Tags: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader. Post-Hogwarts. Post-War. Domestic Life. Married Couple. Soft Smut Build-Up. Nostalgia. Fluff. NSFW. Husband Fred. Mr. & Mrs. Weasley. One Shot.
Warning: Married S€x, Or@l (f receiving), Praise Kink, Love Domination, Slow Penetration, After-glow Ready. Loving Rough S€x, Creampie.
Masterlist and ao3
Summary:
You and Fred met at Hogwarts, fell in love somewhere between pranks and Potions, and built a life together in the years after the war. Now married and sharing a cozy home full of memories, a quiet Saturday morning leads you to rediscover an old box of Fred’s school things tucked away in the attic. One forgotten Gryffindor sweater. One torn Quidditch jersey. One memory after another. And somehow, in the golden hush of afternoon light, a threadbare robe leads to something far more... intimate.
It was a Saturday morning when the dust motes danced lazily in the attic air, shafts of sunlight spilling through the narrow window panes like liquid gold. The kind of morning that asked for nothing loud or urgent, just tea, soft humming, and a bit of overdue organizing.
You were elbow-deep in nostalgia, rearranging boxes from when you and Fred had first moved in. Most of them had been shoved carelessly into the attic with the naive promise of we’ll sort it out later. Later, apparently, was today.
Behind a stack of forgotten books and a chipped cauldron you used once for a romantic candlelit stew (that ended in minor combustion), you spotted it, a weathered, dust-coated box nearly hidden beneath a heap of old rags. With a grunt, you tugged it free and brushed your hand over the lid, coughing slightly as years of attic dust danced into the sunlight.
Inside was a time capsule.
Fred’s old Hogwarts uniform.
Robes and sweaters, a rumpled white shirt, his worn Quidditch jersey, scarlet and gold dulled by time, but still unmistakably his. Even his tattered Quidditch gloves and a cracked helmet were in there, shoved in beside his broomstick maintenance kit. You couldn’t help but smile, heart tugged by the sight.
Somehow, he’d kept all of it.
You pulled out a thick maroon sweater, one of Molly’s, no doubt. His initials were carefully embroidered into the inside of the collar, the yarn slightly unraveled at the edge. You imagined her bustling around The Burrow with a frown and a knowing hum as she stitched it.
You held it up. It still looked comically oversized on you, and the sleeves fell past your hands. The faintest scent of old wood and something like cinnamon clung to it, and for a second, you felt like you’d stepped back in time.
The thought warmed you.
You decided to give the clothes a good wash, there was sunlight outside, warm enough to dry them on the line within hours. After gathering the laundry inside and folding what had dried, you settled on the couch in the living room, robe and jumper in your lap. Some parts were torn beyond fixing, but you had a solution for that too.
Needle and thread in hand, you sewed carefully under the golden glow of afternoon light, your fingers steady. Where the tears were too wide to mend cleanly, you stitched in little flourishes, tiny flowers, curling vines. You hummed a soft tune under your breath as you worked, sunlight filtering through the windows and painting everything in warm amber.
You didn’t even hear him come down the stairs.
Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around your waist from behind, and a mop of tousled red hair buried itself in the crook of your neck.
You nearly jumped out of your skin.
“Fred!” you gasped, half-scolding, half-laughing.
He mumbled sleepily, his voice all husky edges and warmth. “Mornin’.”
Except it wasn’t morning. Not even close.
“It’s past lunch, love,” you said, heart still racing. “You scared the hell out of me.”
He chuckled against your skin, his breath warm as he nuzzled your shoulder. His grin was sleepy, teeth barely showing, and his breath still carried the sharpness of mint. “You weren’t in bed when I woke up. S’cold without you.”
Your lips twitched. “I made your favourite. It’s still warm in the kitchen if you hurry.”
But he wasn’t listening.
“Why were you up so early?” Fred mumbled, his lips brushing yours in a sleepy kiss before you could even finish your sentence. His voice was warm and gravelly, still thick from sleep. “I was lonely when you weren’t next to me.”
The way he said it, almost pouty, like a child denied his favorite toy, made you chuckle. Merlin, for someone who ran a wildly successful joke shop, he was such a bloody romantic behind closed doors.
“I was cleaning up the house a bit,” you replied, reaching up to smooth his tousled hair. It was warm from sleep, soft and messy under your fingertips.
He scoffed, pulling back just far enough to meet your eyes, his brows knitting together. “Why didn’t you wake me? I could’ve helped.”
You smiled, brushing your thumb gently across his cheek. His concern was genuine, grumbly and endearing in the most Fred Weasley way. He always acted personally offended when you did something on your own that he thought should have been done together. Even something as simple as folding old laundry.
“You’ve been working nonstop lately,” you said, your voice quiet, affectionate. “Figured you deserved a lie-in for once.”
You leaned forward to place a small kiss at his hairline, just above the temple. He exhaled a long breath, melting under your touch, but his frown didn’t ease entirely.
The truth was, he had been busy, late nights at the shop, inventory restocks, new joke prototypes, letters from Zonko’s about potential collaborations. You hadn’t wanted to disturb him on one of the rare mornings he didn’t have to be anywhere.
But Fred Weasley was nothing if not stubborn when it came to you.
He let out a dramatic little sigh, leaning his head against your shoulder and blinking up at you with exaggerated heartbreak.
“Wake me next time,” he said, his voice lower now, more serious beneath the playfulness. “I don’t care if we’re ankle-deep in soot or just lying in bed doing absolutely nothing. I want to be where you are.”
You felt something flutter in your chest at that, something warm and familiar, the kind of love that doesn’t shout but settles into your bones like home.
He flopped beside you on the couch, limbs loose and sprawling like a cat in a sunbeam. One strong arm slung around your shoulders as if it had always belonged there, and you immediately leaned into his warmth, burying your face against his chest.
“Got it,” you murmured against his shirt, smile curling at your lips. “I promise. Next time, I’ll wake you.”
His hand found yours without looking, fingers lacing together like it was second nature.
“Good,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “What’s the point of a day off if I can’t spend it wrapped around my gorgeous wife?”
You snorted against his collarbone. “You’re ridiculous.”
Fred pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment as though the contact grounded him. When he pulled back, his gaze drifted downward, caught by the familiar fabric resting across your lap.
“Oh?” he murmured, brow arching. “What are you up to?”
You lifted the maroon jumper, holding it up for him to see. “Found your old uniforms,” you said with a small smile. “Thought you’d left them all at the Burrow.”
He reached out, fingers curling around the edge of the sweater. His expression didn’t shift much, but you noticed it, the faintest twitch of his lips, the softness creeping into his eyes. The kind of stillness that only came when someone was drifting into memory.
“Ah, this one,” he murmured. His thumb brushed over the frayed collar where the embroidered initials F.W. still clung, faded but proud. “I forgot we even packed this one.”
“And this too,” you said, lifting a second bundle into the light. A flash of vibrant red, his old Quidditch robe. Still striking after all these years, still unmistakably Fred. The fabric had held up surprisingly well, especially compared to the rest of the worn uniforms. You guessed he’d treated this one with extra care.
He chuckled as he saw it, reaching over to take the robe from your hands. His fingers ran across the fabric like he was reading a story hidden in the threads. “Blimey, I didn’t know I kept it this nice.”
You could tell, just from the weight in his breath, that the memories were flooding back. The roughness of the old pitch, the chill of early-morning practice, the way the wind felt when he and George flew in perfect tandem above the castle grounds.
“Most Weasley clothes don’t survive this long,” he said with a crooked grin. “Passed down, patched up, handed off again. But this one...”
“Because it meant something,” you said gently.
He gave a small hum of agreement, nostalgic but content. “Me and George took a bunch of our stuff with us when we moved into the flat above the shop. Thought it’d remind us who we were before the shop, before the war. Just two dumb blokes who liked to cause trouble.”
He scratched his chin, gaze distant, voice low. “Never regretted that decision. Not once. Especially not with everyone who backed us, even when we didn’t have much to show for it.”
You tilted your head. “Is that why you kept it? For the memories?”
His eyes found yours again, warm and alight with mischief and affection. “At first, yeah,” he said, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered, featherlight against your cheek. “Also because we got banned from Quidditch for life, remember?”
You snorted, your chest tightening with fondness. “Oh, right, the Malfoy brawl. Umbridge lost her mind.”
Fred smirked at the memory, then sighed, a wistful tilt to his smile. “I loved playing. We both did. Didn’t talk about it much after the ban…”
You remembered trying to comfort him, back then, how his silence had said more than his laughter ever could. How he’d tried to brush it off with bravado, but his hands had tightened around his broom like it was the last piece of himself he could hold onto.
“But then,” he added, his voice softening again, “everything changed.”
His calloused hand cradled your face now, thumb brushing lightly along your cheekbone. “When we got married, I actually planned to toss it. Or maybe send it back to Mum’s, tuck it away where it could gather dust properly.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
Fred’s grin curved slyly. “But I thought… What if we had kids someday? What if it’s a boy? Maybe he’d want to wear it.”
The words landed like sunlight in your chest, warm and sudden. His eyes twinkled with the thought, with something quietly hopeful. You nuzzled into his hand, tracing your fingers along the back of it as your heart fluttered.
“And what if it’s a girl?”
Fred’s bark of laughter filled the room, bright and unfiltered. He wrapped both arms around your waist and pulled you fully onto his lap, catching you in a warm sprawl against him.
“Then she gets the helmet and the bat,” he declared proudly, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “And I’ll train her myself to become the best damn beater the world’s ever seen.”
You laughed, breath catching against his collarbone. “Think she’ll go for it?”
“She’ll be feral,” he said, already sounding like the most adoring father alive. “She’ll be swinging that bat at boys who try to flirt by third year.”
“Just like her dad then,” you teased, giggling as he gave you an affronted gasp.
“Oh, rude, I’ll have you know-” he started, but you silenced him with a kiss to his chin.
Then another, to the freckled curve of his cheek.
And one to the bridge of his nose, just beneath the unruly fringe.
He went quiet, lashes fluttering closed as you smoothed back his hair and leaned in once more.
The kiss you placed on his forehead was loving. Devoted. When your lips finally found his, he kissed you back just as gently.
------
Fred’s stubble scraped against your chin as you broke the kiss, giggling as the sensation tickled your skin.
“Fred- stop, it tickles!” you laughed, twisting slightly in his hold. But he wouldn’t let you escape. His long arms only wrapped tighter around you, holding you hostage against his chest as he rubbed his jaw deliberately along your cheek, his scruff leaving a warm flush behind.
“That's the point, darling,” he teased, voice muffled in your hair, utterly pleased with himself.
You gave up quickly, how could you not? and melted into his arms as he kissed you silly. You cupped his face gently, pressing a cascade of small kisses over his freckled cheeks, each one drawing a deeper laugh from his chest. His fingers threaded into your hair, cradling the back of your head with care.
“You know,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you properly, “there’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”
You tilted your head, curious.
He shifted you slightly in his lap, one hand reaching to the side. When he turned back, you saw it: the bright red Quidditch robe, vivid even in the softened afternoon light. The number 5, golden and bold, gleamed on the back like it had been waiting all these years for this exact moment.
Before you could ask, he draped it over your shoulders, smoothing the fabric around your arms, tugging your hands into the sleeves that absolutely drowned you.
You blinked up at him in mild confusion.
“I always wanted to do this,” he said, a small, wistful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “After a big win, I was going to wrap you in my robe. Parade you around the pitch like the bloody queen you are.”
You laughed softly.
“But then,” he continued, voice quieter now, brushing past your ear in a way that made heat rise along the side of your neck, “the whole Malfoy fiasco happened. Umbridge. The ban. And it all just… faded.”
Your breath hitched. You remembered that day, how tightly he’d gripped his broom, the fury in his eyes, the sadness buried just beneath it. How you had held him later that night and whispered every soft word you could think of while he pretended it didn’t hurt.
“I’m sorry for making you wait so long,” he added.
He kissed your earlobe as he spoke, lips featherlight and warm. You melted into him, burying your face in the curve of his neck, your voice muffled when you replied.
“If it’s you… I don’t care how long it takes.”
That made him laugh. A loud, genuine sound that rumbled in his chest as he wrapped you tighter in his arms. The Quidditch robe cocooned around you both, soft and warm, still smelling faintly of worn-in leather. He tucked his chin atop your head, his nose buried in your hair as he let out a slow, contented sigh.
Then he hummed, low and playful as one hand traced slow circles along your spine.
“You know,” he murmured, “I have a few more ideas, actually.”
You pulled back to look at him, resting your palms on his broad shoulders. The look in his eyes was pure trouble. Mischief danced in every freckled line of his face. Your instincts prickled.
“What is it?” you asked, narrowing your eyes. “Don’t tell me you want me to actually play Quidditch in this- I mean, I can… but I’m not exactly- gah!”
Before you could finish, Fred stood up in one swift movement, his arms sliding under your thighs and hoisting you into the air with ease. You yelped, instinctively clinging to him, arms locking around his neck.
“Fred!” you gasped, heart racing. “Where are you going?!”
“Shhh, relax, Sweetpea.” He kissed your temple with a grin. “Would I ever let you fall?”
You hated how much you trusted him in these ridiculous, spontaneous moments. Hated it… and loved it entirely.
His steps were steady as he carried you toward the bedroom, your legs wrapped around his waist, his hand splayed wide over your back. The breeze from the cracked window stirred the curtains as you entered, carrying with it the scent of spring grass and the distant hum of birdsong.
Fred laid you down gently on the bed like you were something precious. His hands lingered at your sides, and his gaze drank you in as you sprawled across the duvet, wearing a familiar old robe and a dazed expression.
You tugged at the collar of his shirt. “So…” you asked quietly, “was this the idea?”
He didn’t answer.
He just leaned down and kissed you again, deeper this time, filled with all the things words would only cheapen. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that made your breath catch, his hand slipping beneath the folds of red fabric to find your waist.
“You know I can’t resist you, yeah?” he whispered against your ear, voice husky and low. “Not when you’re wearing my number.”
Before you could reply, he sat up, peeling off his shirt in one smooth movement. You barely had time to admire the familiar freckled planes of his chest before he was back on you, his mouth, his hands, his everything.
Your fingers found their home in his hair as he kissed you like a starving man, like he hadn’t eaten, hadn’t breathed, hadn’t lived until this moment. Maybe that was true. He didn’t seem to care about food right now. Only about you.
He huffed softly, lips ghosting your jaw, your neck, then down, pausing to look at you, to watch the rise and fall of your chest, the flush blooming across your cheeks. You, wrapped in crimson and gold, eyes hazy, lips kiss-bitten.
He looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever made sense in a world full of noise.
----
“Maybe it’s better,” Fred murmured against your lips, breath warm and teasing, “if you only wear my robe.”
Your breath caught just as his hands slid beneath your shirt, calloused palms trailing across the soft skin of your stomach, grazing higher. You yelped, half laughing, half breathless.
“Fred.”
He shushed you with a grin and a kiss, lips slanting over yours with impatient sweetness. “I’ll clean it up later,” he promised absentmindedly, already pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it to the floor.
He barely gave you time to protest, though honestly, you didn’t want to. His mouth moved against yours like he couldn’t bear a single inch between you, like he was starving for something only you could offer. And maybe he was. Because by the time he pulled back, just far enough to breathe again, you realized you were already bare save for the crimson robe hanging off your shoulders.
The golden thread shimmered against your skin, bright in the sunlight that flooded the room, painting both your bodies in warmth.
Your cheeks flushed under the daylight, no shadows to hide behind, no sheets to cover the blush on your chest or the way your thighs shifted under his gaze. But Fred didn’t give you the chance to feel self-conscious. His arms anchored you in place, and his lips returned to your throat with soft, open-mouthed kisses, slowly dragging down to your collarbone.
Each kiss lingered. Each suck left behind a bloom of red, blooming like wildflowers on the canvas of your skin. You tangled your fingers in his hair, gasping when he reached your chest, reverently cupping you in his large hands.
“Love this,” he mumbled, voice already ragged. “You know I do. My favorite place to land after a long day.”
And you knew. Every evening, after hours in the shop, he’d collapse into your arms and bury his face against your chest like it was his own personal sanctuary. He never even tried to hide it.
He licked his lips now, eyes darkening with want, before lowering his mouth. His tongue flicked against your nipple, tasting, savoring, like he was memorizing you all over again. You arched into him, breath catching in your throat.
He groaned softly, like your voice alone made him tremble. One hand kneaded your breast, thumb brushing across the sensitive bud, while the other slid lower, fingers curling around your hip, then slipping between your thighs with ease.
“You left me all alone this morning,” he murmured, voice heavy with faux accusation as he circled your clit. “Had to suffer, dreaming about you in our bloody bed.”
His teasing touch made your hips buck instinctively. You could hardly breathe as he rubbed slow, steady circles, the pad of his finger slick against you.
“You’re soaked,” he whispered, pupils blown. “Did I make you lonely too, sweetheart?”
You gasped again, your back arching under him. His fingers worked you with expert precision, like he knew you better than you knew yourself. He slipped a finger inside you, slow and deep, and sighed as if the heat of you was a balm to every part of him.
“So wet and tight,” he said, more to himself than to you. “Fuck…”
He added a second finger without pause, then a third. You whimpered, clinging to his shoulders, your thighs trembling around his wrist. But he didn’t rush, he never rushed. Even now, when you could feel how hard he was against your hip, straining through his trousers, he still took his time.
Because Fred Weasley might be chaos incarnate but in bed? With you?
He was all patience, all focus, all worship.
He curled his fingers deliberately, searching until.
“Ah! Fred!”
There it was. The sweet spot. He found it effortlessly and pressed again, again, drawing the kind of sound from you that had his whole body clenching in response. You felt yourself unraveling, heart pounding against your ribs like it might burst free.
The crimson robe was wrinkled beneath you, golden thread twisted between your limbs, but you didn’t care. Neither did he. His eyes stayed on you, watching the way your mouth parted, the way your chest heaved, how your whole body began to tremble under the weight of his hand and the rhythm of his touch.
The sunlight painted every part of you in gold, and Fred drank in the sight like it might disappear.
“Look at you,” he breathed. “Look how perfect you are for me.”
“There,” Fred murmured, his voice low and warm, “you like it right here, baby? When I press just like that?”
Your back arched as his fingers curled perfectly against your sweet spot. A strangled cry broke free from your throat, cut short as you instinctively clapped your hand over your mouth, trying to muffle the sound.
But Fred tsked softly, his free hand catching yours. “No, no, sweetheart,” he chastised with mock disapproval, gently pinning your wrists above your head. “You don’t get to hide that from me. How else will I know how good I’m making you feel?”
He leaned down, mouth brushing yours, his kiss slow, open, all heat and teasing. And still, his fingers moved inside you, coaxing, curling, stroking that exact spot he knew drove you wild. Your body trembled beneath him, legs twitching under the weight of pleasure.
“Good girl,” he whispered, lips at your temple now, his voice like velvet laced in sin. “That’s it. Come for me, love.”
And you did.
Your whole body seized with the wave crashing over you, soaking his fingers as your breath came in sharp, unsteady gasps. Fred watched you fall apart with that wicked, knowing grin. Then, without breaking eye contact, he raised his hand and slowly licked your release off his fingers.
“You taste so sweet,” he murmured, tongue flicking between knuckles. “Like fucking honey.”
He leaned in close again, whispering against your jaw like a secret just for you. “Makes me want to stay between your legs all bloody day.”
Before you could even reply, still dazed, blinking through the afterglow, he was already sliding down the bed, settling between your thighs with practiced ease.
“I owe you for all those nights I came home late,” he murmured, placing a reverent kiss to your inner thigh. Another. Then one more, just over the tender skin he’d left marked with faint bruises of love.
Your hips twitched when his breath ghosted over your folds.
You looked down, flushed and breathless, meeting his eyes as he smirked, mischievous and so utterly yours. He nudged his nose against your clit, making you gasp.
Then his mouth opened and you forgot how to breathe.
His tongue lapped at your folds with slow, confident strokes, dragging across every sensitive inch as if he were savoring a feast. Sloppy, filthy kisses trailed from your entrance to your clit and back again, his grip tightening on your thighs as he buried himself deeper.
He didn’t eat you out. He worshipped you.
Slurping, groaning, deliberately letting the obscene sounds echo in the room, Fred devoured you like a man starving, tongue-fucking you until your legs shook around his shoulders.
Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking when the pleasure became too much, but it only made him growl against your core, sending the vibrations straight through you.
“Fred!”
You shattered again, unexpectedly, crying out as the orgasm ripped through you. Your thighs clamped around his ears, but he didn’t pull away, not until he’d licked up every last drop, his chin slick and glistening when he finally surfaced.
He hovered over you again, and you could barely focus. But you saw it, his swollen, flushed lips, the glint of pride in his eyes. He looked like the devil and the savior all at once.
“Fred…” you breathed, dazed.
“Yes?” he asked, so softly it made your chest ache. As if he hadn’t just reduced you to a writhing mess seconds ago.
You reached up, tracing his cheek, still panting. “I want you… please. Put it in.”
The plea was needier than you intended. But the second the words left your lips, Fred froze. His jaw clenched, and that look in his eyes changed.
“Fuck,” he muttered, sitting up just enough to strip his pants off in one motion. His cock sprang free, thick, flushed, and already leaking. He wrapped a hand around it, giving it a few rough strokes, and you whimpered at the sight of him.
You instinctively tried to hide, burying your face into the red robe still tangled around your shoulders but he caught your chin, guiding you back to face him.
“No hiding, baby,” he said, his voice low and gentle. “I want to see you when I slide in. Every time.”
You bit your lip as he lined himself up, his cock teasing your slick folds. He rocked his hips forward, coating himself in your arousal, notching against your entrance but still not pushing in.
“Fred,” you whispered, “stop teasing…”
He laughed under his breath, kissing your forehead before gripping your hips and finally, finally, thrusting in, slow and steady.
You both groaned, breath mingling as he sank deeper inch by inch. The stretch burned in the most delicious way, familiar and overwhelming, even after all this time. Fred never rushed this part. He always gave you time to adjust. No matter how many nights you’d spent tangled together, he treated each time like it mattered.
Because to him, it did.
“Gods, you're tight,” he hissed, forehead resting against yours. “Always so perfect for me.”
You clung to his shoulders, nails digging in as he bottomed out with a final thrust. Both of you stilled, bodies trembling, completely joined.
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of breathing and the faint rustle of robes and sheets.
“Breathe, baby.”
His voice was barely a whisper as his forehead pressed against yours, a quiet grounding force in the chaos of sensation. Your chest heaved as you obeyed, breath syncing with his as he eased deeper inside, inch by inch, until he was fully, completely, nestled within you.
“Yeah,” he groaned, voice ragged, “just like that. You’re takin’ me so well.”
You both stilled. The moment Fred bottomed out, your body clamped around him so tightly he had to grit his teeth, hands flexing on either side of your ribs. His palm slid down your belly, broad and warm, and rubbed gently, pausing just above your navel.
“It’s all the way up to here,” he murmured, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Reckon I can fill you up this high? Hm? How much do you think I can give you today, love?”
The very idea made your core flutter. A soft whimper slipped from your lips as your body clenched around him again, pure instinct, pure need.
You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to whisper through desperate lips, “Please, just move already. You’re driving me mad.”
He chuckled low, lips brushing your ear, “Now,” he whispered, rocking his hips slightly, “let me really make up for lost time.”
Fred began to thrust, slow at first, hips rocking into yours with aching precision. The rhythm built gradually, rolling heat between your bodies like waves beneath silk. Your legs locked around his waist, moving with him, every rise and fall a silent plea for more.
Breathy moans and wet gasps tangled in the air as the two of you lost yourselves in the rhythm. He kissed your jaw, your cheek, your shoulder, never pulling away, never letting go. It was rough, and tender.
“Fred! Ah-”
Your cry cracked through the air when he angled his hips just right, slamming into that tender, perfect spot deep inside. His thick cock dragged against your walls with every thrust, rubbing you raw with pleasure until tears pricked your eyes.
You clung to him, nails digging into his back, mouth finding his shoulder as you bit down hard. He hissed at the pain, but never stopped. In fact, it only spurred him on.
His hand cradled your head, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave bruises, anchoring you in place while he fucked into you like a man starved.
“I love you,” he panted against your neck. “I love you I fucking love you.”
You melted beneath him, breath hitching as his words soaked through your bones, searing deeper than any thrust could reach. His body might have been pounding you mercilessly, but his heart was pressed into every motion.
“I- I love- ah- I love you too!”
Your voice trembled through gasps, your head fuzzy, vision swimming as you tried to say the words between thrusts that knocked the breath from your lungs.
“Yeah?” he growled, pulling back to meet your eyes, pupils blown wide and wild. “You love me, love me fucking you this silly, yeah?”
You nodded, tried to, at least. The rest of your body had gone limp and twitchy under him, unraveling from the inside out. He loved seeing you like this: a breathless, trembling mess, writhing under his touch, soaking the old red robe you were still draped in like his favorite trophy.
His hand pushed your leg higher, spreading you open as his pace turned savage, raw and deep. The slapping of skin, the slick, embarrassing sounds of your soaked cunt taking every thrust, echoed like music to his ears.
“Fred! Ah- inside!”
That broke him.
“Yes, sweetheart?” he gasped, sweat dripping from his brow. “Tell me what you want. Say it again.”
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly close. “Please,” you cried, “please come inside me- I want it- ”
“Fuck,” he groaned, jaw clenched, eyes rolling back. “How the fuck could I say no to that?”
With a low growl, he slammed forward, fucking you through every last ounce of control he had. He held your hips flush to his, balls slapping against your ass as he rutted into you with desperate purpose, burying himself so deep you could feel him in your throat.
And then, with one final, broken moan, he came.
Thick, hot ropes of cum spilled inside you, pulse after pulse filling you to the brim, warm and aching and his. The sensation alone tipped you over the edge again, clenching down on him so tight he cursed and whimpered into your skin.
Stars burst behind your eyes.
Your vision blurred.
You were nothing but trembling limbs, slick skin, and the sound of Fred breathing your name into your neck like a prayer.
He didn’t pull out right away. Just stayed there, buried deep, chest rising and falling as he kissed your hair, your forehead, your cheek, anywhere he could reach.
“Good girl,” he murmured softly. “Gods, you’re such a good girl for me…”
You barely registered him shifting, only noticed when his arms slid beneath your back and thighs, lifting you effortlessly. He kissed your temple, brushing the sweat-slicked strands of hair from your face.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, love,” he whispered, so gentle now. “Can’t have you glued to my bloody robe all day.”
You giggled weakly, voice hoarse, as he carried you into the bathroom like it was second nature, because it was. He always took care of you after.
And as the water began to run, warm steam filling the air, you caught a glimpse of the crimson fabric lying crumpled on the bed.
Fred’s old Quidditch robe.
Not passed down. Not tucked away.
But used, claimed, marked by you and only you.
And something about that made him smile with wicked satisfaction as he looked back.
summary: You and George grow closer after Gryffindor beats Slytherin in the first Quidditch match of the year, succumbing the magnetic pull towards one another. But things only get more complicated when the two of you return to the harsh reality of your situation.
cw: MDNI 18+, smut, mentions of injury, simp!George, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), piv, cruel parents, hurt/comfort, naive!reader, mentions of war and death eaters, lying (or withholding the entire truth)
series navigation | part one | part three | part four | part five | part six | masterlist | divider by @roseraris
You tossed and turned all night, seeing George, feeling his hands on you every time you closed your eyes. Before you knew it, the sun was shining, and everyone was getting ready for the first Quidditch match of the season.
Slytherin versus Gryffindor.
Your heart gave an excited trill. George was a Beater on the Gryffindor team, and even though he'd be slinging bowling balls of fury at your brother, you found yourself eager to see him in action.
You quickly got ready for the match and followed the rest of your house to the pitch. The energy was palpable, the rivalry one that never failed to draw a massive crowd. Unfortunately, it was a gloomy, overcast day, rain misting over the campus in a continuous haze.
Slytherin came out first, with Draco and Blaise leading the emerald charge. The Slytherin stands roared for them, jostling you and stomping on the stands. But the rest of stadium was silent as stone, many people even going so far as to start booing.
It hurt your heart a little, to see so many praying on Draco's downfall, but he didn't seem even marginally phased. His chin is lifted, his spine straight, a regal smile on his face even as the rain slicked down his hair.
A few moments later, the Gryffindor team exploded out of the tunnel, Harry and Ron at the head. But your eye immediately found George, leaning forward on his broom to rocket out above the pitch. He and Fred spiraled around one another before separating way above your head, red and gold fireworks shooting out between them as they plummeted back down.
The crowd whooped and cheered. “Weasley! Weasley! Weasley!” And you shook your head, catching the cheeky grin on his face when he flew by.
The game started quickly, and despite your best efforts, you couldn't take your eyes off of George. He was a master on the broom, and brutal with his Beater Bat. The strength and dexterity alone had your thighs clenching together, but coupled with his rain-soaked body, carefree smile, and contagious enthusiasm, you were ready to snatch him out of the air and drag him back to your room.
Madam Hootch called a temporary pause when a one of George's bludgers knocked the Slytherin Keeper backwards through the hoop, and into the infirmary.
The crowd was screaming for him, girls waving their scarves from every house, vying for his attention. But instead of paying them any mind, he hovered in front of the Slytherin stands. Whether he was extremely brave, or extremely stupid, you weren't sure. But he was eye level with you, twirling his bat in his hand, water droplets flinging off the end of it.
You heart rate spiked. He was close enough you could almost touch him. Could see the water beading along his brow, the mud smudged on his cheek.
“Begin!” Madam Hootch hollered, and George flashed you a wink before taking off once more.
Cheeks burning, you turned you attention where it should be, on Draco, who was hovering by the Gryffindor goal posts, eyes searching. Suddenly, he took off, Harry hot on his heels. They zigzagged across the field, clearly in pursuit of the nearly invisible snitch.
You saw Fred smack a bludger in Draco's direction and lost your breath, but Draco ducked at the last second, and it whizzed by him. He was rapidly gaining on the snitch, but so was Harry. The crowd was on the edge of their seats, you heart pounding in your ears.
“Go Draco!” You screamed, hands cupped around your mouth.
Suddenly, Draco grabbed Harry by the hood and yanked him backwards, nearly taking him off of his broom. Gryffindor booed, and Madam Hootch blasted the whistle, but the game kept going.
Harry managed to stay up, and even started to pull ahead again, when Draco reached for him once more.
A deafening crack echoed across the pitch. You looked for the source of the sound and saw George finish his follow through, bat arm raised high. The bludger was like a missile directed straight at Draco, and your stomach plummeted.
If there was one thing you'd learned throughout the match: George Weasley never missed.
The bludger beamed straight for Draco, but at the last moment, it whistled just under his arm, snagging the extra fabric of his robes and pulling him off course, missing his actual body entirely. If it had hit him…you shuddered. Draco's arm would have been snapped clean in half.
Moments later, Harry wrapped his hand around the snitch, and the stands erupted in cheers.
“Gryffindor wins!”
You were torn in two: half-disappointed for your brother, half-elated for George. But you knew Draco needed you more. It wasn’t like you could go celebrate with George, no matter how much you wanted to. So, you hurried out of the stands before the ocean of people started to move, Blaise at your back, making a beeline for the Slytherin locker rooms.
“He's going to be so pissed,” Blaise said, opening the locker room door for you.
You found Draco immediately, berating the Slytherin Beaters for not dealing with the Weasley twins sooner.
“D!” You called and he opened an arm to you, but didn't pause his raging. You slipped underneath it, wrapping your arms around his middle, not caring that he was soaked to the bone and near trembling with outrage.
“You will be on the pitch at dawn and practice until classes begin, then from the end of classes to dinner. Understood?!” Draco barked at the cowering Beaters.
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.
“Get out of my fucking face,” he snapped, before turning fully and hugging you against his chest. “Fucking Weasley's,” he grumbled, resting his chin on top of your head. “Should teach those worthless fuckers a lesson.”
You bit your tongue, anger flaring hot under your skin at his cruel words. You knew he was just speaking out of insecurity, but it still didn't sit well with you. No one was worthless.
But, instead of telling him off like you wanted to, you handled it how you did when your father was in a mood: by placating him. “You did amazing. And I'm so glad I finally got to see you play.”
“Would have been better if you saw me win. What does that say about me that I can’t beat a fucking Weasley.”
You leaned back, flicking his nose. “Stop with that self-depricating shit. It makes you look weak,” you parroted your father, knowing it would snap him out of it even if the words tasted bitter on your tongue.
“Yes, father,” he glowered, releasing you to greet Blaise with a handshake and quick hug.
You slipped away, finding Pansy in the crowd and together returned to the Slytherin common room, but the vibes were sour and hostile after such a narrow loss. After showering, Draco went straight to the conjured bar, hellbent on drowning his sorrows in liquor, leaving you alone, surrounded by drunken strangers fawning all over you. Not for the first time, you wondered if they even saw you, or just your name, flashing like a marquise over your head.
Malfoy! Malfoy! Malfoy!
They didn’t give a fuck about you, all they cared about was your favor, and the glimmer of power they could skim off of you.
All you could think about was George. He was the first person that saw you, not your name, not your legacy, but you. You weren’t sure if anyone else ever had.
To your family, you were the precious daughter, the shining jewel of the Malfoy crown. To Draco, you were another burden. You knew he loved you, but you were just another person to impress, to protect, to worry about. Another responsibility heaped onto his already bowed shoulders.
The common room door opened, and you spotted a paper bird soar through. You followed it with your eyes, mildly interested, when suddenly it turned towards you. Your eyes widened as it swooped closer, sailing just over your head, then fluttered down into your lap.
Hastily, you tucked it into your robes and excused yourself, slipping into a shadowed corner. You carefully unfolded the bird, heart in your throat.
Astronomy Tower. G
George's POV
George sat in a window of the Astronomy Tower, one foot propped up on the sill, the other resting on the floor. He twirled his wand in his hand, uncertainty making him fidget.
He'd tried to stay at the Gryffindor party and let loose, he really did, but all he could think about was you. The way you tasted, the way you felt, the way you made him feel. It was an endless loop in his mind, your lips on his, your pulse under his fingertips, your body moving into his, over and over and over and over—
“So, this is how you want to celebrate you victory?” Your voice echoed along the stone, yanking him from his reverie.
He dropped his foot and turned, his breath hitching when his eyes landed on you. Your lips were painted red, glossy in the moonlight, dressed in a white blouse and your Slytherin skirt. It had only been a few hours since he saw you bundled up in the stands, how could he have forgotten just how beautiful you were?
You strode closer, steps light and graceful across the stone. “There must be a rager happening in the Gryffindor common room? And yet—” you stepped between his knees, placing your manicured hands on his shoulders and looking up at him. “Here you are.”
It took all of his self-control to not kiss you right then and there. “Had other things on my mind,” he said with a shy smile, pocketing his wand and sliding his hands along the gentle slope of your ribcage, pulling you closer.
“Like?” You prodded.
“What about you? Things a little tense in the dungeon?” He teased, knowing exactly how sullen Draco would be after a loss on his account. Though, the victory had been decidedly less sweet after seeing the concern on your face as you fled the stands after your brother.
“Thank you for not breaking his arm,” you said.
His brow furrowed, surprised. “How do you know I wasn't trying to?”
“I was watching you, George. You could have taken his head off his shoulders if you wanted to.”
He shrugged a shoulder, humble as he could manage, though the praise filled his chest with light.
“Why didn't you?” You asked. “He deserved a good whack for what he did to Potter.”
George found himself at a loss for words, stunned by what he was hearing. You were so un-Draco-like, it was mind boggling. You had all of the pomp, all of the swagger, but none of the vitriol. You were genuine. Honest. He struggled to reconcile the relation of you, this beautiful, open-hearted, whip-smart creature, with the hard-headed, little bitch blondie he'd known for years.
“I'm not one to cause unnecessary harm—” he started.
“You sent that Keeper to the infirmary without a second thought,” you cut him off.
He loosed a chuckle. You were so refreshingly blunt, a trait he deeply appreciated. “Fine. I thought you'd be angry with me if I hurt him,” he admitted.
Your eyes flitted over his face as if searching for something. “You're too kind, Georgie,” you finally murmured, cupping his face in your delicate hands. You placed a kiss on his nose, his eyelids, his cheeks, and he melted for you, pliable as wet clay, and prayed your lipstick left its mark. “So sweet for considering my feelings.”
His heart nearly leapt out of his chest, his stomach clenching when so sweet rolled off your tongue. He exhaled, his affection taking up too much space in his chest to hold air.
“But George—” you gripped his jaw a little firmer and he opened his eyes, finding your face a few scant centimeters from his. “I have all the yes men I could want. I don't need another spineless twit.” Your other hand flattened against his sternum, feeling the heavy thump thump thump of his racing heart.
“Tired of cold, callous snakes?” He asked, placing his hand over yours on his chest.
“Merlin, yes,” you breathed. “You feel so…” your fingers curled into his sweater, pulling him a fraction closer. “So real.”
“Oh, I'm very real. But I'm not convinced you are.” He let his other hand slide around to your lower back, closing the last inch between your bodies. You smelled of cigarette smoke and expensive perfume, a bit of lavender oil on your skin.
“Why's that?” Your hands found their way into his hair, gliding your nails along his scalp in a way that made his bones soften, his eyes roll back.
“Too bloody perfect.” The last of his restraint slipped away, and he pressed a kiss to the side of your mouth, making his way down to your throat. He lifted your hair, revealing the mark he'd left the day before, and dragged his tongue over it, imaging how many more he could leave on countless hidden places.
“Are we insane?” you sighed, tilting your head back for him, so beautifully vulnerable.
He certainly felt insane—insane with desire for you. But he shook his head. “No, I think it's the rest of them that are mad,” he murmured against your skin, wanting to drown in your scent, your warmth.
“I think you're right.”
Reader’s POV
George slid his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck, guiding your lips to his. A thrill coursed down your spine and you sighed, gliding your tongue over his lower lip.
He groaned, his grip on your hair tightening, and his tongue brushed against yours. Slowly, he coaxed your mouth open, lush licks and lingering presses, his hands firm but not rough. Like he was savoring a fine meal, a deliberate and purposeful devouring.
But you weren't nearly as patient as he was.
You caught his lower lip between your teeth, tugging lightly, and his breath caught in his chest. You soothed the sting with your tongue and released him, kissing the corner of his mouth, across his freckled jaw and down his neck, leaving smears of lipstick over his fair skin. Marking him as yours.
“Definitely aren't real,” he sighed, tilting his head back as your nursed a bruise under his ear, your head going fuzzy from the overwhelming smell of his cologne. “Is it true that Malfoy's have Veela blood?”
You huffed a laugh, breaking the seal of your lips on his flesh, and lowered yourself to your knees between his legs.
His eyes widened is surprise, his body freezing like a deer in headlights.
“What makes you think I'm part-Veela?” You asked, running your hands up his thighs, the muscles trembling under your touch.
“I-uh, well—you’re so—p-pretty and—saints.” George stuttered as you leaned forward, his bulge straining against his jeans.
You brushed your lips against the covered swell of him, and a strangled gasp escaped from his chest. “You think I'm pretty, baby?” You asked without removing your lips from his cock, glancing up at him through your lashes, and you felt him surge under the warmth of your mouth.
“D-don't start with me, rattlesnake,” he groaned when you dragged your tongue over the root of him. He threaded his fingers into your hair, his other hand gripping sill of the stone window, grounding himself. “You know you're gorgeous.”
“I do,” you replied, sliding down his zipper. You got a peak of his green checkered boxers, and you smiled to yourself. “But I like hearing you say it.”
His grip on your roots loosened, and he smoothed his hand over your hair, casting a lovesick smile down at you. “You're the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen,” he murmured, bringing his thumb around to tug at your lower lip.
You dabbed your tongue against the pad of his finger before wrapping your lips around it, sucking it gently into the warmth of your mouth, the salty taste of his skin sparkling over your tongue.
“You're going to be the death of me,” he gruffed, watching you nurse his thumb with lust-fogged eyes, leaving a ring of red around his knuckle.
You grinned, pleased with yourself when he retracted his hand. As he shifted back, you moved forward, reaching for the throbbing ridge of his cock.
“You really want to do this?” He asked, looking around the empty tower. “Here?”
“Yes,” you replied immediately, saliva pooling under your tongue when his cock gave another lurch. “I really, really do.”
You were a physical kind of person, finding joy in giving and receiving touch, and all you could think about was making George feel good, making him happy, and showing him just how much you liked him.
“You're a wild little thing, you know that?” The end of the question twisted into a groan when you finally pulled him out of his boxers, hot and flushed a feverish pink, a string of precum dripping down the veiny shaft.
You licked your lips, wrapping your hand around his base. Fuck, he was thick. “Does that scare you?” You asked, dragging your hand up and down his length, applying the lightest pressure.
“Fuck yes, it scares me,” he panted, head falling back on his shoulders. “You scare the hell out of me.”
You tsked, running your tongue along the underside of him, and he shuddered, a whine eeking through his teeth. “I'm on my knees, George. How scary can I be?” You wrapped your lips around the head, tasting the musk of his skin, and sucked softly, tempering your eagerness to savor his reactions.
“Seven fucking saints, woman—fuck.” His hand fisted your hair again, practically trembling with the effort of not pushing you down further. “Have a little mercy.”
You started bobbing your head up and down, humming in approval at the way his cock kicked against your tongue. Lashes fluttering closed, you lost yourself in the feel of him, the soft sounds of pleasure spilling for his lips like prayers. Soothed by the rhythmic motions and pulse of his heart.
His hand moved for you hair to underneath your jaw, fingers stretched across to brace the span of it. “I wish I could take a picture of you,” he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek. “You look so fucking beautiful it hurts.”
Your eyes opened, looking up at him haloed in moonlight, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, eyes glossy as starshine. You knew that look. It was how people looked at the sunset, the full moon, the ocean. It was how people looked at things they adored, things they loved.
And George was looking at you like that.
You couldn't help yourself. You stood up, grabbing his stupid, beautiful, perfect face and crashing your lips to his. His arms enveloped you, hauling you into his chest as he kissed you deeper, his tongue stealing the taste of himself for your lips.
His hands slipped lower, hooking the backs of your thighs, and he stood, lifting you up into the air and wrapping your legs around his waist. Your back collided with the stone wall, the cold rock doing nothing to quell the heat blooming under your skin. Your lips never separated, and you moaned against his mouth when his cock grazed the thin barrier of your panties, practically non-existent in their dampened state.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he grated, one of his hands shifting so his finger could hook the gusset of your underwear.
“Don't stop—” you gasped when a rip echoed around the lofty space, and you felt the elastic of your underwear give way, tearing off your body. “George! Those were designer!” You cried, equal parts exasperated and wildly turned on.
He huffed a laugh, swiping the head of his cock through your drooling slit. “You're ridiculous,” he chuckled, voice laden with affection. “Ready, love?” He rested his forehead against yours.
You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Please, baby.”
He smiled, pressing his lips to yours as he slowly speared you on his length, the stretch making you gasp as pleasure unspooled in your belly.
George groaned your name, sweet as honey, and your pussy clenched around him, dragging him that last inch into your heat. His lips moved down your neck, soothing you as he withdrew his hips, then thrust back into you, making you cry out.
“Feel so fucking perfect,” he panted against your throat, lifting and lowering you on his cock. “Fuck, you're so tight. Gonna ruin me.”
“George, shit—fuck me, please,” you begged, nails gauging holes in his poor sweater as you clung onto his shoulders.
He nodded, snapping his hips faster and faster, fucking you open. “Taking that cock so well, such a good girl f’me,” he growled, nipping at your throat when you keened a little too loudly, the sound echoing like a church bell around you. “If I'm ruined, so are you.”
He kissed you hard, teeth and tongues clashing as he pounded you up the wall, your body completely immobilized between him and the stone. His pelvis was creating just enough friction on your clit to have you seeing stars, and suddenly you were toppling over the edge—struck like lightning as your orgasm burned through you.
He devoured every one of your cries, not relenting for a second as you crumbled in his arms. “That's it, that's my fucking girl. You can give me one more, c’mon, rattlesnake,” he ordered, his thrusts growing sloppy as he approached his own release. “Can feel you tightening back up already, little cunt squeezing me so hard—go on, pretty girl, give it to me—”
Your cry of ecstasy cut him off, and your second orgasm dragged him over the edge, his thick cock bucking hard as he painted your spasming walls white. All you could see was stars, your entire body tingling with to force of it, pleasure sapping every ounce of strength and tension from your body.
Boneless, you slumped in his arms, trembling legs falling to the floor beneath you.
“Baby—babygirl, are you okay?” He asked, gently lowering you to the ground and bundling you into his lap.
“M'perfect,” you panted, lolling your head against his shoulder as your mind slowly pieces itself together, feeling starting to return to your fingers and toes.
He pressed kisses into your hair, cradling you protectively in his arms. “That was insane,” he chuckled, nuzzling into your shoulder. “I—you—fuck.”
You giggled, breathless. “That was insane.”
The clock tower rolled, rattling your teeth in your skull, and you clung a bit tighter to him, startled.
He shushed you, covering your ear with one hand and pressing the other to his chest, filling your mind with the steady thump thump thump of his heart.
You couldn't recall feeling safer than you do in that moment.
“That's curfew, love,” he said, disappointment clear in his voice.
You sighed as your heart sank, lifting your head and meeting his eyes. “I've never wanted to stay before,” you murmured, and his eyes melted, warm and dark as cocoa.
You didn't expect it to be this hard—having to leave him afterwards. But you wanted to linger in his arms, talk and cuddle, maybe doze off together, wake up too-warm and tangled in his sheets. Such simple, beautiful, impossible things. And you wanted them all with him.
“I wish we could,” he replied, tilting your chin up to peck your lips. “Merlin, I wish we could…”
“Draco would kill you,” you chuckled, tucking a stars of copper hair behind his ear.
“I can take that weasel.” George smirked, kissing you again.
You swatted his chest, giggling as his fingers tickled along your ribs, your chest glowing with joy. “That, I don't doubt.”
He sighed, pushing himself up and setting you on your feet. “Can I walk you to the stairs?” Some of his mirth seemed to ebb, sadness creeping back into his expression.
You stood on your toes to kiss his cheek. “I insist.”
He offered you his elbow and you looped your arm through his, walking together slowly down the stairs. At the bottom, you turned to face him.
“Goodnight, Georgie,” you said, hoping you don't sound as pitiful as you feel.
“Goodnight, darling.” He brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss into your skin. “I'll see you tomorrow?”
You nodded, taking a few steps back, your fingers still clutched in his hand. “Tomorrow’s not so far, yeah?”
He gave you a half-smile, though it didn't meet his eyes. “Yeah.” His fingers finally released yours, and you felt like someone severed your arm from your body.
“Night, Georgie.” You blew him a kiss before hurrying down the hall, unable to bear the sadness in his eyes a second longer.
George's POV
George pushed his breakfast around his plate, staring a hole into the table in front of him. His friends talked excitedly around him, still amped about the match the day before, but George couldn't muster up the enthusiasm.
Going to bed without you the night before was one of the hardest things he'd done in recent memory. He stared at the ceiling for hours, replaying every second of the night, trying to memorize the way your body moved, the curve of your smile, and how it crumbled so gorgeously when you came for him. Not once, but twice.
The way you looked at him, like he'd hung the moon and stars, stuck in his chest like an arrow.
And now he found his gaze continually drifting to the entrance to he Great Hall, just waiting for you breeze through, well rested and untroubled.
Was this killing you the way it was killing him?
And why was it killing him?
It's not like he could be developing feelings for you, a Malfoy—
“George, what's up, mate?” Lee knocked his foot under the table, bringing him back to the present, and his friends all staring at him with mild concern.
George cleared his throat, straightening and shoving a bite of toast into his mouth. It tasted like cardboard. “Slept like shit, tweaked my back or something in the match,” he lied. Well, it wasn't entirely a lie. His back was sore, but from something infinitely more worthwhile than a match.
Did he really just think that? Fuck, what were you doing to him?
“Probably that rocket you sent at Malfoy,” Fred chuckled. “Too bad it didn't take his fucking head off right?”
They all whooped and hollered, high-fiving and jostling George.
“Guess my aim was off,” he shrugged, washing down the toast with a swig of orange juice. “You must be rubbing off on me, Freddie.”
The doors to the Great Hall swung open, and he saw Draco enter first, looking sullen and rotten as usual. You, brilliant, energetic you, came sauntering in behind him, arm and arm with Pansy as you laughed about something. The sound carried across the Hall, turning plenty of heads, but George looked back down at his plate, pretending your joy didn't light him up from the inside out.
He forced himself to join his friends conversation, if anything so he could keep his eyes moving, flitting back to you every few moments. You sat between your brother and Blaise, drinking a cup of tea and nibbling on a pastry.
Even from across the Hall, he could tell you weren't really listening to Draco. You had that same glassy-eyed look you got when Snape lectured in Potions, and George chuckled to himself.
His attention was broken when the owls came screeching in, letters and packages and feathers raining down on every table. Errol dropped a letter in front of Fred before landing clumsily on the table. The envelope was addressed to the four siblings and Harry.
Fred tore it open, waving Ginny, Ron, and Harry over from a few seats down, and began reading their parents typical weekly update.
But then, a booming shout echoed across the Hall, making the candles overhead flicker and extinguish, and a hush fell over the students.
“Someone’s got a howler,” Fred whispered, setting their own letter down.
“YOU DARE DISOBEY YOUR BROTHER AND VENTURE AROUND THE CASTLE UNACCOMPANIED!”
George immediately recognized the voice, his blood running cold.
Lucius Malfoy.
You sat curled into your self, staring wide eyed at the paper replica of your father's face hovering in front of you. George's heart cracked when he saw you bite your lower lip to keep it from trembling.
“YOU REPRESENT THE HOUSE OF MALFOY AND YOU WILL BEHAVE ACCORDINGLY. IF I HEAR OF YOUR INSUBORDINATION AGAIN, YOU ARE COMING STRAIGHT HOME!”
George very nearly stormed over there, fingers itching to rip the paper-Lucius apart, but then it burst into green flame, startling you to your feet.
The Great Hall was silent, Lucius’ voice ringing in everyone's ears, all eyes on you.
Draco stood with you, tried to take your hand, but you shook him off.
“How could you?!” You cried, angry tears rolling down your cheeks. George almost thought you were going to slap him, but then you turned on your heel, storming out of the Great Hall and slamming the doors closed behind you.
Immediately, conversation exploded, the gossip mill already turning.
“What the fuck was that about?” Lee said, turning back to the group.
“Daddy's little princess has fallen from her tower,” Fred joked, and George grit his teeth, anger simmering in his chest.
He watched and waited for Draco to get up and follow you, for any of your “friends” to go check on you, but none of them moved a muscle. Turning their attention back to their breakfast like nothing at all happened.
It made his stomach turn.
Should he go to you? Sit here and defend you? Play along with everyone else—no, he couldn't do that. Throttle Draco for snitching on you? That he could do. He'd just have to pretend it was for some other reason. But he could do that later. Right now, you needed him.
He reached farther than necessary for an orange, and cried out in pretend pain, clutching his back.
“Shit, man. Maybe you should go to Pomfry,” Fred said, concern flashing across his face.
George didn't have it in him to feel guilty for lying. “Yeah, yeah I think I will,” he said, pretending to wince as he straightened.
“Need me to walk with you?” Fred offered.
“Nah, I'm good. Some salve should take care of it. I'll see you later at practice,” George said, clapping his brother on the shoulder and waving to his friends before limping out of the Great Hall.
As soon as the doors closed behind him, he straightened, bolting down the corridor.
Where would you be?
He tried the closest girls lavatories, empty classrooms, broom closets, searching every alcove for you, until finally, it dawned on him.
He booked it to the library, probably failing at looking inconspicuous, but he was past caring. Aisle after aisle, he navigated the empty library until it spit him out by the corner the two of you studied in. And there you were, curled up under the window with your arms around your knees, head tucked down.
“Hey, love,” he said softly, not wanting to startle you. You startled anyways, something he was starting to realize you did often.
You relaxed when you realized it was him. “Hey,” you sniffled, wiping your cheeks, eyes puffy and bloodshot.
“Can I sit?” He asked, gesturing to the floor beside you.
You nodded, and he lowered himself down beside you, legs stretched out in front of him. He wasn't sure if you wanted to be touched, but then you leaned into him, a flower tilting towards the sun, and his heart melted. He draped an arm over your shoulders, tucking you into his side.
“I'm sorry, baby,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your head. “Howlers suck.”
“I'm not upset about the Howler,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.
His brow furrowed. “No?”
You shook your head. “Draco was supposed to protect me, but instead he—” your voice caught in your throat, a hiccuping sob emerging instead. “He went behind my back and told father—we never tell father.”
George rubbed your back, trying to soothe you as the tears started again, soaking into his shirt. He wasn't very good in these situations, his own family sucked at emotional vulnerability, but he wanted desperately to take away your hurt. It was so strange to see his bold, outspoken girl curled into yourself like this.
He hated every second of it.
“Did Draco admit it was him?” George asked, perturbed that he was in a position to potentially defend Draco. But if it made you feel better…
“No, but who else?” You asked, picking your head up to look at him.
He swiped away your tears with his thumb. “Could have been one of his goons, Snape…”
“Snape?” You raised an incredulous eyebrow.
Your surprise…surprised him. “Yes?” He replied, mimicking your brow lift. “That's exactly the kind of thing he would do.”
“Why?”
George opened his mouth, then closed it. Did you really not know? How couldn’t you?
“Because he's a Death Eater, y/n,” George said, trying to keep his voice measured. “And friendly with your father.”
You blinked, clearly taken aback. “He is? Snivellus?”
George snorted in disbelief. “Yes. Death Eaters are everywhere, even Hogwarts. The Ministry too…”
“Wait—you're being serious?”
“Yes, baby. I'm being serious. It's—there's a war brewing.” He was completely shocked. He knew you were sheltered, possibly a bit naive, but you were too smart to be this unaware.
Unless, of course, you'd been lied to.
He could beat your father to death with that fucking cane. Keeping you in the dark like this was dangerous. How were you supposed to protect yourself if you didn't know what the threat was?
You looked away from him, face screwed up in consternation. “I mean, I know my family’s reputation, and that…he might be back. And I’ve heard some things in the halls, and in the Daily Prophet…but that's just a rag, right?” You looked up at him, so hopeful that he'd tell you everything was okay, that things weren’t as precarious as he was implying, and he understood a little more why your family kept you in the dark.
Even though he knew he should, he just couldn't bring himself to dash that glimmer of hope.
He tucked you back into the safety of his side, kissing the crown of your head. “It's a rag, love.” Not completely a lie. The Prophet had certainly spread enough bullshit about his family that he knew first-hand how untrustworthy it was. “And things are tense right now, but Hogwarts is safe, okay? You're safe.” Also not completely a lie. As long as Dumbledore was in the castle, you were mostly safe…mostly.
You nodded, hands curling into his shirt, and his chest ached with guilt.
He should have known you didn’t understand the severity of the situation. If you did, you probably wouldn’t be here, cuddled into his side in the first place. You probably would have never looked his way at all.
But he knew, and he looked. He allowed things to progress, encouraged it even. He knew that the rift between your family was more than just politics, was more than a class divide, and he still didn’t stop this.
His head thunked back against the wall, and he peered down at you, your breathing evening out, body warm against him, and knew that he still wasn’t willing to end things with you. Because you weren’t Lucius. You weren’t Draco. You weren’t a Death Eater.
You were just a girl, caught up in a war started by the people in power long before either of you existed, and just happened to be born on the opposite side as himself. He couldn’t fault you for that, especially not after knowing your own family had been lying to you about their role in it.
He should tell you the truth, even if it hurt you, even if it made you hate him—it was the right thing to do. But every time he went to open his mouth, the words died in his throat.
The day would come where your heart would have to break, and he prayed that it wouldn’t have to be him that delivered the blow. But, today wasn’t that day.
So, he held you tighter, dried your tears, and bit his tongue.
Thank you for reading!
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Summary: A few years after Fred’s death, the investors of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes demand changes to the name. All it would take is two years of a fake marriage to fix the issues, but no good deed goes unpunished.
Warnings: Fake marriage trope because we love the cliché. Marriage of Convenience. Forced proximity, domestic moments, unrequited love. Friends to lovers. Grief and mentions of death (Fred). Reader had a situationship with Fred. Drinking, swearing. SMUT. Oral (both), PinV sex. Angst. Mentions of cheating and infidelity.
Summary: A few years after Fred’s death, the investors of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes demand changes to the name. All it would take is two years of a fake marriage to fix the issues, but no good deed goes unpunished.
Warnings: Fake marriage trope because we love the cliché. Marriage of Convenience. Forced proximity, domestic moments, unrequited love. Friends to lovers. Grief and mentions of death (Fred). Reader had a situationship with Fred. Drinking, swearing. SMUT. Oral (both), PinV sex. Angst. Mentions of cheating and infidelity.
I wanted to compile my FAVORITE fics ive saved on this page to spread the love ! (More to be added 🤍)
PLEASE visit, like, and reblog these pages and their works <3
- updated/added july 10th 2025
Harry Potter:
Project Partner // @hollowdeath (“you and harry have been working on a project involving amortentia, the most powerful love potion to exist, and when harry tests your device the night before it's due, he has some rather intense side effects.”) (Warnings: Smut!!! dom!harry, fingering, penetration, breeding) (NSFW) (6k) Slytherin!Harry Potter - Enemies to Lovers // @hollowdeath (“you and harry have been quidditch rivals ever since you've become captain of the gryffindor team. the tension between you two rises until one of you needs bandaged up by the other, leading to you making a discovery about the school's bad boy that leaves you baffled and insanely curious.”) (Warnings: “Smut! Angst // Mentions of Blood // Degadation kink // Sub! Harry x Dom!Reader // Dry Humping”) (NSFW) (7k)
Drabble // @snowluvvie (Warnings: Blood // Kissing // Eager Reader)
More Than Anything // @rainydayathogwarts (“keeping your relationship a secret is difficult when you just can't stop staring at your boyfriend”) (Warnings: Angst / Fluff / Death Eater family! Reader) (1.1k)
Dreaming // @matsdoll (“Harry having a rather…sexual dream about you”) (NSFW)
Summer Lovin’ // @rainydayathogwarts (“you decide to visit harry over the summer, playing the classic 'girl next door' so harry's uncle lets you in.”) (SFW) (0.8k)
Obsession // @hollowdeath (“harry potter (19) is attending university after hogwarts, and isn't recovering well from the war. completely alone, harry soon grows attached to you, the girl from his potions class. however, his attachment quickly turns to obsession, and harry isn't sure how much longer he can be just friends.”)(Warnings: “smut!!! perverted thoughts/acts, shame, masturbation, stalking, obsession, yearning/pining, intoxication, jealousy, stealing panties, dry humping, cumming in pants, oral sex, overstimulation, penetration, creampie”) (NSFW) (19k+(?))
Attraction // @mysticalx("A certain inexplicable gravity one feels towards the other. It is often subtle and steady.") (0.9k)
Flavorful Love // @acvstar ("nothing but harry potter headcanons, but both of you are friends with HEAVY tension. a little thing in the end, like a fic? it’s a bit heated tho!!!" (mentions of sexual content) (SFW)
Forget Me,Not // @folklvrsworld ("au where the wizarding world is under a curse where each witch/wizard that turns 18 loses all their memories and have to start a new life. takes place after the second wizarding war.) (SFW)
James Potter:
Splintered In Time // @godricgryffinsnore (“When a spell gone wrong sends you hurtling back to the Marauders era, you find yourself entangled in a life you were never meant to live. Torn between the friendships you left behind and the forbidden love you were never meant to have, you must face the impossible choice: to hold on to a borrowed future or fight for the one slipping through your fingers. But time is never kind to those who dare to rewrite it. And love—love is the most reckless magic of all.”) (Warnings: “Emotional Whiplash // Angst // Snily ending”) (SFW) (10k)
1-100 Series (Eventual james potter x fem!reader; inevitable angst and annoyance as james slowly matures over his time at hogwarts.) (slowburn) (56.3K)
Friends with Benefits // @twovialsofamortentia (smut 18+, unprotected sex, oral f receiving, fingering, squirting, multiple orgasms, casual sex, sub!james
Make It Up // @venusmcflytr4p ("Modern AU. When James Potter and his secret girlfriend, who happens to be Remus’s younger sister, go up to his room during a house party, Remus gets overprotective.") (Warnings: Alcohol consumption, dub-con?) (NSFW)
Glitch // @wintrsoul ("you had always known that James Potter hated your guts, but one single beeping alarm of his watch told you otherwise.) ( Enemies to lovers) (SFW)
Firewhisky & Trouble // @monserelates (" When, at a Gryffindor party, y/n gets a tad bit drunk and some feelings come out") (SFW)
The Marauders Map // @starcrossedslytherin ("James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter need help for a special resource for their pranks, so who better to go to than the best charms student Hogwarts has to offer- also the girl James seems to be in love with.) (SFW)
Sirius Black:
The Twin Swap // @adalitas-coffeebreak-corner (“In an attempt to prank your twin brother James, you suddently find yourself in a situation where you can no longer ignore your feelings for your brothers best friend.”) (Warnings: “bodyswapping with hames // excessive yearning”)
After Hours // @itsalliny0urhead (“You and Sirius Black have hated each other for years — or at least, that’s what everyone thinks. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor, a pureblood and a blood traitor — you were supposed to hate him. And for years, you played the part perfectly. The insults, the hexes, the glares across the Great Hall — it was all easy. But it wasn’t real.”) (SFW)
Remus Lupin:
- soon -
Ron Weasley:
- soon -
Draco Malfoy:
Childhood Lovers // @theodorenmyth (“Draco Malfoy has been hopelessly in love with you for years, and everyone—except you—knows it. After endless pining and relentless teasing from your friends, he finally promises to confess on your birthday.“) (SFW) (3.8k)
Fred Weasley:
Tangled Up With You All Night // @fear-less (“In which, you and fred go to the yule ball and end the night with a bang (almost literally)”) (Warnings: “Fluff // Smutty but not descriptive // Estabilshed relationship // Pretend the opposite gender can go into the dorms”) (SFW) (3.8k)
Fire and Ice // @emeritusemeritus (“If it's not too much to ask, could you maybe do a Fred fic with a bit of an insecure reader? As in, she hears some people say nasty things about her (mainly about appearance like weight) and her relationship with Fred, and she distances herself from him until one day she really can't handle staying away from him anymore? Sweet sweet fluff with a bit of making out by the end, maybe?”) (Warnings: Insecure Reader // Self Deprecation // Bullying // Verbal Abuse // implied Sexual References”) (SFW) (2.7k)
Party Monster // @lordprettyflackotara (“Warnings: MUT. MINORS DNI. 18+. TW: partying, drug usage (cocaine guys), fred’s ooc sorry not sorry, paranoia, etc. just overall v mature themes. OBVIOUSLY DO NOT DO COCAINE. this has a lot of plot ;)”) (SFW ?)
First Love // @swfpoetry (“She fell in love first, he fell harder”) (SFW)
Hate and Love // @mssorceressupreme (“in the mission of transporting Harry safely to the Burrow, you and Fred get thrown off-track as his broom breaks, resulting in an overnight detour at a hotel. “) (Warnings: “18+, halfblood!reader, One Bed Trope, enemies to lovers, boner!alert, oral!freceiving, p in v, grumpy x sunshine”) (NSFW) (5.8k)
Brains And Bedhead // @godricgryffinsnore ("A playful and passionate look into Fred Weasley’s love for his brilliant girlfriend—where wit meets worship, rambling turns to romance, and being smart has very unexpected consequences.") (Warnings: suggestive content / implied sexual activity, Light smut (no explicit scenes, but strong innuendos) (SFW) (.6k)
Another Mans Treasure // @spencersmopbucket ("You're Cormac McLaggen's girlfriend — but Cormac pays more attention to Quidditch than you. Shame, shame.. Fred just can't let you go to waste." (Warnings: NSFW (oral!fem receiving), cheating on partner )
George Weasley:
- soon -
MISC!
- Gryffindor Characters Modern AU (“silly modern! AU head canons of the main gryffindor characters :) pairing: harry, ron, fred, george, ginny and hermione x reader”) (Warnings: “Mentions of substances, Alcohol and weed, mentions sexual acts:”) (SFW)
hey guys fred weasley throwing my legs over his shoulders and fucks me so good he can’t help but laugh at the puddle i am before him hi
Wicked
Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader
Word count:1149
Harry Potter Masterlist | request (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)
Warnings: Smut (18+), oral (f receiving), teasing, dirty talk, pet names, established relationship, aftercare, fluff
Fred Weasley had a gift for many things,blowing things up, bending rules, getting out of trouble with a grin,but making you completely lose your mind might’ve been his most potent magic.
You were tucked up in his room at the Burrow,summer air warm, windows cracked open, and the low sound of enchanted wireless humming lazily from the corner. You’d stolen one of his shirts again, the old one from the shop with the neckline stretched and sleeves too big, hanging off your shoulder just enough to drive him mad.
He was watching you from the foot of the bed, eyes raking over your body like he hadn’t just had you the night before. Or the morning before that. Or up against the bathroom sink not twelve hours ago.
You peeked over the top of your book, trying not to smirk.
“You’re staring.”
Fred didn’t deny it. “I am. You look so good like that. All casual. Comfy. Completely fuckable.”
You snorted, but your thighs pressed together.
“Bit needy today, aren’t you?”
He tilted his head, grin wolfish. “You calling me needy? You, who literally screamed my name loud enough last night I think the ghoul in the attic clapped for us?”
You laughed, and that laugh earned a low growl from him. He moved, slow and controlled, like a lion stalking prey,crawling up the bed until he was hovering above you, nose brushing your cheek.
“You calling me needy…” he whispered, dragging his lips across your jaw, “…while you’re sitting here, soaking through my shirt with your thighs clenched and pretending you don’t want me to ruin you.”
Your breath hitched. “Fred—”
“Let me eat you out, Y/N.”
“...what?”
He grinned. “You heard me.”
“Yeah, I just—no foreplay? No kissing? No—”
Fred’s hands were already sliding down your body. “Baby, we’ve been doing foreplay since the minute I saw you in my shirt. I’ve been suffering.”
He kissed down your neck, hands lifting the hem of the oversized tee until it bunched at your waist.
“I need you on your back. Legs over my shoulders. Right fucking now.”
You’d never obeyed so quickly in your life.
He slid your underwear down slowly, teasingly, sucking a kiss to your thigh as he settled between them.
“Look at this,” he said, voice in awe. “You’re already soaked. Merlin’s tits, love.”
You opened your mouth to snap at him,but then his tongue flattened against your clit, and all that came out was a moan so loud it echoed.
Fred groaned, latching on like he was starving. His tongue circled and licked, slow at first, building gradually, fingers digging into your hips like he was holding onto the last threads of control.
He loved eating you out. It was one of his favorite hobbies,up there with Quidditch and annoying Filch.
And he was good at it. Filthy. Passionate. Worshipful.
“Fuck, Fred—please—”
His fingers slid inside you just as his mouth closed around your clit again, and your back arched off the bed.
“That’s it, darling,” he murmured against you. “Let me hear you.”
Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging as you whined, thighs shaking. He didn’t stop. Didn’t even pause.
“Oh—fuck—I’m gonna—Fred—fuck—”
You came hard, grinding into his mouth, eyes screwed shut, legs trembling on either side of his head.
He moaned like he loved it,like tasting you was the highlight of his entire day.
And when he finally looked up, face soaked and smug, you were a breathless, blissed-out mess.
“You good?” he asked, voice hoarse.
You blinked at him. “I can’t feel my legs.”
He laughed so hard he had to lean on the bed for balance. “Holy fuck, Y/N. You’re literally a puddle.”
“Shut up.”
“No, really. You’re like—dripping. If you die, I’m blaming that book you ignored me for.”
You threw a pillow at him. He caught it with one hand and tossed it aside.
Then he was back on you,pulling off the rest of his clothes, lifting your hips like you weighed nothing.
“You think we’re done?” he teased.
You squeaked when he spread your legs and lined himself up. “I—Fred—wait—”
“Just a little more,” he whispered, kissing your cheek. “I’ll go slow.”
But he didn’t. Not really.
Because the moment he sank into you, tight and warm and still twitching from your orgasm, his control shattered.
He groaned like you were the best feeling he’d ever known. “Fuck—fuck—you’re squeezing me so tight—how are you this perfect?”
You gasped, hands gripping his shoulders. “You’re huge, Fred—oh my god—”
His pace started steady, but it didn’t stay that way.
Every time he pulled out and pushed back in, he went deeper. Harder. Faster.
Your legs instinctively locked around his shoulders again, heels digging into his back as he slammed into you over and over.
Your moans were shameless now,raw and honest and wrecked.
Fred leaned down, face close to yours, grinning like he’d just discovered treasure.
“You love it,” he panted. “Being fucked like this. All stretched out and cock-drunk for me.”
You nodded helplessly, tears in your eyes from how good it felt.
“Say it,” he demanded, breath hot on your lips. “Tell me you love it.”
“I love it—I love it, Fred, please—”
“Please what, baby?”
“Don’t stop.”
“Never.”
His hand reached between you, fingers finding your clit again. Your body jolted at the stimulation, already too much and somehow not enough.
“You gonna come again for me?” he whispered, kissing your temple.
You nodded desperately. “Y-yeah—yes, fuck, please—”
“Good girl.”
That pushed you right over the edge.
You shattered beneath him with a scream, body spasming, stars bursting behind your eyes. Your walls clenched so tight around him, it pulled his orgasm out of him seconds later.
“Shit—Y/N—”
He buried himself deep, groaning your name like a prayer as he came hard inside you.
It was messy. Intense. Fucking glorious.
When he finally collapsed beside you, both of you breathless and sweaty and clinging to each other, the room was dead silent except for the ragged sounds of your breathing.
Then, softly:
“Still mad I interrupted your reading?”
You snorted into his chest. “I don’t even remember what the book was about.”
Fred chuckled, pulling you into his arms and kissing your forehead. “Exactly.”
You both laid there for a moment, tangled in sheets and limbs and sweat, before he grabbed his wand and muttered a quick cleaning spell with a flick.
You sighed. “That’s cheating.”
He smirked. “That’s magic.”
A beat passed. Then, softly, Fred looked down at you.
“Y’know I love you, right?”
You blinked. Heat rose to your cheeks. “What?”
He smiled. No teasing. No joke. Just Fred,completely sincere.
“I love you, Y/N. Like... all the time. Even when you’re ignoring me for books.”
You cupped his cheek. “I love you too.”
His grin widened. “Even when I turn you into a puddle?”
I'll rot your teeth down to their core... if I'm really happy.
It depends on the day, if I wake up in a giddy haze.
Well I'm not angry... I'm not (totally) angry...
I'm not all that angry anymore.
Part Two: Epoximise
Summary:
You and George Weasley are definitely not friends.
Especially not after he handcuffed himself to you to prove some weird point, as part of another one of his obnoxious pranks - it only made you remember why you weren't friends with him. Now you're stuck like this for the foreseeable future - tied to him because of a stupid stunt.
And it's not your fault when your annoyance and hatred are slowly chipped away as the night slowly feels more like a date. He shouldn't be doing this to you. He shouldn't be acting this nice, cooking this well, smelling so nice, looking so handsome -
The two of you definitely aren't friends. (But you're terrified that you might be something else after this.)
George Weasley x Slytherin!Fem!Reader. Enemies to Lovers. Smut with Heavy Plot. Set Post War.
Word Count: 37,100
Harry Potter Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist
Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.
Warnings: this one has a lot of the same warnings as the first part, because it carries over a lot of the same themes and just deepens them; also if you haven’t read the first part, please do because this is a oneshot that has been split in half and this will not make sense if you don’t read the other part first; the reader character goes by she/her pronouns and has a vagina (though as with most of my fics, most of the pronouns used throughout are you/yours); this fic does use Y/N and L/N (as in Last Name); there are no descriptions of the reader’s race, weight, hair colour, eye colour, or general looks other than a few statements about George being taller than the reader (and even then, it does not say how much taller he is than her and it does not state that she is ‘tiny’ or petite) - this is based off the idea that Oliver Phelps is 6 foot 2 and most people would be shorter than that by comparison; there is descriptions of the reader wearing very hyper feminine clothing, including skirts, dresses, and high heels (and it is stated that she wears high heels on a regular basis), and it's stated that she regularly wears makeup, it’s also mentioned that she is slightly self conscious without makeup - not because she thinks she’s ugly without it, but because she is so used to wearing it and feels ‘naked’ without it (also plays into the theme of appearance vs natural real self); the reader is a Slytherin, and this fic explores the ‘evil Slytherin’ trope; the reader is the same age as George, so in this fic, they would be 23/24; the reader is a Pureblood and comes from a family that upholds typical Pureblood values - while she used to believe in those things (or was taught to) she broke away from her family and is not a Pureblood supremacist; the reader has a father and other unnamed family members who are Death Eaters; this is a ‘Fred Lives AU’ (I can’t put George through all that); this might be slightly OOC Fred - but I do think this is genuinely how Fred would react if one of his siblings had a crush on a Slytherin (the Weasleys can be petty); general themes of trauma and PTSD (because both the reader and George fought in and experienced a war); the reader has trauma because she comes from an emotionally abusive and neglectful household (though there are no mentions of her ever being physically abused at home); alcohol and drinking - in this part, George and the reader have a few casual drinks with dinner, but neither of them are inebriated or drunk and neither of them lack the ability to consent to sex; again, passing mentions of vomit and blood due to the fact that Fred and George sell gross products, but it does not happen in the fic; again, this has the basis of them being ‘accidentally’ chained together with a pair of handcuffs due to a prank gone wrong, so this could be considered forcible confinement; George calls the reader ‘love’; mention(s) of the reader being raised by House Elves; mentions of the reader having poor eating habits (not a full blown eating disorder, but just poor habits in general); mentions of the reader having sex with random unnamed Slytherin characters (sometimes while under the influence of alcohol - though it does not state that she was ever too drunk to consent); (technically) non-consensual staring at someone’s naked body (mostly from George toward the reader, but technically from both of them) (but it’s murky dubcon and they’re both attracted to each other and trying to navigate this radical shift in their relationship); a flashback to The Battle of Hogwarts which includes - mentions of death, danger, the reader is hit with the Cruciatus Curse, the reader’s life is threatened; a separate flashback has slight themes of sexual assault - the reader is a not a date with an unpleasant random guy and he verbally harrasses her and tries to grope her, but she defends herself.
This part does have smut, so the specific warnings for the smut are: George calls the reader ‘pretty girl’, ‘love’, ‘sweetheart’, ‘good girl’, ‘nasty little bitch’, and ‘missy’ (in a condescending way); there is some dom/sub undertones - George is more dominant and the reader is more submissive, though at first the reader is more of a brat before she submits to George; strength kink - the reader likes George’s muscles and strength; marking kink - George leaves love bites on the reader; teasing - from George toward the reader; tit sucking/tit play (reader receiving); fingering (reader receiving); ‘Sir’ kink - George likes being called Sir (doesn’t play into the fic too heavily, but it’s there); some size kink - George has a giant dick and the reader is definitely turned on by it; finger sucking; unprotected penis in vagina sex (or, as I have said with other Harry Potter fics, you can pretend it’s protected - you can pretend that the characters took some kind of contraceptive potion or used a spell that’s not mentioned here, but no condom is mentioned or used in the fic); praise kink - the reader likes it when George praises her; mentions of anal sex - it is used as a ‘threat’ toward the reader but it does not happen in the fic (and the reader likes the idea, so it’s not much of a threat); overstimulation - towards the reader (not to a severe degree); creampie kink - they are both turned on by the idea of him cumming inside of her, but it’s not breeding kink because there is no specific mentions of breeding or pregnancy; oral sex - reader recieving; lots of dirty talk; and I think that’s it for the smut.
A/N: I am so glad that this is finally done omg. I do apologize that this took so long, but this was a lot to edit, and my illness has been flaring up a lot lately, so I am just proud of myself for getting it done. I really hope that his was worth the wait for you guys. Also, one of these scenes is a flashback to the Yule Ball, and I could not resist putting a reference to the reader's dress - aka the dress I had in mind for her when I was writing this. I have put a link to the Pinterest post where it's relevant, so you can click on it and take a look while reading and then come back, and I have put a picture of the dress at the very end of this fic if you would rather scroll to the end, take a look, and then read the fic. The model wearing the dress is thin, but in my mind that does not mean that the character depicted in this fic is thin or that a fat person wouldn't look good wearing that dress. It's just the photo reference that was available. Anyway - I really hope that you enjoy reading this fic!!
...
Two or three days.
Two or three days.
The longer you sat with the information, the more of a headache you developed because of it.
You had collapsed into a large, plush armchair in the small sitting room of the flat, trying to ignore the horrifying situation that you found yourself in.
Two or three days.
With your neck leaned against the back of the chair, you closed your eyes, trying not to let the stress cause you a terrible headache - which seemed inevitable with the situation that you were in. Especially with the cool metal still gnawing at your wrist, ever-presently reminding you that you had an entire man directly attached to you that you could not run away from.
Anxiety, stress, and dread all battled inside of you, turning into a deadly kind of numbness that forced you to appear calm.
George knelt down in front of the chair, forced to maintain that closeness between the two of you - quite literally unable to give you some space in order to calm down, even though he knew that was what you needed. When he put his free hand on your knee, seemingly to comfort you, you didn’t even have the energy to get angry about it. The usual defensive disgust about him being in your personal space was nowhere to be found.
And you would deny that it was because some small part of you liked the warmth of the touch - his hands so impossibly hot, even though the lace of your tights.
You simply didn’t have the energy to yell at him. It was almost as though your mind and body was shutting down, preparing to conserve energy for the next exhausting hours that you would have to spend tied to him.
“Come on, love, it won’t be that bad.” He said, his voice soft and soothing as though he was trying to calm a wild animal, trying to mitigate the situation. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. I can bring you over to my place and cook you a nice dinner. You want a nice steak, don’t you? Yes, that sounds nice. Trust me, you’ll feel better after you’ve eaten.”
You let out a harsh breath, and finally opened your eyes to give him another deadly glare.
“I want your head on a platter.” You told him, your voice eerily steady and calm.
“Well, I’m afraid that wouldn’t be terribly tasty.” He replied, a small grin breaking back onto his lips.
Of course he was still making jokes. It was something that made you want to swing a knee up into his chin just to prove a point. But you had agreed not to get violent.
“But I do have some choice cuts sitting in my refrigerator, and I’ll do ‘em up real nice for you. So you could waste the whole evening glaring at me, or we could try to make the best of it.”
Strangely, you knew that he was right. Which, for a moment, only made you more angry with him. But you also knew that he would have to spend the rest of the time ‘making it up’ to you (and likely a lot more time after the cuffs came off) - so you might be able to get a neck rub out of it if you played your cards right. His sense of nobility could turn him into an indentured servant to you. For a little while, at least.
“I want wine.” You told him. “And I want you to be quiet so I can have some peace.”
“All I have at my place is bourbon. But it’s top shelf,” He replied, giving you a hopeful smile.
“I have wine in the fridge.” You told him, standing up from the chair.
When he stood up too, it instantly put the two of you close together, your bodies brushing chest to chest. There was a single, terrible moment where he looked down at you, his eyes reeking of fondness as he craned his neck to make eye contact.
It caused a shiver down your spine. You swore his stupid smirk grew wider when he noticed it.
You hated it.
“And I - I have to get my things.” You stuttered out, desperate to change the subject as you broke out of the awkwardly close position and began dragging him toward the kitchen.
You walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed the large bottle of wine that you had there.
George resisted making a comment about how the bottle of wine was all you had in there.
You didn’t consider being embarrassed about how pathetically bare your refrigerator was - not knowing that was a drastic shift from how the kitchen had looked when Fred and George had been living in the small flat. You had never been taught how to cook because you had spent most of your life being served by your family’s House Elves, unintentionally rendered helpless by having them do everything for you. Now that you lived alone, you bought prepared foods or sometimes, on a particularly bad day, you drank your dinner in wine or tea before falling asleep, not caring to truly take care of yourself.
“It’s not like I can just pop back over here after your apology dinner is finished.” You added on harshly, thinking about how you would have to bring enough things to stay at his place overnight and pray that the cursebreaker would arrive early. “Which, by the way, we’re not Apparating like this. So your Floo better be open.”
Your mind flickered to the terrible consequences that could occur if you and George potentially got mixed up. You had no clue what kind of magic was causing the handcuffs to be so strongly held together, and you didn’t want to find out if it would cause the two of you to mend into some horrible amalgamation if you tried to Apparate while cuffed like this. It was a horrifying thought. One much more horrifying than spending the night alone with George.
“Okay, fine.” George nodded, trying his best to be agreeable toward you because he had been the one to get you into this mess. “And the Floo is open, it’s all fine.”
You shoved the bottle of wine into his arms and guided him along into your bedroom - again, feeling a slight twinge of embarrassment at the mess that you had left behind that morning. You had absolutely no idea that someone, especially not George Weasley, would be seeing it later in the day. You waited for him to say something mocking about it, and strangely - it didn’t come.
You kicked some dirty laundry under the bed and grabbed a bag, starting to gather everything you would need for an overnight stay. Inside, you were dreading the idea that you would have to sleep beside George. You tried not to think about that too much for now.
He looked on silently while you moved, finding intense personal interest in the way you kept your belongings. He thought for certain that someone like you would have been an intense neat freak, not so messy and disorganized. But part of him thought that it was oddly adorable. He found it comforting that - as uptight as you were - at least one part of your life was messy. There was one area of your life where you allowed yourself to let go and be human.
You grabbed some pajamas and some clothes for the next day, shoving them into your bag without much thought. And then you opened your top drawer to get some underwear, and you noticed George’s eyes instantly glued to the mess of unfolded lace and sheer fabrics. He began staring with intense, wide-eyed enrapturement, clearly unashamed that he being so blatantly nosy about your collection of intimates.
It made you suddenly self conscious about which ones you were going to choose to put into your bag. With his eyes carefully on you, whatever you picked up, he would then obviously know that you would be wearing them the next day. And with the look on his face, with his likely perverted mind, he would be picturing you in them. Even if he didn’t necessarily find you attractive.
“Stop looking at my underwear!” You scolded him sharply.
Feeling intensely caught, his head snapped upward, craning his neck toward the ceiling to avoid further accusation.
“Sorry.” He mumbled quietly. “Can’t help it.”
You didn’t bother to argue, and only let out a sigh in reply to his pathetic defense.
You continued to rifle through the drawer, now incredibly self conscious of your choice. Aside from the few pairs that you wore during your period (which were in the hamper from the week previous) you didn’t have many pairs that were modest or unsexy. You liked wearing pretty, lacy, sexy things for yourself. Wearing them made you feel good.
So you grabbed a few different ones off the top and vowed to decide later, continuing to hate the predicament that you were in.
Then you dragged George to the bathroom, and you grabbed your toothbrush and toothpaste and started shoving your messy, scattered make-up products into your make-up bag to bring those along (again, something that you wore for yourself). You were desperately trying not to forget anything important, because you didn’t want to drag George all the way back here if you did forget something.
Meanwhile, George took on a particular fascination with the fancy glass bottle that you had sitting on the edge of the sink. Clearly, it was the perfume that you wore regularly (as it was only half full, mostly used up at this point), the one that drove him mad every single time he smelled it on you.
He made a mental note of which one it was so that he could buy one later (definitely not for the purposes of spraying it on his pillow to drive forth the pathetic delusion that you slept in his bed on a regular basis). And then he used his cuffed hand to reach out and grab the bottle, lifting it to his nose for a sniff.
You were occupied, rooting around in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror to see if there would be anything else that you would need, temporarily too distracted to notice what he was doing. When you heard him inhaling deeply beside you, you glanced over and found him with your perfume bottle practically shoved up his nose, and you found that strange twinge rattling through your stomach once again.
It made you annoyed and defensive.
“Give me that.” You whined, not waiting for him to follow the instruction before you reached up and snatched it from him.
“It’s nice.” He complimented, giving you a smile. “Do I sense a hint of rose?”
‘You can sense a hint of my foot up your arse.’
“Let’s just go.” You sighed.
…
You never liked traveling by Floo.
It was a harsh, hot pull that left you filthy and covered in ash, and it usually ruined whatever nice clothes you had picked out for the day. You avoided using the Floo whenever you could. The minute you turned seventeen and got your Apparition license, you stopped Flooing unless it was absolutely necessary - and it being entirely necessary in this case just ruined your day a little bit further.
Still being chained to another person when you came out on the other side only highlighted your sour mood - sputtering and coughing as the thick smoke and ash bloomed up around you, drifting up into your nose and causing a terrible irritating reaction that only reminded you why you hated this method of travel so much.
“You’re supposed to close your mouth, you know.” George commented quietly beside you, clearly unable to resist the urge to make another joke as you struggled to regain your breath.
“Wh-what did I - I say about you b-being quiet?” You reminded him between gasps, shooting him another glare.
He rolled his eyes and escorted you from the tall mouth of the fireplace further into his home, taking your bag out of your hands and tossing it into a nearby chair as he began shedding his jacket (that he had wrestled back on with one arm earlier).
It was then that a truly bizarre realization hit you - you had never been inside Fred and George’s house before.
You knew that they used to share the small, cramped flat above the shop as their living space before they moved out and upgraded. Something that had happened just a few short weeks before you had moved into the flat, which was why it had been fully furnished and still had some of their homewares and nicknacks in it. But it never really occurred to you to think about where they had moved to.
Truthfully, up until now, you never thought much about their lives outside of the shop. You knew that most of their lives were the shop. They spend pretty much every waking moment at the shop. Aside from their weekly Sunday dinners with their family, and before Fred had started dating Angelina a few months prior, they had devoted most of their lives to being at the shop.
They spent all their time making products for the shop, doing business deals for the shop, cleaning and restocking, working, dealing with customers. Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was everything to them, and it never occurred to you to think about what they might have outside of that.
And you realized in those moments that if you had been forced to picture a place where George Weasley lived, this most certainly would not have been it.
This place was shockingly… nice. It was beautiful, warm, and well decorated. It didn’t remind you of the twins’ gaudy taste in clothing or the packaging they chose for their products at all.
The fireplace put the two of you out into what appeared to be the main sitting room. The walls were paneled in warm wood tones, some kind of natural dark oak that immediately made the place feel intensely warm and cozy. There was a large patterned rug in the middle of the room, upon which sat a nice dark stained wooden coffee table. It was lined by a very large, comfortable looking couch and two oversized, plush armchairs, with a few smaller side tables between them.
You were intensely impressed to see books on a shelf that was inlaid into the wall - not just a few, but a very intense, sprawling collection. And a record player in the corner, sitting on a small stand that held a select collection of vinyls in their sleeves. This was sitting beside a bronzed cart that held some of that ‘top shelf’ liquor that George had been talking about.
They must have entertained here - during the few evenings a year when they weren’t in their office at the shop, hunched over some new invention, trying to get it right. It looked like a lovely, cozy place to hang out. (Not that you would ever be invited back here after you were detached from George’s arm.)
“Oh, dammit.” George’s frustrated grunting from beside you pulled you out of your thoughts, and you turned to him to see him still struggling with his coat.
It was as though he had just realized that he wouldn’t be able to get it off cleanly because - again, the two of you were attached at the wrist. It was almost like he had created a glaring problem when he had chained you two together for a quick laugh. He was running so fast that foresight would never catch up with him.
“Problem?” You asked, giving him a sarcastic smirk.
“Come on.”
He said stiffly, quickly dragging you into another room, forcing you to practically trip over yourself in order to follow him (not even giving you time to shed your heels - your feet hurting after the agonizingly long day that you’d had). You ended up down a short hallway in what appeared to be the kitchen. It was another small, cozy room with floral wallpaper and slightly outdated pastel coloured appliances. But you didn’t have time to admire the decor here before he was moving frantically.
He immediately brought you over to the counter against the wall and tore open one of the drawers, took out a large pair of scissors and slammed them onto the counter.
“Cut it off me.” George demanded. “As much as I love this damn coat, I can’t be draggin’ the thing around all night.”
“You’re serious?” You gaped at him.
You were shocked that he trusted you enough to hand you a pair of scissors and ask you to start cutting. Especially after all the threats you had made earlier. Not that you would actually hurt him - but you were surprised that the underlying trust was there from him.
It was a very nice looking, expensive coat, but you had done some damage to it earlier with your reckless spell casting, trying to get the two of you out of the handcuffs. So perhaps it was a lost cause.
“Yeah.” He said. “This whole thing is my stupid fault, so I guess I have to pay for it, right?”
That made the whole thing even more strange. He seemed far more upset about the fate of his coat than the potential of you hurting him with the scissors - that part didn’t even seem to be in his mind. And something inside of you told you that it was important to rise to the silent trust he put in you. The same kind of trust he put in you when he left you alone to take care of the shop, even for short periods of time, or when he trusted you to make beautiful displays of products that you claimed not to care about.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realized that he was the first person in your life that had ever trusted you like this. Your father always assumed that you would ruin the family name somehow, always telling you that you were never good enough in his eyes. And he turned out to be right, just not for the reasons he had first assumed. All of your classmates only viewed you as a terrible, evil, Pureblood Slytherin, and even when you ended up on the right side of The War, people like Fred still saw you as someone with cruel intentions.
George was the only person who never seemed afraid of you without you having to beg for him to believe you. Without you even having to ask.
You picked up the scissors and pulled your joined arms closer as gently as you could, slipping the open mouth of the blades into his sleeve. You were curious as to why he seemed so upset about this particular jacket being maimed when you had seen him in so many other ones that were equally as nice, or even nicer.
“I’m sure you’ll be able to have it mended.” You said, an attempt to be comforting that felt strangely foreign to you, making that hesitant first cut - a slicing of fabric that left a wounded look on his face while he watched. “Besides, you have others, don’t you? It’s not like you’ll be running around naked.”
You knew that he was truly hurt when he didn’t take the opportunity to make a joke about you picturing him naked.
“This jacket was one of the first things I bought with my money from the shop.” He explained, his voice quiet. He used his free hand to pull the sleeve back up to his shoulder, unrumpling the fabric so that it would be easier for you to cut him out of it.
Oh - there was a sentimental attachment.
“I was walking by Madam Mulkins with a big box of supplies in my arms and it caught my eye - she had it displayed on a mannequin in the window. And originally, I thought it would be a waste of money. I thought I didn’t need something so dressy. But Fred went on this whole rant about how we needed to start ‘dressing smarter’ so that people would take us seriously and wouldn’t just view us as a couple of kids.”
You finally wrestled through the thick collar with the scissors, freeing his arm from the very nice jacket, truly destroying it in the process. He let it drop to the floor, looking down mournfully at the now ruined pile of fabric before he finished his story.
“Before that, it was all hand-me-downs. Everything had been stretched out by Charlie or stained by Bill. And I didn’t really mind it. I never thought about my clothes too much. But nothing I had ever worn before, aside from a few Christmas jumpers that Mum had knit - had ever actually been my own. Nothing had been bought just for me.” George continued.
There was something in his voice - you couldn’t quite place it, but it made your insides quake. It wasn’t jealousy, or even regret. It was a deep kind of sadness that you didn’t know for yourself. You had been so lonely your whole life, you had never considered what living in the shadow of three older brothers would be like. Especially when having a twin that people constantly compared you to.
“And yeah, since then, Fred and I have bought a whole wardrobe full of smart clothes, and I dress nicely all the time, and I do look like a proper businessman - and it’s probably stupid-”
“It’s not.” You felt the need to butt in, for once in all the time you had known George truly believing that he wasn’t being stupid. “It’s one of the first things that you earned for yourself, and you value it. And I just destroyed it.”
You let out a heavy sigh as a wave of guilt engulfed you, creating a terrible ache through your chest.
You silently vowed that you would use some of the money you had saved up from working at the shop in order to have the jacket mended for him. The second that you were separated from the cuffs, you would steal away the ruined fabric and bring it back to Madam Mulkins to be fixed up. You would have to dread explaining to her how it had gotten sliced up, and singed, and likely have to make up some lie about an accident at the shop - a pair of rogue Chattering Teeth or something.
“Come off it.” George sighed, taking the scissors from you and shoving them back into the drawer before he slammed it shut. “I asked you too. And like you said, I’m the idiot who got us into this.” He added on, motioning toward the handcuffs.
He did have a point.
He took his wand out of his pocket and used it to vanish the ruined fabric away. Well, that plan was now dead in the water - perhaps you could commission Madam Mulkin to make him a new one in the exact likeness of his old jacket… well you mulled that over, George moved toward the fridge.
“Now - dinner?”
Your stomach did pang with hunger, finally reminding you that you had eaten very little that day and a good meal sounded like a fantastic idea. Again, you hated that George was right, but you couldn’t deny it. However, your feet were still aching from wearing your heels for so long and you wanted to take them off - but something about walking around in George’s kitchen in just your stockings felt slightly inappropriate.
Perhaps it was the way you had been raised - the constant hammering on you to never let your posture slip, to never be too casual around others, never too friendly. Never show weakness, because it would be a huge crack in your precious reputation. But even as your feet began screaming with pain, you hesitated to take off your shoes.
“Can you pass me a knife?” George asked, motioning toward one of the kitchen drawers.
When he noticed the deep discomfort on your face, he frowned.
“Look, I know I said that I would cook dinner, and I will take the lead here, but we’re still bloody attached, so I am gonna need a wee bit of your help.” He griped.
“It’s not that.” You sighed, opening the drawer that had held the scissors and grabbing a large knife, handing it to him.
He used it to cut open the packaging that held the steaks - two very large, nice looking ones, before he looked back at you with an intensely puzzled expression.
“It’s - ugh.” You growled quietly under your breath and gestured toward your feet. “My feet are hurting, but - I don’t make it a habit of taking off my shoes in other people’s homes. I don’t behave like some slob, it’s not the way I was raised-”
George let out a bright laugh, grabbing a pan from a different cupboard and putting it on the stove before he lit the flame.
“I thought you were breaking away from the ways that raised you?” He posed, reaching around you for a bottle of olive oil, reminding you just how close the two of you were forced to be.
You tried to ignore the smell of his cologne mixing with the musk of fire coming off the stove, and how intoxicating it was.
“Well, there’s a difference between being grossly prejudiced and lacking basic manners.” You replied. “Fred and Ron haven’t quite figured that out yet-”
“Fred and Ron missed the boat on manners because they were too busy fighting Percy for IQ points, not because of how they were raised.” George bit back. “I happened to come out with the perfect combination of manners, stunningly good looks, smarts, and cooking skills.”
He announced, smirking at you in that terribly smackable way as he grabbed a pair of tongs off a small hook on the wall and used them to lay the steaks in the pan, causing a sharp sizzle. A mouth-watering smell began to drift through the air.
“Then I guess your brothers got all the common sense.” You said, jingling the chain of the handcuffs as a reminder.
George rolled his eyes at this.
“Well, as someone who understands manners and hospitality, I am officially inviting you to make yourself at home.” He told you, his voice sounding firm and for once - serious. “And that means making yourself comfortable by taking off your shoes, if it pleases you to do so.”
Your insides were shaken by that word - hospitality.
You then radically realized that he didn’t lack manners, he simply knew them in a much different way than you did. It was once again, the simple fact that the two of you had been raised so differently, and it meant that his idea of manners was very different from yours.
His mother had likely raised him to believe that being polite to guests meant making them feel comfortable in your home - inviting them to relax and drink and have fun. And your father had always raised you to believe that being mannerly meant being as stiff and uptight as possible, putting up a front of absolute perfection in front of anybody who was watching you. Having guests in your home meant showing others that you were more sophisticated than them by never letting your perfect facade crack - never letting your guard down, not even for a second.
You had been taught that daring to relax in another person’s home was an utterly terrible crime that you should never even think to do. And George believed that he was a bad host if you didn’t feel relaxed in his home.
You finally gave in, stepping out of your heels and kicking them back behind you, causing them to end up underneath the small two-person dining table that they had in the kitchen. (You didn’t know that they had a larger, much nicer dining table in a dedicated dining room down the hall that was specifically meant for guests). When you looked over at George after he had turned the steaks, he was grinning at you in that terrible way like he knew something that you didn’t.
“What?” You demanded sharply.
“I never realized how tiny you are.” He chuckled, putting down his tongs and reaching over to pat you on the head - a move that immediately reignited your dulled out fury into a full blown fire.
“Don’t touch me,” You snarled dully, batting his arm away, causing a condescending laugh to come from his lips.
“Okay.” He replied. “But you are adorable.”
George was a towering tree of a person, and there were very few people who actually measured up to him in height. Other than Fred, of course.
So even in your heels, you still often had to crane your neck to make eye contact with him and you always felt short compared to him - anybody would. But you did have to agree with his observation of the fact that without your usual shoes on, it truly emphasized the height difference between the two of you.
You didn’t exactly like it, though. You didn’t like feeling small compared to him. You didn’t like being reminded that he was tall and broad and muscled and he was now forced to be close to you. You didn’t like the fact that he was such a huge muscled man who towered over you.
“I am not-” You huffed out, cutting yourself off as you realized that it was useless to argue the point. “I need a glass of wine.”
George summoned the bottle of wine that he had previously abandoned in the sitting room, and you hated the mischievous glint in his eyes as he poured you a glass.
…
Cooking dinner while chained together turned out to be quite an adventure.
George was very good at helping you clear hurdles that you didn’t even know existed, because you soon realized that it was the most cooking you had ever done in your life. And if George picked up on your inexperience, thankfully, he didn’t say it aloud or take the opportunity to mock you for it.
He just continued to guide you along gently, telling you how to cut things - making small jokes about the crude nature of your knife cuts with your non-dominant hand while your good hand was chained to his. Telling you where he wanted things put and even helping you identify a few herbs and other ingredients that were entirely alien to you.
You were surprised that he knew so much about food - you thought that with the way his mother was, he would have simply survived off being babied by her. But you guessed that it was more the opposite. She forced her boys to learn how to feed themselves; she wanted them to be self-sufficient and they actually picked up a lot of useful skills that you (regretfully) had never been taught with the way you were raised.
It wasn’t long before the two of you were sitting down to a rather nice dinner of perfectly cooked, medium rare filets, miniature golden potatoes pan fried with butter and herbs and bacon lardons, and steamed green beans. He poured himself a glass of wine, then another glass for you. You had finished your first glass during the cooking process, taking a sip every time he accidentally tugged on the handcuffs, trying to remind yourself not to snap on him in frustration.
A strange layer of intimacy crept in when he had to put his plate close to yours and had to move the other chair from the direct opposite side of the table to be much closer to yours so that his arm wouldn’t be awkwardly outstretched while he ate. You were now huddled very close together, shoulder to shoulder over the warm, delicious food.
After you ate a few of your green beans, you were faced with trying to cut your steak with your awkward hand, and found yourself holding the fork limply with your non-dominant hand, trying to pin the meat down while tugging the knife against George’s dead weight with your cuffed hand. This led to him heaving out a dramatic sigh and then reaching over to take the steak knife from you - you watched, slightly shocked as he cut off a piece with his firm, free hand and then stabbed it with your fork and offered it up to your mouth.
“You don’t have to feed me.” You hissed at him quietly.
“I know that I don’t have to,” He replied with a grin. “But it’s fun.”
You rolled your eyes sharply, eyeing the meat with hesitation.
“And I don’t want to wait until tomorrow morning for you to finish your supper. You do deserve to taste this while it’s hot.” He added on.
You did have to acquiesce to that point. And for some stupid reason, rather than simply taking the fork in your own hand - you indulged him.
You leaned forward and grabbed the bite of meat off the fork, and any thoughts about how ridiculous the whole situation was melted away as soon as you were met with the amazing taste. He had done a wonderful job cooking it, and it was some of the best food you had eaten in a long time. You couldn’t conceal the moan of enjoyment that you let out, and he couldn’t contain his utterly satisfied smirk at your reaction.
“Good?” He posed, so utterly self satisfied, already knowing the answer.
“It’s fantastic, you ass.” You replied after you had chewed and swallowed (unable to shirk those ingrained manners) - sadly, unable to deny him the compliment.
He continued grinning at you, and you couldn’t help but to add:
“But you know this means that I’m going to be bothering you to cook for me all the time now.” You told him, hoping that this would deter him a bit and finally dampen his impossibly large ego.
But he kept on grinning that stupid grin as he went about cutting up the rest of your steak for you to fork it and pick it up yourself, knowing that he wouldn’t get away with cutting it up to feed it to you piece by piece.
“So that means that I’d have you over here all the time for meals?” He gasped in a cartoonishly sarcastic way. “How absolutely dreadful.”
Though you knew he had emphasized the sarcasm in his words for a reason, you couldn’t think of any reason why he would actually want to have you in his home more often. He didn’t actually like you and it wasn’t truly necessary. Very strange.
When you were finishing up your main meal, George surprised you by summoning something down from the top of the refrigerator - a small box that landed in the middle of the table. When he opened it, it presented some very luxurious looking chocolate truffles.
“Peanut butter fudge is your favourite, right?” He said quietly, selecting a particular one out of the box and placing it down beside your nearly empty plate.
You took a sip of your wine as you eyed it heavily, knowing that he would have to be absolutely mad to give you one of his ‘dosed’ prank sweets while the two of you were forcibly attached. If you started vomiting profusely or bleeding from the nose rapidly with no way to stop it, then he would have to deal with the consequences. Naturally, he saw the look of pure apprehension on your face, and he knew just the right words to play it off.
“You need to have something sweet after a good meal, right?” He posed, giving you a sweet, genuine smile.
Your stomach twisted harshly - unsure how to react to something so absolutely thoughtful. He had remembered something so small that you had told him all those years ago. A fond memory of your mother giving you chocolates after a meal because she believed that it was a good practice.
You reached out and picked up the bonbon then, trying hard to disguise the shaking of your hand, overwhelmed with emotion, as you guided it up to your mouth.
“Are you a stalker or do you just have a really good memory?” You asked before you bit into the sweet chocolate, resisting the urge to let out another moan of enjoyment at the perfect combination of chocolate and peanut butter.
“Bit of both.” George shrugged, giving you a cheeky smirk as he selected one for himself.
…
After dinner, when you were a bit more than comfortably full (unable to resist finishing your plate even as your stomach began to protest) - George posed that you retire into the sitting room for a while.
Obviously, he was trying to delay the inevitable, the fact that the two of you would have to sleep in the same bed together for the night.
You took your still mostly full glass of wine in your hand to bring with you and he finished his off with a long-necked gulp, leaving the empty glass on the table. And then he piled your plates and forks together and shoved them into the sink, mumbling something about washing them later (you were silently thankful that he didn’t insist that the two of you attempt joint dishwashing together).
Then, the two of you walked back to the sitting room, and he used a flick of his wand to scoot the two large armchairs much closer together, causing a loud scraping across the floor. The rug wrinkled up underneath the feet of one of the chairs - something he also fixed with another simple flourish. It felt surprisingly intimate as the two of you sat in the pair of chairs side by side and George used his wand to light a fire in the fireplace, knowing that nobody else would be coming to pay a visit anytime soon.
Your body melted into the comfortable plushness of the chair when you sat down. Until then, you hadn’t realized how much the stress of the day had truly affected you, making your muscles tight and achy. You found yourself staring at George as he began flicking his wand in the direction of the drink cart, concentrating on pouring himself a glass of the bourbon that he preferred.
For the first time in all the years you had known time, you truly took in how handsome he was.
Sure, you had never been obtuse to the fact that the twins were intensely good looking. (Even if most of Fred’s good looks were erased by how much of an ass he could be towards you.) Fred was dating the woman who had been declared Witch Weekly’s Most Eligible Upcoming Quidditch Star for a reason. On top of his looks, he could be charming toward her. He knew how to act sweet when he wanted something out of it.
You had seen plenty of women come into the shop just to flirt with George, buying products that were meant for children that they clearly had no interest in just for an excuse to linger around the cash register and twirl their hair while they made ‘fuck me’ eyes at him. And at times, he had flirted back and even gone on dates with a few of them. You could only assume that it never culminated in a follow up date or a relationship due to his rampant immaturity and not because of his cooking skills, for sure.
But even you had to admit - he was very handsome.
You were deeply reminded of that while looking at his striking side profile in the warm light of the fire. His ginger hair that practically seemed to glow, his pale skin with a few stray freckles, his large nose that suited him so well, along with his round cheeks, so well made for laughter and smiling, and his strong jaw. You had always been too busy being annoyed with him, or fleeing from that annoyance, to actually notice his looks before. When he was calm and not actively aggravating you - it was much easier to acknowledge the fact that he was handsome.
When George finally took his drink in hand, putting his wand down onto the small end table that had ended up between the two of you, he glanced over at you and caught you staring. He curled a sharp brow in your direction as he raised the glass to his lips to take a sip. Surprisingly, didn’t say anything, but you could feel the mockery coming off him from his expression alone.
Instinctively, you whipped your head in the opposite direction to avoid his gaze. Your eyes raked over the books that the twins had on their shelves, scanning the titles to avoid any conversation about what had just happened.
“Some music?” He posed after he had swallowed a sip of his drink, sounding all too smug.
You hated that you could perfectly picture his expression in your mind even though you couldn’t see it.
“Yeah, whatever.” You huffed in return.
George let out a hum of confirmation and you heard some shuffling as he chose a record with some well practiced wandless magic, which you tried not to be impressed by.
Your eyes continued scanning the books, and you found yourself more and more surprised by the collection that the twins kept. Some of them were in depth books about potion making and the history of certain potion ingredients - no doubt used as research for their inventions at the shop. Some of them were surprisingly mature novels - romance novels, dark gothic horror novels.
There were even well-researched historical pieces; books you had read that Hermione had recommended to you after The War, ones she had gifted to you, obviously hoping to expand your mind beyond your father’s teachings about what the magical world truly had to offer. At the time you had indulged her, though you had spent a fair amount of time in the library at Hogwarts doing your own search as well. If the twins had actually read all these books, then you were more than impressed.
You found yourself even more impressed then the peaceful hum of what you quickly recognized as Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 came pouring out of the surprisingly smooth speaker of George’s record player. It was one of your favourite musical pieces by one of your favourite magical artists.
You had only recently discovered, due to Hermione, that it was also famous in the Muggle World. Apparently back when Bach’s music first became popular, there wasn’t as much rigid structure and laws about the division of the two worlds and it was much more of a choice for Pureblood communities to live in isolation, cut off completely from Muggles and their society. So often, mundane magical happenings often became myth among Muggles, and wizards with great non-magic talents often became famous in the Muggle world too.
“You listen to Bach?” You gasped quietly, turning to George with a questioning brow.
“Yes.” He replied with a grin, taking a sip of his drink. “Even though I only have one good ear to listen with, I’d like to think that I have some taste.”
“I’m just - I’m surprised that someone like you is so… cultured.” You replied, breezing right past his joke.
He neglected to bring up the fact that he had only bought the album - a recording of Bach’s most famous pieces played by a famous cellist witch who had graduated from Beauxbatons - because he had heard you talking about it.
He had overheard you ranting to Hermione about how Bach was by far your favourite famous composer. You found Mozart to be too ‘urgent and brutish’, while Bach was ‘melodic and evocative’. Ever since then, George wanted to listen to it because it was something that you liked. And he found that he ended up liking it very much himself, even though he had listened to mostly Wizard Wrock before, and the Muggle pop music that Harry and Hermione had introduced him to.
“You tend to notice surprising things about a man when you spend less time trying to violently lop his head off,” George told you, smirking.
“Maybe I could notice more of those things if you spent less time making me want to lop your head off.” You didn’t want to yet again point out the fact that the two of you were literally chained together, but you had a feeling that he got your point.
You also didn’t want to admit the fact that this was shaping up into a rather lovely evening. Between the dinner, the drinks, and the music - this was better than most dates you had been on. And it was getting easier and easier to ignore the prison-like attachment around your wrist (aside from the soreness of the metal still lingering there, and the dull ache in your shoulder from the initial jostling around). The whole thing was beginning to feel strangely like an evening you had chosen to participate in - one of the nicest evenings you’d had in a long time.
You felt an itch grow under your skin as a warm feeling grew in the pit of your stomach - one fuelled by George looking at you with fondness, feeling more strangely intentional and romantic while the soothing music swelled in the air. You became desperate to ignore it, so you turned back to the bookshelf and looked for something to distract you. Perhaps you could pick something to read for a while before… going to bed. You still tried to avoid the idea in your mind; the fact that you would later be sharing a bed with George.
Your eyes landed on the spine of a certain book and you immediately became thrilled.
“No way! You have Ruined Pride?” You bursted out excitedly, using a simple bit of wandless magic to summon the book off the shelf and a few feet toward you, catching it in your free hand and getting a closer look to ensure that - yes, you hadn’t been mistaken when you read the title.
It was one of your favourite novels ever. One that you almost always had in your hands during your time at Hogwarts due to how many times you had re-read it over and over again.
It was a story set back in the 18th century, about a group of Pureblood sisters who were all of marrying age and needed to be settled into marriage contracts by their strict, old-fashioned Pureblood parents. However, one night at a Courting Ball, the main character meets and dances with a tall, free-spirited, jokester of a man and instantly falls in love with him. Only to be utterly devastated when she finds out that he’s a Half-Blood - one of his parents being a Muggle - and therefore, her parents would never accept him as a match for her.
After trying to deny her feelings for him, through many secret meetings together, creating a hot, intense love affair, the two of them decide that being together is more important than anyone else’s opinions of them. More important than the traditions of her family. And eventually, by the end of the book, they elope against her parents’ wishes.
You would forever deny that you had read it so many times as a kind of private wish fulfillment fantasy. And you would also heavily deny that you had imagined the male love interest with hazel eyes and red hair, despite him being described multiple times as being blue-eyed and brunet.
“Again, you sound so surprised.” George chuckled quietly from beside you. “Can a handsome, smart, funny man who cooks not also be cultured? Am I not allowed to have depth? Am I just a pretty face to you?”
He whined these last words in an exaggerated way and you knew that he was joking, but you were forced to actually take his words seriously for a moment. You were forced to consider that previously you hadn’t thought of him as having depth. You had just thought of him as a prankster, someone always trying to get a laugh out of others without much more to it.
“You’re so humble, too.” You hissed quietly, hating that he was right once again. “Because of course, the man who put a rubber snake in a pastry box and stood by waiting to watch me open it is definitely someone I would consider to have depth.”
George rolled his eyes at this. He wanted to argue that it had been a funny prank, but he knew that he was already on thin ice with you.
“Well I suppose I have stolen a great bit of my depth from you.” He told you.
“What do you mean?” You asked, definitely confused now.
“I only bought the album because I heard you talking about Bach.” He explained, motioning toward the record player. “And I only picked up the book because I remembered seeing you with it at one point or another. I was curious what could possibly capture your attention so much,”
You felt utterly betrayed when a deep flush crept up over your cheeks. No - George couldn’t have possibly meant it in any way that was affectionate. He just wanted to know what went through your mind in the way that somebody would study a heinous bug or a strange kind of animal. Yes, that was it.
“Well, what did you think of it?” You had to ask, motioning toward the book.
“The ending was a bit contrived.” He answered. “A Pureblood girl marrying someone of such a low station? Impossible.” He scoffed, a sarcastic edge overtaking his voice once again.
Again, you felt slightly puzzled by his use of sarcasm. You knew that he wasn’t actually bemused by the book’s themes and you weren’t sure why he spoke of it like that. So instead of further prodding at his words, you cracked open the book and started reading, signalling the end of the conversation. George summoned something off the shelf, opening it in his lap and beginning to quietly read for himself.
Though at points you did get sucked into the plot of the novel that you had read so many times before, it was difficult to forget exactly where you were and exactly who you were with - especially during moments when you forgot that you were chained to George by the wrist and moved to turn a page with the wrong hand, tugging on him harshly by mistake and mumbling out an apology when you roughly jerked his arm.
It was difficult not to enjoy the domestic atmosphere, even just due to the fact that it was relaxing. The niceties of it all. The fire crackling down over time, the low hum of the music, the simple comfort of having him in the chair next to yours as you sat in each other’s company without the need to speak; George offering to refill your wine when you finished off the glass. Which you declined and instead asked for a tea, causing him to summon the kettle and tea bags from the other room. He made your tea exactly how you liked without you having to ask just due to so many days spent at the shop together.
If not for the forcible attachment literally holding the two of you together, you would have called it an overall pleasant evening. And something deep inside of you panged with yearning as you thought about the fact that once the professional cursebreaker freed the two of you from these insufferable handcuffs, you wouldn’t have an excuse to spend anymore time together like this.
(And you would never, ever admit to the fact that George had been right about this whole thing after all. Never.)
After an hour - possibly more, you hadn’t exactly been counting, but George had exchanged the record for something else harmonic and classical that you didn’t know off by heart. When you had just reached the lovers’ first kiss in the book, you let out a harsh yawn that you had been trying to contain for a while. You were exceedingly tired, but you didn’t want to admit it.
“Time for bed?” George posed, closing his book and gently levitating it to the coffee table that sat in the middle of the room.
“Fine.” You mumbled out, closing your book in surrender and putting it down beside your empty tea cup and wine glass on the table between the chairs. “Let’s get this over with.”
You were used to having your own space in a bed, and you were not looking forward to attempting to get comfortable for sleep while literally being chained to him. Not looking forward to having to fight him for space in a bed and having him unconsciously tugging on your arm in his sleep. You knew that it would not make for a good night’s rest.
“I see fatigue is a charming mood on you,” He griped sarcastically, clearly tired himself and letting it affect his mood outwardly.
“Well you wouldn’t have to deal with my charming moods if not for your short-sighted bouts of idiocy!” You chirped, shaking the handcuffs again, only making your wrist more sore, causing dramatic emphasis - you stood from the chair to tower over him as he was still sitting down, screaming down at him to truly drive home your point.
He didn’t say anything, only stood up without a word, silently reminding you that you were the lesser stature, and overall, he was not intimidated by you.
Then he grabbed your bag from beside the fireplace and began walking down the hall, forcing you to trail behind him - past the kitchen, farther than he had taken you earlier, toward what you could only assume to be his bedroom. You passed a room along the way, and you took a glance inside to find that it was the bathroom. You shuddered thinking about the fact that it would likely be an issue that would come up if you and George were stuck together for two whole days. You would have to force him to wear a blindfold.
There was three rooms at the end of the end of the hall, one with an open door that led to what appeared to be the twins’ office. With a large desk in the middle and shelves lined with all kinds of half-formed, brightly coloured objects, parchment with sketches of designs on them, some things in glass cases that you had to assume were being trapped because they were extremely dangerous (you didn’t know that they were trophies - treasured prototypes that were hallmarks of the WWW brand). The rooms across from each other were both closed doors, both with shiny brass lettering on the front - one with FW and the other with GW.
George went up to his room, and as he unlocked the door with a mumbled spell, you pointed at the letters and let out a small laugh.
“So you don’t get lost?” You asked, your natural sarcasm apparent in your tone.
“No, so the dozens of hookers that we have over don’t get us mixed up.” George replied, clearly sarcastic as well. “We have to do something with the money from the shop, don’t we?”
It was an easy joke, but you hated the sharp feeling that went through you when you wondered if he had other women here before. You hated that you so easily labeled it as jealousy, rather than annoyance. You hated even more that you knew you had absolutely no good reason to be jealous. You had no claim on George. If he wanted to start telling you about all his sexual exploits with other women just to piss you off - you couldn’t call it cheating, you couldn’t call it unfair.
He wasn’t yours.
As you had driven home time and time again - he wasn’t even your friend.
He was your boss.
Nothing more.
George opened the bedroom door to reveal another very nice room in the beautiful, cozy home.
It came as an intense shock to you that he had dark green wallpaper - the green that he claimed to hate so much because it represented his long rivaled Slytherin. But oddly enough, it seemed to suit him here. Green walls didn’t seem so ridiculously out of place for George Weasley’s bedroom.
Likely because the wallpaper was paired beautifully with the dark wood, antique-looking furniture, and other homey touches. Furniture that consisted of a tall, ornate wardrobe across from the bedroom door in the far corner of the room - it was open with some of the clothes messily spilling out, showing off a mirror that was attached inside one of the doors.
There was also a small desk under the window, which currently had the curtains wide open, showing the inky sky, reminding you just how late it was. And lastly, there was a large queen bed in the middle of the room, which was messy and unmade - at least there were signs that he actually lived like a real person too, and he definitely hadn’t been expecting any guests.
It was nice to know that he likely hadn’t been judging you for your mess while you had been packing your things.
“So, uh, I’ll get some blankets and whatnot and make myself comfortable here.” George said, gesturing to a spot on the floor between the bed and the wardrobe. “You can have the bed to yourself. I know I’ve already inconvenienced you massively enough with this whole stunt, so-”
You cut him off with a rattling sigh.
Of course he was planning on doing the whole noble Gryffindor thing by giving up his bed for you.
But honestly, you could think of nothing more annoying than sleeping with your arm trailing off the bed all night to reach him on the floor - it would leave you dangling on the edge, trying to get comfortable. You might as well force him to sleep in the bed with a pillow shoved between the two of you as a purposeful barrier. Screw him and his nobility.
“Really?” You hissed at him, too tired to care how truly sour your tone was. “The bed is plenty big enough for the both of us. So there’s no sense in you pulling my arm out of the socket trying to put some distance between us just because you want to feel like you’re doing the right thing in giving your bed up for a lady. Trust me, I’m not some withering flower who’s terrified to sleep in the same bed as a man. It’s not like you’re stealing my innocence, George.”
You ploughed right through the words without even thinking about the implications behind what you were saying. After it left your mouth, you hated that it caused you to think back on why you weren’t exactly ‘innocent’.
Your mind going back to parties in the Slytherin common room, times when they had been celebrating (rare) Slytherin Quidditch victories that had only been won because the best Gryffindor players had been benched or banned. Parties that were wild - the few times when you actually allowed yourself to ‘let loose’. Times when you had been ripe with drink and flirting with someone good looking who had absolutely no other appealing traits - someone who fucked you hard and fast and completely ignored you the next day.
It was something that happened more than once, and left you ripe with worry that the rumors would get back to your father. That is, until you grew to hate him too much to actually care, and then you cared too much about The War to even look at boys anymore.
You had never dated anyone seriously outside of those hook-ups. You had always turned out guys who had asked you out (even if you knew their endgame was likely wanting sex) because you knew that your father would hate them and try to get them hurt. And you never wanted to get too attached to anyone because for a while, you had resigned yourself to the fate of ending up in a Marriage Contract. And you didn’t want to be the idiot - someone like the main character in Ruined Pride - who fell in love with someone that her parents would never actually agree to marry her off to.
So you always ended up fulfilling your purely sexual desires after you had enough alcohol in your system to forget about all that for a while. You never had a serious boyfriend. You had never even gone on a real, romantic date before.
In fact, this night with George was likely the closest you had ever come to having a man ‘romance you’ - and it had been by force. (You knew how genuinely pathetic it was.)
“Oh trust me, I’m not worried about your innocence.” George bit back bitterly, seemingly deeply annoyed by your ranting. “And I’m entirely thrilled to share a bed with you.” He mumbled under his breath, reeking of sarcasm.
It then occurred to you how much he must have been hating the experience too. That he had given up his night to cook for you, catering to you trying to comfort you, and it was just awful - being tied to someone who bitched and moaned in return. He likely wasn’t excited to be tied to you all night when he was used to having the comfort of his bed all to himself.
“Let’s just get ready for bed.” You huffed.
“Fine.” He returned, his voice just as sour.
Your stomach churned when he immediately reached for his tie, beginning to undress.
Right - getting ready for bed would involve getting undressed in front of him.
Because possibly the only thing more annoying than sleeping with your arm being yanked off the bed would be sleeping in the nice lacy blouse and button up skirt you had worn for most of the day (which, the waistband was quite snug on you now after the nice dinner you had enjoyed, and that would be even more uncomfortable to sleep in). The only thing you were thankful for was that the neckline of your blouse, the shoulders, and the end of the sleeves were all connected with small, dainty buttons - which was a decorative feature of the design, but it also meant that you didn’t have to cut the clothing off your body. And you were wearing a bra with removable straps.
It was the only part of your day that seemed to fall under the category of luck.
You turned yourself so that you were standing back to back with George, hoping that he would get the hint and not look at you. You weren’t looking at him while he undressed.
You unbuttoned your skirt and let it fall, and then wrestled off your stockings with the use of only one hand, leaving you with the relatively easy task of taking off your blouse and bra. You only had to undo the buttons on one side before simply sliding off the sleeve from your free hand, so it wasn’t that difficult. After your bra fell to the ground, you reached for your bag - which George had dropped on the bed when he came into the room.
When you turned to grab it, you caught his eye in the mirror.
He was staring at your mostly naked body utterly shamelessly, making no effort to hide where his eyes were looking. He was frozen there, with his shirt unbuttoned, tie gone, pants missing, his black underwear sinfully tight on his body and revealing firm, toned thighs that you never could have imagined on him, looking so entirely delicious…
When your eyes flickered back up to his face, he held a slight redness of a blush, but he did nothing to hide the fact that he was wantonly staring at you in the mirror, his eyes fixated on your naked breasts.
“Hey!” You screamed, instinctively forced to be offended, even though you felt a terrible, undeniable heat creeping up within you. One that, you hated to admit, matched the look in his eyes. You used your free arm to cover your breasts, desperately trying to make yourself modest, though you knew that you were covering little surface area and only squishing the flesh together in an almost pornographic way. “Stop staring at me!”
“Merlin - I’m only human!” George argued, slapping his free hand over his eyes. “It’s not like you’re ugly. I couldn’t have chained myself to an ugly woman for fun.” He mumbled the last bit quietly under his breath, and you were unsure if he was making jokes to try and defuse the tension or if you weren’t even meant to hear it.
You found yourself almost regretful that he did follow your instructions. One small part of your brain itching for his eyes back on you, now withering without the intensity of his attention on you.
You tried your best to shake off that strange heat that had spread through you as you got out your change of clothes. You put on a fresh pair of panties (feeling even more self conscious about the lacy, see-through ones you had brought with you) and slipped on your comfortable cotton sleep shorts. And then you let out a groan as you realized that you would have to take off your sleep shorts because you wouldn’t be able to get your shirt on over your head.
At least you had thought to bring a camisole instead of a tee shirt, so it wouldn’t have to be cut up and shredded in order for you to put it on. You stepped into the camisole and clumsily pulled it up over your hips, the entire time with George humming to himself and dramatically guarding his eyes, making a point to demonstrate that he was not watching.
You pulled the fabric up over your chest, only able to pull one of the straps on and having to leave the other hanging dumbly (ultimately deciding on tucking it into the side) before you put your shorts back on then gathered your discarded clothes to shove into your bag.
“I’m done now.” You said pointedly. “Can you put some pants on?”
It was only then that you realized George was still standing there in his underwear - his distractingly tight underwear that showed off the outline of his surprisingly large bulge - shit, you had to keep yourself from being a hypocrite by staring too.
“Well I don’t see how I’m supposed to find my pants with my eyes closed.” George said, faking dumbness, still covering his eyes.
“You can look now.” You ground out, growing impatient.
“Oh.”
He uncovered his eyes, and his gaze immediately went to your covered breasts, as though checking that they were still there. You resisted the urge to smack him. When his eyes finally made it back up to your face, you glared at him with hell in your eyes and a tightly locked jaw, and you hated the filthy knowing that now filled his mischievous eyes.
“Get dressed!” You barked, urging him into action.
He picked up a pair of cotton pajama pants that he had shed that morning - in such a rush to follow your orders that at first he stepped into them and pulled them on backwards, having to shove them off and right them before pulling them on again, awkwardly jostling your arm so that he could use both of his hands to tie them at the front.
Then, he nosed out a tight sigh.
“You’re gonna have to cut this shirt off me.” He said, and with a snap of his fingers, the scissors from the kitchen came zooming into the room, nearly stabbing you in the eye if not for your quick effort to dodge them. You glared at him harshly as he caught them in his free hand.
“What are you going to put on to sleep in?” You asked, wondering how he was going to comfortably get a tee shirt on, knowing it would be stupid and impractical for him to go around with one arm hanging out of it.
“I was planning on sleeping shirtless, as I usually do.” He said, handing you the scissors. “If that’s alright with Her Royal Highness.” These words were ripe with sarcasm, and you tightened your grip around the scissors as you resisted the urge to stab him with them.
But you couldn’t find any good reason to protest against this.
It was his home, his bed. Even if it had been his stupid idea that had landed the two of you in this mess, he deserved to sleep comfortably (as comfortably as possible while the two of you were chained together) just as much as you did.
So you raised the scissors to his shirt sleeve and began cutting. There was no pitiful mourning over this silky shirt, seemingly one of dozens that he had according to the messy contents of the wardrobe. It was only moments before you had the fabric fully severed on your side and he was able to completely ditch it off his free arm.
It was only now that you realized you had never seen him shirtless before. And you hated that the sight of his shirtless torso was immediately distracting to you.
You knew based on logic alone that he was muscled.
You had seen him play Quidditch during your years at Hogwarts. And though you didn’t know much about the sport, you knew that every position was known for having a certain type of ‘build’. Seekers were slim and light, to zip around the field faster. Chasers were usually also slimmer, with strong arms for throwing the Quaffle. Keepers were broad and muscled, using the bulk of their body to help deflect shots - and they were usually heavier with muscle because they didn’t need to be fast or do as much broom work.
And Beaters were known for being strong - incredibly muscled, with strong arms and strong, thick thighs. They needed a lot of strength to swing their bats to even kick off the weight of a Bludger, let alone get it flying across the field. And they needed strong thighs to stay on their broom, because most of their flying was done with their legs, due to the intense amount of arm work that was involved in being a Beater.
(Was this something you had taken an interest in just because George was a Quidditch player? Definitely not.)
And though it had been a long time since George had played for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, you knew from the conversations that he and Fred had on Monday mornings about their Sundays spent with the entire Weasley brood, they continued to play casually with their family. (‘Casual’ of course, was a relative term. From the way they talked about it, it could get just as competitive as the Hogwarts games did - if not more competitive on occasion.)
On top of that, George often impressed you with how many boxes he could lift, and how large and heavy those boxes were. Even though he had magic at his disposal, it seemed like he was determined not to get lazy while running the shop. (That, and he had warned you that many of the WWW products didn’t fare well with magical transportation, so they had to be lifted manually - which was a lesson you had learned the hard way on your own. More than once.)
You knew that he was strong - but seeing his bare, broad, muscled body in front of your eyes was certainly something else. Seeing proof of it in front of your eyes began to rewire your brain.
Seeing his pale skin covered in freckles, clearly from being shirtless in the sun a fair amount of times; perfect skin stretched across the most firm man you had ever seen - not someone who was unrealistically chiseled like a man out of Wonder Witch, but someone who was deliciously strong and so real. Someone with thick arms, a broad, puffed chest, and a smooth stomach with a bit of tummy that signified he ate his own cooking enough to know what he was doing. And your eyes became glued to a trail of fiery hair leading from his belly button and into his low riding bottoms before George snatched the scissors from you, pulling you out of your haze.
“What - it’s your turn to stare now, is it? Getting me back, are you, love?” He said, his voice turning into a rumbling low whisper that ignited every nerve in your body in a terrible way.
Your tongue went numb in your mouth and for once in his presence, you were utterly speechless.
You simply stared up at him, getting locked into the cocky, smug gaze of his hazel eyes. You were partially tempted to slap him because of how insane the rising heat was driving you, and partially tempted to stay completely still just to see what he would do next.
You wanted to scream when he cleared his throat and took a small step away from you - that stupid Gryffindor nobility acting up once again.
“You need to use the toilet before bed? Brush your teeth and whatnot?” He posed gently, his eyes now glued to the floor, refusing to look at you.
“Yes.” You replied quietly. “And you better brush yours. I’m not sleeping next to Mr. Bourbon Breath all night.” That bit of sourness flared up again, seeking some normality against this ocean of unfamiliar territory that you were fighting through.
George smiled and let out a small, nasally laugh at your comment.
Again, you felt a strange pang of domesticity as you stood beside George in the bathroom. A calm, eerie kind of familiarity while brushing your teeth together. He waited in silence for you to remove your makeup, wash your face and apply a bit of moisturizer.
You felt oddly naked, probably more so than when he had been blatantly staring at your breasts, as this was the first time he had ever seen you without makeup in the entirety of knowing you. And when his eyes traced over your face in the mirror, you tried to decipher any judgement or disgust in his expression before deciding with a sudden burst of bitterness that you didn’t care if he liked your bare face or not.
(Even though, deep down, you cared quite a lot what he thought of you.)
“You don’t need it, you know.” He said, gesturing to the open make-up bag you had propped open on the side of his sink - the one you had taken your toothbrush out of. “All the - the extra stuff. You’re really quite… pretty without it.”
You hated how painful it seemed for him to give you a genuine compliment, one not disguised as a joke, and - feeling that prickly defensiveness rising up within you again, you quickly fired back.
“I know that.” You hissed at him, rolling your eyes. “I like it. I know that I don’t need it. I know I’m gorgeous.”
“Good god, sometimes you’re so-” George cut himself off, holding back whatever horrid words he had lined up to describe you. “You can’t just take an earnest compliment, can you?”
You were forced into a terrible silence.
No, you couldn’t. For you, accepting a genuine compliment was infinitely harder than having an insult hurled at you.
Perhaps that was what made you feel more naked than going the night without your make-up - having George’s eyes on you and knowing that he saw you for who you truly were. The rawness. Being forced to go without a shield. Not being able to run away from the one pair of honest eyes that stared you down and saw all the things about you that you feared admitting most.
You couldn’t even muster a ‘shut up’ in return. You shrunk into yourself like a kicked dog, and, pitying you, George didn’t prod at the topic any further.
The two of you finally moved back to the bedroom to go to bed.
There was an awkward moment where you had to wait for him to climb into the bed on his knees and he nearly stumbled and fell on his face. But then you were able to sit down and slide your way in, and finally, you were able to collapse into a lying position, flat on your back, where you would remain for the rest of the night. You let out a sigh of relief as George raised his wand to turn off the lights.
“Nox.” He mumbled quietly, causing the main light in the bedroom to go out, as well as the one in the hallway, shuddering the two of you in complete darkness.
Strangely, it was something that, rather than making you feel anonymous and comfortable, suddenly made you hyper-aware of just how truly intimate the situation was. You were suddenly entirely conscious of George’s quiet breathing as he closed his eyes and settled into a relaxed position. Suddenly, you felt every inch of his body against yours.
You had naturally sunken into a dip in the middle of the mattress; either one that was worn in from where he slept directly in the middle or a spot that was pressed down heavier due to the weight of his body, bringing you closer to him by some fucked up fate. This caused your arm to press into the warm, thick strength of his muscles all the way down to where you were joined by the still ever-present cuffs, causing your leg to melt into the warmth of his thigh - skin that was so damn hot, even through the cotton of his pajama pants.
You couldn’t stand to spend the night like this. Even as his breathing became calm and rhythmic beside your head, signalling that he was beginning to fall asleep, and you knew that it would be rude to move so abruptly - you couldn’t stay still. You couldn’t resign yourself to an entire night laying there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about George and his stupid hot skin.
You roughly scooted away from him, and grabbed one of the pillows beneath your head with your free hand, moving it down to roughly shove it between your two bodies lengthwise. This created a very clear divider between the two of you from hips to shoulders - forcing you to put your cuffed wrists on top of the pillow with as much distance that the small chain would allow without painful dragging on your skin. The sudden movements caused George to let out some groans of complaint, and he blinked open his sleepy eyes to glare at you through the dark.
“I thought we were going to sleep.” He mumbled, his voice strained with clear anger toward you.
You knew that you had done a lot to make someone like him angered, and you did feel a pang of guilt for it.
“I am.” You huffed in return. “I just - I need some space.”
“Oh, of course. Because sharing a bed with me is such a chore.” He griped, though he did scoot his body an inch over, trying his best to give you that requested space without yanking on your arm.
You couldn’t help but to think about the fact that sharing a bed with him after finding out that he was so irritably attractive was the part that made it a chore. Not the fact that it was him, not the sharing - you just hated this night. You hated the confusion. You wanted to go back to the shop. You wanted to go back to him winking at you and you pretending to be disgusted by it. You wanted to go back to morning pastries and him stealing boxes from your arms, telling you that ‘ladies’ shouldn’t ‘bother with such exerting tasks’.
You just hated feeling so uncertain. You hated standing on the precipice and being terrified to fall into an endless nothing that you knew absolutely nothing about.
You hated that if you surrendered yourself to him - you would have so fucking much to lose. And he wouldn’t.
“You know, if I knew some spell that would break you out of the stupid handcuffs, I would have set you free and sent you home hours ago.” He said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “I know-”
“Because being attached to me is no picnic either, I know.” You finished the sentence for him, knowing exactly where he was going with it. “Trust me, as soon as this is over, we can go back to exactly how we were before - not spending any unnecessary time together, not liking each other and just trying our best to be polite.”
That was just how you wanted it. You wanted things to go back to the way they were before.
Unfortunately, those were the words that unintentionally triggered George into snapping.
“Stop that! Stop saying that!” He shouted for the first time, his voice bellowing across the room at a level that almost frightened you.
He bolted upright into a sitting position in order to look at you, giving you a harsh, angry frown that truly didn’t suit his face. You felt the sting of his interrogating gaze as he propped himself on one elbow, leaning on the pillow between the two of you to hurl more harsh words at you.
“Stop saying that we don’t like each other! You can’t speak for me! No matter how much you dislike me, you can’t dictate how I feel about you! So just - stop it! Stop telling me how I’m supposed to feel! Stop saying that I don’t like you. Because it’s not true.”
After a moment of staring you down, and observing the emotions that flashed across your face as you struggled to take in his words - shock, upset, but mostly pure confusion - he let out a harsh huff of minty breath in your direction and then collapsed back onto his pillow.
“For fuck’s sake.” He muttered harshly under his breath.
“But - but you don’t like me…” Was all you managed to get out, your mind stubbornly unable to take his words as the truth.
The two of you had been enemies since your school days. Constantly at each other’s throat as a Gryffindor and a Slytherin should be. You were constantly on the receiving end of his pranks, constantly being jabbed with harsh words by the people around him.
That’s when it hit you, harsh like a stunning spell that you never saw coming.
That was exactly it: it was always the people around him.
Fred was the one who called you harsh names while George slipped in seemingly ironic compliments toward you. George was the one who tried to stick up for you among a group of people who hated you - he was the one who advocated for you when the others accused you of having nefarious intentions. George was the one who had hired you at the shop and given you a place to live when you had no money and no place else to go.
George had never done anything that ever implied he didn’t like you. It was always the opposite.
“Are you seriously that thick?” George griped in return, his voice cracking with the unhinged exhaustion of his emotions. It was clear that he was truly, utterly frustrated with you. Because you remained silent, seemingly open to actually listening, he continued. “I do like you! I like you as a person, and as a friend. I’ve been trying to be your friend for years! For fuck’s sake - I thought we were friends. I thought you bloody fucking knew that.”
“I’ve never had any friends before, I don’t know what it’s like!” You yelled in return. “I thought you knew that.” You mumbled the last part quietly, knowing how utterly pathetic it sounded when spoken aloud.
That’s when it truly hit George - all this time, you had no clue that his kindness was supposed to be friendship. You didn’t know what friendship was like because you never had any friends before.
You told him that you regarded your fellow Slytherins as classmates, some of them nothing more than polite acquaintances, and he knew that you spent most of your time at Hogwarts in isolation, studying. The only person that you kept in contact with as much as him was Hermione, but he knew that the two of you were polite on the basis of friendly co-operation (a pillar of Hermione’s life after The War) - the two of you weren’t particularly bonded or close.
“What did you think all this was if you wouldn’t call it a friendship?” George asked, gesturing between the two of you, now entirely curious to hear your view of things.
You let out a harsh sigh, hating that you were forced to put it into words. A horrible swell of embarrassment passed over you as you began to speak the words.
“I guess…” You raked your brain for words, wondering how you would put it beyond a boss-employee relationship, wondering what you would label the strange kindness that had gotten you the job in the first place. “I guess I thought that you were just being nice to me. That you were being polite to me out of obligation, or something.”
Even though you couldn’t see - with the two of you laying on your backs, facing the ceiling - George sharply rolled his eyes, and used his free hand to press fingers into his forehead, absolutely ripe with stress. Though he was glad to hear the words out of your mouth now, because a lot of things were radically rocketing into clarity now.
“What obligation?” He prodded in return, not giving you a chance to answer before he continued. “Y/N, I’m not even nice to my brothers, and they’re my family. They’re people that I love dearly, and sometimes I am downright rude to them - which sounds horrible, I know, but it’s how siblings show their love.”
This gave you a passing thought about how you were glad that you didn’t have any siblings, even if you had dreamt of having sisters plenty of times after reading Ruined Pride.
“But for the record, I am nice to you because it’s a choice.” George continued on. “I do it because I am trying to make an effort. For fuck’s sake - I bring you pastries in the morning, and I make you cups of tea, and I go out of my way to help you lift heavy boxes, and I bring you leftovers from Mum’s Sunday suppers - do you honestly think that I would do all of that just to be polite?”
You hated how utterly stupid you were going to sound now that all of this was coming to light. But you had to be honest with him.
“Yes!” You stressed, thinking that it was the obvious answer. “I thought - I thought that it was just how you were raised. I thought you were like that with everyone.”
“Then why isn’t Fred the same way with you? We were raised the same way, weren’t we?” George asked, posing the ultimate conundrum.
From what you had seen, Fred was fairly polite to everyone else in his life. Everyone but you. There was only one answer you could come up with, and it forced you to admit that you had been wrong the whole time. Stupid and ignorant and just plain wrong.
“Because Fred doesn’t like me.” You sighed, sounding truly defeated. “He hates me.”
The fact of your terrible wrongness had barely soaked in before something else came skyrocketing to the front of your mind.
“Is that why you did this?!” You asked, yanking on the cuffs to drive home exactly what you meant, unintentionally sending another pain shooting through your wrist. “Is this some stupid attempt to get me to realize that I’ve been an idiot this whole time and I just don’t know how to make friends?”
“No,” George sighed, shaking his head. “No, that’s not it.”
“Then what is it?” You asked. “Because I would really like to know the thought process behind it.”
You resisted the urge to add on ‘if there was one’, not wanting to shut down the conversation with a poorly timed snide remark.
“Honestly, after you insisted that we weren’t friends, I got more than a little offended.” George admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed to say it out loud. “I thought that you were being bitchy and contrary just for the sake of it. And I wanted to get back at you for it.”
“So this is your twisted version of revenge?!” You squealed, more than upset that you were forced to be stuck like this just because he thought you were being ‘bitchy’. (If anything, he should be used to your bitchiness by now.)
“No!” George huffed, getting upsetting that you were misunderstanding his words. “It’s not like that! It’s - ugh. I wanted the pranks to be fun. I wanted you to be forced to admit that you were having fun. I wanted you to admit that you are my friend and that you do like being around me. You never smile, and - I wanted you to crack a goddamn smile for once in your life.”
Oh.
His version of ‘getting back at you’ for being bitchy was literally trying to force laughter out of you. He was trying to force the bitch out of you and turn you into someone joyful. It made sense for someone who owned a joke shop.
There was just one glaring flaw with his plan. You had never found his pranks funny in the past.
“And you thought the best way to do that would be to annoy the hell out of me?” You posed, your voice dull in pointing out the obvious.
“I thought that I might finally make you smile.” He explained. “That’s typically what harmless pranks are for - lifting the muscles of one’s cheeks in an upward direction, bringing a feeling of joy.”
You wanted to remind him that you had never found any of his and Fred’s past pranks funny, but part of you wanted to commend him for trying, at the very least. You were very new to the whole ‘friend’ thing, so you didn’t want to bring him down when he already seemed to be in a foul mood because his pranks had already failed so much. Especially with the last one leaving the two of you locked together so disastrously.
George let out another harsh sigh, and his next words, especially being delivered with such a heavy, downtrodden tone, surprised you.
“Is it such a terrible shame that I want you to like me?”
The yearning in his voice caused a crack over the words, and your insides quaked as what he said truly washed over you.
He just wanted you to like him. He didn’t just want polite distance, he didn’t just want you to tolerate him - he wanted you to like him. You couldn’t blame him for that.
But you had been doing your best to mess it up - to put some strange distance between the two of you since you had started working at the shop. Even before that.
“George-” You rasped out, surprised to find tears straining your throat.
But he cut you off before you could even begin to come up with the proper words to respond.
“Is it such a shame that I want us to be friends?” He griped, putting intense stress on the words before he paused and took a breath, his lungs grating across the silence of the room. His next words came out much quieter and gentler. “The handcuff thing was supposed to be a joke. I didn’t intend for you to be stuck with me, especially not since it’s so horrible for you.”
This struck your insides like a brick being thrown through a plate glass window.
“It’s not.” You said quietly, hating how pathetic and weepy your voice sounded.
“You don’t have to lie.” George quickly combated. Before you could argue, he continued. “I am sorry for all this, but I just wanted us to get along. Especially after all we’ve been through. But you’re right - after this night, we can go right back to the way things were before.”
Something in his words caught your attention and had you skyrocketing to sit upright, staring him down with a glare.
“What do you mean: ‘after all we’ve been through together’?” You hissed at him, confused and angry. “There is no ‘we’. I’ve been through a lot, I’ve been through hell having to put up with my father, I-”
George glared back, just as feral.
“Do you think I haven’t had problems? Do you think everything’s been peachy keen for me my whole bloody life?” He scoffed in return. “I almost had my bloody head blown off in a battle and then I fought in a war. And I saved your life, didn’t I?”
This statement sent your mind rocketing back to a night that you swore to yourself you would forget.
…
Chaos.
That was the only word to describe the castle as Voldemort’s army descended upon it.
Every magical barrier of protection had been broken down, leaving everyone inside utterly vulnerable to a horde of Death Eaters and other horrible dark creatures as they flooded the grounds, determined to attack anyone they saw. Creatures who had no care for weather innocent people lived or not - a lot of whom would have found joy in the pain and torture of others.
You were trying your best to help those you could, evacuating the youngest students out through the Hogsmeade exits that George had shown you, hurling spells at any passing Death Eater that you saw. But it wasn’t long until you were cornered in an old disused classroom by the one person you least wanted to see: your father. It had been years since you had been face to face with him, and it didn’t take him long to make his intentions clear.
He began hurling spells at you, and you were quick to defend yourself. The two of you engaged in a heated battle, firing off curses - it was clear that he didn’t want to kill you, at least not right away. He wanted to truly confront you first.
“Useless, terrible little brat!” He screamed, firing another curse that you blocked, thankful for the time that Harry had focused on protection spells in DA. “You always were your mother’s daughter! Defiant, disobedient, stubborn bitch!”
You fired a stinging jinx at him, hating that he brought your mother into this. You had very few memories of her - but what you did remember of her was a kind, loving woman. You hated those memories being desecrated on principle. He dodged the jinx and fired another spell at you - again, one that you blocked thanks to your practice.
“I’m thankful to take after her if it means I’m nothing like you!” You shouted in return. “You haggard old bastard! You’re stupid if you honestly thought that I would follow you into this madness-”
“And you think you’re smart to throw away generations of tradition for what? Your own self righteous cause? For the love of a blood-traitor?!” He bellowed in return. “You would rather be a whore to a kneeling povel than the cherished daughter of an empire?!”
His last words confused you slightly, but you didn’t dwell on why he said it. Nothing he did or said made much sense to you anymore.
“Kneeling?!” You scoffed in return. “Says the man who lick’s The Dark Lord’s bullocks for a living!”
For these harsh words, he fired a blasting curse past your head that you managed to dodge just in time. A large chunk of stone exploded behind you, and you managed to keep a steely expression even when you felt chunks of the debris hitting your back.
“I do this because it’s right!” You shouted, ultimately answering his question. “I don’t care which side is more powerful - I know which side is more just!”
You raised your wand to hit him with another spell - but ruefully, he was quicker on the draw this time, and he managed to disarm you. Your wand was flung from your hand, landing across the room before you could blink. Before you could rush to pick it up, he then did the unthinkable.
“Crucio!”
The spell caused a red flicker through the dimness of the room, and you cried out in pain as your muscles were stabbed with sharp agony, every single part of your body instantly crippled by the most terrible pain you had ever experienced in your life. In a moment, you fell to the ground, the pain ebbing away dully and leaving your whole body aching. When you opened your eyes - now blurred with tears - your father was standing over you.
“You will lose in the end.” He said, his voice quieter, more determined. “And you will join your mother in death to maintain my honor.”
You spotted your wand on the other side of the room, and when you made a move toward it, he pointed his wand toward you again.
“Crucio!”
More terrible pain shocked your body - knives pushing into your spine, lightning breaking through your skull. You were barely able to handle it, flailing against the dusty stone floor. You heard screams bouncing off the walls before you realized it was the sound of your own pained voice.
But another voice entered the room - even with blood thumping so harshly through your ears, you easily recognized who it was.
“Stupefy!”
A body flew across the room and knocked over an old, empty shelf, smashing it to pieces - and when you peeled open your eyes, you received the small joy of seeing your father’s unconscious body on the floor among that debris. Then, your aching body was being pulled into a pair of strong, warm arms, and you were greeted with the familiar but utterly terrified face of George Weasley.
“Y/N?” He said, his voice throttled by years. “Y/N, are you alright?”
“I’m fine now.” You admitted quietly, no sarcasm on your lips for once.
He let out a sob of relief - having seen you on the floor so limp and believed that you were dead - and pulled you tight into his chest, holding you tight in a hug.
Any protests you might have had about the hug died off in your throat as your own emotions took over, causing you to squeeze him back, hanging onto him as an anchor of safety. Almost immediately, your own tears overwhelmed you, and you cried into his chest where you would easily be able to hide it.
It was a brief moment in a horrible night, but came to your rescue once again, making you feel safe against the horrors of the world.
…
“I wouldn’t have let you save my life if I knew you were just going to hold it against me.” You huffed, moving back down to lay against your pillow, staring up at the ceiling as a harsh, angry tear leaked from your eye. The anger wasn’t directed at George, but entirely at your father as you remembered what had happened on that night.
George bit his tongue to keep from calling you a name, wanting to call you stubborn among other things at your refusal to simply admit that he was right. He also wanted to call you many harsh things at your lack of a ‘thank you’ for his actions.
After another prolonged silence, you were the next one to speak.
“Do you know why I took the job?” You posed, sounding terribly nervous.
“Because it looks stunningly fantastic on any resume?” George replied, utterly clueless, genuinely unsure what you meant and only able to fill the space with a joke.
You were tempted to back down, then - tempted to tell him to ‘shut up’ and then roll over in order to go to sleep. But strangely, the events of the entire night had peeled you raw like a rotten apple, and you found yourself finally ready to be vulnerable with him.
So you took a breath, and moved forward with honesty.
“My father took everything from me.” You told him. “When you found me in that bar, I was getting blind drunk to ignore the fact that I had walked into Gringotts that day, looking to take money out of the account my mother had left me so that I could go on a trip far away from everyone and everything for a while, hoping to forget… and I found out that my father took everything.”
Your words hit George like a train. You sounded so utterly broken, so sad. It was the first time that he had truly heard your voice so dull and lifeless, rather than fiery and passionate - even if that passion had been fueled by anger.
He thought about how even if he was raised in a family that didn’t have much money, they always shared everything. If one of his brothers came to him asking to borrow money right now, he wouldn’t hesitate to open his pockets. And your father had been so greedy as to take everything so that you couldn’t have a single Sickle to your name.
“He needed the money to aid in his escape, yes. But I also think he cleared out the vaults just so that I wouldn’t have anything at all.” You explained. “He didn’t want me to have any of the family money because he no longer considers me to be family.”
You huffed, anger mixing in with your sadness now.
“He thinks that I shouldn’t get any of his money or my mother’s money because I betrayed everything they believe in. It wasn’t enough for him to want me dead. When he couldn’t have that, he had to screw me over for the rest of my life… just to have some kind of sick satisfaction.”
In a moment, George’s hatred toward the man who had tried to kill you easily doubled.
He began thinking about the fact that if you were his - if the two of you were dating or even if you married, he would absolutely spoil you. You would never want for anything - if you even so much as hinted at desiring something, he would get it for you. You would never have to work another day in your life - not unless you wanted to, of course. Naturally, he would miss having you around the shop.
But he would absolutely love coming home to you relaxed and pampered and giddy because of all the things he could buy you. He knew that money didn’t automatically equate to happiness, but he thought about how happy he could make you with expensive books and wine and records and fancy new clothes.
He thought about the fact that he could take so much stress off you and truly give you the life that you deserved. A life that your bastard of a father never wanted for you and never would have given you anyway. George couldn’t stop thinking about wrapping you in his care and protection for the rest of his life and never letting you go again.
Selfishly, he thought about keeping you chained to him for the rest of his life just because he could.
Distantly, George thought about something that Bill had said about wedding rings and how Fleur was ‘stuck with him forever’ - and while his mind dwelled on that, you spoke again, your mind seemingly in a very different place.
“You know, it’s really awful to constantly be seen as ‘the evil Slytherin’.” You sighed. “Even now, even all these years later, I can’t get out of my father’s shadow. Even now when I go places, people still give me dirty looks, like I’m up to something despicable and secretly planning to kill them. I’ve always just wanted to be my own person and make my own choices. Even if they end up being the wrong ones.”
George had never thought about that. Perhaps it was because he looked at you with such fondness and he could never understand how anybody saw you differently.
“People have never seen me as my own person either,” He replied, speaking honestly.
“I guess it must be difficult in its own way to have a twin.” You said. “People never see you as an individual. They just see you two as two halves of one person, right?”
“It’s not just that.” George clarified. “Being one of six brothers with red hair - it’s difficult to stand apart. Now people mostly just see me as the one with the manky ear.”
You huffed out a laugh at this, and George grew confused. At first, he thought you were laughing at him, mocking the hilarity of his mangled appearance. But then you spoke up and he grew even more confused - and more intrigued.
“I don’t think so.” You said. “You and Fred couldn’t be more different. And it’s always been like that. It was like that long before your injury.”
“Is that so?” He prodded curiously.
“Yes.” You answered. “You have that bump on the top of your nose from the Quidditch game in third year.” You began to explain - you actually sat up on your elbow to look at him and gestured to his nose, causing George to immediately reach up and start feeling his own nose, analysing your words. “So I could tell the two of you apart for years. And aside from looks, there’s still loads of differences.”
“Like what?” George demanded, far too curious to know what you meant now.
Strangely, you decided to humour him.
“You’re much more gentle. And you’re easier to talk to. Your laugh is nicer - you don’t do that thing where you throw your head back like a gremlin and Fred does. You’re more charming. You actually know when to be quiet during a conversation. You-”
You cut yourself off abruptly when you noticed George staring at you with a smug grin. He was enjoying your words far too much. Your stomach tangled with harsh embarrassment when you realized that everything you were saying could be interpreted as complimentary.
“So you do like me?” He said, entirely too happy.
You felt that twist in your stomach again, and you were eager to escape it. If you hadn’t literally been attached to him at the wrist, you would have run away - you would have Disapparated in a second. But that was the problem of the whole night, now wasn’t it?
“Goodnight, George.” You huffed, laying back down and turning - as much as you could - forcefully closing your eyes to ignore him even though you could still feel his eyes on you.
“Goodnight, Y/N.” He said, still sounding far too pleased with himself.
You ended up laying there for a while with a mixture of sickening nausea in your stomach and something that you hated to call affection bubbling in your chest, all adding up to a terrible anxiety that made it intensely difficult to fall asleep.
…
You were disoriented when you woke up and blinked into the darkness.
You had that strange feeling that you were sleeping in a bed that wasn’t your own - the same feeling you always got during the first few nights back at Hogwarts at the beginning of a school year, and the first few days back at ‘home’ after returning at the end of the year. The same feeling you had gotten when you had first been settling into the apartment above the shop. But that feeling easily fell into the background as you felt a persistent nagging in your bladder.
With your eyes barely open, still feeling incredibly tired, you moved to crawl out of bed, and just after your feet hit the floor, you were rocketed out of that gentle sleepiness as you were literally yanked back to reality. You felt a sharp pain around your wrist and you were stopped by a dead weight anchoring you to the bed - one that was so stunningly heavy, it caused you to stumble backwards and fall into the bed. You nearly fell on top of George, where he was still sleeping soundly, lightly snoring with his mouth slightly parted.
It took you a tired moment to remember that the dead weight was George. You couldn’t just get up and leave freely because you were still bound to him by the wrist.
You were immediately enraged.
Any calmness or friendliness you had felt towards him, any nice feelings that had built up through the night immediately flew out the window as you were harshly reminded for the entire reason for this sleepover - the fucking metal cuffs that held the two of you together. The fact that he was now holding you prisoner because of some stupid prank. Your rage boiled over as you remembered that this could end up going on for days.
“Hey!”
You shouted at the top of your lungs, entirely uncaring about waking him up.
One, because your sleep had been disturbed, so he didn’t deserve to sleep peacefully while you were awake. And two, because of his stupid stunt, you couldn’t sneak away to the bathroom by yourself. You needed him conscious and mobile in order to do anything, and it was his own damn fault. He didn’t even stir, and that only annoyed you further.
Unbeknownst to you, he was entirely used to loud noises trying to disturb his sleep, and well used to sleeping through them due to the household he’d grown up in.
“Hey!”
You drew out the word more this time, absolutely annoyed as you became more and more alert. The feeling in your bladder wasn’t even as nagging anymore as your anger and annoyance grew more persistent.
You shoved him in the chest, and when he barely moved, you let out a sharp growl and then moved to climb on top of him. You weren’t even thinking about the possible implications of being so close to him - only thinking about invading his personal space more so that your voice would be louder to him.
“George! You big dumb oaf!” You screamed right in his face, delivering a harsh smack to his bare chest that resonated loudly as it was bare skin on skin. This finally jolted him from his sleep, and he awoke with a snort. He began blinking blarily at you, clearly not in a rush to fully wake up - not even with you urgently hanging above him. “I have to use the toilet - and since you chained us together, I’m making it your problem!”
You let out a quiet gasp when he placed his hands on your hips - two incredibly warm hands that felt larger than they looked when they were spread out against your flesh (somehow radiating intense heat even through the cotton of your sleep shorts). You had to contain a moan when he shifted his hips beneath you, practically shoving his pelvis right up against your crotch, forcing you to feel a certain hardness that you hadn’t known you were nearly sitting on until that moment. You knew that you should have rushed to get off him, but your bones were melting and somehow, your muscles were stiffer than concrete, making you entirely unable to move.
What the hell was this man doing to you?
“George-” You choked out, half wanting to apologize, half wanting to scold him, any words quickly dying off in your throat.
“At least you’ve woken me up to a gorgeous view.” He mumbled tiredly, licking his lips as he stared you down with his eyes still tiredly half open.
For a moment, you had no clue what he was talking about.
And then you realized that his lazy gaze was fixated solely on your chest. When your own eyes dipped down, you realized in horror that in your sleep, your shirt had slipped down (likely aided by the fact that you were only wearing one strap due to the god-forsaken handcuffs). So now one of your breasts was completely out, while the other was mostly there, leaving little to the imagination. Not that George would have to imagine, with what he had seen in the mirror earlier.
You gasped and moved to pull the fabric up with your one free hand, but George’s hand caught yours. You had no clue why - but you froze under the touch, leaving yourself exposed to his hungry eyes.
“Not so fast, pretty girl.” He whispered, causing harsh goosebumps to pop up all over your skin at a rate so fast that it was almost painful.
You found yourself numb with shock and terrible intrigue as he ripped the neckline of the fabric out of your fingers and pulled it even further down with utter urgency - pulling the one remaining strap of your shirt down over your shoulder and your free hand and discarding the thin fabric of the top so that it was bunched around your waist. This left your breasts heaving freely in the air as you struggled not to hyperventilate with the pure anticipation of what would come next.
This was beyond uncharted territory.
George kept steady eye contact with you as he then moved his hand - agonizingly slow - toward your breast, almost as if afraid that you would suddenly change your mind and smack him across the face for daring to do such a thing. But when no signs of displeasure came from you, he began groping your breast heavily - digging his fingers into the flesh in an utterly possessive, rough way that made you moan and arch your chest toward him.
You unintentionally ground your crotch against his, your body writhing with pleasure against your will. You became ever more conscious of the large bulge beneath you (that seemed to be growing larger) and the heat between your thighs that was so demanding that it was almost painful for you. He gave a small smirk that would have been utterly insufferable any other time - still kind of was - but you couldn’t even bring yourself to comment on it as you were overwhelmed with pleasure from his touches.
“Fuck, George-” You hissed out, the words leaving you without permission, your mind still partially convinced that you were still asleep and simply caught up in a bizarre wet dream.
“I’ve got you,” He mumbled back hotly, his voice dripping with urgency.
You were surprised when he removed his hand, causing you to let out a whimper of disappointment from deep within the back of your throat. You were surprising yourself with your own desperation - but his touch was so hot, so perfect.
Thankfully, he didn’t leave you cold for long - he moved his touch to your hip and used his grip to scoot you up his body. You were forced to truly feel his strength now, something you had seen him apply to heavy boxes and stuck doors - but it was so much different when you felt it applied to you. Feeling his strong arms against you forced you to see him as more powerful than you had ever imagined him, and it caused an embarrassing clench in your cunt.
You almost yearned being moved off his bulge, missing the feeling of it underneath you as you now sat on his lower stomach. And that mental yearning meant that you didn’t see that he had intentionally moved you to be closer to his mouth - now set on devouring your gorgeous tits as he now knew that you would allow him to touch them.
From there, he didn’t waste another second. He arched himself up off the pillow into a rather uncomfortable position that put his head right at your breasts, moving your cuffed arms so that he could lean on that elbow and forcing you to lean on your hand near his hip. But you didn’t care about the awkward positioning as his mouth engulfed your breast with eagerness and warmth and he began to suck, lavishing you with intense attention that immediately lit your body on fire and flooded your panties with wetness.
Fuck, he was good.
“Oh!” You hissed out, unable to contain yourself. “Oh, fuck!”
You began instinctively grinding yourself against the perfect softness of his stomach, your cunt tingling and needy as he tongued at your nipple. He moaned against your tit, bringing his hand up to better push the fullness of your flesh into his mouth, downright nuzzling his face into your chest with a very characteristic greediness. Clearly, he couldn’t get enough - now that he had permission to touch you, he wasn’t going to give you up so easily.
He began harshly sucking on your nipple and tonguing around it, causing you to grip onto the sheets of the bed beside his hip with your still chained hand, overwhelmed by the sharp shocks of pleasure coming from his mouth on you. You were desperately needy to cling onto something with your other hand, and you finally landed on gripping onto his ginger hair - weaving your fingers into the fiery redness and holding on fiercely, shoving him tighter into your breast while your chest arched up into him, inadvertently smothering him.
(Not that he would ever want to escape, not even if you started to pull away.)
You could do little more than whimper and gasp into the darkness, seemingly a victim to his selfish whims now. You could do nothing but writhe against him, grinding your clothed cunt against his body as you grew hotter and hotter, no longer able to deny your intense attraction to him. Especially not with the way your underwear was sticking to you and every fiber of your being was screaming with lust. All you would do was hope that he wouldn’t be too stubborn to fuck you now.
All you had was the tiny shred of hope that he wouldn’t deny you and leave you needy just to prove some stupid point.
Soon, George did pull off your nipple, only to kiss a hot path across to the other breast, leaving a few fierce bites along the way - his sharp teeth digging into your skin only causing you to let out increasingly pathetic moans. As he wrapped his lips around your other nipple and sucked, you could hardly stand it anymore - you were growing too impatient, too hot and dizzy. Your pussy was clenching around nothing, your clit was singing with need, aching for attention. It was all too much, having his hot mouth laving attention on one of your most sensitive areas - but at the same time, you desperately needed more.
“George, please-”
You whimpered, tugging on his hair, trying to pull him away from your chest. You were desperate to get his attention elsewhere, onto more important things.
Surprisingly, George did comply, leaning back from your skin with his lips rosy pink and slightly swollen now, a perfectly smug grin forming on his face that had regret swirling in your stomach. You hated that grin so much. But at the same time, that stupid expression had you swimming with lust.
“You know, Miss L/N, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say ‘please’ for anything. Not for as long as I’ve known you,” He hummed, his voice descending into a raspy husk as lust overtook him - it was a tone that shook your insides and caused even more wetness to ruin your clothes.
You hadn’t even realized it. The word just felt so natural on your lips.
You hated it.
Naturally, your mind went on the defensive. Not so sharp as to scare him away, of course. But you wanted to play the game, rather than shrinking down into some docile, complacent little thing.
“Maybe you’ve ever done anything worthy of evoking true manners from me up until now.” You replied, impressed with yourself that you managed to keep your voice so steady as his large, intensely hot hand stroked up your back, reminding you how strong his touch was.
“I can’t wait to see your polite side.” George whispered, all hot breath, the words dripping with a kind of innuendo that could only exist between the two of you.
Before you could blink, he used that strong hand on your back to shove you down into him, poking a weak muscle between your shoulder blades that he seemed to know would knock you over. Almost like he had spent time analyzing all your weak spots from afar; like he had spent time planning every detail of this moment in his mind so that it would be perfect and go off without a hitch, just like he did with his pranks. Of course, it worked just like he wanted it to, even when his pranks didn’t. So this simple move sent you tumbling into his lips, locking the two of you into the very first kiss that you ever shared.
Though this kiss wasn’t chaste or sweet or romantic - it was nothing like he had dreamed it would be, and somehow, that made it even more perfect.
You moaned whorishly against his lips, desperately trying to suck breath into your lungs as he consumed your mouth, making you even dizzier. And of course, your efforts to breathe were even further defeated when he used a quick, well thought out move to flip the two of you over. He kept his mouth glued to yours, continuing to move his lips against you with a kind of skill and finesse that had the world melting around you. You couldn’t even wonder where he had gotten all the practice or be jealous of his past conquests, because you were enjoying yourself too much.
The moment he had you on your back, he spread your thighs with his knees and positioned himself there, hovering above you, kneeling between your legs. Then he moved your hands to a position above your head, rattling the chain of your joined wrists beside your ear, causing you to remember the handcuffs, the entire reason you were in this bed in the first place. It was something you had almost forgotten about at this point due to the mind-numbing pleasure that he was now giving you.
You would never say it, but you were almost thankful for the stupid prank now.
A little too soon for you, he pulled his lips away, and whispered against your mouth:
“You know, love, if you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask.”
It was another wave of cocky energy from him, boastful and prideful, and it caused a terrible shiver of lust through you. You didn’t have the room to admit that up until now, you had barely realized that you wanted him to fuck you in the first place, let alone knowing how badly you wanted it.
You had been far too busy being annoyed with him to ever realize that somewhere under the frustration and anger, you were turned on by him.
All you could do was gasp in reply when he left another sharp welt on the top of your breast with his teeth, clearly intent to mark you. He then moved his unchained hand down from where he had pinned your wrists above your head, teasing his fingertips down your body, just barely grazing your skin in a way that made you gasp and arch into his touch. With the roughness of his calloused fingertips, contrasted by the agonizingly gentle touch, your muscles seized up at the slow taunting that he raked over you - something that was barely enough, yet sent shocks of stimulation through your whole body.
“Stop - stop teasing,” You moaned out, all breath, wanting it to sound a lot more demanding than it ended up being.
“Oh? You want me to stop, do you?” George echoed back, pure trouble in his voice the second you heard it.
He then moved off you completely, rolling back over to his own side of the bed and putting far more distance between the two of you than you ever would have wanted in those moments. You let out a kind of wounded sound that you didn’t even know you were capable of, absolutely insulted by his actions. You shoved yourself up on your elbows to stare blearily through the dark for him, wondering what the hell he was doing.
“Well, goodnight again, I suppose.” He said, sarcasm ripe in his voice as he laid back onto his pillow and closed his eyes, clearly pretending to sleep.
“George!” You squealed, downright annoyed once again. “George Fabian Weasley, I swear to Merlin, if you don’t-!”
“Oh, you’re going to threaten me into fucking your brains out?” George chuckled, cutting you off and making you choke on your words as your throat swelled with embarrassment. That had been your idea, yes - but now that he said it aloud, it sounded incredibly stupid. “Also, how do you know my middle name?”
You could answer that by reminding him of a time that his mother had been loudly shouting across the shop because he had sent her a package full of seemingly endless, expanding confetti and balloons for her birthday - but you didn’t want to kill his wood completely by bringing her up.
“Nevermind.” He sighed, the thought dying off in his mind.
(As he eyed your breasts, which were still so beautifully out in the open, anything else seemed unimportant.)
Just as you hoped, he did turn back toward you and crawled back on top of you - this time kneeling high above you, truly lording his height over you even while not even standing, creating a tall, intimidating shadow above you that only turned you on more. He also entwined his fingers with yours between your chained hands so that the handcuffs wouldn’t further maim your poor wrist.
“Let me give you a taste for how this works, love.” He said, his voice so utterly confident as he stared you down with fire in his eyes.
He began skimming the fingers of his other hand along the waistband of your shorts, just above the fabric, making your muscles quiver under his touch. It was the barest touch of skin on skin, and it made you whimper out so pathetically. You hated that he was continuing to tease you in the most terrible way as your pussy wept inside your underwear.
“I am the one in control here.” George stated firmly. “Right now, I’m not just some idiot you can yell at to get what you want.”
Staring into his eyes as he said this, seeing the dark lust that lived there - it truly thrilled you.
This was the first time in your life that you were actually excited to hear a man say something like this, and not simply tempted to slap him for it. Or at the very least, you didn’t even feel the urge to challenge him into submission. Perhaps it was because you truly trusted George - you trusted him with your life, always felt safe around him because you knew that he had nothing but goodness and nobility in his heart. With him, you were absolutely eager and dripping with slickness to find out what he would do when you eagerly gave up control to him.
“Outside of this room, you are a queen and I will be your humble servant.” he explained, grinning at you while he said the words. “I will get on my knees to help you put on your shoes, I will pour your wine, I will massage your feet after a long, tiring day, I will cook your meals and hand-feed you if you so desire-”
Was he trying to make himself sound like the most tempting man in the world?
“But within the walls of this room, you are mine.”
The words, and the sudden shift of his voice to roughness absolutely shook you. You let out a girlish gasp and he smirked at you.
He dug his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and panties together and used the elastic as a tether to yank you harshly down the bed, just a few inches closer to him. It was an impressive show of strength that had you yelping out in pleasure, shocks of electricity shaking you, your eyes still tethered to his, utterly enraptured in his gaze as his ravenous, smooth honeyed words continued.
“You will do as I say, you will live for my pleasure, and you will beg for it if you want anything in return. You will be nothing but a set of holes for me to use. You will be a good girl for me - no lip, no backtalk, no whining. No complaining if you ever want my cock, do you understand me?”
You found yourself panting, now - so overtaken by lust at his words, your body supercharged by everything he was forcing you to imagine that you were reacting as though he was already fucking you when he hadn’t even taken off your bottoms yet. If you were conscious past the intense pleasure, then you would have hated how much power he held over you. But perhaps you let go because he was just the right person to wield that power without abusing it.
“How does that sound, love?”
Of course, with all of his perfect nobility - he still had to ensure your consent.
“Perfect.” You huffed in return, licking your lips to try and combat some of the dryness that was blooming through your mouth. “George, please-”
He cut off your whining with another kiss, locking your joined hands above your head, making the whole thing feel desperately intimate as he pinned your hand to the bed with his fingers warmly entwined with yours. With your fingers laced together, it felt far too sickly sweet for what you knew was coming next. All you could do was grip his hand tightly back as you moaned into his mouth, gripping his thighs with your knees and bucking up against him, hopelessly seeking friction on your poor, weeping cunt.
He couldn’t help but to love this version of you.
He had been dreaming of this for years. He had imagined it so many different ways - getting you alone in an abandoned classroom when the two of you had been back at Hogwarts; getting you alone in his office in the shop now. He had spent so long imagining what it would be like to get you underneath him, moaning and lustful for him. The reality was so much better. And he certainly wasn’t going to waste it now.
With his lips still pecking at yours, delivering surprisingly sweet kisses, he started finally pulling down your shorts, bringing down the fabric of your underwear along with them. You raced to help him, yanking them down over your body with your one free hand, entirely eager to get him to touch you where you needed it most. If this were any other time, you would have hated looking pathetic and needy in front of him, but in the darkness, in the isolated quiet in the room, it almost felt natural to let yourself finally fall to your inner most whims.
Especially after the entirely bizarre day that you’d had of being chained to him and having what felt like a date with him, this didn’t seem so strange.
In fact, the longer this went on, the more and more it felt right.
It felt right to be underneath George, having his heated gaze tracing over every inch of you.
You didn’t even have room in your lust-clouded brain to consider the fact that this might have been his plan all along. That right from the moment he had handcuffed the two of you together, he had been waiting to get you naked and needy underneath him.
Which actually wasn’t true at all. He really had been planning to unlock you from the cuffs the moment that you freaked out and threatened to hex him. But sometimes, his mistakes just had a way of working out really, really well in his favour.
And that couldn’t be more true as he tossed your clothes careless over his shoulder and came face to face with your gloriously pretty pussy - the prettiest pussy he had ever seen in his life.
He put his hand on your thigh and forced your legs open, likely with more force than he had originally intended, but you didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he was all the more riled up when he heard you let out a pretty moan and your lips dropped open with shock - so he took it even further, pressing your thigh up into your stomach almost harshly.
He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help getting a bit too excited about the perfect whiff of your natural smell he caught and the glistening wetness he saw clinging to your pubic hair. (His eyes now well adjusted to the dark, especially with a bit of light coming in from the window, casting a glow over your body that made you look even more perfect.)
“Oh, fuck-” You gasped, clearly loving the way he took control over your body.
So you did like to be manhandled a bit, you liked him using your body for his own pleasure.
“Merlin, look at that,” He said, his voice a deep pleasurable hum, unable to take his eyes off the sight of your gorgeous pussy. “Dripping for me, aren’t you, love? Sweet little cunt just drooling everywhere. So fucking wet for me.”
Your pussy was swollen, puffed with blood from how turned on you already were, downright sticky - utterly glistening as you continued to leak out wetness in anticipation. You were clenching with need and spilling more, smearing some of that wetness onto your inner thighs and even beginning to leak onto the sheets.
(George made a mental note that if somehow he couldn’t get you back into this bed, he wouldn’t wash these sheets. He knew it was sick and perverted, but he would want to smell you on them for as long as possible - wanting to have something to keep his fantasies going and to assure him that his hadn’t been one very detailed wet dream.)
He couldn’t resist the urge any longer - he skimmed his touch down your thigh and dipped his fingers in, letting out a quiet moan himself as he finally felt you - as he was finally able to feel how wonderfully wet and hot you were for the first time.
“Fuck, this is the most perfect pussy ever.”
George moaned, leaning down to kiss along your shoulder as he continued exploring you with his fingers, still teasing - sloppily stirring your wetness, teasing just to the edge of your entrance before he came and bumped up against your clit and back. He loved the way a moan threatened out of your throat and the way you arched up toward him as he did so.
“So much better than I ever imagined.”
His words hit you like a truck.
He had imagined you like this before?
He had thought about you sexually before?
You were shocked. You had no clue that he had ever thought of you this way before.
“George,” You gasped out, reaching up with your free hand to grasp his shoulder, and he hummed out a moan of acknowledgement in return. “You’ve - you’ve thought about me before?”
He let out a chuckle, and the nearly mocking tone of it caused your cunt to clench horribly (something that you certainly didn’t expect). Seconds later, he rose up from kissing your neck to look you in the eyes. He traced over your face, and when all he found was genuine shock, he decided to indulge you.
“Of course I have, sweetheart.” He told you, nothing but pure honesty on his lips.
He finally brought his touch up to your clit, causing a gasp to rocket from your lungs as he drove sharp stimulation over the sensitive organ all at once - drawing hard circles onto the tiny, swollen bead with the tips of his fingers for a moment before he stopped. Then, he began to circle lazy touches there as he continued to speak. This had you panting harshly in his face while his words floated into your nearly numb ears.
“You have no idea how many times I would see you walking down the corridor in those pretty skirts, with your shiny heels and your black stockings and all I could think about was shoving you over a desk and ripping a hole in the arse of those tights so that I could fuck you senseless.”
“Oh, fuck.” You gasped in return.
Of course, this immediately put a vision in your mind of him cornering you in an empty classroom and shutting up your bitchy complaints by shoving his cock down your throat.
Or - as he had said, bending you over a random, dusky old desk and ripping a hole in your tights so that he could fuck you senseless. Your sex-addled brain even did you the favour of adding something delicious to the picture - him gagging you with his Gryffindor tie and guiding the length of it around to the back of your head to use as a kind of leash. Both for practicality to keep you quiet so that you wouldn’t get caught, and as a humiliation ritual, showing that the big, strong Gryffindor had truly tamed the bratty Slytherin girl.
“You like the sound of that, do you?” He whispered heatedly, pressing more harshly circles into your clit again. “You have no idea how many nights I spent in the Gryffindor dormitory with my hand around my cock, thinking about you - thinking about that mouth, thinking about what it would be like to finally shut you up and have you choke on my cock,”
He growled the words savagely, and you couldn’t help the whimper that you let out in return.
“I spent so many nights awake, wondering what it would be like to have this sweet little cunt wrapped around my cock, dripping for me, soaking my bullocks - wondering what it would be like to finally have you underneath me, moaning for me, begging me to make you cum.”
You bucked your hips up into his touch, crying out as a grinding madness flowed through you. His words swam in your brain and his touch created a fire in you from below, making you hot in a way that you hadn’t known was possible before. He overtook you, causing an ultimate domination over your body that overtook you and ultimately harnessed you under his control.
“Everyone who knows me thinks that my dream for all those years was to run a joke shop,” George whispered frantically. “But my real obsession has been you.”
You drew frantically close to orgasm, and you let out a pathetic sound when George took his fingers off your clit, taking his touch away from where you needed it most. He dipped his fingers back down to your hole, circling his fingertips around the needy gape and even slipping his touch in, just barely teasing his fingers inside - threatening you with more but not yet fulfilling you in the way you needed.
Little did you know, in his mind, he was getting back at you for all those nights, getting his own little petty revenge for all the times he had pathetically cum in his own hand while dreaming about you.
“You’re lying,” You gasped in return, forcing yourself to believe that everything he had said so far was simply for the sake of dirty talk.
You tried your hardest to angle your hips the right way, trying to trick him into touching you where you needed it the most. But of course, he was smarter than that, always clever even if he was ‘stupid’. And even if he was one hand down, he could still outsmart you. He used a knee on your inner thigh to pin you down, keeping you in place - something that had you letting out a little pathetic moan as he teased his touch back up to your clit and drew more light, taunting circles there.
“I wish.” He chuckled in response. “If I were lying, then I wouldn’t have been such a pathetic fool all these years - pining after a woman I thought I had absolutely no chance with.”
Again, these words punched you in the gut. And strangely, he did have a point there.
“Do you think it was fun for me having you around the shop but knowing that I couldn’t reveal my feelings for you because I thought that you would never feel the same way?”
He growled out, fire in his eyes that immediately struck you in the gut.
“Do you think it was fun for me - running to my office every ten minutes because I saw you bent over something and I could barely hold back? Because you looked up at me with those damn eyes? Because you called me Sir and my cock got so hard that I could barely think and I had to lock myself in my office and wank my cock raw just so I could attempt to stay sane?”
These words truly left you breathless.
You remembered times when you were having a particularly bad day and he had been getting on your nerves. Days when him giving you orders about stocking shelves or helping customers had caused you to call him ‘Sir’ in a griping, sarcastic tone - ‘Yes, Sir’ ‘I’ll get that done right away, Sir’ ‘Rearrange the front display again, Sir? Of course, Sir.’
At the time, it had been because you were being annoying on purpose, performing a sarcastic version of politeness because he had complained about you back-talking too much. You had always thought that him letting out a huff and stomping away was his way of showing that he was done with your bitchy attitude and fed up with you in general.
You had no idea that the ironic title turned him on.
“You like it when I call you Sir?” You posed, still breathless, a unique spark of mischief glinting in your eyes as you thought of all the ways that you could use this fact against him.
George absolutely loved that look - loved to see you scheming, because he had never seen you do it before. He had only ever seen you too terribly serious.
Perhaps he had done something utterly dangerous by revealing such a deep secret, by giving you a puppet string of his that you could pull on. But he didn’t care all too much about that right now, because he loved the way that the word sounded on your lips. If he had damned himself, he was having a great time on the way down.
“Yes,” He admitted weakly, unable to stop himself.
His hand moved from the wetness of your pussy, now shaking slightly as he moved to grip your thigh, simply needing to hold on to something.
You gave him a wicked grin as you moved your free hand to the tie on his pajama pants, heavily eyeing the impressive bulge that you had been sitting on not long ago. You wanted him out of those pants - yearning to feel the fullness of it, desperate to know what he would be like inside of you.
“Please, Sir, I need your cock.” You moaned out, pulling the tie on his pants, giving him your best seductive expression, now fully able to take advantage of a kink that you didn’t know he had.
“Oh fuck,” George moaned, his head collapsing against your breast as he became breathless - hearing you say the words punched the air out of his chest, twisted up his stomach in the most perfect way.
You resisted the urge to laugh at how abundant and instant his reaction was, biting your lip to stifle the sounds. Oh, hell yes - you were definitely going to use this knowledge to your advantage in the future.
“You’re bloody evil.” He added on quietly - no punch behind the words, not truly smiting you for playing into a fantasy that he had always wanted to see come to life.
In fact, he helped you untie his pants, and he was quick to shuck them off, along with his underwear, just as eager to get his cock out as you were. This resulted in a sharp gasp from your lips as the heaviness of his cock flopped out and fell onto your thigh while he pushed the fabric down and untangled it from his ankles.
He propped himself up on his knees to toss his pants over the side of the bed, and it gave you a chance to fully admire his cock in the minimal lighting. If you hadn’t felt the size of his bulge earlier, you would have almost thought that the sheer size of what you were looking at was some kind of visual trick due to the shadowiness of the room.
But there was no denying it - he was huge.
His cock was a stunning nine inches long, tall and skinny like he was, pale with a bright red tip (exactly like a mini George). An intimidatingly long rod that swung out from his body like a beast - standing stiff and proud, leaking precum, clearly tight with need from how badly he wanted you. Unconsciously, you licked your lips just from looking at it.
It was by far the biggest cock you had ever seen (including ones you had seen in dirty magazines), let alone the biggest one you had ever been fucked with. You could only imagine how it was going to feel fucking you open, reaching so far up inside of you that you would be able to feel him in -
“Biggest you’ve ever seen?” George posed, smirking at you, his expression far too cocky for your liking… But you supposed that he had a right to be cocky this time. However, that thought made you hate it even more. “Biggest you’ve ever taken?”
He reached his free hand down and began slowly stroking himself, and you felt drool collecting in your mouth as you watched his beautifully large hand grip that cock - it was utterly mesmerizing.
You chose not to answer his question, but your stunned expression and lack of words was more than enough of an answer for him.
He gave you a truly filthy smirk as he spoke again.
“I always knew those Slytherin boys just couldn’t measure up.”
This caused a jolt in your stomach.
You had never told him about your trysts with boys from Slytherin, and you had hoped that the Hogwarts rumor mill wouldn’t get to you - but you couldn’t be so lucky, could you?
“George, please don’t-” You choked out his name, hoping that he wasn’t judging you.
And of course, he wasn’t.
“Shh, shh.” He said, raising his hand up to gently stroke your cheek, cutting off anything else you had to say. “It’s alright - you’re with the best now. You can forget about all the rest.”
Of course. He didn’t care who else you had been with - he only cared to make you forget about any other man who had fucked you by making a distinct impression. He only cared about proving that he was the best.
He wasn’t trying to call you out as some kind of whore… he was just being prideful, as any Gryffindor would be.
“Not until you prove it.” You huffed out, feeling strangely brave. “Force me to forget about all the others. Make it so that I can only remember the feeling of your cock inside me, George.”
The heat in George’s eyes seared to a bleeding madness, and you knew that you had pushed just the right button.
He let out a laugh - not his usual sweet, harmonious laugh, but one that was laced with maniacal madness - a sound of warning that had your breath stilling in your chest, had your stomach twisting around itself as you quaked with anticipation. You carefully took in each of his movements as he scooted up between your thighs, pumping his cock a few more times in his hand before he took the base gently between his fingers, teasing his cock along the hot wetness of your slit - still taunting you.
“Will you even be able to take all of it?” He posed, pure mockery in his voice. “No girl I’ve been with ever has.”
Of course, he was bringing up his past conquests, now trying to make you jealous. As the round cockhead bumped against your clit, only further driving you to madness, there was only one thing you could think to say.
“You should know that a Slytherin never backs down from a challenge,” You hissed sharply, spreading your legs more and trying to force your body down onto his cock. “Now shut up and fuck me before I change my mind, Weasley.”
You thought that perhaps this might taunt him into roughly shoving his cock inside of you, finally giving you what you had been craving all night. But no, unfortunately, he had more self restraint than that. He had been practicing his self restraint for years when it came to you.
No - it was as if he knew that the most torturous, agonizing way to go about this would be to go as slow as possible.
“Love, I told you-” He chuckled, continuing to wipe his cock along your wetness, loving how perfect and sticky you felt against him, how warm. “You can’t boss me around - not here. You can complain all you like, but I am the one who decides how this goes.”
His stunning confidence and unwavering attitude had you swallowing thickly - for once, you were truly intimidated by him.
Because you knew that he was right.
He finally brought his cock down to your entrance and pushed in so utterly slowly, popping the round head into the tightness of your hole - something that caused him to let out a perfect, deep groan as he savoured the feeling of you sucking him in for the first time.
From there, it was the most creepingly slow, inch by inch movement that you thought you were going to burst.
You wanted to scream as he kept you pinned in place with his knee on your inner thigh, keeping a hand on the base of his cock to keep himself honest. He had to make sure that he didn’t get too eager and thrust forward into the inviting heat of your pussy and fuck you until you were screaming like he wanted to.
And yes, in his mind, that was one of the reasons he was doing this so slowly. Obviously, he was trying to get you back for your bratty mouth.
But he was also afraid of hurting you. He had meant what he said about none of his previous partners being able to take it all. All of his previous experiences had been shallow thrusts and him not being able to cum from penetrative sex because he had been too terrified to hurt the woman below him, wanting to make it a safe, pleasant experience for her. And he wanted nothing but the same for you, even if he couldn’t cum with you.
“Please,” You whined, trying desperately to buck your hips up, unable to move with the angle he had you pinned at. “Fuck! Hurry up!”
As your frustration and annoyance grew, you dissolved from lust-addled politeness back to the griping bitchiness that you were more accustomed to, hoping that despite his earlier warnings, it would work to get you what you wanted.
Especially because it was more and more difficult to keep yourself composed when his cock was right there.
The fullness of his cock splitting you open, your pussy desperately leaking around him - his thickness, his perfect length making you feel so full. You had managed to take all of him - it wasn’t anywhere close to a challenge. You had no clue why he was sitting still, why he was so intent on making you wait with his cock just sitting inside of you. You didn’t know why he was just splitting you open, taunting you as the muscles of your pussy quivered around him and your body silently begged for more.
You needed him to move. You needed him to pound you senseless until you couldn’t remember your own fucking name.
“Hurry up and fuck me!” You cried out, tears leaking from the corner of your eye as your desperation only grew.
You let out a shocked gasp when he reached up and grabbed you by the jaw - a rather aggressive hold in contrast from the sweet, soft, teasing touches that he had been using with you all night. He dug his fingers into your cheeks, forcing your gaze to meet his. The roughness immediately sent a thrill through you. This caused you to leak even more wetness around where the two of you were joined, making your pussy flutter around his cock as he growled his next words at you.
“If you don’t behave yourself, missy, I’m not giving you the last two inches.” He told you, heaving hot breath into your face.
The last two inches?
But -
Oh fuck.
The reality hit you like a ton of bricks - the fact that he wasn’t fully inside you, not yet. The fact that there was more of his cock to come. Within seconds, it truly broke your mind - it filled you with intense desire and had moans echoing from your lungs that you couldn’t control.
“You’re so big!” You moaned out, truly trying to comprehend the size of his enormous cock. “You’re so big! Fuck - you’re so big,”
You craned your neck down, trying to get a better look at where the two of you were joined, now desperate to see those last two inches still sticking out, barely able to picture it. Your neck began to ache and you couldn’t see properly with the angle and ultimately, you gave up and collapsed back onto the pillow.
“Yes love, I warned you.” George said, giving another terrible smirk. “Do you still want it?”
“Yes!” You chirped back - there was no other answer in your mind. “Fuck, please!”
He chuckled and smoothed his thumb along your chin, dipping the digit between your lips, trying to soothe some of your stunned words by giving you something to do with your tongue. You eagerly started sucking on his thumb, too dumb with pleasure to think about your pride. And finally, he eased those last two inches inside of you, causing you to moan wildly against his finger, feeling a beautifully stinging kind of fullness that you never would have imagined was possible.
When George’s pelvis finally hit your inner thighs, finally sinking all the way inside of you, both of you moaned intensely. You had no idea that this was his first time truly being this deep inside of someone, truly feeling all that heat and wetness swallowing up his cock. Both of you were loving the feeling so much, loving being so wrapped up in the other person, clutching at the other person’s hand - so much so that it almost made that horrible collection of metal still wrapped around your wrists almost seem forgivable. (Almost.)
“Good girl.” He sighed, the words coming off his lips so naturally. “Such a good girl, taking all of me.”
You choked on your breath at this, and then let out another moan as the words truly hit you.
This was the first time anybody had ever called you good. Ever.
Even though it was a lustful pet name, it triggered a need for validation deep within you that you had long tried to turn off, and it melted everything inside of you, making you even warmer and more pliant on his cock.
He pulled his hand away from your face, pulling his thumb out from between your lips - he wanted to hear you now. And he was easily satisfied as your moans echoed even louder as he finally began to move his cock.
It was a slow grind of his hips quickly turning into sloppy, quick fucking as he lost himself in the feeling of your warm, perfect cunt. Distantly, he was thankful that Fred wasn’t home (especially because neither of you had remembered to close the bedroom door before going to sleep). But part of him wouldn’t have even cared if Fred was around, because of all the times he had woken up to the sounds of Fred and Angelina going at it and had to retreat to the shop to do some late night work just to escape it.
Though that distant thought soon became a ghost in his mind as you continued to moan and squirm below him.
He hammered his hips into you at a smooth, even pace - he loved the feeling of you around him so much, and he was afraid to cum too early. And it was instantly clear to you that he was holding back, rather than using this delicious, long cock to its full potential. As your pussy quivered around him, a harsh tingling in your stomach cried out, aching for more.
“Harder!” You demanded, your voice breathless rather than sounding truly authoritative at all. “Fuck me harder! Come on!”
“I thought you were gonna be good for me,” He growled out, his voice gravelly and perfect.
He slowed his hips to an unbearable grind, once again intent on teaching you a lesson. He shoved his cock deep inside you, stuffing you full and rolling his hips tightly against you, reminding you just how impossibly big he was as he gripped tightly onto your hip, likely leaving marks. He pinned you in place as he forced you to feel the full might of his cock, punishing you with every precious inch.
“But you’re just a demanding little brat, aren’t you?” He huffed, sounding self righteous as ever.
“And you’re just a tease.” You whined in return, a pathetic moan leaving your lips as his pelvis pressed against your clit, making your whole body shake. “I b-bet you can’t even make me cum.”
You tried offering up a challenge, hoping he would be determined to prove you wrong, hoping that you could use that Gryffindor stubbornness to your advantage. But instead, he simply smirked at you, rolling his hips against you in deeper, slower strokes - and he became even more satisfied when your wetness leaked down over his balls and he felt your stomach quake against him.
Your body was telling him everything he needed to know. You were desperate, and he could do whatever he wanted to you. He was in control.
“Why should I? Why would I want to give into a needy brat like you?” He posed, the low rumble of his voice only driving you more insane. “I could just pull out now and leave your little pussy all alone. I could leave you gaping and needy. I could just leave you like this without letting you cum at all.”
You had to forcefully bite your lip to keep yourself from outright begging - to stop that needy thing inside of you that wanted to cry and grovel and beg him not to do that because it would be the worst possible outcome. Now that you had gotten a feel for what his cock was like, you couldn’t imagine not having it. You couldn’t imagine not cumming on his cock before the night was through. That would be a tragedy of epic proportions.
But you knew that George Weasley was just as stubborn as you were, and he would pull out and leave you wanting just to prove a point, even if it meant that he fell asleep with his cock hard and covered in your wetness. He would suffer if it meant that you did too.
You had to play things extremely carefully from here.
“If you did, then you would just have to watch me touch myself until I do cum.” You said, trying your hardest to sound confident. It was difficult to keep your voice even as he ground his hips tantalizingly slowly against yours, driving the tip of his cock impossibly deep inside of you. “And - and you wouldn’t be able to leave.” You added on, gesturing with your cuffed hands, reminding him of your ever-present attachment. “S-so you should just fuck me yourself and do it right.”
Sadly, this didn’t seem to phase him.
He leaned down, whispering his next world-ending words into your ear.
“I could pull out and fuck in you in the arse instead,” He rumbled in your ear, absolutely no hesitation in his words. “I could stop touching your pussy completely and cum in another one of your pretty holes to get myself off and just leave you wanting, leave you begging for more. Teach you a lesson.”
This idea sent sparks shooting off in your brain - something you had never thought about before, something you had never even considered wanting - the idea alone now had your cunt drooling more pathetic wetness around George’s cock. Your mind became consumed by thoughts of him punishing you by fucking you in the ‘wrong’ hole just to teach you a lesson.
George felt that extra bit of wetness - heard the little gasp you let out that you hadn’t even noticed went past your own lips. He let out a dark chuckle in response.
“Wow, you actually like that idea, don’t you?” He laughed. “You’re such a nasty little bitch.”
Before any insecurities could creep in, he let out a dreamy sigh and added on:
“Oh, my dirty, sweet girl - I love it.”
And then he swooped down, capturing your mouth in another heated kiss that had you moaning wildly against his tongue.
Despite not wanting to give into your bratty demands, George felt an intense need growing inside of him. Between the feeling of your perfect, warm cunt surrounding him and how perfectly turned on he was by you - he felt a need to hear more of your moans. He felt a need to please you.
So ultimately, he gave in. And he did pick up his pace. All too soon, he devolved into a completely mindless, sloppy mess. He was driving his hips forward with almost no finesse, fucking into you with sharp, hard strokes that began driving you cleanly up the bed as he pounded into you harshly. The pure power in his hips knocking the wind out of you as the way his cock smacked into your cunt caused loud, wet sounds to echo throughout the room, barely concealed by his groans and your responsive moans of pleasure.
“Oh fuck, fuck-” You gasped, everything in the world becoming numb to you except for the feeling of his cock continuously driving up into you, that impossibly long, large thing that was creating a void inside of you that no other man would be able to fill. “George!”
A desperate knot was drawing tighter in your stomach, having been teased into a tight bind all night - it really didn’t take much and your orgasm was already getting so close.
“Please, please, please!”
His mind was swimming as he lost himself to the feeling of that perfect hot wetness surrounding his cock, making it feel like the world around him began and ended with you. And he could have easily stayed inside of you forever. But still, he knew all the signs - the sputtering shallows of your breathing, the way your cunt was fluttering around him, the way your thighs were tensing up, beginning to grip a bit tighter around his hips.
And he was going to make you beg for it.
“That’s it, come on,” George growled ferally, leaning in and pressing his teeth to your cheek, loving the light sheen of sweat on your face and lapping a lick at it, enjoying the taste. He chugged in a breath before he spat out his next words. “Beg for it. Beg me to let you cum. Be a good girl for me. Then you can cum on my cock just like you need to,”
His words - the sheer depravity in his voice made every single nerve ending in your body sing, stealing the breath out of your lungs and temporarily melting your brain. Your voice choked out of your throat and for a moment, all you were able to get out were a few pathetic, nonsensical syllables that truly didn’t add up to any words. You were desperate to comply with his demands as that searing heat grew more maddening in your stomach, as your orgasm became closer. All the while, he continued to pound sharply into your cunt.
Luckily, George took pity on you.
“Say: Sir, please let me cum.” He ordered sharply. “Say it. Be a good girl for me.”
You gulped in a huge breath, and then struggled past the haze of his cock pounding into you in order to comply.
“Sir, please let me cum!” You shouted, your voice much more desperate than you ever imagined it could be, warbling with pleasure as your pussy clenched around his cock. “Please, please, please-”
“Shh, good.” He soothed you, so utterly pleased and turned on by your words. “Such a good girl for me. You’re such a good girl. My good girl,”
He spoke the words with intense liquid madness and determination as he pounded into you harder, bringing his unchained hand down to furiously rub your clit, utterly determined to have you cum on his cock.
“Such a good girl,”
Consciously or unconsciously, he kept repeating it because he wanted you to find it true. Ever since you had looked him in the eyes just those few ghostly days after The War, the only thing truly present in your drunken state being the anchoring harsh truth that you believed you were somehow a ‘bad’ person - it had haunted him.
And he had tried his hardest to spend every single day since then trying to get you to believe that you were a good person. He needed you to know it. You had done good things, and it didn’t fucking matter what anybody else in this fucked up world believed about you.
You were good because he believed it.
You were his good girl.
“My good girl, my precious girl.” He moaned furiously into your skin, licking across your neck as you moaned an echo back.
And now he was trying his hardest to chase any doubts that you had about this out of you by pounding them out of your head with the fury of his cock.
These words - spoken with such intense passion and power that it couldn’t possibly be a lie - this is what had you arching up off the bed as your orgasm ripped through your body.
Those simple but utterly possessive words, the thing that nobody else had ever dared to call you before - the thing that nobody had even considered coming close to labelling you as. Good. It was now something so entirely precious on George’s lips as he sucked a claiming mark into your flesh, moaning ravenously into your shoulder in the process. He continued to fuck you harshly through the waves that whipped at your body, digging his thumb into your clit in a way that was nearly painful but felt so damn good.
“George!” You rasped out his name, your throat raw at this point from how much noise you had been making.
You had never been fucked like this before, and you had a feeling that if George expected this to be a one time thing, no other man would ever measure up for you. Not after this.
As the last of your orgasm ebbed away, leaving you tired and tingling, George’s thrusts slowed down. Eventually, he stilled, leaving his cock rod-stiff and full inside of you, still lighting up the nerve endings of all those absolutely sensitive places and making you ache in the most beautiful way. You were panting harshly as he kissed up your neck, and you did not expect the words that he whispered in your ear next.
“At least now you have a reason to like me.” He said, a light, joking tone to his voice.
You couldn’t help the soft, genuine, breathless laugh that you let off when you heard the words. Coincidentally, in all the time you had known him, it was the first of his jokes that you had ever actually laughed at.
George leaned to your lips and gave you another soft kiss, and you let out a sharp whine as he pulled his hips back. You were expecting that he was going to begin fucking you again - likely at a softer, slower pace due to some gentlemanly regard for your now very sensitive pussy. But you felt a swell of annoyance when he began to pull out completely.
“Don’t you dare pull out!” You hissed against his lips, your sense of entitlement and general attitude immediately swinging back into play.
You moved your hand down to his lower back before he could blink, digging your nails sharply into his flesh and using this touch and your knees on his hips to trap him there. This pushed him slightly forward as you tried to force him back into place.
“Fuck!” He breathed out sharply, thrusting forward instinctively, loving the gasp you let out when his cock slapped against your swollen pussy once again.
The words smacked him so suddenly - you acting like it was a terrible crime for him to pull out. It was most certainly a kink of his, but something that no woman had ever said to him before.
He had dreamt of you begging him no to pull out with his hand around his cock, and now you were literally forcing him back inside of you.
He couldn’t hold back now - he knew that it wasn’t polite or proper, but he shoved his cock inside of you once again, creating a filthy slap as more of your wetness leaked around him. Then, he put all of his unrestrained power into pounding into you, now chasing blind pleasure inside of your perfect cunt. You let out a howl, scraping your nails across his back in delight as a beautiful kind of overstimulation ripped through your body.
“Filthy bitch.” He growled into your breast.
“Fucking tease.” You responded, any desire to behave completely thrown out the window. Now that you had cum, any desperation he had teased into you was gone, and any desire to obey him was gone right along with it. He had wound you up with teasing and given you what you needed, and now you were free to taunt him again. “You were trying to scam me out of what’s mine,”
“Oh yeah, and what’s that?” He replied, growing more breathless as he became lost to the feeling of your cunt squeezing his cock.
“Your cum.” You replied. “You taunt me all night and won’t even cum inside me? It’s not fair.”
With you being such a brat, he should have made some snide, clever reply about how life isn’t fair. But your voice saying the words ‘cum inside me’ quickly sent him hurdling over the edge - this time, you had the upper hand.
Mere moments after the words left your lips, he let out a shuddering groan as he slammed his hips tightly against yours, shoving his cock deeply inside of you to milk the feeling. His shoulders shook, gripping your hand so tightly in his where the two of you were chained as he shot his load deep inside of you, savouring the feeling of cumming inside someone for the first time, so utterly happy that it got to be with you.
He was loving everything from the feeling of your wetness dripping down over him to the way your pussy fluttered around him to the way you gripped his back with your nails and the way you held his hand just as tightly with the other hand. Even the little gasp you released beside his ear as you felt his cum stirring into your guts, marking you so deeply.
“Fuck.” He sighed. “Perfect.”
“Fuckin’ right.” You replied.
You were quickly growing obsessed with the fact that someone like him - polite, courteous, genuine, funny - could dissolve into a beast of a man under the right circumstances. You were growing addicted to both of his sides - the polite gentleman who had made you dinner and set up a perfect romantic atmosphere aftwards, and this man, who was making you lustful and weak on his cock.
You weren’t sure if you could live without this now - without him.
George finally pulled out, and you found the gush of a mess that began spilling out of you halfway satisfying and halfway gross.
“Time to clean up, I suppose.” He hummed out, his voice wrecked.
You thought that he would reach for his wand, going to use some cleaning spell so that the two of you wouldn’t have to navigate trying to shower while cuffed together - though cleaning spells didn’t work as well as good ole fashioned soap and water, it would be a fine temporary fix.
You were absolutely surprised, but entirely pleased by what he did next.
He moved down your body and situated his head between your thighs. Your cuffed hands ended up lingering around your hip, with his fingers digging into the flesh there, while his other hand was on your thigh, holding your legs apart before he dove in with no hesitation. He licked an eager stripe up your cunt, tasting the combined essence of the two of you before he shoved his tongue deep inside of your swollen, gaping hole, now set on ‘cleaning you up’.
“George,” You whimpered out, reaching down with your free hand to grip his hair, needing to hold on.
You couldn’t resist humping your hips into his face as you heavily enjoyed the feeling of his fat tongue lapping at you, slurping up your wetness and his own cum as it flowed out of you.
He began moaning against you, shoving his face tighter into you to feel more of your warmth, determined to lose himself inside of you. This caused his nose to begin bumping up against your clit, perfect stimulation while his tongue fucked inside of you and he lovingly, lazily enjoyed your taste. You couldn’t help but to ride his face, digging your fingers into his scalp as you took a more demanding hold on those gorgeous red locks.
“Holy fuck, George,” You moaned, more undeniable heat stirring up in your belly.
You were bone tired but you wouldn’t have asked him to stop - not for anything.
It didn’t surprise you when a perfect, lazy orgasm rolled through you - one that pitched your breath into a tight gasp as your body stiffened against him, your back arching slightly off the bed. His humming moans against you made it all the more perfect as your thighs quaked beside his head.
He let out one last deep hum of satisfaction as he moved to pull away, leaving a small, tender kiss on your clit that caused your thighs to jolt. Cheeky fucker. Then, he kissed his way back up your body before diving into a sloppy kiss on your mouth. A kiss that had you tasting yourself on his lips, complete with him shoving his tongue past your lips that you could truly soak in the taste of your own pussy combined with his cum, and how utterly filthy it was.
You weren’t surprised to feel his cock still hard against your thigh, and you pulled away from the kiss with only one thing on your mind.
“Stick it back inside me where it belongs.” You huffed at him, looking down the length of his body to that gorgeous cock, now wet with your juices and glistening in the low lighting, so absolutely perfect.
George groaned lowly, clearly affected by your words.
He shocked you when he flipped you over, keeping your chained arms above your head and forcing you onto your stomach, giving you a faceful of pillow as you became filled with hazy confusion. He was quick to shove your thighs apart, and in a moment, he complied with your demand - fucking his hard cock back inside of your sore, needy pussy. This time he didn’t wait for you to adjust before he started fucking his hips into you at a rapid pace, forcing sounds out of you and causing you to fall forward into the pillow, which did smother you slightly.
“So demanding,” He huffed into your ear, hammering his hips even harder. “Good thing that I like demanding, whiny little bitches.”
His words ripped through you, and you forcefully dug your head out of the pillow, turning your chin to the side to get some air in order to muster a reply.
“Good - good thing I like lanky, red-headed gits,” You breathed back, the words not packing nearly as much of a punch with your voice lust-weak and breathless. You sounded just like he wanted you to - defeated. And he continued to pound the air out of your lungs with his massive, impressive cock.
George chuckled, and the sound alone caused a whimper from your lips.
“Yeah, lanky, red-headed gits with huge cocks.” He whispered in your ear, shoving his hips forward harder in a way that caused you to moan loudly again.
…
You didn’t even quite remember falling asleep. All you knew was that you spent most of the night in a tangle of limbs, heated and pleasurable with the one person that you never thought would bring you those feelings.
And you absolutely loved it.
…
The next time you woke up, it was due to the strong morning sun hitting your face.
You almost never slept with the curtains open for this reason.
Even though you had to get up early every single morning to help open the shop, you preferred getting ready in the soft lighting of a table lamp instead of being assaulted by overhead lighting or the damn sun first thing after opening your eyes. And usually, you got up most morning before the sun even rose anyway.
You moved your hand to grab your wand, wanting to use it to shut the curtains and get that damn light out of your face, and you were quickly reminded of the stupid circumstances that had set the whole night in motion.
Your wrist buzzed with pain and a quiet metallic rattle reminded you that you were chained to George Weasley. Chained together with a pair of handcuffs due to a stupid fucking prank. A prank that you never could have guessed would lead to this.
Currently, he was cuddled tightly into your back like a clingy cat, his limbs tangled up with yours, even in the places where the presence of a pair of handcuffs literally kept the two of you bonded together. His legs were entwined with yours and his other arm was underneath your neck with his hand dangling down by your breast - he had fallen asleep fondling it like a comfort toy. His head was nearly on top of yours, with his whole body so tightly pressed into your back, pure skin on skin underneath the covers.
Where you were usually grossly adverse to touch from anyone else, you found yourself oddly loving this. And you didn’t know why. You couldn’t find any complaints about this situation. Except for the goddamn metal bracelet around your wrist that was slowly making your skin more and more sore. Other than that, you wouldn’t have changed a thing. Well, the curtain. You wanted to close the curtain to shield the sun from your eyes so that you could get some more sleep.
You started looking around to find your wand (which, if you remembered, was in your bag, on the floor, over by the wardrobe) - or George’s - but all you could see was a mess of abandoned clothes that caused a flare of heat through your stomach as you were reminded of the night before. And George’s drafts of parchment, his ideas for the shop. As you looked around, unintentionally squirming underneath him, you felt him stirring from his sleep.
He let out a groan as he swelled to consciousness, and the arm under your head moved to grip your body a bit tighter. An oddly comforting move that caused you to relax back into him as he began kissing down your neck warmly.
“Good morning, gorgeous.” He said, the morning rasp in his voice sounding so attractive.
“Morning.” You replied. “I would call it ‘good’ or - better, at least, if this was gone.” You said, shaking your joint wrists for emphasis. “You know people usually take the handcuffs off when the kinky sex is over.”
George laughed.
“Yes, I know.” He replied. “And I am truly sorry that I have put us in such a predicament.”
At least you felt the genuine nature of this apology.
“Thank you.” You replied quietly.
“And at least we know that the next few days of our lives won’t be so utterly terrible while we’re stuck together. We have found a way to make the time pass rather nicely,” He added on, his voice slipping into that suggestive tone as he kissed over your shoulder.
Though something that he said stuck out to you.
“Our relationship being ‘not so terrible’ - will it just be for the next few days while we’re stuck together, or… will it go beyond that?” You dared to ask, glad that he was behind you and you didn’t have to look him in the eye for this.
Relationship.
You were daring to call it a relationship.
What the fuck had happened last night?
Oh the damage a pair of little handcuffs could do.
“Oh, sweet girl.” George sighed, pulling away to hover above you, and you felt his eyes on your face in a way that made you feel far too transparent, far too minuscule. “Look at me, please.”
For some reason, you followed the instructions.
You turned your head, leaning into the comforting strength of his bicep underneath you and looking up at him. In the golden light of the morning, his face was even more beautiful - his red hair now more orange, his skin almost luminous, his smile beaming down at you.
Your stomach twisted with horrible nerves, unable to anticipate what he was going to say next. You hated not knowing if he was going to let you down easy, being the gentleman that he was, or if he was going to say the very wonderfully terrible thing that you were hoping he would say.
“I meant everything that I said last night.” He told you, passionate dedication brimming his voice in a way that made his throat swell, almost causing him to choke on the words. “I have been dreaming about you for such a long time - and not just in a sexual sense.”
This jolted something inside you, truly awakening senses that you didn’t even know you had. This filled you with affection, fear, and maybe even love that you didn’t know you were capable of.
George Weasley…
Had it really been him this whole time?
“Is that so?” You dared to prod at him, your throat quivering with terrible fear as you spoke the words.
George grinned. “Woman, I’ve been in love with you since I was 16 years old.”
He knew it was likely terrible to use that word with you - the big terrifying L. That if his fussy caring and affection had only annoyed you, then surely this would have you attempting to hack off your arm to get free. But instead of anxiety, all he saw staring back up at him was trepidation - intense insecurity as you took an unsure step toward those huge words.
You weren’t ready to flee from something so huge - you were once again terrified that it wasn’t real.
“You - you’re lying.” You declared, your voice quivering even more now. You were trying your hardest to hold back tears while in such a tender state. “I - I was so horrible back then. There’s no way-”
You cut yourself off, a single tear sliding from the corner of your eye as the words died off in your throat.
“Hey, Y/N, come on.” George pressed on. “I wouldn’t lie about this, I mean…” He dove into his mind, remembering it so fondly, knowing that there was only one way to truly convince you. “I’ve had a fondness for you for as long as I can remember. But the moment I truly knew it was love - The Yule Ball. Our Sixth Year, when you wore that big poofy dress, with the big gaudy flower on the chest… your hair was done and your make-up was stunning-”
“Of course you liked how I looked.” You huffed in return, your protective instincts flaring up once again. “It’s easy to fall in love with a girl when she’s wearing a gorgeous, expensive dress.”
“Yeah, but that wasn’t the reason.” George argued firmly. “I didn’t just think you were a pretty girl in a dress. It didn’t really hit me - the fact that I was truly, utterly, hopelessly in love with you - not until I saw you smack that bloke across the face.”
His words speared deep inside your gut, and sent your mind reeling back to a night years ago that you had mostly tried to forget.
For George, it was a very fond memory that he liked to hold onto.
…
The Yule Ball had been talked about at Hogwarts for weeks.
People anticipating the event in hushed whispers, everyone trying their hardest to get dates and moping around if they couldn’t, younger students endlessly upset because they wouldn’t be allowed to attend the once-in-a-lifetime event.
George honestly thought that it wouldn’t live up to the hype, but on the night of, he found himself pleasantly surprised.
The decorations were gorgeous, The Great Hall absolutely transformed from how it looked on a day to day basis. It was nothing short of breath-taking. And, with a few well-researched textile spells, the once wretched looking second hand dress robes that their mother had picked up for them actually turned out quite spiffy. (He did slightly regret not having enough time to lend his newly found tailoring talents to his younger brother to save him from the same embarrassment, but - sometimes little brothers just have to go through the natural hurdles of life on their own.)
Upon Fred’s insistence that he too get a date (after he had made a foolish public show of asking Angelina to the ball, not at all subtle about his interest in her), George walked into the ball with Katie Bell on his arm. Of course, it was only because the girl had been hand-picked and practically shoved in his face by his twin brother - along with a nagging comment about how she was Angelina’s friend, and George would be a crappy wingman if he didn’t bring her along.
She was a sweet, beautiful girl, and George was glad to be keeping her company while Fred went about his ‘twelve step plan’. Apparently it was some long, drawn out map that he had made to marrying Angelina and having kids by the time they were thirty-five, with those future children’s names already picked out - oh, the blackmail he would have against his dear brother if he ever needed it. But George wasn’t exactly thrilled to be stuck playing wingman, babysitting Angelina’s friend while Fred was off in some corner, snogging his date.
Between the dancing and the socialization and the general revelry, George’s eyes kept wandering to you.
His gaze had glued to you the moment you first came in - you were wearing a gorgeous, black and green dress made up of a tattered-looking fabric, something that Fred had snorted and called ‘heinous’, and made a joke about how you looked like you had gotten attacked by ghouls. It made the girls laugh, but George never thought to laugh at your expense, even when you weren’t around to hear.
George thought the dress was beautifully fitting on you, especially with the delicate flowers on the chest and the waist. Your makeup and hair were beautifully done, as always, with a matching flower behind your ear, topping off the way you had styled yourself. Truly, the only thing that ruined the royalty of your look was the twat dragging you around.
Your date was someone George didn’t know the name of - he kept racking his brain and all he could come up with was B. Bradley, Bailey, B… Butt. Arsehole. He chuckled to himself and Katie looked at him strangely. When he asked Katie if she recognized the boy on your arm, she gave a stiffly annoyed brow and said that he was a Ravenclaw boy in his seventh year, the year above you, named Craig Burman.
Burman. Fucker. He had been on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team at one point, for a few months back in George’s Fourth Year.
George smiled to himself when he remembered Burman crying after Fred had broken his thumb with a Bludger. Which was likely why his stint on the Quidditch team had been so short.
Even with that satisfaction in mind, George’s eyes kept wandering to you, watching as you danced with him, as he flirted with you - leaning in and whispering in your ear, too ruddy close for his liking… He couldn’t help the sourness in his stomach when your neutral (almost bored) expression turned into a frown and then you stormed out of the Great Hall into one of the connecting corridors.
George’s insides became even more sour when Burman chased after you.
George also couldn’t help it when he stood up from his chair and began craning his neck over the heads of other people in the room (thankful for his natural tallness), waiting for a moment to see if you would return.
“Is something wrong?” Katie asked, her voice a bright, cheerful chirp.
“Uh… I’ll be right back.” George told her, giving her as much of a smile as he could muster when he was so full of worry.
He bumped his way through the crowd on the dancefloor and made it through the door you had rushed out of, going around the stragglers lingering in the corridor, gossiping and chatting - as he got further from the noise of The Great Hall, he was drawn down one of the other halls by the sound of your voice.
“Are you stupid?!” You shouted, your voice echoing off the stone, intense fury in your tone that made every hair on his body stand on end.
“I - uh - um - ah -”
Another voice came back, not with words, but more as a bit of stuttering nonsense - and you didn’t give the person a chance to form words before you spoke again.
“‘Buh - bah - buh’.” You mocked him, and then let out a huff. “That’s not an answer! I’m serious, are you daft?”
George crept closer, and peeked around the corner in curiosity - and just in time, his eyes came upon the sight of you having backed Burman tight against a wall, your stance large and intimidating, your hand winding back to slap him in the face. The crack of skin on skin was glorious, hrash - clearly, you weren’t holding back.
George couldn’t help the small, silent cheer that he did as your date recoiled, pathetically holding his cheek.
In some part of his mind, he had imagined himself as the valiant knight, coming to rescue you because your date had been treating you poorly. But it became instantly apparent that you didn’t need rescuing. And he found himself even more attracted to you because of that.
“I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be smart!” You shouted, continuing with your verbal berating of him. “But I suppose your incessant mouth-breathing has deprived your brain of too much precious oxygen and allowed you to recess to a bloody neanderthal in order for you to think this kind of behaviour is at all acceptable!”
George was curious as to what kind of ‘behaviour’ got him on your bad side - knowing you, it could have been something as minor as not using a napkin to wipe his mouth after eating. You were incredibly up tight.
“It’s not my fault, okay?” Burman hissed in return, still clutching his aching cheek. “Blaise said you were easy! That’s the only reason I even asked you out! He said if you had a few drinks-”
George’s insides stilled with shock. That awful fucking cocksucker-
“Oh Blaise said that, did he?” Your voice was clearly struck with intense hurt, which you were trying your best to conceal with rage. You reached to your cleavage, pulling your wand out from the front of your dress, and Burman let out a terrified sound and began to run away, but not before you could raise your wand and fire off a curse. “Furnunculus!”
George stepped toward you then, not wanting you to do anything that might get you expelled due to a mindless momentary fury.
Burman ran away crying, clutching his face tightly as boils began popping up all over his skin, and George grabbed a hold of your wand arm tightly and held you back. He kept you from stepping forward, clearly attempting to pursue him.
“I think he’s had enough.” George huffed quietly.
“I can’t believe you’re siding with him after-.” You cut off your own words, snatching your arm back but thankfully moving to tuck your wand back into the top of your dress, glare sharply at George. “You blokes are all the same, aren’t you?”
“I’m not siding with him.” George replied, quick to clear up the misunderstanding. “I just don’t want to see you expelled over some stupid prat who’s not worth your time.” He told you. “And you should know that I believe in alternate ways to get revenge.”
He almost offered up plans on the spot, already thinking of all the things he was going to do to Burman. But he knew that talk of itching powder and fake bugs likely wasn’t going to make you feel better. At least not right now.
“He - he doesn’t deserve to keep his bullocks after what he did.” You heaved out, the tears in your throat making it more difficult to get the words out. Now that the screaming was done, the upset of the whole situation was truly hitting you.
“What did he do?” George asked, trying his best to keep his voice calm. He knew that it would be hypocritical to let his anger irrationally take over when he had just stopped you from truly feeling yours.
You hastily wiped at your eye, trying to stave off the tears, hating the idea of potentially ruining your make-up, and you forcefully looked away from George before you grunted out: “Why do you care anyway, Weasley?”
George grabbed the decorative cotton pocket square from his jacket and shook it out from being folded, offering it to you as a handkerchief to wipe your tears.
You stared at it, then at him, seeing nothing but genuine concern on his face. You knew that even though he was a prankster, he wouldn’t have thought far ahead enough to sabotage his own suit in order to prank someone with it. You reached out and grabbed the fabric and then began delicately wiping the edges of your eyes with it, still being careful not to ruin your precisely laid make-up, even through your tears.
(You had no idea that to this day, George still kept and treasured the stupid small square of material with your black make-up smudges on it because it reminded him of that night.)
“You can tell me.” He said quietly, trying his best to sound approachable and non-threatening.
“It’s stupid.” You huffed. “Ugh - he’s stupid.”
“I have absolutely no doubts about that.” George replied, rolling his eyes.
“He… he said ‘how many drinks will it take for you to suck my cock?’ And then he tried to take my hand and shove it down his trousers. It was all very juvenile.” You heaved out, trying to get the embarrassing words out all at once. “Like I said, you blokes are all the same.”
“Not really.” George opposed. “When I take a woman on a date, especially one as rare as you, I respect her. I would treat her like a queen and make sure that she knows she is the most beautiful, special, exquisite creature on earth.”
George knew the intense irony behind these words, considering the fact that he had practically been ignoring Katie all night and treating her as lesser because he had been watching you out of the corner of his eye, wishing that you had been his date instead. But he didn’t regret his words or the unhinged passion with which he spoke them - not when he saw you swallow thickly and he witnessed the flicker of affection behind your eyes.
“And if I do have sex with someone, it’s only after a tender seduction that leaves her begging for it.” He added on, feeling far too bold. “I would never be caught using some stupid line like that.”
You opened your mouth to say something, and George wanted to scream in protest when his name was called from further down the corridor.
“George! Psst - Georgie!”
Fred called out, causing his attention to be distracted from you as he whipped around. He found his brother waving at him, standing beside a slightly rumpled looking Angelina, who was hanging tightly onto his arm, and a rather annoyed Katie. He was pointing to a large bottle of Fire Whiskey that was very poorly concealed, being cradled in the breast of his jacket.
“Come on!”
Ah yes. Time for the ‘get drunk in the Gryffindor common room’ section of the evening. George had the urge to invite you, but he knew that would likely be frowned upon by his compatriots.
“You should go.” You said, carefully folding the pocket square with attention to detail, making sure that none of the make-up marks would show on the outside, and then stuffing it back into his pocket.
“That’s yours.” You mumbled, smoothing your hand over the chest of his jacket after you tucked it in - a gentle touch that had his whole body tingling.
“Thank you.” He said quietly, now breathless because of you.
“George!” Fred called out again.
Hesitantly, George walked away, glancing back over his shoulder to let his gaze linger on you once more - wondering what the night would have been like if he had asked you to be his date to the ball instead.
…
A week later, when the boils had just barely cleared up, Craig Burman ran from the Great Hall screaming. He had been delivered a box of sweets that turned into cockroaches right after he bit into the first one. It was a product deemed too unpleasant to go with the WWW line, but as everyone at the Ravenclaw table either laughed or recoiled in disgust, you locked eyes with George across the room, only receiving an all-too-knowing smirk.
…
“That night, I instantly fell in love with your fire. Your fight.” George declared. “Seeing the way you stood up for yourself - I just couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. You are someone who never let any bullshit pass without speaking up against it, and I fell in love with you because of that.”
“You fell in love with me because I was a bitch?” You questioned, still shellshocked by the words.
George let out a snort of laughter, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I suppose… you could put it like that.” He sighed. “But truly, I fell in love with you because you’re strong. Stronger than you ever give yourself credit for.”
You became overwhelmed with tingles of affection, and you were stunned into silence, sitting there quietly as he continued to speak.
“Fred thought I was mad for pining after you for so long, but… there’s never been anybody else for me. Not like this. And if you had never looked my way - if you had never felt the same way about me, then - I guess I would have just died a lonely old bat.”
Your throat nearly closed in on itself, and all you could do was continue to listen to his impassioned speech for a few more moments.
“I meant it when I said that I would do anything for you. I will cook for you and do your laundry and be your little servant boy if you want me to. Having you in my home as my guest last night was one of the best nights of my life, even before the sex, and-”
You couldn’t help it any longer, you pulled him down into a kiss - unsure what to say in the wake of his passionate words, you expressed yourself the only way you could in those moments, kissing him intensely, passionately.
When he pulled away from the kiss, gently pressing his forehead against yours, you tried your hardest to form words.
“You are mad.” You told him, a joking tone to your voice that made him smile. “But I understand it now, at least. And I would like nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you… just, without the little chain in the middle.”
George let out another bright laugh - a sound that you absolutely, utterly loved.
“Alright.” He sighed. “But I was rather starting to like being chained to you.”
You let out a bright laugh. “You dickhead!”
“What? Is it so wrong that I want to wear a pretty girl as a bracelet?”
…
Soon, the two of you agreed to get up and get breakfast.
Getting dressed while still stuck together was much easier this time, especially because you weren’t particularly worried about modesty this time around. He simply put his pajama pants back on (without underwear - something that made his soft cock hanging inside the fabric truly distracting for a few moments).
You picked out a pair of clean underwear (he let out a cartoonish whistle and picked through the ones you had packed, making a joke about how all you had were ‘stripper clothes’) - and put your shorts back on. And then he went into the office and got a Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes promotional tee shirt for you, one that he could sacrifice to cut the neck extra wide so that you could pull it up over your hips and step into it. It ended up foolishly falling off one of your shoulders, then, but it was comfortable and mostly covered you, so you didn’t entirely mind.
You had to laugh when you realized that you somehow always ended up in that gaudy orange. But as you watched George carefully nurse a pan of scrambled eggs, his hair glinting in the morning light pouring in through the kitchen window - you had to think that it did kind of suit you.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” George asked, very much not used to you standing beside him, staring at him with doting affection in your eyes.
“I was just…” You leaned in, hiding your face in his shoulder, almost embarrassed. “Thinking about how orange suits me.”
“Orange?” He replied, mischief in his voice. “Or ginger?”
“Shut it.” You sighed in reply, the words playful now more so than angry.
“Georgie!”
You were surprised when someone called out from the sitting room, clearly having just Flooed in.
“Georgie, you awake?”
Fred. It took you a moment to recognize his voice when he wasn’t being snarky or angry.
“Kitchen!” George called back, and then he gave you a confused look. “He’s not supposed to be in for another few days,” He told you, speaking quieter so that only you could hear these words.
Leave it to Fred to ruin your (nearly perfect) weekend.
“Well, brother, you are going to owe me big time-” Fred began speaking in a boastful voice, but cut himself off when he entered the kitchen and his eyes landed on the two of you.
It was likely that he hadn’t been expecting to see you. You were surprised that news of your ‘handcuff’ predicament hadn’t gotten around to the entire Weasley clan just by gossip alone. As Fred’s eyes scanned over the two of you in your (unfortunately) scantily clad state, his eyes grew wider and you resisted the urge to hide behind George out of embarrassment.
“I can explain-” George rushed out, only to be cut off.
“No need.” Fred said, clearly dampening down laughter. “Ron already covered it in his letter.” He held up a parchment envelope, waving it around.
Your stomach dropped. So they had been gossiping.
“Ron?” George choked on the name, upset. “What the bloody hell does he have to go with this? What did Bill do?”
He abandoned his eggs for a moment, tearing across the room, seemingly forgetting that you were attached to him and dragging you uncomfortably along in his pursuit to steal the letter from Fred. Of course, he knew his brother too well and dodged around the table to avoid the move, keeping the letter close to his chest and grinning widely as he released the information slowly, lording over the power for a few minutes.
“Oh, our dear oldest brother was trying to help you,” Fred grinned. “He didn’t want you to have to wait three whole days for an appointment with the curse breaker, especially not while being forced to be attached to such a moody, terrible girl,”
“I did not describe you that way in the letter,” George turned to you, rushing to say this.
You knew he likely wouldn’t have. It was just the other Weasleys’ impression of you. They had interacted with you during your time as an Order member, and they had not liked you much then.
“So he took a copy of your letter and sent it off to Percy, attaching a note asking if he knew anybody else in the Ministry that knew anything about curse-breaking, but - ah, luckily Percy had contact with Ron and Harry’s handler because he helped set up their top secret mission.” Fred continued on.
“So he got a letter to Ron, asking for Harry’s spare key, and Ron sent me this,” Fred said, holding up his letter with intense triumph. “Stupid bloke didn’t know I was busy with my girlfriend…” He mumbled this part furiously. “And I was on my way to rescue you. I cut my vacation short so that I could rescue you because I thought you were here, having a miserable time. But it looks like you’ve been just fine.”
Between the marks on your neck and the scratches on George’s back, and the lack of clothing that you were both wearing, you couldn’t make much of an argument to the contrary. It was very clear what the two of you had gotten up to.
For a few tense moments, nobody spoke.
Fred and George engaged in a terrible staredown, exchanging a wordless conversation that only twins could. It was clear that George wanted to deny that he had a fantastic night last night, despite his outcry for help. And Fred wanted to directly call him out on having sex with you, but didn’t want the gory details because he hated thinking of you that way.
“Did you get the key or not?” George pressed, desperately trying to change the subject.
“Angelina won’t have another week off for three more months!” Fred shouted in return, clearly upset that he had been forced to abandon his time with her.
“Okay, well - it’s not my fault Ron addressed the letter to you and not me. It’s him you should be mad at!” George quickly defended himself, passing the blame as he had been trained to do growing up.
“I am.” Fred said plainly, nodding. “And I suppose since you’re having such a great time with your friend here, I’ll just leave you to it.” He grinned. “And you won’t be needing this.” He opened the envelope and tipped it, and something slid out - the tiny, silver, utterly elusive handcuff key.
You had to contain a gasp when you saw it.
George opened his mouth to argue, but before he could, you did something entirely dumb, and entirely impulsive. (George was rubbing off on you.) It was something entirely grown out of frustration and a hatred for the soreness in your wrist.
You picked up the spatula that George had been using for the eggs, and threw it across the kitchen at Fred, hitting him squarely in the face. He let out a harsh ‘ow!’ and dropped the handcuff key - and you used a quick, simple summoning spell to get the key before it hit the ground, catching it tightly in your palm before he even realized what was going on.
“What was that for?” Fred barked, rubbing a now sore spot on his head and looking from you to the spatula that was now at his feet.
But you were already unlocking the handcuffs at your wrist, so utterly relieved to be free. George grinned at you as you unlocked his side, going so far as to stick his tongue out at his brother in mockery - knowing that this round, he had gotten the victory.
“Well I suppose that since you’re no longer attached to my brother, you can go home now,” Fred said dismissively, still rubbing that spot on his head.
“No, I’m just going back to bed.” You replied, moving toward the kitchen door. Then you turned to George. “And you know what whole ‘making it up to me’ thing? That’s gonna start right now. And I’m not just talking about the handcuffs - I’m talking about the snake in the pastry box, the feather eyebrows, everything.”
“Of course, my love.” George replied, winking at you.
“You can start by making me breakfast and bringing it to me in bed. But something other than those eggs - because they’re burning.” You told him, causing him to turn and rush to take the pan off the stove as a light smoke began to come off it.
You let out a light laugh as you walked out of the room, looking forward to closing the curtains and relaxing in his bed for a while.
“Snake in a pastry box?” Fred gaped. “What the hell have you been up to while I was gone?”
“Trust me, brother, the details would bore you.” George chuckled in return, his smile so cheek-splitting that it was beginning to hurt.
…
Just about a year later, you found yourself in Hogsmeade.
It was a place that reminded you of your youth. Of course, it was a place that was frequented by students during trips that Hogwarts allowed, but you were never someone who went on those trips frequently. Back then, you never had friends to attend with you. You went if you wanted some sweets or if you wanted to browse the shops, but even when you did do those things, you never stuck around for more than an hour or so before you took the long walk back up to the castle and enjoyed the time that the Slytherin common room was fairly empty because everyone else was socializing down at the village.
But today, it was a place of joy and new beginnings. Today was April first - April Fool’s Day. The biggest day of the year for any prankster, and the grand opening of the official second location of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. It also happened to be Fred and George Weasley’s birthday.
The second location was a beautiful orange building at the very end of the village. A place that the twins had specially built for this purpose, towering over every other small shop around, and utterly magnificent. And as luck would have it (or, as their perfect marketing skills had seen to) - it was a Saturday, so the students from Hogwarts were visiting, rushing down the bustling streets like a crowd of ants, eager to get into the brand new shop.
You had worked a morning shift at the flagship store in Diagon Alley before trading off with Benny. He was someone new they had hired to help with the transition while opening the new store, knowing that they would have to be in Diagon Alley less and less as they tended to their new baby. And after you had worked your shift, you had picked up George’s special birthday present from Madame Malkin's before you Apparated over to come and help them with the inevitable rush from all the Hogwarts students coming on their afternoon trip.
You had to elbow your way in the door, and you were struggling your way through the crowd with the large gift box. You were amazed by how many people were already here on the first day, both young and old, not just students but people who had seemingly come to Hogsmeade just for the opening of the shop. Holding the gift box up in front of your face to protect it from the bustling crowd, you accidentally bumped into someone.
“Oh, sorry.” You said, lowering to see who it was, pleasantly surprised to find Hermione - or rather, Professor Granger standing in front of you.
“Y/N.” She grinned. “I suppose you’re here to help the twins?”
“Yeah.” You nodded. “I’m trying to find George to give him his birthday present first.” You said, tapping the box to tell her that’s what it was.
“Oh, goodness.” Hermione said. “I completely forgot today’s their birthday. I’ve been so busy grading essays, and with exams coming up-”
“I’m sure they don’t mind.” You said, knowing how anxious she could be.
“Wish them a happy birthday for me?” She posed. You nodded. “Right now I’m just trying to make sure the least lethal items get into my students’ hands.”
With that sentiment, you had to wonder if opening a WWW so close to Hogwarts was a good idea or not. But you supposed that the twins truly didn’t care about that. If anything, they were up for encouraging students to buy the ‘most lethal’ products.
“Gregory!” Hermione called to someone behind you, using a sharp tone that you had only heard her use with Ron a handful of times. “Gregory, put that down! Now!”
She walked around you and charged toward whoever Gregory was, and before you could linger on the interaction, you finally spotted George. He was standing in front of a display, giving a demonstration of one of the products.
“Trick coins.” He said proudly, showing off a coin that would always land on whatever side was ‘called’ while it was in the air. “Bet your friends and win every time! Heads or Tails, young man?”
He asked, picking an eager young Third Year who was wearing a Gryffindor scarf from the crowd. The boy smiled and George flipped the coin up with an elegant flare of his thumb.
“Tails!” The boy called out eagerly, and when George caught it and flipped it against the back of his hand, and then he revealed it to the crowd, it was still the non-face side of the coin, as the boy had called out. Naturally, this recieved many ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’, and many loud cheers.
“Due to an advanced transfiguration charm, it responds to your voice and morphs on command, but appears to be nothing more than a regular coin to the naked eye!” George explained, holding it up as he gave the last of his pitch.
The students began cheering, and then swarmed the display as he walked away, having spotted you.
“Hello, love.” George grinned, leaning down and giving you a kiss on the cheek. “Please tell me that those are some extra Extendable Ears, we sold out in like two hours-”
“No.” You replied, knowing that you had packed an extra box of the Extendable Ears and hidden it in the back. You would show him later. “It’s your birthday present.”
George’s smile widened.
“I thought you already gave me my birthday present.” He replied.
The glint in his eye immediately told you what he was talking about.
The night before, you and Angelina had baked a cake that was definitely lopsided, with slightly melted icing, but ended up tasting good, and you both gave it to Fred and George as you sang them Happy Birthday. It looked pathetic compared to the multi-layer cake that Molly made for them with orange frosting and decorative patterns of fireworks in different colours of frosting, with three Ws on the top and some small sparklers. But they loved it because both of you had tried even though you both had minimal experience with baking.
And early that morning, before the sun had even risen, when he had been eager to get out of bed and rush to Hogsmeade to make last minute preparations before the shop made its grand opening, you had pinned him to the bed. You had dug your nails into his hips and practically sucked the life out of his cock, leaving him trembling and causing him to get dressed standing on shaking thighs while you grinned at him from the bed.
“Technically, this is your gift.” You said, motioning toward the box.
“You know if you’re not careful, I’ll become spoiled.” He told you brightly.
You wanted to make a comment about how you were simply repaying him - someone who made an effort to make you dinner almost every night, bought you beautiful, thoughtful gifts at random for no reason, and generally pampered you. But the affectionate words got stuck somewhere along the way.
George took your hand and guided you back to his office - one that was much smaller than the one he had in Diagon Alley, more meant for doing simple paperwork than actually experimenting and coming up with new products.
He pulled the chair out from his desk and turned it around to face you, letting out a tired grunt as he sat down. Clearly, he was already very tired even though the day was barely half over. You knew that he loved his work so much, but you did worry that he didn’t take enough breaks from it - enough time to actually relax.
You couldn’t help the smile that broke across your face as you gave him the box, and he quickly tore off the shiny paper and lifted the lid. His eyes danced with happiness as he lifted the fabric out of the box.
It was a perfect replica of the shiny, royal purple coat that you had been forced to cut apart when the two of you were cuffed together. Not only was it a good birthday gift, but you thought it was a perfect way to honor the opening of a new shop. Seeing as he had loved the other one because it had signified the twins opening their shop in the first place.
“It’s the same, right?” You asked, hoping that you didn’t sound overly eager, but at the same time hoping that you had remembered it in enough detail to describe it to Madame Malkin properly. In fact, you had drawn a picture of it and carefully chosen the fabric with her, telling her that she would be trying to replicate her own past work because George had loved it so much. “I tried my hardest to remember it-”
“It’s perfect.” George beamed, standing up to try it on, his smile absolutely cheek-splitting at this point. “Thank you so much.”
He put two hands on either side of your face and pulled you in for a kiss. You savoured it for a moment, truly loving that you could have him - that all his sweetness and his affection was yours now.
“I did make one small change, though.” You told him as you pulled away.
You grabbed the left side of the jacket, pulling it back and showing off the inner breast pocket. Here, you had asked for detailed embroidery of a serpent to be added, similar to the one on the Slytherin crest.
“So you can keep me close to your heart.” You said. And then immediately thought: “Is that too cheesy?”
“It’s just cheesy enough, thank you very much, my love.” He chuckled - and then he put a gentle hand on your cheek and titled your face upward, pulling you into another kiss.
“George, please told me that you found those Extendable Ears-”
Of course, the two of you were disrupted by Fred barging in. Annoying.
“L/N.” He said your name curtly, acknowledging your presence rather than greeting you. “George really doesn’t need to be distracted right now-”
“I packed another box of Extendable Ears and put them in the upstairs store room.” You said, turning around to face Fred.
“What? No!” Fred spat back, immediately ready to argue with you. “There’s nothing up there but Skiving Snack Boxes and Morph-O-Masks, you-”
“Did you actually pull out some of the boxes and look?” You stressed, immediately steaming forward and walking out of the office, now on your way to the store room, determined to prove him wrong.
“I don’t need to look to know that you’re wrong!” Fred argued back.
George sighed and took off his new jacket, hanging it on the back of the chair to come back to later. He knew that he would have to go and break up the argument, but he took a breath, giving himself a moment of peace before doing so.
As much as some things change, some things are just damned to stay the same.
...
So that is officially the ending of this fic!
I might write more with these characters set in this universe in the future, but for now that is a very big MIGHT and I am not directly working on anything like that at the moment. I always like to leave my fics with a very distinct ending so that way I can move on to other things and feel satisfied that I have finished with a certain fic.
I really appreciate comments - I would love to hear your thoughts about this fic, because it does take a lot of hard work to write and edit a fic that is over 60k. But please, if you are going to comment, do not simply comment asking for 'part 2', or asking for more. I do consider it rude when people finish a long fic and then immediately ask for more, because it feels like someone is blatantly ignoring all the work that I have put into a fic and saying that I have not worked hard enough, or saying that an already completed fic feels incomplete.
I would love to hear your thoughts about the characters, the dynamics, or certain moments during the fic. I always love it when someone comments telling me what their favourite moment was, and I never find long winded comments to be annoying or 'too much'. Always feel free to bring your enthusiasm to the comments!!
Anyway, even if you don't comment, I hope you enjoyed reading, and I hope that you have a great day!! And if you enjoyed this fic, definitely feel free to check out my other Harry Potter related stuff on my Harry Potter Masterlist.
Title: carve your name into my bedpost
Pairing: George x Reader
Summary: George is on the cusp of getting everything he’s ever wanted. His plan has been working swimmingly, and as every day goes by he and his fake fiancé edge closer and closer to being something real. Which is a good thing considering George is running out of time. The season is getting closer and closer, and Coach has finally made a decision about the next Captain of the team. George is either about to have it all, the girl and the career he’s been working towards; or he’ll be left broken hearted. Only time can tell.
Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI! This includes vagina; sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk and begging.
A/N: yay here it is! The next part of hockey!george. I love him so much I’m not ready for him to be over! As always feedback is welcome and appreciated <3
-
When George wakes up the next morning Y/N is still in his arms and he’s never felt more at peace. He presses his nose to the top of her head and his eyes flutter closed as he takes a deep inhale of the floral scent of her shampoo. Of course his sheets have started to smell like Y/N, and his shower too, but there’s something so intoxicating about smelling her signature scent straight from the source.
In high school they somehow managed to convince their parents that allowing them to have sleepovers was safer than them sneaking out to go off and fool around somewhere, and as he pulls Y/N in closer to his chest George is reminded of those simpler times. Back then everything seemed so easy, he was on his way to being one of the top draft prospects and he was deeply in love with the woman he knew was his forever. He never in his wildest dreams could have imagined that he and Y/N didn’t make it, and now the only reason why she’s in his bed is because of some plan he cooked up that requires her to be his fake fiancé.
No, back then George imagined that by now they would be married, with at least one child and a dog to keep an eye on them while he’s out on the road. After he made that stupid mistake and ended things with Y/N all George’s dreams of a wife and kids flew out the window. If he couldn’t have that future with her he had no interest in it.
Now that he’s got her back in his life? He’s not stopping until they’re living the life they always dreamed of. Having her in his arms only solidifies how much he still loves her and how much he needs to have her in his life permanently.
Because this apartment never really felt like home until he had Y/N to share it with.
She starts to wake then, and George squeezes her waist and presses a kiss to her forehead.
“Good morning, baby,” he murmurs, his voice still gravely from sleep.
Y/N lets out a sleepy grunt and burrows her face deeper into George’s neck. “Morning,” she mumbles into his skin.
One of George’s hands sneaks up her back, fingers trailing against her skin lightly as they move. He doesn’t stop until his fingers are tangled in the hair on the back of her head, nails gently scratching at her scalp. A shiver rolls down his spine when she moans, and George wants to bottle that sound up to take with him on the road.
“We’re both off of work today,” he starts, kissing the top of her head. “And we don’t have any plans until the team dinner tonight at Coach’s, which means we’ve got the whole day to ourselves. What do you wanna do?”
She lets out a hum, her lips pressing a kiss to George’s skin. “Doesn’t matter to me, as long as we do it together.”
Today and everyday until the end of time, George promises silently.
-
They ended up barely even leaving the bedroom. After staying cuddled together until the sound of Y/N’s grumbling stomach got too loud to ignore, George slipped out of bed to make them breakfast which they ate together under the covers. Once they were done Y/N picked her book up off of the night stand, so George grabbed his playbook and they just sat there together, silently reading. Once it was time for lunch they finally got up, but they only made it as far as the living room. They ordered from a place down the block and they ate together on the couch while watching a movie.
It wasn’t until they had to start getting ready for dinner did they separate, not that either of them really wanted to.
In fact they’ve just walked into Coach Morris’ house and Y/N is already counting down the seconds until they can go home and cuddle in bed. She’d even been tempted to ask George if they really needed to come tonight, but she knows this means a lot to him and she’s actually looking forward to spending some more time with his teammates and their partners.
It doesn’t hurt that the dress code is formal and George looks divine in his custom tailored suit.
George leads them over to where Thomas and Adam are standing with their girlfriends, his arm curled around Y/N’s waist to keep her plastered to his side.
“Ah look, hockey’s royal couple decided to finally grace us with their presence,” Thomas teases as they approach, earning him a glare from George and a slap on the shoulder from Olivia.
“Don’t make fun of George just because he did what you’re too much of a pussy to do,” Olivia responds, making them all laugh at the flush coats over Thomas’ cheeks.
“We never even asked last night,” Jenny starts, taking a sip of her drink. “How did George pop the big question? I bet it was super romantic, we all thought he was such a commitment phobe, but I knew he was a big softie. He just needed the right girl to bring it out.”
Nerves bubble in the pit of George’s stomach, out of all the things they talked about they never constructed a back story on the actual proposal. He spares a quick glance at Y/N, figuring she’ll be scrambling just like him. So he’s surprised to see a smile on her face.
“It was simple,” Y/N explains, shrugging her shoulders. “But it was perfect. Everything I would have wanted.” She pauses, looking up at George with a bright smile. “He did it at the ice rink where we met when we were six, and where we went on our first date in middle school. Had our first kiss there too. Basically everything important that ever happened to us happened in that ice rink.”
“And it’s where I broke up with her,” George adds, immediately cutting off the aws some of their audience were in the middle of. Apparently Y/N’s story had attracted the attention of others and they now have quite the crowd, including Coach Morris and his wife. “Also known as the biggest fucking mistake I’ve ever made.”
“You were young, and dumb and scared,” Y/N adds, easing George’s discomfort. “It’s also where we saw each other again for the first time in eight years.”
George chuckles as he remembers that moment from a few weeks ago. “Yeah and you ripped into me so hard I would have preferred skating suicides until I threw up.”
“You deserved it,” she responds, making their crowd laugh. “I was mad, but looking at you standing there did nothing but remind me how much I still love you.” The honesty in her voice punches a hole in George’s gut. “So when he told me that I was the only woman in the world he could even imagine wearing his ring? How could I say no?”
When she looks up at him again George can’t help himself and he leans down, kissing her softly. Her left hand comes up to rest on his cheek, and George feels his chest swell with pride at her subtle way of showing off the ring he put there.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Coach’s gruff voice calls out, forcing George to pull away from Y/N’s mouth. “Let’s eat.”
-
While the dinner plates are being cleared away and before dessert is brought out Coach stands up, silently motioning George to follow him out of the room. George sighs, tossing the napkin that was covering his lap onto the table before he leans over to press a kiss to Y/N’s forehead.
“Be right back, baby,” he murmurs before standing up and following after Coach Morrison.
Once the two men have disappeared Olivia is sliding into his empty seat while Jenny and Kate, the wife of one of the defenseman, slide up behind them. When none of the women say anything Y/N shifts her gaze between them.
“What? You guys are kind of creeping me out.”
Olivia grins, waving away her concern. “Sorry, not our intention. We said it the other night at the bar, but we just wanted to say again how happy we are for you and George.”
“Yeah. I’ve never seen him this happy,” Kate adds, briefly squeezing Y/N’s shoulder. “Normally he’d be sitting in a corner pouting at these things. And the way he was looking at you at family skate yesterday? I would have melted if my husband looked at me like that.”
“Really?” Y/N asks, a light blush coating her cheeks.
Jenny nods in agreement. “And how he watched you tell the story of your engagement? That boy is straight up obsessed with you.”
“Seriously, his heart eyes were so big people on the international space station could have seen them,” Olivia adds.
Y/N takes a deep breath, trying desperately to quell her pounding heart. Of course she’s felt the shift in her and George’s dynamic over the last week or so, but to have her thoughts confirmed by those around them? It’s validating as fuck. Not only is their plan to convince everyone that they are fake engaged working, but her plan to get George to fall in love with her for real seems to be as well.
“I can’t even believe that he broke up with you,” Kate says frowning. “Before he said that I thought he’d just been keeping you from us all these years.”
“He was young and dumb,” Y/N explains again, shrugging her shoulders. “And really, I should have fought harder for us. I knew something was wrong, but I just walked away. We’re both to blame for what happened back then.”
“If you ladies are done,” George teases, suddenly appearing behind them. “I’d like to have my fiancé,” he pauses, glaring down at Olivia. “And my seat back.”
With sheepish grins the girls vacate, and Y/N blushes as George sits back down. His arm immediately wraps around her shoulders and she leans in to his touch.
“How much of that did you hear?”
“Enough,” George answers with a grin.
Her blush deepens, and George chuckles as he kisses the side of her head. He knew eavesdropping on their conversation was wrong, but when he came up and heard them talking about him he couldn’t resist. The lines of this fake relationship have been blurred for weeks, and George was not about to pass up an opportunity to find out how Y/N feels about that.
So to hear that she’s truly forgiven him for what happened back then is like a balm that soothes his soul. There would be no chance he’d get her to fall in love with him again if she still harbored any negative feelings about their past. The fact that she not only has forgiven him, but has taken some of the blame as well can only mean one thing: he’s one step closer to getting what he wants.
“So what did Coach want?” Y/N asks, desperately wanting to change the conversation.
“Nothing important,” George answers nonchalantly. “He just wanted to let me know that he’s noticed how much I’ve changed on and off the ice since being with you, and that my effort to step up hasn’t gone unnoticed.”
Before Y/N can ask about the Captain situation a plate with the biggest brownie she’s ever seen is dropped off in front of her. George leans in, and the brush of his lips against her ear sends a shiver down her spine.
“Now be a good girl and eat your dessert so I can take you home and have you all to myself.”
She immediately digs in, not needing to be told twice.
-
When she wakes up the next morning George is already gone. But considering tonight is their first preseason game she isn’t surprised. Hockey players have always been superstitious, and George is no exception to that rule. He’d warned her the night before that she wouldn’t see him until after the game tonight, and while Y/N had been disappointed, she understood. With the possibility of being named Captain still up in the air, George’s dedication to the team is more important than ever, and she knows he’s doing everything in his power to step up and be a role model for the others.
Thankfully she has a full day of work to distract her from George’s absence, and she’s so busy thinking about what she has to do that she doesn’t notice the gift waiting for her on the kitchen island until she decides to take her lunch break in the afternoon.
There’s a neatly wrapped box that’s just begging to be opened, but she stops to read the note George left for her next to it.
Can’t wait to see you tonight. When I find you in the crowd you better be wearing this
Love, George :)
Y/N can’t contain the smile that spreads across her face as she excitedly tears into the wrapping paper, already knowing what’s waiting for her. Sure enough when she lifts the top off of the box there’s a Rebels jersey neatly folded up, and it doesn’t take a genius to guess what last name she’ll find written across the back.
A waft of George’s cologne comes off of the fabric when she lifts it up, sending a shiver down her spine as her thighs clench. Not only is George claiming her with his name, but with his scent as well. There won’t be a doubt in anyone’s mind who put that ring on her finger when she steps into the arena tonight, and it gives Y/N a thrill knowing that was George’s intention.
She puts the jersey back in the box, pulling out her phone to send a text to George.
Y/N: thank you for the gift. Good luck tonight <3
It’s not until a few hours later, when Y/N is getting ready to leave that she gets a response.
George: you’re welcome, baby - im counting down the hours until i get to see my last name on your back
George: and i don’t need luck when i’ve got you in the crowd cheering me on
His words send a thrill through Y/N and she has to take several deep breaths to calm down. She’s already amped up from the anticipation of seeing George out on the ice for the first time in years, and his text has only brought it up tenfold.
Luckily Olivia’s text letting her know that she’s here to pick her up comes through, breaking Y/N from her thoughts of what her and George might get up to after the game. Because if it’s anything like they used to do in high school, the jersey she’s wearing won’t be staying on for long.
-
The family suite is already starting to fill up when Y/N, Olivia and Jenny show up, even though there’s still an hour until puck drop. Olivia has insisted they get there in time to watch warm ups, and the idea of watching George practically hump the ice as he stretches was too enticing to pass up.
“C’mon, let’s grab seats up by the glass. I want a front row look at Thomas’ ass in those hockey pants,” Olivia declares with a waggle of her eyebrows.
“Do you ever get jealous that your boyfriend has a better ass than you?” Jenny asks as they weave their way through the crowd towards the front of the box. Both girls laugh at her comment, and Jenny just shrugs her shoulders. “C’mon, we’re all thinking it. I was just brave enough to say it.”
“George does have a nice ass,” Y/N agrees as they claim three seats. “But every time I tell him he just responds by saying how nice my ass is, so no, I’ve never been jealous.”
Olivia laughs so loudly the people surrounding turn to look and Jenny takes the opportunity to slap Y/N on the ass.
“Fuck you, bitch,” Jenny responds, though there’s no malice in her voice. “That’s because you actually have an ass. I swear it looks like I have a piece of cardboard down the back of my pants.”
“And yet two weeks ago Adam ran into a wall because he was two busy watching your ass to pay attention to where he was going,” Olivia reminds her. “It doesn’t matter how much junk is in your trunk as long as your man appreciates what you’ve got.”
All three women agree on that, and they leave their bags on their seats so they can mingle and grab some food and drinks before the action starts. By the time they make it back for warmups the suite is full, and Y/N is practically on the edge of her seat as the players make their way out onto the ice.
Her eyes immediately find George and she watches in rapt awe as he effortlessly moves across the ice. Of course George has always been an amazing player, but it’s clear his time in the NHL has only sharpened his skills, and Y/N is filled with pride as he takes a shot on goal and the puck hits the back of the net with such ease it’s like it took no effort at all.
But then he drops down to the ice to stretch, and Y/N is filled with something else as she watches his knees spread. He bounces up and down slightly as he stretches his hamstrings, and Y/N is practically drooling. Something as innocent as stretching looks downright erotic, and her mind whirls as she imagines laying underneath George while he does those moves.
“You know, I think I get the whole puck bunny thing,” Y/N says suddenly, her eyes still drawn to the way George moves as he starts to skate around again. Her attraction to George never had anything to do with him being a hockey player, the big muscles and brute strength were just kind of an added bonus.
But after watching those big, broad men practically give a magic mike show she can understand why there’s a whole genre of women who’s only goal in life is to fuck as many hockey player as possible. Because god damn, if George wasn’t already coming home with her tonight she’d be formulating a plan to get that man in her bed.
“Same,” Jenny agrees, her voice breathy.
“Is it inappropriate to admit you’re horny while sitting in a room full of people?” Olivia asks, breaking the girls from their trance as they laugh.
“Probably,” Y/N answers, finally tearing her gaze away from the ice as the players head back to the locker room. “But if it’s wrong, well then, I don’t wanna be right.”
-
Even though it’s only preseason, the game is intense from the first whistleblow. The Rebels are playing the team they’d lost to in the playoffs last season, and from her conversations with George Y/N knows the guys are out for blood. They want every team in the league to know that they’re primed and ready, and they’ll do whatever it takes to make it all the way to the Cup.
The first period is winding down without a score from either team, and Y/N is practically holding her breath as George jumps over the boards to rejoin the game for his next shift. His skates are barely on the ice when Adam passes him the puck, and George takes off towards the other teams’ net.
He passes the puck to Jason, the right wing who was recently promoted to first line, landing it against his stick with ease. George manages to deke around Tampa’s defenseman and he slaps his stick against the ice to signal Jason to pass the puck back.
The second the puck hits his stick George repositions himself and fires it off, and it feels like the entire room is silent as they watch it sail right over the shoulder of Tampa’s goalie and slam into the back of the net.
The suite erupts into cheers as the buzzer rings out, and the girls are shouting as they jump up and down in celebration. George’s teammates on the ice all crowd around him, but as they separate George turns in the direction of the suite, and Y/N swears their eyes connect as he raises his stick, pointing it directly at her.
“What’s he saying?” Olivia leans in to ask as they all watch his mouth move.
And even though Y/N can’t make out the words, she knows without a doubt what George has just said. Because since their relationship began in middle school he’s done the exact same thing after every single goal.
“That was for you,” she answers, voice tight with emotion.
“He dedicated his goal to you? That’s so fucking cute,” Olivia squeals. “Thomas never dedicates his goals to me.”
“That’s because he’s the fucking goalie, Liv,” Jenny huffs.
Y/N ignores the argument that proceeds, too busy watching George battle Tampa’s center for the puck after the face off. She’s in awe that not only did George remember their tradition, but he just did it live on national television in front of a packed audience.
All her fears that George’s blatant display of affection was just a fluke, that he was just caught up in the moment are completely erased in the third period, when after scoring the game winning goal George shakes off his teammates so that he can raise his stick to Y/N and do it again.
-
After the game the girl’s had met their men outside of the locker room, and when George took Y/N into his arms he’d whispered that he wouldn’t mind missing out on the celebration and he’d take her home instead. And of course Y/N had been tempted, after watching him on the ice all night and dedicating his two goals to her she was more than ready to get him alone.
But the guys who already trickled out of the locker room were calling George’s name, and Y/N knows how important it is for George to be there for the guys both on and off the ice as he strives to be captain.
So instead they’re at Maynards, which after the team’s win is practically at capacity. Fans and puck bunnies are everywhere and Y/N can’t help but feel bothered by their presence. George is hanging out by the pool tables with his team while Y/N has been sitting at the bar with Olivia and Jenny, and every few minutes she can feel her eyes trailing over to him to make sure the women in the bar are keeping their distance.
This is totally new territory for Y/N, and she hates how insecure she feels. When she and George were together before puck bunnies weren’t a concern. George was so focused on his dreams of the NHL and their relationship that he didn’t ever go out with the guys on the team. After a home game he’d end up snuggled in bed with Y/N, and after an away game he locked himself in his hotel room to call her.
It doesn’t help that she knows George has been one to indulge in puck bunnies in the past, not that she judges him for it at all. He was free to do whatever and whoever he wanted while they were broken up. But now they’re in this really weird space. They’re not really together, and George certainly could leave this bar with Y/N and then meet up with some random girl later. She doesn’t think he would do that anyway, considering how well things have been going with them and he didn’t even want to go out in the first place.
But it’s easy to feel insecure when you’re surrounded by beautiful women whose only goal is to get your fiancé in bed.
“Do they ever bother you?” Y/N asks, gesturing around the bar. “All of the girls?”
“Hell yes,” Olivia answers honestly. “Mostly because a lot of the girls don’t give a shit if the player they’re after is in a relationship or not. Like I don’t care if you’re just trying to find some good dick, but at least stick to girl code.”
“Tell me about it,” Jenny adds. “One time a girl tried to stick her hand down Adam’s pants while I was sitting on his lap. Like bitch, read the fucking room.”
Y/N shakes her head in disbelief. “Jesus, that’s crazy. So how are you guys so calm sitting over here while the guys are on their own? Especially knowing the lengths some will go to sleep with a hockey player.”
“Trust,” Olivia answers simply and Jenny nods in agreement. “Do you trust George?”
“With my life,” Y/N responds without hesitation.
Olivia shrugs, smiling at Y/N. “Then let the puck bunnies try and get him into bed. Because you know that the only girl he’ll actually be going home with is you.”
Her words do quell some of the nerves rattling around Y/N’s stomach, and she takes another sip of her drink, immersing herself into Olivia and Jenny’s conversation. She even keeps herself from checking on George, trusting that Olivia was correct. Y/N doesn’t have to trust all of those women to stay away from George, she has to trust that George would never give some puck bunny a second glance.
Several minutes later Y/N and Jenny are talking about work when Olivia comes back from the bathroom with a weird look on her face.
“Okay, remember all that shit I said earlier about trust and puck bunnies and whatever.” There’s apprehension in her voice, and all Y/N can manage is a curt nod. “Okay well fuck all of that shit because there’s some puck bunny rubbing all over George and I think you need to go stake your claim on your man.”
Y/N swivels in her seat and anger rises in her throat at what she sees. Sure enough George is leaning against the side of a pool table, and there’s a bottle blonde pressing up against him, one of her hands twirling a piece of her hair while the other rests on George’s shoulder. To be fair to George he’s not touching her at all, one of his hands is gripping a beer bottle while the other rests on the pool table and Y/N can tell by the look on his face that he’s wildly uncomfortable and trying to find some way out of the interaction.
Jealousy quickly overtakes the anger as the puck bunny trails her hand up George’s neck to tangle her fingers in his hair, and before Y/N knows what she’s doing she’s up out of her seat and heading across the bar. Like hell if she’s gonna stand there while some random woman touches what belongs to her. Over her dead fucking body.
Like they’re tied together by an invisible string, George’s eyes snap to Y/N’s as she approaches and a look of relief takes over his features.
“Hey baby,” he greets, and when the woman looks over at Y/N George uses the distraction to push her to the side. “Are you ready to go?”
In lieu of answering his question Y/N shoves herself into the small space separating George from the puck bunny, wrapping one arm around his waist as the other grips his neck and she pulls him down into a kiss. She moans as George kisses her back, but she doesn’t relinquish control. Because this isn’t just a kiss, it’s a message. Y/N wants all of the bunnies to know that George belongs to her, and their days of coaxing him into their bed are over.
When the need to breathe becomes too overwhelming Y/N finally breaks their kiss, but the grip she has on George’s neck keeps their faces close together.
“Take me home?” she asks, just loud enough so the woman who is still hovering nearby can hear.
George is sure that the flicker of lust in Y/N’s eyes is reflected in his own, and he gives her a curt nod. “Of course, baby. It’s time for us to go to bed.”
Too bad sleep is the last thing on George’s mind.
-
George has her pressed up against the front door as soon as it’s closed behind them.
Neither of them said a word on the drive home, the air was so thick with want they were too afraid words might ruin what was bound to happen once they were home. Because that kiss at the bar was unlike any of the ones they’d shared since this arrangement started, it shattered the line between fake and real that they’ve been skating around for weeks and now there’s no going back.
George has his mouth on Y/N before she even has a chance to breathe. His teeth nip at her bottom lip before his tongue soothes it, hand gripping the back of her neck to angle her head in order to kiss her even deeper. His kiss is possessive, claiming her just as her kiss at the bar had claimed him, and Y/N is sure that without George’s body holding her to the door she’d be a puddle on the ground.
“I can’t fucking get enough of you, baby,” George growls into her skin as his lips kiss and nip down her neck. “I’m fucking addicted to you, Y/N. Your smell, your taste, the fucking noises you make for me.”
“George,” Y/N gasps as his teeth dig into the flesh at the juncture of her neck, his lips sucking hard enough to leave a bruise that is sure to last for weeks.
“My name sounds so good coming from those lips, baby.”
George recaptures her mouth, using the hand that’s not still gripping the back of Y/N’s neck to grab a hold of her thigh. He hitches it up around his hip and does the same to her other leg before placing his hand under Y/N’s ass for support.
She breaks their kiss as George starts to carry them down the hall, her teeth nipping at the skin of his jaw before her lips soothe the pain with soft kisses. As he pushes into their bedroom Y/N’s nose finds the base of his throat and her eyes flutter shut as she takes a deep inhale of his scent. It’s his cologne mixed with something Y/N can only describe as George, and its familiarity instantly soothes any nerves she may have.
It’s a stark reminder that this is George, her George, and she knows no matter what is about to happen she’s in good hands.
George chuckles as Y/N takes another deep breath and he sets her down gently on the end of their bed. “Do I smell bad or something? I promise I showered.”
His tease breaks some of the tension, and Y/N bites her lip as she looks up at George, shaking her head fondly. “Not at all, I was just thinking about how so much has changed and yet you still smell the same.”
George’s hand finds the back of Y/N’s neck again, thumb rubbing circles against the side of her throat. “You gave me that cologne, for Christmas, freshman year of high school. I’ve worn it every day since because it reminds me of you.”
Before Y/N has a chance to respond George is leaning in to kiss her again and she’s thankful for the distraction, since she’s definitely not in the headspace to be uncking that. Nope, George’s revelation will have to wait until tomorrow, when he isn’t kissing her breathless and her cunt isn’t soaking the inside of her thighs.
He pushes her up the bed as they kiss, crawling so that his body covers Y/N’s once he has her laying back against the pillows. Her thighs spread wide, making room for George’s broad frame to settle between them. His cock, hard and pressing against the zipper of his jeans, presses right against her pussy and George just barely grinds his hips to make them both moan.
“Tell me now if you want me to stop,” George pants as he breaks their kiss. He keeps his eyes focused on Y/N’s, needing to see that she wants this just as much as him. “If you don’t want this to happen tell me now and I’ll walk away and take the coldest fucking shower known to man.”
Y/N returns George’s gaze as her fingers twist in the hair on the back of his head and she gives the strands a sharp tug. “Please, George. I need you.”
That’s all the confirmation George needs, making quick work of their clothes. He kisses every inch of skin he reveals to the point that Y/N is writhing underneath him and her pussy throbs, begging for attention.
Her panties are the last thing to go, and as soon as she’s bare George’s fingers find her slit, dragging through the wetness before lightly circling her clit.
“Oh fuck,” Y/N gasps, hips eagerly pushing into George’s touch. “I’m so ready for you George, please.”
George sinks two fingers into her, cock twitching at the way her cunt sucks them in. He curls his fingers, drawing a moan from Y/N’s lips as they brush against her g-spot. “Fuck, baby. I wanted to take my time but I need to be inside of you.”
He sucks the fingers that were just inside Y/N clean, groaning around the digits as he tastes her for the first time in years. “Fuck, you taste,” he trails off, making Y/N whine impatiently.
“Like what?” she pants, dragging George’s mouth to hers so she can kiss him.
“Like mine,” George growls into their kiss, dipping his tongue into Y/N’s mouth so she can taste herself too.
When he goes to reach for a condom Y/N stops him, intertwining their fingers. “I’m clean, and on birth control so you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”
“Shit,” George groans, his head dropping so his forehead rests against her’s. “You’re telling me I can fuck you bare?”
“Please,” Y/N confirms with a nod. “I wanna feel you, all of you.”
Any fear George had about Y/N not wanting him the way he wants her has been thrown out of the window. She’s the only woman he’s ever forgone a condom with, and it’s going to stay that way if he has anything to say about it.
“How can I say no when you ask so nicely?” he teases, notching the tip of his cock against her pussy. He thrusts his hips gently, making them both moan as he coats himself in her slick. “I’m clean too,” he confirms, nudging his nose against her’s. “You’re the only person I’ve never used anything with.”
Something so simple makes her heart soar, and Y/N tips her chin up so George will kiss her. Knowing that she’s about to have George in a way no other woman has is intoxicating. No matter how many women he’s fucked, Y/N is the only one that he has given all of himself to, further confirming what she’s suspected for days.
Whatever is going on between them has turned into something real, and it’s looking like a real possibility that George loves her too.
“Oh my god,” Y/N moans as George finally starts to slowly push inside, her legs wrapping around his waist to encourage him to move faster. “You feel so fucking good, George, please.”
George groans as Y/N’s cunt pulses around him, her tight heat making his eyes roll to the back of his head. “Jesus christ, you’re so fucking tight baby. This pretty fucking pussy is choking my cock.”
When he’s halfway in his hips suddenly pull back, and the whine Y/N lets out quickly turns into a moan when George suddenly fucks back into her, not stopping until his thighs are pressed against the back of her’s and he’s buried inside of her completely.
His cock presses right against her g-spot, and Y/N feels electric zips of pleasure radiating through her body despite the fact that George has yet to move. Her muscles squeeze around him, and George buries a groan into her neck.
“Fuck, baby. I need a second or I’m going to cum way to fucking soon,” he growls, nipping at her neck. “Your pussy is so fucking tight it’s driving me insane.”
Y/N squirms underneath him, desperately trying to get him to move. “Please George, ‘m so fucking full of your cock, it feels so good. I need you to move.”
“Good fucking girl, begging for me” George praises as he finally starts to thrust, drawing a long, breathy moan from Y/N’s lips. Her pussy clenches as the praise, and George drives his hips even harder. “You like being my good girl, don’t you baby?”
“Yes,” Y/N gasps, her back arching as she starts to meet George’s thrusts. “Wanna be your good girl, George, please.”
George rests all of his weight onto his left arm and presses his thumb against Y/N’s mouth. “Be a good girl and suck my thumb, baby. Get it nice and wet so I can touch your pussy.”
She immediately complies, taking the digit between her lips and sucking hard. Her tongue wraps around it, getting it nice and soaked so George will finally touch her throbbing clit.
“Good girl,” he praises again as his thumb slips from her mouth. He immediately presses it to her clit, rubbing circles into the sensitive bud in time with his thrusts.
Y/N’s toes curl where they rest against George’s back, the familiar tingle in the pit of her stomach already building brighter as he inches her closer and closer to her orgasm. “I’m so fucking close, George, please.”
George readjusts so one of Y/N’s legs is slung over his shoulder, allowing him to fuck back into her even deeper. “Go on, baby. Soak my fucking cock with your cum.”
It only takes a few more thrusts before Y/N is falling over the edge, thighs trembling as pleasure rocks through her body. George’s name falls from her mouth before he kisses her, swallowing every single noise she makes so that he can keep it for himself.
“Fuck I’m close,” George growls when their kiss breaks, the way Y/N’s cunt pulses around him driving him towards the edge of his own climax. “Gonna cum inside you, baby. Claim this fucking cunt because it’s mine. Isn’t that right, baby?”
“Yes, yours George, please.” Y/N grabs George’s chin so he can’t look away. “Cum inside me, please.”
Her plea pushes him over the edge, and George buries his face in Y/N’s neck, letting her body absorb his pleasure as he pulses deep inside of her. George sucks and nips at her skin as his orgasm starts to fade, slowly resting his body against Y/N’s as they both catch their breath.
They kiss slowly as George softens inside of her, finally pulling out when the feeling gets to be too much. Neither of them says anything as George pulls away, Y/N watching from the bed as George grabs a cloth from the ensuite. Once he’s back in bed and has wiped their mess away, Y/N still hasn’t found the right words. So she lets him pull her into his arms as they settle under the duvet, the steady pounding of his heart lulling her to sleep.
-
George lays awake for hours after Y/N drifts off, still wound up from the game and everything that happened after. He kisses the side of her neck softly, dragging his fingers up and down Y/N’s bare arm. He can’t remember the last time he felt this content and he just wants to savor this moment for a little bit longer.
Sex with other women has always been a means to an end for George. He was horny, the girl was willing, and in the end he’d go back home to his own bed satisfied. There was never this connection that he feels with Y/N, this deep need to take care of his partner, this reluctance to let them go. It isn’t just sex with her, as corny as it sounds it’s making love, and there’s no way George can ever go back to the way it was before.
If his plan doesn’t work and Y/N truly doesn’t ever return his feelings, she’s well and truly ruined him for any other woman.
The thought of Y/N walking away from him, from this makes his stomach drop, and he finally has to confront the fact that his time is running out and it’s a real possibility that he may never get to hold her like this again.
Because he lied to her last night.
At dinner, when Coach Morrison pulled him aside he didn’t just want to talk to George about how he’s noticing how different he is now and the progress he’s made. He sat George down in his office to let him know that a decision about Captain had finally been made.
George is officially the next Captain of the Chicago Rebels.
The news had immediately brought a burst of joy to him, knowing that all of his hard work with the team hasn’t gone unnoticed. But it was swiftly replaced with fear and sadness. Because if George is Captain, technically his arrangement with Y/N can end. She’d done what she promised and is free to head back home and live her life as she was before. They can go back to just being a part of each other’s pasts, instead of building towards the future George so desperately wants.
He’s barely put his plan into action, and he’d hoped he’d have more time to get Y/N to fall back in love with him. Even though things between them are clearly going well, and every day their relationship feels less and less fake, he’s not sure it’s enough to get her to stay here with him. George is ready to go to the courthouse tomorrow and turn this fake engagement into a real marriage, but he’s not quite sure that Y/N is on the same page.
Which scares the shit out of him.
Luckily Coach doesn’t plan on making the announcement to the rest of the team until the season officially starts, wanting to present George with a new jersey just before the first game.
He can only hope that’s enough time, because a life without Y/N is no longer an option.
Warnings: this is set during Deathly Hallows when everyone is preparing for Bill and Fleur's wedding; the reader and George are not in a relationship, but they are friends with a spark who have been flirty with each other for a long time; the reader is described as afab and is mentioned to be wearing a dress (changing into one); the general tone of this is steamy with no explicit smut; George stares at the reader while she is undressed but the reader likes it; mentions of George's injury (his ear being blasted off); mentions of sex; general flirtiness and sexual tension.
A/N: I saw a bunch of tiktoks using the prompt 'how the Harry Potter characters would react to accidentally walking in on you changing' and idk why that was such a thing on tiktok, but it made me think of this. Let me know if you want to see this trope done with other characters and I'll probably do it because it was really fun. Also I am trying out this new formatting style because this is such a short fic. Anyway, hope you guys like it!
...
“Oi! Is it time for-?”
You heard the very distinct voice and felt a swish of air as the door was thrown open before you could shout at him to go away.
Instinctively, you held the fabric of your dress against your body to cover yourself as much as possible. But it seemed that you didn’t have much luck. When you looked over your shoulder toward the doorway, you realised that you were almost entirely exposed - your back and your underwear completely on display, the makeshift cover only working to hide your breasts from prying eyes.
You had been caught changing from one of your dress options into the other - absolutely indecisive as you were. Ginny had warned you that the lock on her bedroom door was ‘crap’ because everything in the house was so old and worn down. But you had been satisfied when it clicked, thinking that it was secure enough for you to strip down and get into your outfit for the wedding.
But you were in so much of a rush that you didn’t notice the door drifting out of its frame due to the loose nature of the ‘lock’ - you were too busy thinking about everything you had to do that day, how you still had to put some finishing touches on the wedding cake and help Hermione with her hair.
And now you were standing there - wearing nothing but your lacy, revealing underwear, barely covering your front with the fabric of your dress pressed against you while George stood in the doorway with his hand poised on the doorknob, staring you down entirely unabashed. He had not an ounce of shame as his eyes hungrily drank you in, and the longer he looked at you, the more attractive it made you feel.
“Sorry.” George said quietly, not taking his eyes off you for a moment.
Of course, he didn’t seem so sorry.
“I thought Mum was in here. She - uh - she mentioned wanting to change my bandages before tonight.” He added on, gesturing toward the thick wad of cotton that was held to the side of his head with a headband made out of gauze.
As much as Fred had joked about it - George was still definitely the better looking twin, even down one ear.
Maybe it was because you had always thought that, a distinct attraction toward George always bubbling under the surface whenever you were around him.
It was likely something about his quiet confidence. The fact that Fred was louder, always flirted with girls boldly even if he wasn’t necessarily interested in them. George was more reserved, and he could speak volumes with a single look and have you blushing with a few simple words. And from what you knew, he had only ever been that way with you. So feeling special in his eyes did add a lot to your attraction toward him.
You loved the fact that he didn’t hide his attraction toward you or get shy when you flirted with him. Especially not in this moment, when his eyes raked over every detail of you, not trying in the slightest to hide his intentions as his lustful gaze looked you over. You became heated as you watched his eyes drink you in - from the side of your breast being accidentally squeezed by your arms while holding your dress against your body; to the gentle, natural curves of your side and the plushness of your stomach peeking out.
His gaze definitely lingered around your ass. He almost couldn’t believe the fact that you were wearing black, lacy, see-through knickers - just like how he had imagined you in every single fantasy of his. (But this was so much better than a fantasy somehow. You were so much better.)
“You could close the door anytime now.” You said, your voice light and cordial.
You weren’t mad at him for staring. If anything, you were heavily resisting the urge to invite him in and push him down on the bed. (Which would have been intensely rude because it wasn’t even your bed, so that was one reason not to.) On top of the fact that anything you cooked up in your dirty mind would have massively derailed the packed, busy schedule for the day. You still had to help Hermione get ready and then go downstairs to help with some flower arrangements - unfortunately, fucking George Weasley’s brains out was not on that schedule.
“Lacy knickers for a wedding?” He questioned, the usual laughter budding through his voice. “You aren’t… expecting anything, are you?”
“My knickers are none of your business, George.” You told him with a chuckle.
“Hmm. S’pose I’d like to make ‘em my business.” He replied, sticking his tongue out the corner of his mouth in a way that made you want to bite it - if simply to spite his cockiness.
“Get out,” You chuckled quietly, knowing that you needed to get ready, that you didn’t have time to indulge any of this. “Go on, go!”
To emphasise the point, you balled up the fabric of your dress and sharply threw it at him. He let out a bright laugh when it hit him in the middle of the chest and then fell at his feet, leaving you completely exposed to him. Of course, George then began ogling your tits with no more grace than a common caveman.
“George!” You squealed, laughter evident in your voice, making no effort to cover yourself.
You liked the attention too much - why try to hide from it?
“Right, going,” He said, finally closing the door behind him with a wink.
A warmth curled over you, and it made you flustered and dizzy as you moved to change into the outfit you had officially decided upon. You knew that it had very little to do with the August weather and everything to do with your attraction to that Weasley that had been plaguing you for a long time now.
"Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers’ tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall, and a preserving sweet."
- William Shakespeare, "Romeo and Juliet"
summary: You are the beloved and sheltered eldest daughter of the Malfoy family. You've spent your life tucked safely away in the walls of the Manor, but for your final year of schooling, your father decides to send you to the esteemed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, under the protection of your younger brother, Draco.
Finally, you have a chance to be a normal girl.
But who else captures your attention the moment you arrive but George Weasley, the one person you have no business getting involved with. As tensions rise and war looms on the horizon, it's only a matter of time before these violent delights meet their violent ends.
cw: mdni 18+, smut, abuse, dark themes, angst, war, forbidden love
inspired by these requests: 1, 2, 3, and 4 | divider by @roseraris
♡ Overtime: Inspired by Overtime by Seafret.
George gathers the courage to confess to the Gryffindor Head Girl who always seemed to have a handful heart.
♤♡ Never Walk Away Again: Inspired by Never Gonna Leave This Bed by Maroon 5.
She knew that she’s playing with fire from the beginning, but his demeanour has poured nothing but gasoline and now she’s the only one burning in flame as he watches on the side.
♡ Mother Knows Best: The Weasley family dinner might not just be another gathering this time as Molly Weasley invited his long lost lover. Set after the Great War. Fred is very much alive.
♡♛Pretend Boyfriend: “Well, since you don’t have anyone you want to go with and that I need someone to shield me from these boys, would you please be my pretend boyfriend?” George deals with his feelings as he falls deeper for her in their fake relationship.
♤♡ Soul Bound: The old grimoire was wide open for her to read. Truth be told, she never thought she would ever need to open the grimoire. But desperate time calls for desperate measures and that’s certainly what she is right now.
♤♡♛Delicate [Requested]: Insecurity and misunderstanding led the boy to ask the wrong girl for the Yule Ball.
♤ Starcrossed: George Weasley x Malfoy!Reader
George comes to the realisation that sometimes, somethings are destined to end.
♤♡ One Day [Request]: Being the centre of attention all of their lives has made the two crave for privacy and tranquillity more than anything, but would solitude be a good enough reason to keep their relationship secret?
♤♡ Loved and Lost You [Requested]: Fake dating gone wrong when she realises that her silly idea to help the Hufflepuff boy costs her his bestfriend.
♤♡ Nothing’s Gonna Hut You Baby: The war took something from everyone and it certainly took a big part away from George Weasley.
♤ Vitalum Vitalis: Balancing the scales of life and death is never close to the word safe, but what else could she do when he’s losing his other half?
Series
♤ Reignite: One ill-considered joke leads to another hasty decision that though both of them have to suffer the disastrous aftermath, only one could try to light the spark again.
♤ Ember: This story is part II of Reignite. He crawls back to the past, trying to salvage whatever is left of them. But one could only try so much before their heart yields and cave in defeat.
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