hi, i’m erica, i wrote obsessively for the weasley twins years back. sometimes i still do, for my own enjoyment. though this one hurts and george sucks. i don’t normally do that because i’m in love with him but this is a bit different. sorry

Age 23, Present Day

“No... How dare you come here and tell me this now?”

George feels his chest constrict a bit; his breathing is heavy, as if he’s just run a marathon, which he certainly feels like. It has taken him every bit of his strength to not come to your doorstep and admit to something he should have years ago. He’s absolutely bloody exhausted from fighting an internal battle with himself for this long.

In all of your years aside one another, he’d never quite seen you so angry as this. Your mouth, otherwise normally twisted into some lopsided smile, is now in a thin, firm line. Your jaw is tensed, and he knows from all of those evenings next to you in bed that you’re certainly clenching your teeth because of the stress you surely are feeling from him showing up unannounced. He wishes not to know that. Or actually, if he’s being honest, he wishes that he still spent that time with you in bed, and instead of grinding your teeth together, you’d giggle open-mouthed as he’d press ticklish kisses to the space between your collarbones. Your eyes are ocean blue and stormy and grey at the same time, and he doesn’t quite relish the idea of mustering up any strength he has left to whether the ups and downs of the impending tide.

Though you’re standing your ground, he sees your lip wobble just a smidge and it sends daggers straight through his heart. He swore that day, the day when everything had blown up, that he would never, ever make you cry again. It was the day he thought would be the worst of his life. How painfully wrong he was. Your voice is wobbly now, too. "You had no right to come here and say these things.”

You’re right, of course. He knows that. He doesn’t have any right. He’d lost that privilege the evening you’d taken every stolen glance, every evening kiss, every morning after and laid them out in front of you both, tangled in the web of your own vulnerability. He’d lost any and all privileges when it came to you, when he’d turned everything down, pretending that he didn’t feel exactly the same way you did, pretending it wasn’t what it truly was. Pretending he didn’t love you. He’s so stupid, wasn’t he? Though of course, he’d only rejected them because he thought he’d be protecting you.

There’s nothing he could say now to make things better. Shit. He’s cursing himself upright and backwards; he should’ve just kept his bloody mouth shut like Ron had said.

“I know I have no right,” George starts, and he’s surprised himself with how many emotions are jam packed into those six words. He suddenly feels as though something rather sharp has become lodged in his chest. He places his hands into his pockets and looks up wearily to meet your gaze. Your eyes are still grey, but softened now, as if the storm has drifted out to sea. For a very fleeting moment, he sees traces of that girl from years ago, the one who would run up stealthily to the boys dormitory and hide in his four poster with the curtains drawn until he arrived, quiet so as not to disturb his roommates, with a grin so large and mischievous it could’ve cured him of every anxious thought he ever had. He considers your vulnerability, the traces of what had been, and wants to lean in and kiss you if the moral compass in his head wasn’t screaming at him to not do so right this very moment. Just as well, he thinks, because that fleeting moment in your eyes had disappears as quickly as it had arrived. You’re backing away now, into your front doorway.

He wants to search each and every book all the Wizarding libraries had to offer, because there has to be a spell to turn back time without necessarily meddling with it, right? He can’t stand the idea of using a time turner and possibly fucking up more than he already has.

But if he could turn back time without any consequences, he’d go right back to that night, no questions asked, no time to ponder, and he’d tell you that he loves you.

He’d go right back to when you stood across from him in the rain and told him that you fell for him, even though you promised not too, because what you two were doing was something with no strings attached. You’d both agreed to it, from that first moment he’d kissed you so furiously on the abandoned Quidditch pitch. You never meant to fall for him. You really hadn’t. But you couldn’t help it. And George knew it, too. He’d told himself when you two started this whole thing that someone was bound to get hurt in the end, but he hadn’t been thinking straight then, had he? He was distracted by the heat of your lips exploring his body, by the way your hands always got tangled in his hair and left it messy looking, by the way you’d steal glances at him from across rooms, and from the intense sensual energy you two exchanged in those glances, noting that only you two knew what was going on behind closed doors.

He’d go back to that moment and tell you that he loved you too, and he didn’t care what people thought, because he’s loved you for years, now. He’d loved you ever since that one night when you two were lying in bed and he’d been playing with your hair, and he was joking and going on about something about the test products for the shop, and you continued to trace your finger along his biceps, and casually let it slip how proud you were of him.

You two had agreed that feelings wouldn’t be involved, and yet feelings seemed to be what kept you both from ending things. Until that one night in the rain.

He’d tell you that he didn’t care how you two started, tangled up in bed sheets and one another’s limbs without commitment to one another. All he cares about is how you two end, where commitment is all he bloody wants to give you now.

But he can’t. He can’t go back in time -- not without dire consequences.

There’s a type of yearning in your eyes. He was used to you longing -- for five more minutes, for one more kiss, for a tighter embrace. The truth was, he longed for all of those thing too. He still does.

But this is a different type. This is a type of yearning he can’t quite get on board with, but he knows he has too. If he loves you, truly loves you, he has too. He can practically hear your voice in his head, though your lips aren’t moving. I’m trying to move on, George, and you’re not letting me.

“I’m sorry.. I just needed you to know.” He manages to say shakily. And he tests fate and takes five more seconds, just five more, to memorize you -- the curve of your jaw, the colours in your hair, the intensity of your gaze, because he doesn’t want to forget. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to look at you like this again.

Another dagger to his heart, he lets his gaze drop and turns around before he can’t stop himself from running toward you and kissing you anyway. He doesn’t turn back; he can’t face the girl who’s heart he’s broken once, twice. He can’t bear to do it again. He hears the door shut and stops dead in his tracks, closes his eyes and lets the tears escape them easily. His feet are stuck on the cobblestone street; he can’t leave. But it’s too damn late now.

He never meant for it to get this far, had he? Neither of you had.

Pride is such a stupid thing, and he’s cursed himself for letting it be of higher importance than you. You were the only thing that mattered -- then, and now.

His evening in his flat he shared with Fred above the shop is filled with bottomless drinks until he can’t see straight, and long gazes out of the rain-covered window panes as he tests prototypes for new items. Drunk on anger, and heartbreak, and confusion, he speaks aloud to nobody, if only to remind himself that this pain he feels is real, bona fide, as the crack in his heart draws larger and deeper.

“I'll always fucking love you.”

[magical-reid]

Prompt List

Make a request! Pick a character and then pick a number or numbers! My goal is to get all 50, so I’m crossing off the ones I’ve done to keep track, but that doesn’t mean you can’t request them!

The Characters I currently write for:

Spencer Reid, Lip Gallagher, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Sebastian Sallow, Draco Malfoy, Bucky Barnes, Stiles Stilinski, Steve Harrington, and Eddie Munson

Prompts:

“I just cant see myself ever living without you.” 

“If there was ever anybody meant for me, it’s you.”

“The closest thing to love at first sight I’ve ever experienced happened when I first laid eyes on you.” 

“I didn’t believe in soulmates until I met you.”

“Did you just tell the person I was gonna go out with that we’re dating?” 

“You owe me a kiss.”

“Go with me?” “Only if you hold my hand.”

“I’d feel much better if you’d let me walk you home.” 

“If I asked you to stay, would you?”

“You make me feel alive. For the first time ever, I feel like I can breathe.”

“I’ve never felt this way before, and truthfully it scares me. But, the idea of never trying scares me even more.”

“You’re telling me you believe in love at first sight?” “I’m starting too.”

“I promised to love you forever, and that is a promise I intend to keep.”

“Is that my shirt?” “You mean our shirt?” 

“You give me a reason to be better, to do better.”

"All I’ve ever wanted was a place to belong. Somewhere I could call home. And you gave me that. Because you are my home.”

“They don’t compare to you. No one does.”

“I thought I had the worst luck, until I met you.” 

“No matter how much time we’ve spent apart, I never stopped loving you.” 

“I could see the worst parts of you and still think you are the most beautiful person I’ve met.” 

“I think I’m in love with you.” 

“You brought me breakfast?” “Well you said you always forget to eat before you go to work, so I thought I’d make sure you ate something.”

“Everything feels right when you are with me.”

“I don’t care what others say, I want to be with you and that’s all that matters to me.” 

“You bought me flowers?” “Yeah, well I noticed you’d seemed kinda down, so I wanted to cheer you up.” 

“I’ll be damned if anyone makes you feel like you aren’t worthy of being loved.” 

“I wasn’t sure what love really felt like until I met you.” 

“You owe me.” “I owe you $20 not a day of pretending to be your partner to get your parents off you’re back.” 

“I can braid your hair for you- I mean, only if you want.” 

“Maybe if you stopped staring at them and actually talked to them, you might have a chance.” 

“You said you wouldn’t fall in love with me.” “I lied.” 

“I want you. All of you, and not just halfheartedly, but wholly. And maybe that’s selfish, but I don’t care.”

“Can you stay? Just for tonight, please. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.” “'l’ll stay for as long as you need.” 

“You are my family.”

“We’ve been by each other’s sides for years, you think I’m gonna leave now?”

“Take my jacket, I don’t want you catching a cold.”

“I’d wait a thousand lifetimes for you, because you are worth waiting for. So when you are ready. I’ll be right here.”

“I will never stop fighting for you. I will never stop protecting you.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you. No matter how hard I try, you’re always on my mind”

“Don’t go on that date.” “Why?” “You know why.” “Say it.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“I don’t want you to die for me, I want you to live for me.”

“I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this.”

“How long have you had this planned?” “Since the moment I fell in love with you.” 

“You came all the way here for me?”

“Why are you staring at me?” “Because I think you’re beautiful.” 

“I think I’m falling in love with you.” “I think I’m okay with that.” 

“What are you doing here?” “I wanted to see if you were okay.” 

“The world gets a little brighter when your around.”

“They say we wont last.” “Then lets prove them wrong.” 

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

GEORGE WEASLEY knows you’re with his brother, but you confuse him with all your mixed signals. Always holding his hand when you walk next to him down the halls, playing with his hair when you lay his head down on your thigh in the courtyard, inviting yourself to sit in his lap whenever you please. At first he thought you were mistaking him for your boyfriend, but it’s gone on long enough to where he knows that you can tell them apart. He sees it in your eyes how you recognize him, call him by name, and still lead him on. You wear his clothes when you’re cold and give them back smelling like your perfume; you excitedly run up to him for a friendly hug yet press your tits up against his chest while he’s forced to stoop and wrap his arms around your waist; you’ve compared your hand size to his and didn’t say anything when he broke out in a sweat, biting his lip nervously as he thinks about other contexts in which he’s bigger than you. Fred’s no help in this situation, he just thinks he’s got a fit girlfriend who he likes showing off. “Amazing, isn’t she?” he’ll tell George, and George wonders if he should be agreeing. His brother isn’t inviting him to try you out for a spin, is he? It’s hard to tell when he’s got that look in his eyes. George doesn’t know, but in the past, Fred’s gotten a lot of mileage out of the special privileges twins share.

[agreeewrites]

Charlie doing that 'a boy who's jacked and kind' trend but gets distracted having y/n on his shoulder and ends up flipping her over and eating her out while the camera still rolls.

tysm for the request love!! hope you enjoy 🫶

pair with: Charlie Weasley, James Potter, George Weasley, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Peter Parker, Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, or whoever you want! (MDNI 18+)

a boy who's jacked and kind...

...can't find his ass to save my life.

You took a few steps back from your carefully arranged phone, ensuring your image in the frame was centered and the space around you didn't look too cluttered. You adjusted your sundress a little, dismissing the fleeting thought that maybe it was too short.

“Babe!” You called, and your boyfriend, always eager and with the recall of well-trained golden retriever, popped his head into the room.

“You called, love? Wait--are you recording?” He immediately clocked the angled phone, a smirk sharpening his sweet smile.

“Would you maybe want to try a trend with me?” You asked, batting your lashes. “You know that Sabrina Carpenter album I've been listening too?”

“With the coffee song?” He crossed the room, still hovering just outside of the cameras scope, clearly suspicious. “I'm working laaaaate, ‘cuz I'm a sinner—or something?”

“Singer,” you corrected, giggling. As if you haven't overheard him singing that very song on repeat in the shower. “There's a Tiktok trend going around for another one of her songs."

“And what exactly does this trend involve?” He asked, eyes skirting down your body, the stretch of your bare legs with open appreciation.

“It's this one lyric, ‘a boy who’s jacked and kind’, and one partner lifts the other onto their shoulder, like—hey!”

He swooped in mid-sentence, scooping you around the middle and tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Broad shoulder digging into your guts, driving the air from your lungs. Not that there was much air to lose—his strength always left you a little breathless.

“Like this?” He asked, bouncing you a little.

You couldn't see his expression, but you could hear the smug ass smile on his face.

“No! No,” you huffed. “I'm supposed to sit on your shoulder.”

“Really? I kind of like this.” His hand crept up the back of your bare leg, kneading the softness of your thighs before swatting your ass. “We can just do this, I'll let you keep recording—”

“Hey! Put me down and focus.” You squirmed until he set you down, his lower lip jutting out into a pout.

“Alright, alright. So I lift you up onto my shoulder so your sitting right here?” He patted the bulge of his trap. “For what reason, exactly?”

“To show the whole world how jacked and kind you are,” you replied, pecking his cheek, stroking his ego just enough to push him over the edge.

“Well, I do like that…let's do it.”

You squealed with excitement, kissing him again before rushing to start the recording.

🎶 A boy who’s jacked and kind…can't find his ass to save my life.

Three tries later, he finally got you up onto his shoulder at the exact right moment, making it look borderline effortless, the cheeky grin on his face lighting up the frame while he flexed his drool-worthy bicep.

Hm, maybe you shouldn't post this. He was so hot, this was turning into a bonafide thirst-trap—

“Yay! That was perfect, now you can—woah! What are you—”

He grabbed your thigh and lifted it over his head, shifting you so you were facing him, your thighs and pelvis practically smothering him, and you squeaked in surprise.

“Shh, honey,” he soothed, hucking you up another inch to nuzzle against your blooming heat, barely covered by the thin mesh of your panties. “You know I won't drop you.”

“But the camera—”

Something rumbled in his chest, a pleased sort of purr that had your toes curling against his back. “You wanted to put on a show, pretty girl.” He backed you against the wall, your head damn near brushing the ceiling, and laved his tongue over you.

“Oh, fuck,” you groaned, fisting his hair and resisting the cloying urge to squirm. You glanced at the camera, unsure of what you were hoping for, and saw that you were still very much in the shot, the red circle still glowing as it recorded everything. The realization sent a fresh curl of desire slithering down your spine, leaking out between your legs and into his seeking mouth.

“Good girl, stay just like that,” he murmured against you, a flick of his tongue sending your mind reeling. The heady thrum of your heart found harmony with his movements, symphonic, pleasure cresting higher and higher with every press, every pull.

The sound of your own cries echoed around your head, amplified by the proximity of the ceiling, and a distant part of you wondered if you'd sound pretty in the video.

His grip was bruising on your thighs, but he didn't shake, didn't tremble, solid as a statue beneath you. Resolute in his pursuit of your pleasure.

Jacked and kind, indeed.

He gasped when you yanked particularly hard on his hair, but instead of pulling back, he buried himself deeper, tipping into a ravenous frenzy.

“Fuck, I'm gonna—fuck, fuck!” Your pleasure ballooned, then burst, bliss scattering like glitter under your skin, sparkling and ephemeral and everywhere.

Relentless, and undoubtedly self-indulgent, he continued to lap at you, groaning in the back of his throat when you shuddered and twitched. No longer having the strength to hold yourself still.

Carefully, he lowered you back to the ground, dress bunching between your bodies, and kissed his way up until he finally caught your lips. Sticky and sweetened with your honey, you sighed against his mouth, clutching those heroic shoulders to keep yourself upright.

He glanced over at the camera, then smirked down at you. “You know, we could make a lot of money if we posted that somewhere other than TikTok—”

“No.”

“Ugh, fine.”

© agreeewrites 2025. do not copy, translate or claim my writing as your own.

[4m0r1m]

Moonlight and Mischief

SUMMARY: At Bill and Fleur’s wedding, George Weasley can't take his eyes off you—Fleur’s charming and seemingly shy cousin. But when he finally gathers the courage to ask you to dance, he discovers you're far more playful and bold than he expected. What starts as a teasing flirtation under fairy lights soon sparks something deeper. (fluff)

WORD COUNT: 2,727 words

PAIRING: george weasley x reader

The Burrow had never looked quite so magical. Strings of golden fairy lights hovered in mid-air, twisting like fireflies above long wooden tables set with delicate china and platters of French delicacies. The garden, usually wild with weeds and gnome holes, had been transformed into a tapestry of summer blooms and fluttering white silk. A string quartet played beneath a floating canopy, and laughter rippled through the warm evening air.

George Weasley leaned against a tree just outside the circle of celebration, a glass of champagne cradled in his hand, watching the guests swirl around the dance floor. He’d been scanning the crowd for you all night—not that he’d admit it out loud.

You stood out like moonlight on the lake. Dressed in a flowing lavender gown that hugged your figure just enough to be elegant and left enough to the imagination, you were a vision. Your hair, loosely curled and swept to one side, framed a face he couldn’t stop looking at. Fleur’s cousin, they’d said. Maid of honour. French, like Fleur, but with a softness to your voice that hinted at long summers spent somewhere warmer, slower, sweeter.

George swallowed hard and looked away, trying to appear nonchalant. His twin brother, Fred, didn’t miss the glance.

“Oh, Merlin,” Fred drawled, sidling up beside him. “You’re staring again.”

“I am not,” George muttered.

Fred tilted his head dramatically. “Then I suppose you’ve just got a kink for tree bark. Honestly, mate, it’s getting embarrassing.”

George sipped his champagne and didn’t reply. But his eyes flicked back toward you—just for a second.

Fred followed his gaze and grinned. “You’ve got it bad.”

George gave a long-suffering sigh. “She’s Fleur’s cousin. Practically royalty in this setting. I don’t think she even knows I exist.”

“Oh, please,” Fred scoffed. “You’re the best man. That makes you the other half of the wedding's royal couple. It’s practically your moral duty to talk to her.”

George didn’t reply, but he didn’t move either.

Fred leaned in. “Unless you want me to do it for you.”

That got George moving.

He placed his glass on the nearest table and straightened his jacket, brushing imaginary dust off his lapels. “Fine. But if I make a complete fool of myself, I’m hexing your eyebrows off.”

Fred smirked, already smug. “Deal.”

George made his way across the lawn, weaving between guests, his heart thudding harder with every step. You stood near the edge of the dance floor, chatting to Gabrielle and sipping something pale and sparkling. Up close, you were even more breathtaking. There was something effortless about you—the way you laughed, head tilted slightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. The world seemed to hush as he reached you.

You noticed him before he could open his mouth. You turned slightly, one eyebrow raised, your lips curving with mild interest.

“Bonsoir,” you said lightly, your accent melodic. “The famous George Weasley, yes?”

He blinked. “You know who I am?”

“Of course. Fred’s slightly less troublemaking twin. The one with the better smile.”

George chuckled. “I’ll have to remember that.”

You tilted your head. “Should I be worried that you’re here to ask something scandalous? Or is this the part where you finally ask me to dance?”

He laughed, caught off guard. “You don’t miss a beat, do you?”

Your grin widened, mischief flickering in your eyes. “Non. But I do love a bit of fun. Especially if it includes a handsome redhead.”

George was stunned into silence for a moment. You had looked like the sort who’d demurely decline a compliment, maybe blush and say something polite. Not the sort to tease him with a cheeky smile and a directness that made his chest flutter.

He offered his hand, bowing slightly. “Then I’d be a fool not to oblige. May I have this dance, mademoiselle?”

You pretended to consider, fingers tapping your glass. “Hmm… Only if you promise not to step on my toes.”

“I’ll do my best. But I can’t make any guarantees—I’m a Weasley, we’re known for causing chaos.”

You took his hand with a smirk. “Well then, Monsieur Chaos. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

He led you onto the floor just as the quartet transitioned into a slower, more romantic number. He placed a hand on your waist, surprisingly tentative for someone so often loud and full of bravado. You noticed the way he looked at you, unsure yet enchanted.

“You really don’t talk much, do you?” you teased, swaying with him under the floating lights.

“I do,” George said, eyes locked on yours. “Just… not when I’m this distracted.”

“By me?”

He nodded. “I thought you’d be shy. Quiet. But you’re not. You’re trouble in a dress, aren’t you?”

You laughed, genuine and bright. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all night.”

The dance was slow but full of tension, the good kind. He spun you gently, guiding you back with ease. The warmth of his hand on your back, the closeness of your bodies, the scent of cinnamon and something woodsy clinging to his jacket—it all made your head feel a little light.

“Fred said you were staring at me,” you said, tone teasing.

George flushed. “Did he now?”

“He also said you had a crush.”

George raised an eyebrow. “Did he also mention he talks complete rubbish after two firewhiskies?”

You smirked. “So… you weren’t staring?”

He leaned in slightly, voice low. “Oh, I was. But I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I always notice,” you replied, your voice softening. “Especially when it’s someone like you.”

He blinked. “Someone like me?”

“Charming. Bit cocky. But sweet when you think no one’s looking.”

George didn’t have a response for that. He was sure he could come up with something clever, something flirty—but your words hit deeper than expected. No girl had ever summed him up so perfectly in one breath.

You twirled again, and when you came back into his arms, your expression had changed—less playful now, more sincere.

“Why didn’t you talk to me earlier?” you asked.

George shrugged. “Didn’t think I had a chance.”

You looked at him for a long moment. “You’re George Weasley. Of course you had a chance.”

He grinned then, unable to hold it back. “I’ll remind myself to have more faith in the future.”

“Please do.”

As the music wound down, neither of you moved. The guests were clapping politely for the musicians, but it felt like you and George were in a separate moment altogether, wrapped in the golden hush of twilight and the hum of something new, something exciting.

He cleared his throat. “Would it be terribly forward if I asked you for a walk? Just a short one.”

You slipped your arm through his. “It would be terribly forward if I said no.”

You strolled together toward the edge of the garden, where the noise dimmed and the stars peeked through the haze. There was a bench under a willow tree, and you sat together, your knees brushing.

“Can I ask you something?” he said after a pause.

“Of course.”

“Were you really surprised when I asked you to dance?”

You smiled at the memory. “A little. I thought you’d be more like your brother. Loud. Always performing.”

“And I’m not?”

“Not exactly. You’re… quieter. At least with me. More thoughtful.”

He looked at you, something tender in his eyes. “You bring that out of me.”

Your breath caught.

Neither of you moved, the moment stretching like taffy between you. Finally, George reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re not what I expected either,” he said quietly. “I thought you were sweet. Innocent. The kind of girl who’d run the other way from a bloke like me.”

“And now?”

“Now I think you might ruin me.”

You smiled, slow and deliberate. “Maybe I will.”

He kissed you then. Soft and careful at first, as if making sure you wouldn’t disappear. You kissed him back with a smile in your lips, one hand curling into his lapel.

When you pulled back, both of you were breathless.

George touched his forehead to yours. “This is going to be fun, isn’t it?”

You laughed. “Oh, you have no idea.”

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Readers reaction to George losing his ear?

A/n: MY BABY

The shriek of splitting air and the crack of curses tore through the night like thunderclaps. Your heart raced as you gripped your broom tightly, the wind whipping against your face. The sky was a chaotic blur of green and red as the Order fought valiantly to protect Harry. Death Eaters swarmed like shadows, their laughter carrying through the night as spells illuminated the air.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, it was hard to see anything in the chaos, in the darkness. You had been flying alongside Hagrid and Harry moments before they were ambushed, but now the formations were scattered.

Your broom twisted sharply as you dodged a jet of green light, your chest tightening at the near miss. You tried to focus on the task at hand, but your mind was elsewhere. George. You needed to find him.

The eerie glow of a Killing Curse illuminated the figure of a Death Eater hurtling toward her. You clenched your wand. “Stupefy!” You shouted, the spell striking true and sending the figure spiraling downward.

“Y/n!”

You whipped your head around at the sound of your name, spotting Fred a few meters away. Relief flooded your chest—until you noticed the grim look on his face.

“Fred! Where’s George?!” she yelled, steering her broom closer.

Fred’s lips moved, but his words were lost in the howling wind. Before you could ask again, you saw it: a limp figure slumped over the handle of their broom, blood streaking their face.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Fred pointed downward, signaling a retreat, and you followed through the barrier. The ground was an unsteady blur as they hurtled toward the Burrow.

When they landed, You stumbled off your broom, her legs shaky. George was being supported by Arthur, his arm draped over his father's shoulder, but something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong.

“George?” Your voice cracked as you rushed toward them.

Fred gently eased George onto a makeshift cot in the sitting room. Mrs. Weasley was already there, her hands trembling as she tried to clean the blood pouring from the side of George’s head.

“He—he’s lost his ear,” Fred choked out, his usual bravado replaced with raw fear.

The words didn’t register at first. Your gaze was fixed on George, his pale face slick with blood, his usual mischievous grin replaced by a grimace of pain. Your knees buckled, and you fell to the floor beside him.

“George, no—no, no, no,” you murmured, your hands hovering over him as though afraid to touch him.

George’s good eye flickered open, and a weak smile tugged at his lips. “Blimey, Y/n, you’re acting like I’ve lost my head, not my ear.”

“Don’t joke!” You snapped, tears spilling down your cheeks. “You—you nearly—”

Your voice broke, and you buried your face in your hands, unable to say the word.

George winced as Mrs. Weasley pressed a cloth to his wound. “Oi, don’t cry, love,” he said, his voice softer now. “I’ll be alright. Just a bit… lopsided.”

Fred let out a shaky laugh, though his eyes were rimmed with unshed tears. “Yeah, Georgie, you’ve got to admit it’s a good look. Makes you stand out from the rest of us boring folk.”

“Not now, Fred!” You snapped, your voice trembling as you turned back to George, your hands gripping his uninjured arm. “Why didn’t you dodge it? Why didn’t you—” You didn't mean to snap at Fred, you were just so scared, so scared to lose someone you love so much.

Fred didn't mind of course, he knew how stressed everyone was, how high tensions were.

“I didn’t exactly have time to stop and think, Y/n,” George said, his tone still light, though his breathing was labored. “Death Eaters don’t wait for you to draw up a battle plan.”

Your lips quivered, and you shook your head. “You’re so reckless. You always have been. What if—what if it had been worse? What if—”

Your words were cut off by a gentle squeeze of your hand. George’s bloodied fingers entwined with yours, grounding you in the moment.

“But it wasn’t,” he said firmly, his eyes meeting yours. Despite the pain etched across his face, there was a flicker of warmth in his gaze. “I’m here, Y/n. I’m still here.”

The room fell silent except for Mrs. Weasley’s quiet sniffles and the crackle of the fire. Your fingers tightened around George’s as you struggled to steady your breathing.

“You scared me,” you whispered finally, your voice breaking.

George smiled faintly. “Didn’t mean to. Promise I’ll try not to lose any more body parts.”

Fred snorted. “Yeah, let’s keep it at one ear, alright? You’re no Van Gogh.”

Despite herself, you let out a shaky laugh, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand. You leant forward, pressing your forehead to George’s. “You’re an idiot,” you muttered.

“Takes one to love one,” he teased, his grin widening.

You huffed, but her your quirked upward. “You’re lucky I love you, George Weasley. Otherwise, I’d knock some sense into that thick skull of yours.”

“Love you too,” George murmured, his voice softening as exhaustion overtook him.

As George drifted into a restless sleep, you stayed by his side, your hand never leaving his. Fred sat nearby, watching over his twin with a quiet intensity, while Mrs. Weasley bustled around, trying to keep herself busy.

For the rest of the night, you didn’t move. You kept your gaze fixed on George, your heart aching with relief and fear.He had survived, but the reality of war had never felt so close.

And you wasn’t sure how many more times your heart could take it but right now, as your hand held his as you vowed to keep himself,nothing will take George from you.

[komotionlessqueenmm]

Incorrect Quotes

Fred : *Enters bedroom after taking a shower*

(Y/n) : Unbelievable I just can not believe you Fred Weasley!

Fred : What I haven't done anything?

George : Yet.

(Y/n) : Look at you, strutting around with that slutty little waist!

Fred : You think my waist is slutty?

(Y/n) : Oh I know it is. Go put a shirt on you slut.

Fred : *Struts across the room with a grin stretched across his face.*😏

(Y/n) : Slutty little minx.

(Y/n) : *slaps Fred's butt as he walks by.*😈

[rjunhuang]

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

featuring: harry potter, ron weasley, draco malfoy, fred weasley, george weasley. part two.

warnings: lowercase intended. gender neutral reader. informal writing?? they're a bit toxic.

note: can you believe i wrote this in 2023? it was an unfinished draft featuring more characters. i might make a part two w them included. also i do NOT like draco lol so i'm a little biased when i write him. honestly send in some requests on what other prompts you'd like to see w them

divider by enchanthings | comments & reblogs are appreciated! <3

harry!  he'd highkey be so salty about it. at first, he's just completely off put and hurt by the thought of you going out with someone else. HE THOUGHT Y'ALL HAD SOMETHING GOING ON </3

his literal initial reaction would be, "oh.. montague, huh.. hm uh.." before walking away from the conversation all together.

if you're a dumbass, you'd assumed he's just incredibly awkward when it came to hearing about other people's relationships, but supportive nonetheless. oh, you're wrong though. he walked off because he had no idea whether to be angry at himself for not pulling any sooner or at you for choosing someone slimey as graham montague to swap spit with or maybe just montague himself.

the longer this fling lasted, the more comfortable harry would be about expressing his distaste on the whole relationship. he'd given you lectures about how you shouldn't like those type of slytherins. you'd probably lost track on how many times he had indirectly called montague ugly. 

he would visibly show attitude whenever montague interrupted a conversation between you two. eye rolled and scowled like crazy, but he doesn't want to step the line as he's just seen as a friend by you —

"hey, mate, can't you see i'm trying to have a chat with her?"

he'd have dreams about hexing the shit out of graham though. maybe he'd slyly done it in the middle of class when no one's looking too.

if you accuse harry of doing so, he'd simply just shrug, "don't look at me." but would add a silent, "he had it coming though." 

it's like a silent warfare between him and montague soon enough. both of them would be throwing attitude around when you're lowkey oblivious to it all. harry won, obviously, and this would be the breaking point - montague had enough of dealing with harry so he'd just ended things with you. of course, harry's going to comfort you if you do get sad about it —

"i just don't know why he'd do this out of nowhere." you sulk under the hold of harry, both sitting on an empty hallway's staircase. harry has his arm wrapped around you, rubbing your shoulder. "yeah, wonder why.."

he'd had a massive ego boost knowing he was the reason graham montague won't go near you anymore. literally would have to hide his smirk the entire time when comforting you. but he wouldn't be harry potter if he wasn't ending it with a snarky comment. he's not sure whether you'd slap or kiss him for it, but he surely wouldn't mind it being both.

once you and harry finally ended up together, the thought of montague wouldn't even cross his mind. he wouldn't care less about some random troll-looking fool. probably didn't even notice the dirty looks from montague because his eyes are on you. you had his undivided attention.

ron!  he'd thought it's some sick, twisted joke. you'd told him the news that you're hooking up with cormac and just watched ron's face morph from being mortified to plain old disgusted. regarding situations like these, i think ron is a bit emotionally immature so he definitely wouldn't react well.

it had been saturday morning and almost everyone fifth year and above were recovering from a wild friday night common room party. that was the first night you hooked up with mclaggen and this morning, on the way to the great hall, he had pulled you aside to suggest making it a common occurrence — "some fun, no need for any strings attached." were his words. you had brought this up in the table during breakfast when hermione pointed out your flushed expression. the news leaves everyone shocked, but most especially ron. hermione had opened her mouth to begin reasoning with you, "i don't thin—" "THAT'S DISGUSTING!" ron wouldn't even beat around the bush, cutting off hermione. his mouth would be full with scrambled eggs and toast since he had stopped bothering to chew the moment you mentioned the word 'hooked up'. you'd mutter back a petty, "bold coming from the git with his mouth full." obviously hurt by his words.

it only worsened from that point onwards. the beautiful friendship you had with ron would crumble in a matter of time. it's constant fights with you two, ron's almost waiting for a reason to scowl or scoff whenever you're around. good luck even mentioning cormac in front of him, he'd just burst. the jealousy was so undeniably obvious yet you'd be so caught up in the anger of all of it to even realise. had it been someone less athletic than cormac, ron would've jumped him the moment he found out. 

he'd be a petty little bitch but all the dramatics are to hide his insecurity. of course you'd chosen the conventionally attractive hunk over him. he'd be pretty rough on himself because of it; it's pure heartbreak for him. he'd never admit it but he's cried once or twice after storming off from a fight with you. 

the end of your friendship with him would be in a final argument. merlin knows how it started, you never do. but almost a month into your fling with mclaggen, you've grown tired of ron's immaturity. so this time, you ask him.

"why are you even so pressed about this?!" you'd shout to ron. to which he'd counter with, "because he's a dim-witted fool who's only going to hurt you!" the frustration was unbearable as you lick your dry lips, raking a hand through your messy locks. ron is standing opposite to you, chest heaving from the intensity of the situation, yet he shamelessly takes a glance at your lips. "then if you're such an expert at this, tell me who i deserve to be wit—" ron must have a knack for interrupting others because he pulls you into a kiss, frowning as he does so. it's his final desperation for you to just hear him out. and you do, you kiss back and you're hit with the original passion you've always felt for him that these fights had blinded from you.

it's the end of your friendship and the beginning of a romance.

draco!  draco's love language is definitely cliche bullying. without a doubt, he doesn't know how to show affection to anyone at all so you two would definitely be enemies of some sort. i think he'd lowkey be oblivious to the fact that he's straight up mean to you but you've literally had enough of it. you'd had a crush on him since your first year together probably and eventually you caught his eye as well — except for all the wrong reasons. he grew a knack for constantly belittling you in some kind of way even remotely possible to him. though, in his eyes, he always saw it as flirting and you being into all of it. you accepted the attention for what it was and grew to expect his taunts during classes. shamelessly, you did enjoy the fights the two of you shared. however, 'banter' could only last for so long and you eventually grew insecure of the words spat from malfoy. your friends encouraged you to move on and you finally decided to take their word. you supposed you had a type for slytherins, seeing how harper soon enough came into your life. he was a good distraction from malfoy to the point that even the (apparently natural) platinum blond took notice of your distancing. you stopped countering draco's remarks with snarky quips nor did you even bother to spare a glance at him anymore. draco hated the feeling he failed to recognise as heartbreak. he was so caught up in this feeling that he ordered crabbe and goyle to snoop around and find out what changed about your life. it didn't take much investigating to discover the budding romance between you and harper. draco was far more distraught than he thought he'd ever been about the news - but what malfoy's goons failed to communicate was that you and harper were barely anything serious. 

despite that, draco was consumed by emotion. his immediate reaction after his minions left his dorm room was to owl his father with a letter demanding to expel harper from hogwarts. lucius' response, though, was an eerily formal letter telling his pissbaby of a son to never waste his time with such nonsense again. in other words, his father had completely shrugged him off. thus, draco hopped onto the plan b — which was to gang up on harper with his goons. draco liked to claim no one is on his level enough to be his friend, however, he had grown to like harper before this situation arose. they both shared interests in quidditch and shaming others of their blood status. 

soon enough, he had been on harper's case, constantly mocking the other slytherin boy whenever draco found the chance. it was no secret draco had a superiority complex over the fact that harper was the reserve seeker on the slytherin quidditch team whilst draco himself was the main seeker — so this became draco's number one target towards harper.

"your girl couldn't get the real thing so she opted for the knock off instead, yeah?" draco would sneer, adrenaline pumping from the audience that had surrounded him as he insults harper. he tosses a few kicks at the fallen over boy before crabbe and goyle take over with more aggressive ones. he'd snicker at the sight of the dishevelled harper, adding one more comment before walking away, "don't worry, she'll be running back to me soon enough."

fred!  if you think fred weasley's demeanor would even remotely falter at the news of you hooking up with someone else, you are wrong. even the fact that the special guy was viktor fricking krum wouldn't be able to stop the ginger from continuing to shamelessly flirt with you. fred's mindset was the literal definition of 'never back down, never give up'. he was not going to let you go simply because krum was snogging you on the sides. 

it's lunchtime on a wednesday where majority of hogwarts is present in the great hall, along with the selected students of beauxbatons and durmstrang. you were seated next hermione granger at her designated house table, discussing the slight change in the structures of the upcoming exams. so deep in your conversation with the girl, you had somehow failed to notice the presence of the infamous weasley twins with lee jordan right by their side — obviously. fred is the one to interact with you the most whilst the other two gryffindor boys do their own thing. the older twin's hand is pressed down on the table, leaning his whole body weight against it as he hovers over you. you notice a peculiar shadow cast beside you and turn your right, immediately being greeted with a wickedly grinning weasley. you can't help but notice the veins and slight muscle peeking through his rolled up sleeve from his dominant arm being supported by his weight.  hermione, having read the room, turns around, joining a conversation with neville longbottom and ron weasley. "hey, love." fred spoke up, almost purposively being loud enough for others around to take a quick glance. you tense up at the publicly proclaimed nickname, and though you have heard it leave his mouth several times before, this time there is a bulgarian national quidditch player who might just overhear. it doesn't take more than a second for you to spot viktor, who's looking right to your direction, obviously having heard and seen fred. the muscle in krum's tense jaw twitches as he sharply watches the two of you, while on the other hand, fred's gaze on you hasn't budged. in fact, he lifts his left arm up, fixing the position of your head to face him with the grasp on your jaw. "eyes up here, angel." he instructs before going on a tangent about how professor sprout had seperated him and george during class.

to say viktor krum wasn't pleased with fred's public display of affection towards you would be an understatement. apparently in durmstrang, they do things a little differently — such as rounding up your friends and beating up whoever crosses them, rather than the usual duels at hogwarts. so the sight of a bloodied fred entering your dorm had you leaping to your feet to question and aid him. despite the cuts around his face, fred's cocky smile never left his face. clearly he didn't get krum's message, seeing how he took every opportunity to hold your waist as you wiped the cuts clean off his face. krum truly wasn't getting to him. merlin, he seriously enjoyed pissing the guy off.

or so you thought until you caught onto fred's sudden interest in constantly pranking krum and the durmstrang boys. at first you assumed this could be revenge for ganging up on fred, but then you watched the weasley during one of his quidditch practises. beaters already had such an aggressive role — yet in your handful of years knowing fred, you'd never seen him play this aggressive. it was honestly impressive really, how he managed to keep a cool demeanor until he, well, couldn't.

george!  george never could understand what had gotten into you to start hooking up with adrian fucking pucey. seriously, all george could think about was how closely pucey resembled to the troll his younger brother and friends fought during their second year. despite his thoughts, he never uttered a single word out loud. he was far from supportive of the relationship but he did his best to stay respectful — maybe you were in an 'i can fix him' phase. though george had no idea how anyone could remove the definite troll genes from the slytherin. 

so sure, george kept his mouth shut and a respective distance from the whole relationship ... wrong. oh, come on, there's always a twist with the weasley twins. see, whilst publicly he was an angel .. behind closed doors and alone with you was a whole other wizard. the guy knew if he were to harass pucey with his pranks and stand against him, you would only push the ginger away. he didn't even want to risk such a thing. yet, he still wanted to be close enough to remind you of how much he cared. solitary moments with you begun gentle — he didn't want to cross any line, but still needed to have some sort of idea of where exactly that line was. it wasn't out of the ordinary for just the two of you to hang out — you were best friends after all. however, the more days spent with you, the more flirtatious george grew to be around you.

what starts with light touches on your elbow, soon grows into the two of you laying on the common room couch together, your head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around you as he talks sweet nothings with you. it was the same old george before you met pucey — how can you ever walk away from this? almost having read the room, george's gaze flickers onto your lips, the talk from him slowly dying out despite the fact that he hadn't even completed his sentence yet. your brain grows fuzzy at the sight of george slowly leaning in, your own gaze fixated on his lips. it was unfortunate that adrian had to step into your common room during that tender moment, clearly in search of you. knowing him, he was in need of some snogging right now. the darkening look in his eyes as he spots the two of you clearly highlights his distaste towards the whole scene. he had practically marched over to the couch, grabbing george by the collar as he slams him onto the nearest wall. you have to admit, the height difference of the five foot nine pucey compared to george's six foot three makes the whole interaction look a lot more silly. "fuck you doin' with my girl, weasley?" snarls adrian, his irish accent thick with rage. yet george seems less than phased, his arms raised as a smirk grows onto his face. "if she was your girl, mate, she would have pulled away." george calmly adds, glancing at you behind pucey with the most flirtatious eyes known to wizard kind. you can't help but feel stunned at the look, almost melting. "want to be the judge of this, darling?"

[sl-ut]

comfort zone

pairing: george weasley x fem!black cat!reader

description: george is finally making moves on his long-time crush, the only issue is that she’s a little hard to read, so once he convinces her to watch his quidditch game, he’s unsure of whether they’re on the same page or not.

warnings: not smut but brief implications of sex, pre-established situationship, george being a cutie but also a little insecure, reader’s house is not listed beyond the fact that she’s not a gryffindor, cursing, underage drinking (but they’re wizards so who cares), grumpy x sunshine/black cat x golden retriever trope, reader gets a teensy bit jealous but george only has eyes for her

words: 5K

date posted: 02/03/25

The Weasley twins were certainly not unaccustomed to being the topic of conversation among their fellow students at Hogwarts. The pair were constantly getting into trouble, wreaking havoc upon unsuspecting students, and finding the most outrageous ways to disrupt their classes. Together, they were legends among the student body, but the same could not be said about Fred and George on their own. 

Fred was, without question, the more popular of the two, though not so much that they were considered to be on different social standings. He was the more outgoing of the two, the one who seemed more interested in chasing girls, the one who tended to instigate altercations with other boys in the hallways. Not that George did not possess any of these qualities or interests, but there was certainly a difference between them. While Fred had the occasional rumour on the run about himself and Angelina, or Alicia, or Katie, no one had ever heard of George’s involvement in any sort of scandal without his brother at his side. Perhaps that was why, once it finally happened, the rumour spread so fast.

It wasn’t truly a rumour, though, because it was entirely true. Enough of his peers had been able to witness the shift in his behaviour and exactly who his attention seemed to be going towards. To be completely fair, if he had chosen to chase after anybody else, he might not have been such a hot topic for gossip, but he had not been enamoured by just any girl, it had been the one girl that had not ever shown genuine interest in just about anything. 

Straight-faced and monotonous, she was most often found tucked into the corner of the library or having a hushed conversation with her very small group of friends–though, even they would admit that they had little more insight into her private life than anyone else would. So, the moment that George Weasley was spotted walking her to class and joining her in the library after supper, word spread very quickly. 

Though, no one has ever been able to spot anything necessarily romantic between the two, beyond their frequent time spent alone together or the occasional brush of his hand across her own. This was where the rumours began to spiral; I heard they were just friends; Lavender heard from Pavarti who heard from Padma who heard from Cho that she’s only tutoring him in potions; There’s no bloody way, they literally could not be more different.

For a while, George liked the rumours. He liked knowing that people were so curious about he was able to capture the heart of the most elusive girl in school, the one he’d fancied since the end of his third year. He liked having people ask him about it, and he liked giving a very vague response that kept the questions coming. He liked returning to his dorm at night and finally being able to recount his encounter with a girl to his brother, as Fred had to him so many times. Most of all, he loved the fact that people could not understand their relationship because of how private it was, meanwhile she was putty in his hands the moment they were completely alone together. He liked that he was the only one who saw her like that, the only one to make her laugh, the only one to know her on a deeper level beyond the stoic front she put on for the public eye. 

He did, however, sometimes wish he could hold her hand in the corridors, visit her in her own common room in the evenings, invite her to his Quidditch games, visit Hogsmeade together, introduce her to his mum, get married, support their growing family with his successful joke shop… Perhaps he was getting a bit ahead of himself with those last few, but he was so completely awestruck by her that he was able to envision an entire future for himself with her at his side. He was more than respectful of her boundaries and her disinterest in any public displays of affection, but he was dying to finally put an end to any of these rumours for once and for all. 

Gryffindor had done exceptionally well in Quidditch that year, easily breaking through semi-finals against Hufflepuff and heading into the championship against Slytherin, and Fred was certain that he would willingly get himself a week’s detention with Snape if it meant he wouldn’t hear George’s nagging any longer. His brother had been unsuccessfully attempting to build up the courage to ask her to come watch rather than spending the day in the library, waiting for him to return, but every time the chance presented itself, he was too worried about her pulling away and decided to just squash the idea. His twin brother, however, was the poor soul left responsible for George in his distraught state, and was simply through with it, taking matters into his own hands. 

Fred was certain he’d never spoken to the girl before in all of their time at Hogwarts together, but that did not hinder him as he cornered her in the library one morning, palms flat to the surface of her desk, hunching over to be at eye level with her as he finally confronted her. He was immediately caught off guard when she addressed him by name, his hopes of simply pretending to be his brother and asking her on his behalf flying out the window, but he couldn’t hold in his laughter at her shocked face, completely bewildered that he was speaking to her as she sputtered out a response.

“I didn’t know he wanted me to come. 

“And why wouldn’t he?”

“He never asked.”

“That’s because the poor git is terrified of you. Completely obsessed, he is,” Fred told her, “He’s been mad for you since our third year.”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise, having no idea that George even knew who she was that long ago. As far as she was concerned, their attraction to one another was mutually new. A pit of guilt formed in her stomach once she realised that, not only had he been interested in her for three years, but he’d also been so patient in asking her to go any further in their relationship to a point that he was afraid to ask for his own emotional needs to be met. The entirety of her time at Hogwarts, she had consistently interacted with the same few people outside of her classes, and even then she generally tended to stick to herself. The fact that George had shown interest in her was surprising enough, she was certain that she was simply too happy with him in her comfort zone to recognise that she had not even considered his own, which brought her to the Great Hall that following Saturday, diverting her path from her own house’s table and instead finding the group of majorly red-headed Gryffindors. 

She was so nervous she was certain she would vomit. George was one thing, she’d grown attached enough to him that she could say quite literally anything to him, but she was approaching a group that consisted of him, two of his brothers, his sister, his best friend, and the Boy Who Lived, especially since every single one of them had turned to watch as she grew closer, all except for the boy who she was hoping to sneak away from them with as little conversation as possible. 

She cleared her throat once she finally reached the group, smiling bashfully as his chocolate brown eyes turned to her in surprise. His jaw was clenched, mid-chew of his breakfast as he glanced over his shoulder, seemingly taken aback by her willingness to approach him when he was with his friends. 

“Good morning,” she offered a nervous smile to the group, then turned her attention back to the red-head in question, “George, I need your jumper.”

“Sorry?” He choked out as he finally swallowed.

“Your jumper?” She suddenly realised exactly how embarrassed she would be if he were to refuse or make her stand there for a moment longer than necessary, “I, um, I don’t have any red to wear. To the game, I mean.”

“You’re coming?” His younger brother, Ron, spoke through his own food-stuffed mouth, followed by a grunt of pain as his sister drove an elbow into his ribs.

“You’re coming?” George repeated the question, though his voice lifted with excitement as her words finally registered in his head.

“If that’s okay,” she shrugged. 

“Okay?” He laughed breathlessly at her, almost tripping as he clambered over the bench to head towards the exit with a clear pep in his step, “you have no idea how okay that is.”

She glanced over at the group, each of them donning looks of both shock and amusement at what had just happened. She met Fred’s gaze as he winked at her and she felt her face flush before offering a meek goodbye to everyone, turning on her heel and chasing after him.

One challenge had been completed, but even when she was wrapped in one of George’s warm knitted Quidditch jumpers (the one he’d slightly outgrown over the summer and kept on hand for emergencies–though, he had never imagined that this would be the emergency in question), her footsteps wobbled as she climbed up the steps that lead into the bleachers, eyes scanning the rows of seats for an empty space or a familiar face, eyes narrowing in on Ron sitting with Hermione Granger. 

Their conversation came to a screeching halt as she dropped down onto the bench next to the younger girl. They both shared a look, then peered over at the girl curiously. She settled into the bench, catching their uncertain stares out of the corner of her eye as she wracked her brain for something to say.

“Nice day, isn’t it?”

Hermione turned her head to face the older girl, driving her elbow into Ron’s side as he failed to stifle his laughter, “It is. Are you excited for the match?”

She paused as she considered her next words. She’d only watched quidditch a handful of times, and she had never even stuck around for the entire game. She didn’t know the rules, nor did she understand what made the game that interesting in the first place, but the last thing she wanted was for George to find out through his younger brother that she hadn’t even wanted to go to the game in the first place.

“Mhm,” she hummed in response, “I’m sure it will be…good.”

Hermione nodded knowingly, turning back towards the pitch, where both teams were beginning to take flight and warm up. She was glad that neither Hermione nor Ron made much of an effort to speak directly to her, but left their conversation open for her to join in if she wanted, but she was just as happy to sit silently and listen to them bicker back and forth throughout the duration of the game. It made her feel less out of place, especially now that she was donning a red and gold jumper rather than her own house’s colours. 

When the game was over, Hermione paused as she and Ron stood to leave the bleachers, Hermione stopped to invite her to the victory party that would be taking place in the Gryffindor common room that evening. She was surprised, having never gone back there with George at any point, though he had offered on many occasions, but thanked the younger girl anyway and moved down to wait outside the locker room for her preferred Weasley. 

She fought off a grin as she listened to their excited cheers, easily picking out the synchronous chants of Fred and George over everyone else’s. This was a side of George she did not get to see very often; he made an effort to match her energy when they were together, which, up until now, she had never seen as an issue. It never occurred to her that she was being selfish with his time, because he never really seemed to mind it and always assured her that he and Fred were very different people when they were together in comparison to how they were separately, that he appreciated the quiet moments they shared together while the rest of his life was so loud. She was suddenly very self conscious of the fact that he may not have been truthful–maybe that was the reason why he never actually invited her to the game. Maybe Fred had been overzealous in his effort to bring her there, and that George was planning to slowly remove himself from her orbit. 

She was broken out of her quickly spiralling thoughts by her own squeal as she was lifted off of her feet, a pair of arms looping around her waist and twirling her around. Her feet finally met the dirt path once more, allowing her eyes to fall on the grinning visage of George Weasley before he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. Her spine stiffened at the touch, though she did not hate the affection as much as she would have thought when he was so clearly in a state of pure excitement. 

“Hi,” she breathed, eyes peering up at him in awe, taking in his messy ginger hair and red, wind bitten cheeks, “You–you played good. Well, I mean.”

“More than well, I’d reckon,” Fred appeared at his twin’s side, arm slinging over his shoulder, “We were bloody brilliant, to no surprise.”

“Well,” he turned his gaze back to her, ears burning red as his expression turned equal parts bashful and nervous, “I had a bit of extra luck today, I think.”

Her face burned at his words, for this was the first time they had been in any way affectionate with one another out in the open, especially anyone so close by as Fred and the rest of the team as they filed out of the locker room, each peeking over with little smirks on their faces. She was suddenly aware of exactly how public their relationship had been, even if it had been entirely behind closed doors.

“Yeah,” Fred released his twin from his hold, pushing him closer to the girl as he turned to follow behind his teammates on the path back to the castle, “make sure you spend more time with him then, would you? He could use a bit of luck.”

George snorted and rolled his eyes, murmuring under his breath as his brother jogged to catch up with Angelina and Katie, “Git.”

She cracked a small smile as a nervous giggle escaped her, “He’s…nice.”

“Nice, that’s one word for it,” George chuckled, stepping even closer to her as his fingers stretched out to meet her own, “I’m glad you came. It was nice having someone cheering for me.”

“I was hardly the only one cheering for you,” she rolled her eyes, “I’m sure half of the girls in my year are plotting to slip you a love potion.”

“Well they’d certainly need one, because I only remember hearing you,” he smirked at her, both of them knowing fully well that she had not cheered that loudly, instead opting for more clapping than yelling. “I mean it though, thank you for coming. I know it isn’t exactly your…scene.”

“I didn’t hate it. I had fun,” she shrugged, “what are you doing later?”

A small look of uncertainty crossed his features, “Um, nothing. Should we meet in our usual spot?”

She felt a pang through her chest at his selflessness; he had clearly been wanting to go to the party in his common room, but was willingly choosing not to go in order to spend time with her. Then, as if he couldn’t be any more heartstopping, he didn’t even tell her in order to ensure that she wouldn’t feel bad about keeping him away from his friends.

“Actually,” she paused, finally lacing their fingers together, “I–uh, Hermione invited me to this party tonight. Wanna be my date?”

His eyes lit up, “You? At a party?”

“Shut up,” she pushed her spare palm against his shoulder, “I can ask someone else if you’re not up to it.”

“Nuh-uh, no takesies-backsies,” George shook his head, a beaming grin spreading across his features, “It would be an honour to be your date to the party being held in my honour.”

She leaned into his side as they began making their way up the beaten path towards the castle, “Do me a favour?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t leave me alone there, please.”

He laughed, leaning down to kiss the crown of her head, “Trust me, I know better than to leave anyone alone with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, they’d either be dead or madly in love with you. I’m not sure which one I’m more afraid of.”

George hardly let go of her hand for the rest of the afternoon, leading her to join him and his friends for supper in the Great Hall, ensuring that she was able to be as involved in the conversation as she wanted, never pressuring her to step too far out of her comfort zone. She had been pleasantly surprised to find that Katie, Angelina, and Alicia were all incredibly kind–not that she necessarily  thought otherwise, but one could assume that three girls who were smart, pretty, and exceptional quidditch players may be a bit full of themselves, but they had generally seemed more interested in finding out information about her and her relationship with George, and they all seemed excited to discover that she was going to attending their victory party later that night.

He finally let her escape him for a few hours after their dinner, walking her back to her own common room and letting her go with a sweet kiss, and once she was in the privacy of her own room, she could no longer hold back the face-splitting grin that crawled across her face. She hadn’t expected to go so far out of her comfort zone that morning, having thought that she would attend the game in silence and that would be it. Instead, she felt a warm feeling of belonging–a feeling that she had never truly been able to find at Hogwarts up until this point. 

She used the time she had to get herself ready and take a short nap; her social battery had been severely drained by her earlier activities and would certainly need to be refilled before she could attend any sort of party. When she was finally ready, now donning a pair of jeans and a dark red blouse, she began the trek to the Gryffindor common room, where she met George on the way.

“I told you to wait for me,” he whined as he came to her side, “I would have walked you the entire way.”

She shrugged, smiling up at him teasingly, “I got impatient.”

“My apologies for being too slow, love,” he laughed, taking her hand in his own as he took in her appearance, “You look nice. I thought you said you didn’t own any red?”

“I just found this buried in my trunk,” her face warmed as she remembered the excuse she had made for needing his jumper, “or maybe I just needed an excuse.”

A pink tint crawled across his cheeks and reached the tips of his ears, “You didn’t need an excuse.”

“I know.”

They continued to walk in a comfortable silence, fingers laced together as they wandered through the torch-lit staircases leading to the portrait of the Fat Lady, who rolled her eyes in annoyance as George uttered the password, moaning about how many times she’d had to open and close with this bloody party and bloody students.

The party was in full-swing when they stepped inside, though she suspected it had been since shortly after the match had ended, considering that many of the players were still in their gear. She took a moment to take in the common room, admiring how it was so uniquely Gryffindor, just as her own seemed perfectly suited to her house. The room looked warm, with red and gold painting every inch of the room and a sultry amber glow from the raging fireplace. She almost wondered how the room had not come to be uncomfortably warm, considering the flames and the amount of people who had come to celebrate, but she knew better than to think too hard on it considering what school they were all attending–sometimes there was no answer to be found other than the understanding that magic did not see or respond to reason. 

They were greeted by George’s closest group of friends as he led them through the crowd, each of them clearly having begun their celebrations with the half-empty quart of fire whiskey on the table before them as they cheered upon the couple’s arrival. 

The girls were quick to pull her away from George, forcing her to join them on the plush, red velvet sofa and pressing a goblet into her hands. They bombarded her with questions about her relationship with George, questions that they had seemingly been waiting for them to be separated before they could be asked.

She felt her body burn with embarrassment as they pestered her, asking how far they had gone, if they were exclusive, and dozens of other questions that she had not expected to be asked. Her nerves were calmed, slightly, by the sight of George over Katie’s shoulder, his own gaze finding her easily through the crowd, and even more so as she drained her cup twice over and allowed Angelina to fill it up once more. 

Under the influence of her drink, she had found it easier to partake in their conversation, though she was still much more reserved than the other three. She had even gladly offered a cheerful hello to Hermione, who had made a point to come greet her, as well as Harry and Ron, who both seemed equally as surprised and amused at her uncharacteristic friendliness. Her eyes flickered up to where George had been standing all night, her heart dropping when she found the space empty. She whipped her head around, scanning the room with urgency. 

She felt a tap on her shoulder, whirling around to find Harry staring down at her with a glimmer of amusement in his green eyes, pointing over his shoulder, “I think he just went over there. By the punch bowl.”

She followed his gesture, eyes falling on his lanky figure among the crowd. She sighed, nodding at the younger boy in thanks as she turned to find George in the crowd once more. She narrowed her eyes as she found him once again, only this time, he was not alone. 

Her hand instinctively reached out to take hold of Alicia’s bicep, her grip firm as an iron shackle as her words cut through whatever story she’d been in the midst of telling, “Who is that?”

All three girls turned to follow her gaze, all sharing a glance of uncertainty as Katie responded, “Oh, um, that’s Ursula, Ursula Pots. She’s in our year.”

She clenched her jaw, “And who is she to George?”

If it hadn’t been for the alcohol, she would have been mortified at the idea of portraying such blatant jealousy in front of a group of people she barely knew, but her eyes narrowed nonetheless as an ugly green pit appeared in her belly. 

Angelina cleared her throat, “She’s fancied both of the twins since first year, but she definitely prefers George. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“No?” She asked, “you’re certain they’ve never…”

“George humours her from time to time, but they’ve only snogged once or twice,” Alicia yelped as Katie slapped her bicep, quickly correcting herself, “not since you two have been…you know, but–hey–”

She wasted not a single moment before she pushed herself off of the sofa, pushing her way through the crowd and ignoring the glares and shouts of protest as she shoved passed, tunnel vision focused solely on the flirtatious mannerisms of the girl standing in front of George and holding back the desire to wrap her fist into her curly blonde hair and yank it clean from her head. 

George caught the sight of her from the corner of his eye, taking a fair step back from Ursula as she sidled up next to him.

“Hi,” she greeted, though her tone was as monotonous as ever.

“Hi,” he responded, all-too-aware of the change in her demeanour; each time that he got closer to lowering her walls, something happened that only proved to reinforce them, “was wondering where you’d gone off to. Having fun?”

“I hadn’t moved all evening,” she pursed her lips, “but yes, I am having fun, thank you.”

The blonde girl cleared her throat, eyes narrowing at the close proximity of the pair. Her lips curled into a sickly sweet smile as her eyes snapped over to her, “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Ursula. Are you a friend of George’s?”

She scoffed, “Something like that.”

“I’ve never seen you around before,” she pressed, her tone condescending as the lie fell from her tongue, “have you just transferred?”

She gave her the very same, stern stare as before, “No, I haven’t. Perhaps we simply don’t have the same taste in friends.”

“Oh, well you must be in a different house, then. I did not think the other houses would be attending, it was a Gryffindor victory, after all.”

“I invited her,” George finally spoke up, his hand gracing her lower back.

“You did?” Her smile faltered for only a moment, “how nice. You’ve always been such a selfless person, George.”

He seemed taken aback, “I–”

“George, I’m tired,” she cut in, fury flooding through her veins.

He turned to stare down at her, “Oh, I can walk you back to–”

“I don’t think I’ll make it that far,” she shook her head, lips forming a pout, “could you take me to your bed?”

His face flooded with hot blood, pale flesh burning a deep scarlet red at her suggestion, “Are you…you’re sure?”

She nodded, lashes fluttering against her cheek as she took his hand in her own. He nodded, setting his own cup aside and leading her away without so much as a second glance at the blonde girl, whose own face was a matching shade of red as a result of her own anger. 

George led her to the staircase leading up to the boy’s dormitories, unintentionally making quite the scene as George’s close friends clapped him on the back and cheered him on. He shrugged off the attention, not wanting to let on about any part of their sexual relationship, ducking his head to hide his bashful smile as he led her up the stairs and quickly ushered her into the dorm that he shared with his twin and their mutual best friend, Lee.

He nervously kicked the small amount of clutter on the floor to be hidden beneath his four-poster bed, guiding her to sit on the edge of his mattress as he moved to his trunk, digging through his clothing and pulling out another one of his jumpers. 

“Here,” he handed it to her, “you can change into this, it will be more comfortable.”

She took the jumper, setting it aside and replacing it with his hand to pull him closer, “What if I don’t want to go to sleep yet?”

He furrowed his brow in confusion, “I thought you were tired.”

“And I thought that I wouldn’t last another moment speaking to Ursula,” she tilted her head, “I suppose we were both wrong.”

She pushed herself onto her knees, coming face-to-face with him. Her fingers traced over the delicate skin of his neck, one hand lacing through the ginger hair at the nape of his neck while the other slid over to grip his shoulder, finally pressing forward to capture his lips in a kiss. He grunted in surprise, her tongue slipping into his mouth with ease as she gently began to tug at the fabric of his jumper.

He pulled away in surprise, “We shouldn’t–”

“I want to,” she affirmed, “I’ve never wanted to more than I do now.”

“You’re drunk,” he shook his head, “let’s say, if you still want to tomorrow, I will gladly have you. For now, let’s go to bed. As much as I enjoyed having you with us today, I was beginning to wonder if I would ever have you all to myself again.”

“You always have me all to yourself,” she giggled, pressing another kiss to his lips, “I had fun today, surprisingly.”

“I’m glad. I had fun seeing you have fun,” he smiled, “and seeing you get jealous.”

“Jealous? Me?” She laughed, “you are too full of yourself, Weasley. I have nothing to be jealous of, you haven’t even asked me to be your girlfriend.”

He raised a brow, “I suppose you’re right. How foolish of me. Would you–”

“Not now,” she huffed, “like you’ve pointed out, I am drunk. I would like to be sober when it happens.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he mused, “well then, would you get changed already? I’d like to go to bed.”

She laughed, glancing down at the jumper on the bed before moving her gaze back up to the awestruck brown eyes staring down at her. 

“Would you at least help me change?”

His eyes widened in surprise, but his grin only widened with mischief, “Well, if I must.”

[be-xkyy]

𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝐻𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑃𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟

These are some of the ones I will publish, but tell me if you want someone else, it can be from Movies :)

𝑆𝑙𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛 𝐵𝑜𝑦𝑠

Tom Riddle

Draco Malfoy

Blaise Zabini

Lucius Malfoy

Regulus Black

Severus Snape

𝐺𝑟𝑦𝑓𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑟 𝐵𝑜𝑦𝑠

Harry Potter

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Oliver Wood

James Potter

Sirius Black

Remus Lupin

𝐻𝑢𝑓𝑓𝑙𝑒𝑝𝑢𝑓𝑓 𝐵𝑜𝑦𝑠

Cedric Diggory

𝐷𝑢𝑟𝑚𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔 𝐵𝑜𝑦𝑠

Viktor Krum

[sailtomarina]

Buy None, Get Two

cw: smut, M/M/F

It was supposed to be a short stop, your intention being to pick up a few personal items then head on home. Today was the one and only day of the Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes Spring Sale, after all, and their lines of WonderWitch were second to none in creativity and efficacy.

In hindsight, it would have been smarter to enter like any other customer from the front door. The main entrance meant light, open space, and plenty of witnesses. You would have been able to shop in peace with little interruption but the knowing wink of the clerk.

Let’s just say that eagerness played a part in your absence of thought. You tossed on your favourite corduroy skirt, a heavy knit jumper, and your trainers before grabbing your purse.

You went through the Floo by habit, stepping directly from your cottage into the twins’ flat above the shop. Were this any other day, the lights would have been out, the space quiet, the telltale ginger hair bent over experiments or paperwork downstairs in their offices.

So when you walked directly into the well-lit sitting room where Fred and George lounged on the sofa directly facing the fireplace, you froze.

“Well, well, what do we have here, Forge?”

“I don’t know, Gred. It looks like our girl’s here to take advantage of some great savings.”

You could feel your lips curling into the familiar grin these two always prompted, but you angled your body towards the front door in an attempt to squeeze by safely. “Now boys, I only have a small window of time that I intend to use wisely–”

Your well-laid plans ended in a squeak as you were lifted off your feet and laid unceremoniously across two sets of legs. Fred’s arm cradled your head carefully while his other automatically wrapped around your waist. George immediately took to removing your trainers, strong fingers massaging circles against the tight muscles and turning you limp.

“Our little sale has been more successful than anticipated and we thought we’d get away for a breather–,” Fred said lightly, his hand now tracing down your cheek.

“–so your arrival comes at a perfect time, love,” George picked up where his brother left off. You couldn’t help the sigh that escaped you as he slipped off your socks. His hands were warm against your smooth skin, and you thanked yourself for the foresight of shaving the night before.

“What did you two have in mind?” While you knew exactly what it was you wanted, you decided to play coy. They’d disrupted your original ideas, after all. You couldn’t make things too easy for them.

“Well…” Fred’s fingers propped your chin up as he leaned down to hover just out of reach, “that depends.”

“On?”

Your eyes flickered away from Fred to watch as George shifted on the chaise, separating your legs so he could turn and kneel between them. 

George licked his lips as he eyed the two of you, and his hands moved up your thighs to continue his gentle rubbing. “On what it was you were planning on purchasing.”

Trapped between their warm bodies as you were, you couldn’t help the flush that worked its way up your chest to fill your cheeks. They smirked at the sight.

“I wanted to pick up some Daydream Charms,” you continued despite the way Fred clicked his tongue in disapproval, “Crush Blush, since I’m almost out, and a Tongue Twister–”

“I can understand the blush, but do you really need the others when you already have two wizards who are more than happy to fulfil any fantasies you might have?” George interrupted.

His hands slipped beneath the thick fabric of your skirt, long fingers sweeping up the expanse of your thighs and encouraging you to widen them as he bent forward.

“George, you really don’t need to–”

“He wants to, love, as do I,” Fred said, gripping your chin firmly and raising his eyebrows. “Or do you want us to stop? Just say the word.”

The mouth that had been kissing its way up your inner thigh paused now above your centre, the heat of his breath priming you for a very different sort of tongue. A gush pulsed through you at past memories of how skillful they were with their fingers and mouths. They were insatiable, their focus unwavering and discerning of how every single sensation affected you. They used that knowledge to their advantage and your demise, turning you into a helpless puddle at their beck and call.

Sometimes it mortified you, afterwards, thinking about all the ways you unravelled at their touch, how easily they could make you say and do things you never would have dared on your own. You weren’t a very open person, despite how your body and mind seemed to unfurl at the mere suggestion of their eyes on yours.

You knew without a shred of doubt that, were you to say so, Fred and George would remove their hands. You hadn’t put a label on what it was that went on between the three of you just yet. You hoped, yes. You craved and dreamt.

“Don’t stop.” Low and breathless, you sounded desperate because, well, you were.

“Your coins are no good to us, sweetheart,” Fred murmured. He maintained a steady commentary while George mouthed you through the thin cotton of your knickers. 

The barrier was a joke sodden as it was with the combination of his spit and your steady arousal. He sealed his mouth against you and hummed. The vibrations sent you into a backbreaking arch with a moan. It was only Fred’s hands against your shoulders that stopped you from lifting off of the chaise entirely. His chuckle was warm against your cheek, his kiss a reassuring pressure to your temple.

The moment the gusset of your knickers was swept to the side and George ran a flattened tongue the full length of your slit, you cried out, scrabbling for purchase on something, anything.

Fred met you, fingers threading through yours and lips crashing down to muffle your cries. Slowly, he brought your hand up with his own to wrap around your throat. He didn’t squeeze, but he didn’t have to. The mere presence was close enough of a claim to tip you over the edge as George plunged two fingers inside and curled them upward.

“Pretty girl, so sweet and good for us,” Fred cooed. “Can you be good for a bit longer?” His hips shifted beneath your head where it rested. You could feel the thick length of him straining against the constraints.

“Please!” This was why you’d come over, wasn’t it? You’d dreamt last night of a scenario much like this one where the twins moved over and around you, taking turns wringing pleasure from you like another one of their experiments. 

You only had to turn your head the barest amount before your jaw opened wide to take in his bared cock, while, at the same time, you felt a blunt pressure at your cunt. Like they shared one mind, they impaled you from both ends. Hands pressed against your hips and the back of your head, bringing you flush against them. You trembled, and you gagged, and still they held on tight.

“Nnnnn,” you couldn’t speak with your mouth and throat stuffed full; you weren’t sure how much longer you could last like this.

One of them, you weren’t sure who, shushed you. Fingers brushed against your clit, a fist tightened around your hair, spots danced across your vision through which you could only see the milky skin of Fred’s lower abs and a thatch of red hair slightly darker than the rest.

Just as you felt like you were about to pass out, they pulled back, and you gasped for air just in time to be filled once again. They repeated the process until you shouted around Fred’s cock and shook beneath George’s circling thumb.

“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, I’m–” Fred groaned deep as he started to come, spilling down your throat as you worked to swallow all of him. “Look at you, drinking me up.” He didn’t care about the cum still coating your lips as he bent down to tangle his tongue with yours, thrusting deep and swirling around as if he meant to clean you up.

His mouth caught your cries as George pulled your knees up and spread them in a wide v, thrusting as deep as he could to finish. George nuzzled against your tits over the jumper you still wore as he pulsed inside of you. The slight tingle of magic across your abdomen let you know one of them had cast a contraception charm. It wasn’t until he slipped out of you and sat up that Fred pulled back from your kiss.

“Any chance we can convince you to join us downstairs?” George asked as he offered you your knickers. 

They both wore satisfied grins, eyes crinkled at the corners and lips swollen and red. Given the state of their faces and how their hair stood in disarray, there was no question about what they’d been doing in their free time. 

You tapped your chin as you pretended to think. “I do still have a few more fantasies I’d like to experience if there are any more Daydream charms left…”

Laughter bubbled out of you at the insulted looks they gave you, a joy that turned into dismay when George vanished your knickers with a casual wave of his hand.

“Cheeky witches don’t get to wear knickers,” he sniffed. The act was just that, his smirk giving away his amusement.

“We do still need to eat, if you’d like to join us for lunch.” The uncharacteristic seriousness in Fred’s voice prompted you to look more carefully at him.

“Are you asking me out on a date, Fred Weasley?”

“What if we are?” His chin came up in that stubborn way of his you sometimes saw around his family and rivals. George looked much the same, even with the hint of his smile remaining.

You could slap the invitation down with your usual playful air, and they’d likely go along with your decision. While none of you had strictly gone out of your way to hide the attraction you felt for one another, this would be the first such instance of publicly acknowledging it as such.

“I could be persuaded…”

You looked them both over, biting your lip as you imagined all the ways they could go about convincing you. The possibilities were endless, your mind a playground for three. They leaned forward, beckoned by the prize dangling before them.

Then you bolted, aiming for the door sans knickers and trainers knowing full well they’d never let you make your escape. Laughter rang out behind you, then the familiar weave of their magic wound around you and yanked you back into their arms.

Right where you belonged.

1825 WC

5.19.24 FB: Lauren’s Kitchen prompt: “sale”

Cross-posted on Tumblr, Facebook, and AO3.

[jiroufann]

one of the best ones ive read yet

it takes two

desc: when you make a stupid mistake, you can feel a shift in your friendships with your two best mates. so what better way to take care of things than to not mention anything to either of them at all? that is, until you’re bursting at the seams and need to get the story out, one way or another.

word count: 5.6k

warning(s): mentions and consumption of alcoholic beverages

A/N: something a little different. i still hope you all enjoy :) took me freaking forever to write this oi veigh. notes: my requests are still currently closed, i am merely working through the ones in my inbox. i do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any platforms.

taglist: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darlingdetails @laneygthememequeen @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @feffffffy​@acciotwinz @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @shadowsinger11 @sleep-i-ness @shadychaoticcollection​ @haphazardhufflepuff​ @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff​ @kageyama-i-want-tobiors​ @letsfightsomeorcs​ @theweasleysredhair​ @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs​ @wand3ringr0s3​ @finecole​ @angelinathebook​ @highly-acidic​ @purplefragile @90shermione​ @zreads​ @susceptible-but-siriusexual​ @hollands-weasley​ @andromedaa-tonks​ @bbystrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle​ @mytreec​ @imseeinggred​ @idont-knowrn​ @auroraboringalis57​ @godricsswords​ @jejegu​ @annasofiaearlobe​ @starlightweasley​ @alwaysasadaesthetic​ @thisismysketchbook​ @izzytheninja​ @imboredandneedalife​ @hemmoporro​ @valwritesx​ @heavenlymidnight​ @hannolannno​ @msmimimerton​ @oh-for-merlins-sake​ @hufflepuff5972​ @pigwidgexn​ @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breadqueen95​ | message me if you’d like to be added or removed!

“Fred! Bloody hell, can’t you let me win just once?”

The common room was vibrating with chattering students. Across the table from you sat Fred with a rather smug look painted onto his face as if to say, Won again! You huffed dramatically; you’d been trying this entire term to beat him in a game of exploding snap and had yet to do so. You sulkily sank back into the couch and folded your arms across your chest, all while Fred just sat across from you and laughed. Just then, George plopped down next to you and thrust a goblet that was filled to the brim into your hands.

“Are you giving me this because I’ve lost to your git of a brother for the millionth time this year and need some reconciling?” You lowered your voice and your eyes to the goblet, the insides of it swirling with Gryffindor-deep crimson reds and oranges, the liquid that would course through your veins like a rapid fire.

“What’re you on about?” George asked, a sly smile creeping onto his face, “that’s butterbeer.”

You knew by the colour alone and the sheer burn in the back of your throat when you swallowed that it was definitely not butterbeer. Your eyes began to water at the sting. “Mhmm,”

“To answer your question, Y/N,” Fred dragged your name out a little bit longer than you would have liked, but he just adored teasing you, didn’t he? You narrowed your eyes at him as he relaxed back into the armchair, bringing the goblet of firewhisky to his lips, “no, I can’t let you win just once, I reckon. That wouldn’t be fair.” He then took a too-big-to-handle gulp, and began to cough from the burn of the alcohol.

“Fred, I swear to Merlin, could you be any less subtle, you idiot?” George sneered at his twin, grabbing for the goblet which Fred held above his head. George just sighed. “Can’t let the prefects see I’ve snuck this in.”

You giggled and shoved him. “Oh, you mean, your brother?”

The three of you peered across the common room to see Ron, Harry, Hermione and Ginny chatting away, Ron and Hermione’s shiny Prefects badges glistening on their robes. You shoved George playfully when he began to laugh.

“What? Ron wouldn’t tell. He’s too scared of us. It’s Hermione I’m worried about.”

You clinked your goblet with his and then with Fred’s and wiggled your eyebrows at the both of them. “Well then, boys, best make sure she doesn’t see, yeah?”

The three of you threw back more gulps and you reckoned it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but the buzz of the party was making you abandon all logical thoughts.

Keep reading

[magical-reid]

magical-reid's Masterlist

My Masterlist was getting too long so each link will send you to mini-masterlists for each character!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Who I write for: Spencer Reid, Bucky Barnes, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Sebastian Sallow, Lip Gallagher, Stiles Stilinski, Steve Harrington, and Eddie Munson.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

*Request a Prompt*

Spencer Reid ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Bucky Barnes ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Fred Weasley ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

George Weasley ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Draco Malfoy ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Sebastian Sallow ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Lip Gallagher ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Stiles Stilinksi ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Steve Harrington ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie Munson ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

[enweasley]

Restricted Section ; Finn Weasley x Sallow!Reader

AN: HII! So I haven't seen this being done much (or even at all but I barely looked) where people would write fanfics of their own characters in Hogwarts Legacy, so I decided to do so! Quick introduction to the character:

This is Finn Weasley; He's in Gryffindor and has a very loyal but mischievous personality. He's also pansexual! He LOVES herbology but he loves solving mysteries and exploring secrets even more - even if it's super dangerous. However, he will go to any extent to keep others out of danger (ironically). Finn can be really harsh to people if someone hurts him or the people he cares about. He's not perfect, though, he has some flaws. He does have a short temper and can say pretty horrible things without meaning to. He can also be quite reckless and finds it hard to accept other people's love and care, leading him to forget to keep himself from getting hurt.

That's all for now, but I'll probably add more to his story as time goes by!

(Please excuse any grammar mistakes, I'm trilingual and grammar from 3 languages can mix me up a lot C:)

--

Summary: The new student needs your help sneaking into the restricted section for something 'very important'. However, he doesn't expect you to cover for him when you get caught.

Warnings: Swearing, small panic attack, gets a little heated at the end. Kinda cheesy but we love that :)

Reader's gender is never specified!

--

"Excuse me! Y/n Sallow, right?" Interrupted from your game of wizard's chess alone, you turn around to be met with a pretty tall red-head. You couldn't help but think about how gorgeous he is, but you swallow your excitement.

"Yeah, that's me. You're the new kid aren't you?" You disenchant your chess game and give him your full attention. "I watched your duel with Sebastian in the Clock Tower, you're really good!"

Finn seems to flush at your compliment. During his short time starting in 5th year here in Hogwarts he's gotten plenty compliments on how he's been able to learn and execute spells so quickly, but for some reason your compliment had a special affect on him.

He chuckles lightly. "Thank you, I'm just trying to catch up quickly." He couldn't seem to keep his eyes from wandering over your features. "It's Finn, by the way. Finn Weasley."

"Oh, another Weasley! Well it's lovely to meet you! Did you need anything?" You ask politely.

Finn almost forgot why he was talking to you in the first place, but managed to remember before already humiliating himself in front of you. "Right, yes. This may sound quite forward, but Sebastian told me you're really good at sneaking around. Is there a chance you can help me sneak into the restricted section of the library tonight? I can't say why, but it's very important."

You were a bit surprised at his request, but kind of prideful that you were the first person he was led to for it. You smiled widely. "Of course! I'm surprised my brother didn't take you himself. Meet me at the grand staircase at 9. Don't be late!"

"Wait- Don't you wanna know more about why I need to sneak in?" He asked perplexed.

"Nope. I'll take any opportunity for sneaking around. Either way, you don't seem the type to burn down the castle or anything. Plus, you said you can't say why you need to sneak in."

He mentally facepalmed himself. How could he forget he just said that? Maybe he just wanted to talk to you longer. "I'll see you at 9!" You smile at him and walk away.

You take a long breath after turning away from him. Holy shit he's cute.

-

You're both crouched at the railing of the stairs looking down onto the central hall at exactly 9pm, analysing the prefects walking around and guarding the doors of the library.

"Okay," you whisper. "First of all, we need to go invisible. Have you learnt the disillusionment spell?"

Finn looks at you like a lost puppy, his head slightly titled. You almost had to tell him how cute he looked, but held back.

You pull your wand out and whisp it over your head and body. The wand leaves a blue trail of light before all there was left was your aura.

You continue whispering to the lost boy in front of you. "This is the disillusionment spell. It doesn't turn you completely invisible but it's better than being completely exposed."

You point to his hand holding his wand. "May I?" He nods hesitantly.

You slowly hold his fist clenching onto his wand and do the same movement you did on yourself over him. Finn could barely focus, the feeling of your soft hand on his summoning an army of butterflies in his stomach. You couldn't help but feel the same tingle in your stomach too.

Clearing your throat, you speak. "That's the movement for the spell. Just think of it and do the movement."

He did as you said, and suddenly you were both just two ghosts staring at each other's remains.

Finn chuckles enthusiastically. "This is awesome!" He whisper yells.

You laugh at his excitement, wishing you could see his freckled face through the spell.

"Okay, let's go. Stick close to me." You begin to sneak down the stairs, through the hall, and quickly side past the prefect turned away from the library door. You can feel Finn following closely behind.

After you both get into a safer corner of the library away from Madam Agnes's sights, you remove the spell off you.

"Here's the plan," you start. "You go get the key from Madam Agnes's desk draw over there, I'll distract her."

Finn nods. As you start to turn away, Finn grabs your arm gently and looks at you with his adorable puppy eyes.

"What if you get caught?" He sounds worried. You can't tell why he'd be worried about you, though.

You give him a cheeky smile. "Me? Get caught? You should worry about yourself, Weasley." He chuckles, shooing away the blush creeping into his cheeks after hearing you call him by his surname. "C'mon, let's go."

As you throw a book across the room, Finn conceals himself and scurries to grab the key. You quickly do the same and meet him at the entrance of the restricted section.

Exposing yourselves from the spell, you watch him unlock the gate before you walk in.

"YES!" Finn cheers, surprising you both with a tight hug. There's a pause before he realises what he's doing and slowly pulls away, taking his warmth away with him. "Sorry... Got excited."

You laugh sweetly at him. "I don't mind." He continues walking down the stairs of the forbidden room, but not before shooting you a relieved smirk.

"Lumos." You cast, making the eery room brighter and less intimidating.

As you squeeze between abandoned bookshelves and over piles of junk, you reach a collapsed set of armour. "Repai-" Finn begins to cast before a loud screech interrupts him.

Almost out of thin air, Peeves flies through the wall in front of you. He almost knocks you down, but Finn's quick reflexes catch you before you hit the ground. You find yourself wrapped in his arms, yours tightly around his neck.

"Shit, are you okay?" Finn asks you breathlessly, his worried eyes glaring into yours.

"Yeah yeah, I'm fine-" But once again you were interrupted by the same squeaky, loud voice of the poltergeist.

"I'M TELLING, I'M TELLING," Peeves squeals mockingly before flying straight upwards towards the main floor of the library.

Your heart squeezes into itself. You've never been caught before, why now? Your uncle is going to kill you if he finds out you were sneaking around the castle, and in the restricted section of all places.

You didn't realise your breath was quickening until you felt arms lowering you onto the floor and rough but warm hands palming each side of your neck.

"Hey, hey. You're alright, sweetheart. Take a breath." You hear Finn's soft voice whisper in your ear. A little voice was in your head screaming How do you expect me to breathe when you're making my heart beat even faster??

You breathe deeply before letting out a small chuckle. "I'm okay. I'm fine. Just go get whatever you need to get. I need to deal with Peeves before he gets us both in trouble."

Finn looks at you as if asking you if you're sure. You just nod and sprint after Peeves, the last thing you hear is a distant "Repairo" before making it back to the library.

"PEEVES YOU STUPID POLTERGEIST." You try catching him, forgetting he's a literal ghost as your arms flail right through him.

"Y/n Sallow." You jump at the voice of Madam Agnes behind you. You slowly turn around while Peeves chuckles menacingly at your head hung low in shame. "And to think I'd get a break from the Sallow siblings, you come running along. Wait until your uncle hears about this."

"No. No no no-" You get interrupted by her. "That's enough. You're a bright student, you should know better than to go sneaking around the restricted section especially after curfew."

"But Madam Agnes-"

"And Peeves here tells me you were with someone else." Peeves twirls and rolls around mid-air, celebrating your punishment. "Please tell me you were forced to come here by someone's hand instead of it being your own choice."

There's a pause. You could never snitch on Finn like that. You only just met him but you know better than to put his record at risk on his first week of school here. This was your own choice anyway, you weren't forced. Finn helped you down there, so you're gonna help him.

"No. I came here all alone." You said in a low but stern voice.

Madam Agnes sighs at your lie, but she knew how stubborn you and your brother were, so she let it slide.

"Detention after classes tomorrow. You're going to sort the books to their respective places until they're all done. It doesn't matter if it takes you all night." Your shoulders slump. "Peeves, escort her to her common room, please."

With a sigh from you and an evil chuckle from the poltergeist, you begin your walk to your common room. At least Finn's in the clear now.

Little did you know, Finn saw the whole thing from behind one of the shelves. He couldn't help but let a grateful smile reach his lips.

--

The next day, Finn runs to the library to find you after his classes. It's already dark out by the time he finishes his extra tasks and from talking to Professor Fig. He doesn't know why he's in such a hurry, but he won't let his confidence escape him just yet.

Once he's in, he find the library to be completely empty, not even Madam Agnes in sight. He hears distant curses and shuffling coming from the second floor and he can only assume the source being your complaining.

As he follows the sounds of frustrated mumbles, he finally finds you at the end of the second floor in a dark corner holding a bunch of books to shelf up. He smiles at the sight of you awkwardly balancing everything in your one hand and walks over to you, taking a pile of books from you.

"Need help there?" He looks at you with a teasing smirk.

You look at him with a grumpy face. "Oh haha, Weasley. I can handle this on my own, thank you very much." You snatch back the books he took from you, instant regret flooding your features as you immediately struggle to balance them.

Finn immediately takes them back from you and effortlessly holds them over his head, extending his arm upwards far from your reach.

"Hey- Hand those back, Weasley." You try hopping to reach the books he so graciously stole from you.

He chuckles at your efforts while you claw up his chest and shoulders, trying to tug down his arm. After a harsh tug, Finn loses balance of the books he's holding and he tries catching them but ends up stumbling forwards.

The books fall to the side as Finn catches himself on the bookshelf, trapping you between it and himself.

You lock eyes with him, your hands clutched tightly onto the thin material of his shirt over his chest. You're both breathing heavily, chests almost touching with every breath.

You can feel Finn hesitate as his hands slowly reach to cup the back of your neck, his thumb over your cheek. No matter how much you willed yourself to, your simply could not take your eyes off him.

"Thank you." He whispers. Your eyebrows furrow.

"For what?"

"For covering for me." His stare snapping between your eyes and lips. "I heard you in the library after we got caught."

"You mean after I caught got?" You tease.

Finn smirks at your remark, his hold on your neck squeezing for a second. "Whatever you say, sweetheart." The nickname melts into your ears and into the rushed beats of your heart.

"Hey, Finn?" The use of his first name makes the blood rush to his cheeks, his breath hitches.

"Yeah?"

"You dropped my books."

"Shut up." Finn lets out in a desperate breath before pulling you into him, his lips roughly but passionately meeting yours.

His other hand shifts from the side of your head to tangle into your hair, tugging it lightly. You let out a little whimper, but that's all it took for Finn to deepen the kiss even more, his tongue slightly grazing yours. Breaths were escaping through your noses, desperate for air but never desperate enough to separate from each other.

Your fingers weave through his long, soft ginger locks. Your other hand clutches desperately onto the collar of his shirt.

You both finally pull away from each other, your hands gliding down to rest on his chest.

"Fuck." Finn leans his forehead on yours, leaning in for another quick peck. His hazel eyes are glazed over, looking into yours like they hold the world. He slowly brushes a strand of your hair behind your hair, memorising your face as you memorise his.

"I was hoping you'd do that." You chuckle breathlessly. Finn laughs with you, his eyes holding nothing but love as they stare into yours. "Oh yeah?" You nod, your nose lightly touching his.

"Now help me with these books, Weasley. You're still responsible for my detention." You playfully push him away and start picking up the books he previously dropped.

"And I'd do it again as long as it ends like this every time." He smiles at you cheekily.

"Do it again and I'm telling Sebastian you used a love potion on me."

And with that he got to work helping you sort the books out.

[im-trying-my-best-yall]

Every now and then ill be looking for a George fic to read and i'll stumble across something for Fred instead because theres a great deal more content for Fred than George and the description will sound like an interesting concept and im so starved for fics that i'll try reading it and I genuinely cant read it

I'm sorry to all the Fred girlies out there i know you love your man but it feels like im cheating on my boy and i just cant do it

like thats my husband and thats his brother and i physically cant

[luvendiary]

paying attention / g. f. weasley

george weasley x reader

summary: you had never paid much attention to your best friend's little brother. maybe it's about time that changes. warnings: not proofread. no use of y/n. 5k words. not cannon complaint on the graduation years of each weasley. female reader. based on this request

Charlie Weasley had been like a ray of sunshine in your life. 

After years of being told you were being delirious upon insisting you wanted to go into a magical creatures related field after graduation, meeting Charlie was something meant just for you.

He had found you one day where you were particularly angry. A combination of the accumulation of comments and Snape’s enthusiasm for failing you in every possible aspect of potions class. You couldn’t take it anymore.

Your coping mechanism? Tearing your potions textbook to shreds and setting it on fire. Savage? Perhaps. But sometimes, a girl just needed to completely let go of all sense of composure for life to go on.

“Stupid stupid greased troll…” you murmured to yourself as you ripped a couple of pages and stomped on them.

Your hair had come out of your braid and it loosely hung around your head. Making you seem just a tad bit deranged.

With a heavy groan you ripped the book in half and threw part of the cover into the Black Lake. As far and as fast as possible.

“Idiots!” you screamed as you kicked a rock with your foot. You lost your balance, falling directly on your arse with a thump.

You sighed and reached into your satchel, taking out a set of matches.

“A moment of silence for the fallen textbook,” a voice drawled behind you, light and amused.

You froze mid-stomp and turned, hair whipping around your face like a wild halo. Charlie Weasley stood there, arms crossed and staring at you casually.

You recognized him, of course you did. Not because of how handsome he was, not because of how you wished you could run your hand through that hair of his, just long enough to tie it up. No.

You recognized him because you shared classes with his brother Percy. 

Your first instinct was embarrassment. Your second was mild rage. “You’re judging me.”

“Absolutely not,” he said, grinning. “I’ve wanted to set my potions book on fire since third year. I’m just impressed you're actually doing it.”

You blinked at him.

“Want to join?”

He grinned.

You offered him a match.

Charlie graduated two years before you, and the day he left Hogwarts you cried like a fool in the Owlery. He’d wiped your tears and swore he’d write. And he did. You still had his first letter tucked in an old journal, a page full of messy scrawl and coffee rings, talking about a nesting Horntail and how one of the handlers had gotten singed eyebrows.

You wrote back immediately, demanding every detail.

By the time you finished school, you knew more about the dragon preserve than most of the rookies who applied. And when you got accepted, Charlie was waiting at the portkey site with a proud grin and a bear hug that nearly cracked a rib.

For a brief moment you dated Charlie. Quietly and in private. Spending so much time together, the lines between friendship and something more started to blur. It hadn’t been dramatic or messy. Just two people longing for tenderness. In the end, you both came to the same conclusion: you were better off as friends. You both cared for each other, you didn’t need any kind of romance to make that fact real. 

You spent your early twenties there. Mud, ash, smoke, burns—you lived and breathed it, and there was no one else you would’ve rather done it with. You were each other’s anchor. Nothing more, nothing less.

Your school-girl crush on him had long since faded, dulled between shift rotations and dragon dung detail. He was still handsome, of course—he always would be—but Charlie had become more of a lighthouse than a flame. Steady. Brilliant. The kind of warmth you could always find your way back to.

Molly never quite believed that.

“Oh, come now, dear,” she’d say during every holiday at the Burrow, handing you a mug of tea. “He’s such a good man.”

“He is,” you’d agree with a secret smile towards Charlie himself.. “The best of them all.”

“And you’ve worked together for years now…”

“We’re just friends.”

Charlie would usually nod along from beside you, deadpan. “She’s seen me covered in dragon snot, Mum. There’s no mystery left.”

Molly would purse her lips, unconvinced.

And that’s when George would swoop in.

“She’s my woman, anyway,” he’d say lazily, slinging an arm around you.

You’d roll your eyes, used to the Weasley sarcasm. “Aren’t you supposed to be off inventing tongue-tying toffees or something?”

“I multitask,” George would reply, lips twitching. “Besides, someone’s got to save you from Mum trying to orchestrate a wildlife-themed wedding.”

That always got a snort out of Charlie. And Molly would mutter something about grandbabies as she busied herself with biscuits.

“Maybe when you’re older Georgie,” you’d say with a laugh as you’d allow his hand to intertwine with yours from over your shoulder.

“You’ve been telling me that since you graduated,” he’d complain. “How much older do I have to be?”

You’d glance up at him with a teasing smile. “Older than me, at least.”

George would frown dramatically, but that didn’t stop him from getting close to you. “Give me a break, woman!”

You supposed there were some perks in working with Charlie. The main one being that the Weasleys almost immediately took you in as one of their own.

The sun was just beginning to rise above the mountains when the Weasleys arrived to Romania.

Charlie met them near the edge of the preserve, boots caked in mud, freckles darker than ever from years under the Romanian sun. Molly pulled him into a tight hug the moment she saw him, swaying slightly from the sheer force of her affection.

“My boy,” she murmured. “You look like you’ve been arm-wrestling trolls.”

“Close,” he chuckled, wrapping his arms around her. “Hungarian Horntails are worse, believe me.”

Arthur clapped him on the back while Ron looked around wide-eyed at the sheer size of the place. “Blimey,” he muttered. “Looks like something out of a horror film.”

“Ron!” Hermione scolded softly, elbowing him.

“It kind of does,” George added, but his tone was distracted, eyes already scanning the horizon. “Alright, lovely reunion and all, but where is she?”

Charlie snorted. “She’s dealing with a small problem this morning.”

“Problem?” Molly asked, instantly on alert.

Before he could finish, a deep, metallic clang rang out across the preserve, followed by a high-pitched screech and the unmistakable clanging of reinforced steel.

Then, from the direction of the Hungarian Horntail enclosure, came a streak of movement.

You.

Sliding through the half-closed access hatch with your knees bent and arms locked around something round and pale, just as the Horntail behind you slammed into the bars with a roar that shook the earth. Your jacket was ripped at the shoulder, your braid half-undone and streaked with ash, face flushed and marked with what might’ve been blood or soot—or both.

But you were grinning.

You came to a stop in a crouch, cradling what looked like a cracked, steaming dragon egg in your arms.

“Got it!” you called breathlessly, as if you hadn’t just barely escaped being dragon food.

Charlie jogged over to help you up, already eyeing the egg with professional concern. “Is the crack manageable?”

You nodded. “I think it was from the fall last night. Mama’s in a right rage about it—nearly turned me into toast.”

“She did scorch your hair,” Charlie noted, gently tugging a singed piece of your braid with a smirk.

You gave him a distracted glare, already looking past him—then your eyes landed on the line of red hair and familiar faces standing not far behind.

“Oh—oh!” you gasped. “Hi! You’re all here!”

Charlie couldn’t help but smile. 

“Welcome to Romania!” you beamed, cheeks flushed from adrenaline and excitement. “I meant to be at the gate, I’m sorry! We’re so happy to have you here. I’d hug you all, but you know…” you said gesturing towards yourself, —smoke-streaked, blood-spattered, and cradling a dangerously hot egg.

Molly looked horrified. Arthur blinked. Ron mouthed something that looked suspiciously like bloody hell.

But George?

George was staring at you like you'd just walked out of one of his wildest dreams and sucker-punched reality in the face on your way through. His lips parted slightly. Then he grinned.

“Well,” he drawled. “That’s my girl.”

You rolled your eyes as you stood, still cradling the egg. “You’re going to have to stop saying that one day.”

“Nope,” George said. “One day you’ll actually agree with me.”

Charlie turned to the family, still casually brushing dust off your shoulder like you hadn’t nearly been barbecued.

“We’ve got cabins set up near the ridge,” he said. “Little hike, but it’s the safest part of the preserve. No risk of dragon fire, just fresh air and screaming mountain goats.”

“You’re really selling it, mate,” George muttered, though he’d yet to take his eyes off you.

You nodded toward the main trail. “Come on, we’ll walk you up. There’s a warming charm in each of the cabins and one hell of a view. Dinner’s in the mess hall at seven. Don’t be late, or the Nundu handler eats everything but the plates.”

“Not a joke,” Charlie said seriously, leading the way.

You walked beside him, careful with the egg now swaddled in a flameproof cloth. The rest of the family followed behind, casting awed looks at the sprawling preserve. George lingered at the back, but his gaze stayed forward. On you.

Once everyone was settled into their cabins with promises of hot tea and time to rest, you and Charlie veered off the trail, heading toward the treatment hut at the edge of the nesting fields. The egg was warm in your arms, pulsing faintly with fragile life.

Charlie opened the door for you, his usual smirk a little softer now. “You alright?”

You nodded. “Just tired. Mama Horntail nearly singed my eyebrows off again.”

“She’s picky,” he said, shutting the door behind you. “Likes you more than anyone else, though.”

“Of course she does. She’s my girl.”

You laid the egg gently onto the enchanted moss nest, watching the charm activate and hum softly as it adjusted the warmth. The small crack across the shell shimmered slightly—minor, but not ignorable.

“She’ll be alright,” Charlie murmured, crouching beside you. “You got it just in time.”

You leaned back on your heels, exhaling. The quiet buzz of dragon wards surrounded you, comforting in its familiarity.

Then Charlie said, voice calm, casual: “You know George isn’t joking anymore, right?”

You blinked. “What?”

He didn’t look at you, just adjusted the warming charm slightly. “The whole ‘she’s my girl’ thing. I think it started as a bit. It isn’t anymore.”

You scoffed, leaning back against the wall. “Please. He’s George Weasley. Everything is a bit.”

Charlie shrugged. “Maybe. But not with you.”

You stared at him, trying to laugh. But the sound caught awkwardly in your throat. “He’s been at it since fifth year. He teases. It’s what he does. Besides, if it truly was a crush, he would’ve dropped it a long time ago, right?”

He didn’t respond, instead he focused on cleaning his hands with a wet cloth.

“I mean, no one will wait that long without any kind of reciprocation. Don’t you think so?”

Charlie finally looked at you. His expression was serious, kind, but with that razor edge of some sort of protectiveness that only came out when it mattered.

“He’s not teasing anymore,” he repeated. “He watches you like he’s waiting for something. Whatever that something is… that’s up to you to decide.”

You were quiet.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Because you’d always brushed George off like he was a storm you could outrun. You thought it was harmless fun. You needed it to be harmless fun. Because George was... George. And you were just Charlie’s friend who fought dragons and smelled like smoke and hadn’t seriously thought about love in years.

But Charlie’s words stayed in your chest like smoke that never fully left your lungs.

By the time six o’clock rolled around, the sky had darkened into a bruised twilight, streaked with lavender clouds and the golden glow of lanterns flickering to life around the preserve.

You were on your way to the mess hall, but had taken a small detour to check on the hatchlings.

The air around the nursery pens was thick with warmth and the soft, crackling sound of enchanted heating wards. Several newborn dragons—barely the size of a small dog—were curled into piles of glimmering scales, all nestled into nests of charmed moss and ash. You knelt beside the smallest enclosure, scribbling furiously into a weathered leather-bound journal.

“Molting early,” you murmured as you cast a soft blue diagnostic charm, the arc of magic hovering over one of the hatchlings before fading. “Calcium low. Appetite reduced. Tail twitching increased. Might be a nerve thing…”

You didn’t look up as boots crunched behind you on the gravel.

“Do you always talk to them like they’ll answer back?” came George’s voice, low and curious, with that familiar lilt that made your pulse skip before you could help it.

You hummed, barely acknowledging him, your quill scratching over the page.

He did the same, a low sound coming from the depths of his throat as he came to a slow stop just behind you. He leaned over slightly, peering at your notes upside down. “What’s that one mean, twitching tail?”

“Means she might be developing a spinal sensitivity,” you replied without missing a beat. “Could just be stress, but it’s more likely tied to the shell damage during incubation.”

George let out a soft whistle, crouching beside you now, his shoulder brushing yours. “How do you know all this?”

“I just pay attention,” you said, casting another charm. A green glow passed over the hatchling’s back, and you nodded to yourself before adding a final note. “They tell you what they need. You just have to listen.”

George was quiet for a moment. Then, quietly: “Kind of like people, yeah?”

You stilled.

That wasn’t about dragons. And both of you knew it.

“I’d like it if you talked to me like you talked to these little guys,” he said with a lopsided grin. 

You didn’t even look up. “Well, can you breathe fire and regrow your teeth every six weeks?”

“Give me enough Firewhisky and a poor impulse control night—sure,” George said, crouching beside you.

You kept writing. The silence between you filled with the soft sounds of baby dragons shifting in straw, of your quill scratching across parchment. Until—

“You know,” he said, voice almost thoughtful, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you liked it when I flirt with you.”

You finally turned to look at him. He was closer than you expected, eyes soft and unreadable in the dim glow of the pens. His presence, usually so loud and buoyant, felt oddly… steady.

“George…” you began slowly, your voice lower now.

“What?” he grinned, boyish and bright. “Come on, I’ve only been mad about you since I was fifteen. You were practically glowing when you talked about Hippogriffs. I nearly passed out.”

You stared at him. And maybe it was the glow of the lanterns, or the quiet behind his words, or the way he was watching you like he wasn’t just joking anymore. Maybe it was all of that. But something in you tugged sharply, just a bit.

You looked away. “You should stop saying things like that.”

He tilted his head, brow raised. “Why?”

“Because one day I might actually believe you.”

There was a pause. A beat of silence. 

“It’s about time you did.”

You froze. Breath caught. His tone wasn’t teasing now. Wasn’t a line.

He pulled back slightly, meeting your eyes properly now. “Do you know how hard it is pretending it’s all a joke just so you don’t bolt?”

Your mouth opened. No sound came out.

His hand lifted, slow and careful, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

You didn’t move.

The strand of hair slipped behind your ear, his fingers brushing your cheek with a kind of reverence that stole the air from your lungs. And still, you didn’t move.

George exhaled softly, more a breath than a sigh, his hand hovering for a second like he was waiting for you to swat it away. You didn’t.

“I know you think I’m all noise,” he murmured. 

His hand dropped slowly to his knee, but he didn’t look away.

“I can be those things,” he added, tone a little more grounded now. “Merlin knows I’ve made a life of being those things. But not with you. Never really with you.”

You swallowed, throat dry.

He smiled again—smaller this time. A little sad, even. “It’s alright if you don’t feel the same. I’ve made peace with that more times than I care to admit. But I just—I needed you to know. Because I’m tired of pretending like it’s just a game when it’s not.”

He looked away then, staring at the hatchlings rustling gently in the straw, like it was easier to look at something half his size than at you.

The bell rang then. A sound that signaled the beginning of dinner.

He sighed and stood up silently, starting to leave without a word.

“George…” you called out. 

He turned around, facing you once again. You hadn’t had the courage of looking at him until now. He deserved that at least.

“I’ll pay attention. I promise…”

He couldn’t help but to smile. 

“I’ll save you a seat.”

The mess hall buzzed with warmth, laughter, and the faint scent of spiced stew wafting from the long wooden tables. Lanterns hovered near the rafters, casting cozy amber light over the rustic room, and somewhere in the corner a wireless crackled faintly with a Romanian folk station.

George had gone ahead. You needed a moment—to breathe, to think, to make sure your hands weren’t shaking when you walked in. You'd tucked your journal under your arm and made the short trek to your cabin in silence, only the sound of gravel crunching beneath your boots and the echo of George's words playing on repeat in your head.

It’s about time you did.

The nerve of him. The audacity. The honesty.

And the worst part? You didn’t hate it. You didn’t hate it one bit.

By the time you returned, Charlie was waiting outside your cabin, already cleaned up and carrying an extra coat for you. He tossed it at your chest with a look that said you’re late, and you responded by sticking your tongue out like a child.

“You ready?” he asked, falling into step beside you.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re flushed.”

“It’s warm.”

“It’s barely ten degrees.”

“Not in the hatchlings unit.”

He just hummed in false compliance. 

The two of you stepped into the mess hall, the wave of warmth from inside curling around your shoulders like a familiar hug. You scanned the tables instinctively—and there he was.

George had saved you a seat beside him, just like he said he would. His coat was draped over the bench to your right, his plate half-filled, and he was gesturing animatedly at Bill and Ron while Hermione tried to correct some story detail he was clearly embellishing.

He caught your eye the moment you walked in.

You hesitated only briefly before weaving through the tables. Charlie peeled off toward the front of the hall, already deep in conversation with one of the senior handlers, but not before giving you a glance—noticing where your feet were taking you.

George slid his coat away smoothly. “Look who finally decided to show up.”

You shook your head but smiled—smaller than usual, but real. “I couldn’t risk not having my share of the stew.”

“For you? Always,” he said, reaching for the pot in the center and ladling it generously into a bowl. His hand brushed yours as he passed it, and this time, you didn’t pull away so fast. Your fingers lingered just a little longer around the bowl. So did his.

You didn’t miss the flicker in his expression. Something quiet, but still unmistakably there.

Dinner went on around you, a hum of voices, clinking cutlery, and the scrape of boots against worn floors. You fell into conversation easily with Hermione and Ginny. The latter telling you about Harry’s most recent mission and why he couldn’t join you this time.  

But every now and then, your eyes would drift back to George. He said something under his breath and made Ron snort stew out his nose. He passed you the salt without you asking, and your fingers lingered again.

He noticed.

So did Charlie.

Across the table, he was watching with that quiet, knowing look. Elbow on the bench, chin in his palm, one brow raised just slightly. That infuriating look of his he only wore when he was right about something and you had been too stubborn to realize sooner. You caught his gaze mid-sip and narrowed your eyes. He just smirked.

You blinked, then dropped your gaze back to your stew. Heat rose to your cheeks that had nothing to do with the food.

George leaned in a little, voice low near your ear. “You alright?”

You nodded, slowly. “Yeah. Just… hungry.”

“Mm,” he said, bumping his shoulder gently against yours. “You sure it’s the stew you’ve got that look for?”

You turned to him, finally matching his teasing tone. “You want me to burn you with soup? Because I will.”

He grinned, entirely unbothered. “Worth it.”

The next few days were a blur between work and family. Among the Weasleys, you had always felt like one more. Helping Molly in the mess, laughing with Ron and Ginny between enclosures, listening to Arthur quiz handlers about the mechanics of dragon harnesses. It was easy—too easy—to settle into the rhythm of them.

But your work didn't stop.

The hatchlings needed feeding and notes logged. The adolescent Ridgebacks were due for scale rotations. A particularly temperamental Longhorn was being moved to a new pen, and you were one of the only ones who could get near him without risking a scorched eyebrow.

With Charlie gone —usually taking his family to a nearby spring, or for a walk around the mountain— your workload doubled. He had insisted on helping you out, but you had insisted even harder on him spending time with his family, to which he had replied that they had come here to see you too.

You’d just smile and squint up at him. You wouldn’t budge. So instead he’d just kiss your cheek as a thank you and run off to wherever he was needed.

You had to divide your time carefully. Between your team, the dragons, and now… George.

Somehow, he always found you.

Whether it was deliberate or not, he always appeared. At the edge of the paddocks while you cast healing charms, leaning against a fence post with that familiar smirk. Or seated at your usual corner of the mess hall with two mugs of coffee, one already sweetened just the way you liked it.

And when he wasn’t there physically, he still found you. In your head. In the way your thoughts drifted to things he'd said, the memory of his fingers brushing yours, the look in his eyes the night he'd found you with the hatchlings.

It wasn’t sudden, the way your gaze softened when he walked into a room. Or how you took a little longer to laugh at his jokes; not because they weren’t funny, but because you were busy noticing the way his smile always started in his eyes first.

Your shoulder bumped his when he passed you tools. Your fingers brushed his when you handed him your notes. He noticed every time.

So did Charlie.

One particular late afternoon, when you were seated on a bench outside the eastern pens, jotting something in your journal. George had come to find you with a grin and some terrible joke about dragon mating rituals, and instead of rolling your eyes or brushing him off, you laughed. Really laughed.

Charlie, walking by with a feed sack over his shoulder, paused. Watched. And smiled to himself before disappearing around the corner.

But the visit wasn’t meant to last.

Soon enough, bags were being packed and jackets slung over chairs for the final breakfast. 

Hermione folded her travel cloak. Molly was handing out knit gloves for the trip back. Arthur offered you a long, warm hug that left your chest strangely tight.

“Take care of them,” he said, nodding toward the paddocks. “And yourself.”

You smiled. “Always.”

And George?

Nowhere to be found. 

You lingered a little longer by the corner of the mess hall, scanning faces—Ginny, Hermione, Ron, even Percy, who was carefully wrapping a stack of field reports to take home for the Ministry.

But not George.

Your eyes flicked to the door, then the window, then out toward the paddocks.

Charlie noticed.

He stepped beside you without a word at first, sipping from a chipped mug of tea. Then, casually:

“He’s by the pens.”

You turned to him, startled, caught—but not really trying to hide it. Charlie just gave you that same maddeningly knowing look he always had when you were teenagers sneaking snacks after lights-out.

“I’ll distract the others,” he added, quiet enough only you could hear. “Take your time.”

You opened your mouth to thank him, but he was already gone, intercepting Molly just as she started asking where her “Georgie” had run off to. You slipped away before she could finish the sentence.

Outside, the cold bit through the sleeves of your jacket, sharp and clean. The wind carried the scent of pine and ash and something wild. You made your way past the long shadows of the handlers’ cabins and around the far paddock, toward the edge of the preserve.

And there he was.

George leaned against the fence, one foot propped up on the bottom rail, hands shoved in his coat pockets. He was watching the adolescent Horntails with a distracted sort of stillness—unusual for him. His shoulders didn’t move when you stepped up beside him.

“Saying your goodbyes?,” you called out softly.

He glanced back at you, slightly surprised. “Yeah. Having a stern talk with them actually. ‘Bout how they need to take care of my girl.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle.

The wind whistled through the trees. One of the dragons huffed in its sleep, wings twitching.

For a moment, you didn’t speak. Neither did he.

Then, without looking at you, he said, “I hate leaving.”

“Yeah, it’s been great having you here—”

“Fred would’ve loved them.”

It was like a rock falling into the calmest of ponds. 

“During the Triwizard Tournament, he was so excited to see them. He almost hoped Harry would get scorched by the Hungarian Horntail…” George let out a breath that was almost a laugh, then scrubbed a hand over his mouth.

You smiled faintly, watching the way his eyes stayed locked on the sleeping Horntail, like he was seeing a different time altogether.

“He would’ve been horrible,” you said gently.

“The worst,” George agreed, voice cracking just slightly. “He would’ve tried to smuggle one home, probably. Claimed it was a souvenir.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.

“He used to tease me with you,” George said, softer now. “He gave me hell, but he liked you.”

You felt something tighten in your chest.

“Whenever you wrote home to Charlie…” he paused and laughed softly, as if reliving the moment. “He’d tell me to smuggle a letter in. I was always enough of a coward not to do it.”

You looked down at the fence rail between you, fingers curling around the weathered wood. The wind had gone gentler. Or maybe you’d just stopped noticing the cold.

“You might be a lot of things, George Weasley,” you said. “But a coward’s not in that list.”

More silence. It seemed that the air of the mountains had somehow managed to get in the way of your conversation.

“Please…please don’t play with me…” he whispered after a while.

Your head snapped towards him, a look of confusion plastered on your face.

“I know that’s a lot, coming from the guy who’s made a living out of playing pranks on people. But please…”

“George…”

“I don’t know what this is,” he said. “But I know I want more of it. Not just here.”

His eyes finally met yours.

“I don’t want this… whatever this is… to just stay here. In Romania.” His voice cracked just slightly. “I don’t want to wonder if I made it up

You stared at him.

“I can’t go through another thing that starts and then vanishes like it didn’t matter.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him.

Really looked at him.

The wind tugged at his coat collar. His freckles looked sharper in the dimming light, flushed slightly from the cold, or perhaps from how exposed he felt. There was no grin to hide behind now. No clever line. Just George. Stripped down to something honest and aching and so incredibly raw.

You stepped in closer.

He didn’t move.

Your hand lifted slowly, almost hesitant at first. Your fingers brushed his jaw, then settled against his cheek. He leaned into the touch so subtly you might’ve missed it if you weren’t paying attention.

But you were.

“I’m going to do something now…” you whispered, lips barely brushing his. “And I want you to tell me, if it feels like you made it up.”

His eyes were searching yours now. His breath caught somewhere between his lips and his throat. 

Your hand got lost in his hair as you closed the space between you. 

The kiss wasn’t big or loud. It wasn’t hurried. On the contrary, it was the softest, most tender of kisses. 

You could feel his nerves as he remained completely petrified for a moment. But the second he realized you weren’t going anywhere, his hands snaked around your waist and he allowed himself to be consumed by you.

The world fell quiet around you. Even the wind, ever restless, seemed to pause.

When you finally pulled back, barely an inch, you kept your hands at either side of him, resting on his shoulders. 

You let the silence sit for a beat longer, then whispered, “Did that feel like I didn’t mean it?”

His eyes now desperately pleading for you.

“No,” he said, voice rough, low. “No, it didn’t.”

You gave a small nod, your thumb brushing along his cheekbone. “Good.” You smiled and took a step back, leaning over the wooden rail once again.

His expression twisted like he was trying not to fall apart—and failing. “I already didn’t want to leave you. Do you know how much harder you just made it?”

You laughed. “You’ll get over it.”

You could hear laughter from the mess hall drifting across the yard. The Weasleys were getting ready to leave. 

“I’ll write,” you said, as you hopped off the fence. Already making your way down the hill. “And when I visit London—”

“You’ll visit,” he echoed, quietly. “Good.”

You walked together, shoulder brushing occasionally.

You could hear their voices getting louder. 

George slowed his pace. Waited until you were just a few steps away from the edge of the group.

Close enough to see the blur of Molly wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. Far enough that no one could hear.

“Think I’ve got time for one more goodbye kiss?”

You turned your head slightly, just enough for him to see the smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

“You wish,” you whispered, and kept walking.

He groaned under his breath, eyes closing for a beat as though he were physically in pain. “You’re cruel.”

“And you love it.”

George was still grinning when he turned on the spot, your hand brushing his a final time before he went to join his family. 

With one final goodbye, they apparted away.

The hill was quiet again. Still.

Until a low voice behind you said, “So…”

You didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Charlie crossed his arms, one brow raised, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Should I be offended that you’re sending my brother off looking like he just drank a pint of amortentia?”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you.

“He’s fine.”

“Oh, he’s very fine,” Charlie said, clearly enjoying himself.

“Piss off,” you said as you bumped your shoulder against his.

“He’s going to be completely insufferable now, by the way.”

“I figured,” you said with a quiet laugh.