i'll never finish writing this bill one shot if i keep having to turn my head every time i write him saying something flirty i just have to change tabs, bang my head against my desk internally and keep writing
Bill Weasley being a lonely child, wishing for a sibling or two until they just keep coming and he's like, okay, we can stop at any time now. No, seriously, there's enough of us. Oh no, not another one. Wait—
Summary: After a long three months, Bill finally comes back home from Egypt. Is there any better way to spend the night besides in your wife's lap?
Tags: established relationship, married couple, reader has tattoos and piercings, reader loves playing with Bill's hair, fluff, not proofread, totally forgot to type this story until like 20 minutes ago
After three long months of floo calls and letters, your husband was finally home. His assignment in Egypt lasted a month longer than it was scheduled for.
Dinner was finished and leftovers put away in the fridge. Italian takeout, Bill's favorite. Now you both have taken residence on the couch, Bill's head on your lap as he reads to you.
Your fingers run through his copper hair. It has grown so much since you last saw your husband. Before he left for Egypt, his hair stopped at the base of his neck. Now it was a quarter of the way down his back.
"Your mum is going to murder you the next time she sees you. She despised how long it was before. Now it's even longer." Bill tilts his head up, his icy blue eyes meet mine accompanied by a dopey smile.
"Least I know you'll join me soon after when she notices that new piercing," His hand reaches out, hovering above your ear. "Or the new tattoo down your right arm." You laugh, tugging his hair in retaliation.
"You know, I once heard that when one soulmate dies, the other dies too. Maybe that's how we will go out. Your mother killing us." Your fingers work carefully in his hair, adding a braid. "Your hair is so soft. How is that possible after living in the desert for three months?" Bill chuckles, rolling over so now he was on his stomach.
"Magic darling." You scoff, rolling your eyes. You look back at the braids in his hair. "We really should add braids to your hair the next time we go visit your mother." You smirk, cupping his cheek. "That way we can use her dream of having another daughter to save our lives."
A sharp shriek echos the living room as Bill sinks his teeth into your thigh. "William!" He chuckles, pushing himself up onto his knees. "Remember how much you missed me." You jump off the couch, storming into the kitchen.
Chapter 1 - The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
Pairing: Bill Weasley x OC
Summary: When Tonks invites Effie to a meeting at 12 Grimmauld Place, Effie is unconvinced. However, she meets a charming, handsome young man named Bill there, and her whole world is turned upside down.
Word count: 1,5k
Warnings: swearing, war, mentions of shitty childhood, mentions of bullying, mentions of shitty parents, Bill is hot, slight age gap (Bill is 25, Ophelia is 20), English is not my first language.
Ophelia entered the kitchen at Grimmauld Place rather timidly, trying not to draw attention to herself, though that was very difficult given the mass of tangled black curls on her head. She regretted letting her older cousin talk her into attending the Order’s meeting. She felt that everyone in the kitchen knew who she was and whose blood ran in her veins. Especially Sirius Black, a distant relative of hers who loathed the House of Black, despite hailing from it himself. Effie, however, didn't blame him. She herself would have changed her surname at the first opportunity, had she been able to.
However, it was impossible to avoid drawing attention to herself with Dora around; since morning, she had been walking around with bright green hair that was positively blinding to anyone who looked at it for more than two minutes.
"Come on! Don’t hide, no one here is going to bite you!" Dora said, sitting down opposite the red-haired girl with the feisty smile.
"They’ll just swallow you whole," the redhead replied, reaching her hand across the table toward Ophelia. "I’m Ginny. And you are…?"
"I’m Ophelia." Effie murmured taking Ginny’s hand. Ginny shook their hands vigorously, as a sign of greeting and the start of a new acquaintance.
"She’s just a bit shy." Tonks told Ginny. "But once she gets going, she turns into quite the chatterbox. Sometimes she talks more than the two of us put together."
Ophelia agreed with that statement—to an extent, though not entirely. She wouldn’t have described herself as shy or timid, she was simply quiet. She adored peace and quiet, expressing her love for these virtues by spending most of her time alone.
Yet, this wasn't solely due to her love of quiet, there was another reason, buried deep within the layers of her subconscious. She had no desire to expose herself to harassment; she had already endured enough of a living hell at school. Most students either feared her or, conversely, picked on her because of her lineage. The name Lestrange was like a brand seared into her soul, as if she were cattle. She couldn't shake it off; she had merely learned not to introduce herself by her full name unless the situation demanded it.
She was snapped out of her reverie by a loud crack, followed by the equally loud shouting of a woman. Two identical red-haired boys burst into the kitchen, chuckling merrily. A woman, clearly their mother, rushed in after them, her face flushed with anger.
"How many times do I have to say it?! No teleporting in the house!" she yelled, swatting one of the boys on the arm with a dishcloth. "Just because you’re of age doesn’t mean you can go waving your wands around willy-nilly!"
The boys just laughed louder, completely unconcerned by their mother’s shouting. She shooed them back out into the hallway.
"That’s Fred and George, my brothers," Ginny explained. "The biggest troublemakers of the seven of us."
"You have six siblings?" Effie asked in surprise.
"Yes, the oldest is Bill. He’s really cool, you’ll meet him today," the redhead said. "Then there’s Charlie, he works with dragons in Romania. After that, Fred, George, Ron, and me. There’s also Percy, but it’s better not to mention him. He had a huge falling-out with our parents and hasn’t spoken to us since."
"I know Percy, we were in the same year. I recognize you all in general, but I didn't realize there were so many of you."
"Are you talking about the Perfect Prefect?" Ophelia heard a low, pleasant voice behind her. She turned and saw a tall man wearing a fang earring.
"Speak of the wolf!" Tonks said happily, evidently knowing the man. "Effie, meet Bill. Bill, meet my cousin, Ophelia."
"It’s nice to meet you, Ophelia."
"It's nice to meet you, too," Effie murmured. "I hope she said nothing but good things about me."
"What do you take me for, my dear? Of course I sang your praises!" Dora was indignant.
Bill smiled gently as he sat down next to Ophelia, close enough for her to catch the scent of his cologne, yet far enough away that she didn't feel uncomfortable. It was August and sweltering outside, so he was wearing short sleeves, revealing his freckled, well-defined arms. She noticed several leather cord bracelets on his wrist, a watch on a leather band and silver signet rings on his fingers.
"What do you do, Ophelia?" Bill asked politely.
"I... well, I'm training to be a Healer, specializing in potions," Effie explained, blushing slightly, though she tried to hide it behind her curls. She was certain, however, that Ginny, sitting opposite her, could see the flush on her pale cheeks. "In short, I'll be brewing potions and all sorts of other remedies for St Mungo's. What about you?"
"I’m a Curse Breaker for Gringotts." Bill said.
"I told you Bill is great. The coolest of all those morons." Ginny interjected with a smile.
"Don't suck up to me, kid. Head upstairs, the meeting is about to start."
Ginny snorted in annoyance and stuck out her tongue at her older brother, but the moment she caught her mother’s eye, she instantly quieted down and ran upstairs, slamming the door behind her. It was completely unnecessary, though, as the door was immediately opened by three men. One had scars on his face, it was Remus Lupin, who had taught Ophelia during her final year at Hogwarts. Following him were a tall, bespectacled man with red hair and a stocky man with a glass eye in his socket. That had to be Alastor Moody. Dora had told Effie that he had been her mentor during her Auror training.
"I told you, Moody, that I’d bring my cousin Ophelia along," Tonks said.
"Yes, but I still don't know why," Moody grumbled.
"She’s brilliant at Potions, and on top of that, she knows Legilimency and Occlumency," Dora explained.
"So, a female Snape, then," Moody boomed as he sat down at the table. "It’s a good thing he isn't here right now, or he might have taken offense, fucking bat. I’ll admit her to the Order, but only because I trust you, Tonks."
The rest of the meeting passed without incident. It felt strange for Ophelia to sit in her ancestral home without hearing any snide remarks about Muggles, Muggle-borns, or so-called blood traitors. Whenever she had visited this house as a child, those vile views—words steeped in venom and hatred—had been drilled into her. Fortunately, her parents were arrested shortly after her sixth birthday for using the Cruciatus Curse on the Longbottoms. She subsequently spent a few months in a muggle orphanage before eventually going to live with her aunt, Andromeda Tonks.
The first few days were a nightmare, though it was certainly not the fault of Aunt Andromeda, her husband Ted, or their daughter Dora, who was eight years old at the time. Little Effie was plagued by constant nightmares and a fear of the dark. Matters only worsened when she found a Boggart in a rarely used drawer. It took a long time for her to settle into her new home, but she eventually succeeded and came to live with them as if they were her own true family.
She also occasionally visited her other aunt, Narcissa Malfoy, and her family. Narcissa’s son, Draco, was slightly younger than Effie but a hundred times more cruel. What they had failed to instill in her, they had instilled in him, and Draco loathed everything Muggle. She felt uncomfortable there, all those nasty memories would come flooding back. Ophelia had never suffered any actual abuse at the hands of her parents, yet the mere thought of them made her skin crawl. She knew that her mother, Bellatrix, loved her dearly.
She felt torn between her love for her parents and the knowledge of the horrible, vile, and cruel things they had done. They were Death Eaters who had sown terror in the worst sense of the word. Ophelia felt guilty about visiting them in Azkaban once a year. She knew the extent of the harm they had caused, the closest example was Aunt Dromeda, who had been disowned by the family after marrying a Muggle-born.
"That’s all for today," Moody announced. "See you the day after tomorrow."
Most people began to leave the kitchen, including Dora and Effie. However, Bill stopped them in the hallway.
"So, Tonks?" Bill began. "Are you coming to that concert with us?"
"Sure, I’ve missed Charlie," Dora replied with a smile. "I need to give him a good jab in the ribs, he hasn't written me a single letter in two months!"
"Maybe Ophelia will come with us?" Bill suggested.
Effie felt a bit flustered. She found Bill likable, but she wasn't sure she was ready to go out with his friends.
"I’ll have to think about it... I’ve got a lot of studying right now, so I don't know if I'll find the time," she mumbled. "I'll let you know."
"Right, I'll wait to hear from you," Bill said, though Effie detected a hint of awkwardness in his tone. It was as if he had expected a different answer and was disappointed by the one he got.
"We're off, then. See ya, Weasley!" Tonks said in farewell.
god please give me the ability to finish this whole draft instead of just putting more scenes in my head that i dont know how i will connect to the main ones. is that too much to ask for
Outlines are training wheels some people never take off and that's fine. some writers need every scene mapped before they start. some discover everything as they go. most are somewhere in between. try both. maybe you need bullet points of major beats but improvise the rest. maybe you need character sheets but a loose plot. maybe you just need vibes and a playlist. your outline can be one sentence per chapter or a 50 page document. it can change completely when you actually write. plans are permission to start. they're not contracts. break them when the story demands it.
SUMMARY: Bill returns from Cairo, but doubt began to creep into your mind during his absence, dredging up old wounds for the both of you.
CW: MDNI 18+, smut, mischievious twins, pleasuredom!Bill, angst angst angst angst, mentions of Fenrir’s attack and the war, mentions of divorce, some rough oral and piv, slight breeding kink, possessive!Bill, fluffy HEA
AN: this is now a completed series! yay!
masterlist
It was strange sitting in Bill’s office without him, curled up in the armchair he devoured you in, book open in your lap. You'd been trying for an hour to decipher his notes on a particular curse, tracing the small, angular letters with tired eyes, but your mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of its writer to absorb any of it.
Bill had been in Cairo for 12 days, six hours, and nine minutes, every tick of the clock like a barb in your skin, leeching black, poisonous doubt into your blood.
Would he still want you when he returned? Will the time away give him clarity to how insane you both were acting? Would you be reduced to a fling? No longer desirable now that you've been flung?
The time, the space, was making you second guess yourself, second guess him. What you were doing was reckless. Stupid, even. Risking the future you'd imagined for yourself since you were a first year at Hogwarts. You’d be a stain on Bill’s impressive career, and the thought of him eventually coming to resent you, regret you, for possibly ruining a decade of hard work…it made you physically ill.
Could you do that to him? To yourself?
But fuck, you wanted him desperately, the ache for him like a hole in your lungs. You found yourself spending longer and longer hours in his office, craving his presence, his aura, and the sanctuary of his space was the closest you could come to replicating that.
You sighed and set the notes aside for the night, the sun having set some hours before. With unhurried movements, you packed up your belongings and tidied his office on the off chance he returned the following day. You wanted it to be presentable for him, leaving no evidence that you'd been holed up there for nearly two weeks, besides the stack of completed work.
You took the Floo Station to the nearest one by your flat like you always did, ready to wash off your makeup, get into your pajamas, and order some Chinese food. Rain was coming down in sheets, wind buffeting against your coat, but when you rounded the corner towards your flat, the bulk of a man standing in the rain in front of your door stopped you in your tracks.
It took less than a heartbeat for you to realize who it was.
“Bill?” You gasped, and he lifted his head, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion, copper hair pulled back in a messy bun.
He took a step towards you. “Sorry, I—”
You launched yourself at him, completely overcome with relief, and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “You're home,” you whispered, relaxing fully when his arm looped around your waist, holding you tightly against his chest under the safety of the umbrella.
“I'm home,” he sighed, nuzzling into the top of your head. He smelled of train cars and petrichor, with lingering traces of cologne applied hours earlier, and you wanted to breathe it like air. “Can we go inside?” He asked, settling his hand on your hip with a soft squeeze.
“Yes! Merlin, sorry,” you giggled, a twinge of nerves in your stomach at the thought of having Bill inside your little flat.
You reluctantly pulled away and riffled through your bag for your keys. Bill's arm slid around you from behind, pulling you back against his chest as he nosed into the curve of your shoulder. Butterflies rioted in your stomach, your hands growing so clumsy to nearly dropped your key while you inserted it into the lock.
“Missed you, little bird,” he mumbled, pressing a tender kiss to your pulse.
“I missed you too,” you said, leaning your head against his. You managed to get the door open and Bill released you so you could move inside, and he closed the door behind you both, collapsing the umbrella and setting it by the door. “So, how were things in Egypt?” You asked, hanging your bag on the hook.
Bill slid your rain-soaked jacket off your shoulders, down your arms, his touch feather light, and hung it up as well. “You really want to talk about work? That's where you just came from, isn't it?” He said while shirking his own coat.
You flushed, embarrassed that he saw through you so easily. “It is,” you admitted. “And as long as you're alright, I don't want to talk about work.”
He smirked, reaching out to cradle your face in his hand, the other settling on your hip. “I'm perfect now, love. Although, we’re going to have a discussion about your work-life balance.”
You snorted. “Really? William ‘Never-Takes-A-Day-Off’ Weasley is going to lecture me on working too much?”
“Backtalk, too? Have you forgotten your manners while I was away?” He backed you against your kitchen island, lips a breath away from yours.
“No, sir,” you hummed, barely suppressing a grin as days worth of pent up desire came surging forth, your pulse racing between your legs.
He sighed, breath fanning against your cheek. “Merlin, you sound so pretty.” His hand on your hip moved around your back, pressing your bodies together. “Haven't felt anything soft in days,” he mumbled, almost to himself.
“Take me to bed?” You asked, brushing an escaped strand of hair from his face and tucking it behind his ear.
“Thought you'd never ask,” he chuckled and scooped you up into his arms—
Knock knock!
“Open up! We brought pizza!” The twins serenaded through the door, and Bill swiveled his head to look at you.
“Oh fuck, I completely forgot.” You squirmed and Bill set you back on your feet, though he didn't relinquish his hold. “We planned a movie night.”
“Tell them to bugger off,” he huffed, bending down to kiss your neck.
“Bill, that's rude!”
“Don't care,” he muttered, lapping at your pulse, and your mind began to drift, lost in the feeling of him.
“We’re getting soaked out here!” George called.
“Don't make me break in!” Fred warned, knocking with a little more force. “I'd hate to do it again!”
“Again?” Bill's head snapped towards the door.
“Just—fuck, get in the closet!” You tried to push Bill towards your bedroom, but only managed to move him a few steps.
“Why did he break in before?” He asked, fighting a smile at your helpless attempt to move him.
“I locked myself out! I'll get rid of them, just, please get in there!” You pushed your shoulder into his sternum, peddling your legs like cartoon character.
He sighed, taking a step back and nearly sending your sprawling onto the floor. “Ten minutes.”
“Thank you!”
Bill chuckled and walked the rest of the way into your bedroom at the same moment you heard George cast alohomora.
The twins barged in, wands raised as if you were in peril.
“What took you so bloody long?”
“Why are you just standing there?”
“Whose coat is that?”
“I, actually, um—” you wracked your brain for an excuse.
“Darling, is there a man in this flat?” George asked, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
“Uh—yes!” you whispered back. “I met him at work and we hit it off. I'm sorry, I forgot about our plans.”
George scoffed, a teasing smirk on his face. “So you'd rather have a shag then hang out with us?”
“Y’know, if you needed to blow off a little steam—” Fred started when something crashed in your closet, making the three of you jump.
“Is he…in your closet?” George raised an eyebrow.
“No, no! That's, uh—”
Fred pushed past you, striding into your room.
“Fred!” You snapped, trying to grab him, but he batted your hand away. “Just please, go.”
“You sure you know this bloke well enough to be here alone with him?” Fred asked, moving closer to the closet, the humor having drained from his voice.
“What's his name?” George asked. “Maybe Bill’s mentioned him?”
“It’s, uh—”
“You don't even know his name?” Fred whisper-shouted, glaring at you with a strange mix of pride and concern.
“No, I do! He, uh—”
“Are you okay?” George asked, his brothers concern reflected in his face. He placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. “You're shaking, love.”
“Did this prick scare you?” Fred asked, turning his attention back to the closet door.
“No! Merlin’s sake, please just go! I'm fine!”
“Hey, fuckface, what are you doing in her closet?” Fred banged on the door, and you died a little inside.
Silence echoed around the flat.
“Open the door, mate,” Fred ordered, and George pulled you a little closer to his chest.
More silence. You had no doubt Bill had apparated, and the twins were about to think you were insane.
“Three, two—” Fred yanked open the door, revealing his older brother standing in the middle of your closet, his arms crossed over his chest. “B-Bill?” Fred stammered, taking a step back.
“You two have some fucking nerve,” Bill growled, and the twins scattered as he dashed out of the closet after them.
“We're sorry! We didn't know!” George called, vaulting over your couch.
“What the fuck, y/n?” Fred shouted, diving under your bed.
“Would it kill you two to mind your own fucking business?” Bill dragged Fred out by his ankles, his little brother desperately clawing at the ground.
You'd find it funny if it weren't for your secret being out, the very thing that kept you up every night for the last two weeks.
“You're the one fucking our friend!” George shouted, effectively diverting attention from his twin.
Bill turned on him, throwing one of your pillows at his head. “I'm not fucking her!”
Fred scurried behind your bedroom door. “Then why are you here so late!”
“And hiding in like a ghoul in the closet!”
“Can we just calm down—” You tried.
“I just got back from—come here, you little shit! I just got back from Cairo and needed to check in with her—George!”
“Bullshit!” Fred countered. “You're fucking our girl!”
“Hey!”
Bill froze, turning his head to peer at Fred, pillow aloft.
“Your girl?” Bill challenged, and you groaned.
“See! I knew it! Oh fuck—” Bill chucked the pillow at Fred and he apparated at the same instant, the pillow flying right through where he was standing and landing on your bed.
“Fucker,” Bill bit.
“Congratulations on your boning! Bye!” George chirped, apparating too.
Bill sighed, turning to you.
“Couldn't keep your cool, huh?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.
“They won't say anything,” he said, smoothing back his hair.
“I know, it's just—” Tendrils of anxiety wrapped around your throat, tightening until you were silenced.
“What, love?” He asked, taking a careful step towards you, sensing your mounting anxiety.
“What are we doing? This is—”
Bill was quiet for a moment. “You said you wanted this,” he murmured, a sharpness around the edges of his words.
“I do!” You cried, frustrated with yourself. “But that doesn't mean we should be doing it. Bill, if it got out that you were screwing your intern, your career would be over. And so would mine, before it even started. I mean, hiding from our coworkers, from your family, it’s just…”
His jaw flexed, shoulders squaring. “So you want to end things here? Go back to before we—” he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Is that what you really want?”
Tears burned your eyes, nausea churning in your stomach. “I don't know—”
“I don't believe you,” he growled. “The way you look at me, the way you were holding me not even ten minutes ago—” his voice cracked. “I don't believe that you want to end this.”
“Maybe it isn't what I want, but it's what we should do. You know that, Bill,” you said through the lump in your throat, voice pinched and small. “We need to stop before this goes too far.”
He looked like you'd slapped him. “What do you mean ‘too far’?”
You turned away from him, tears coming in earnest now. He stalked into your bedroom and caught your elbow, spinning you back around.
“Tell me what you meant,” he pleaded, pulling your hands away from you face, your eyes wet and puffy with tears.
“You know what I meant!” You shouted, yanking your hands out of his grip.
“So even with the potential for…that, you’re still going to end this?” He asked, his voice low. “That isn't worth it to you?”
You couldn't answer him, you arms wrapped around yourself as you trembled, biting back the sob on the tip of your tongue.
“Answer me,” he repeated, softening his voice.
“What if you resent me? What if you—” your voice fractured, brittle with shame and fear. “What if you regret me?”
He leaned down, forcing you to meet his eye. “There's a lot of things I regret on my life,” he said, barely above a whisper. “But I never thought I would get the chance to love someone again, not after Fenrir. Not after the war, not after the divorce—” he drew a shaky inhale.
Guilt dogged at you, and you opened your mouth to speak, but he pressed on.
“There's nothing I wouldn't risk to have that chance again. I would give up everything, my career, my house, all of it. And regardless of what happens between us, I'll never regret you.” He cupped your face again, and this time you allowed him, eyes swimming with unshed tears, your heart mending and breaking all at once.
“Bill, I—”
“Don’t say anything else. I want you to sleep on it,” he said, straightening. “Take the day off tomorrow, too. Then you can tell me what you want to do, and we'll do it.” His voice was firm, but not unkind, a tone of finality that had you nodding in acceptance. “Goodnight, love.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, then released you, apparating away before you could blink.
You were left stunned and alone in your torn apart bedroom, reeling from Bill’s words. Growing weak, your knees folded beneath you and you collapsed onto the floor, a sob bursting from your chest.
Such a coward, you scolded yourself. Of course he's worth the risk.
You wanted or rush over to Shell Cottage and tell him, beg him to forgive you for being so stupid, but he told you to sleep on it. To be sure of whatever answer you gave him. So you shirked your work wear and climbed into bed, squeezing your eyes shut, and prayed for sleep to take you swiftly.
It didn't. You laid awake for hours, until finally, at two o’clock in the morning, you couldn't stand it any longer.
You pulled on your lucky pair of jeans and jumper, washed away your smudged makeup, and apparated to Shell Cottage.
When you landed sprawled in his yard instead of standing on his front porch, it occurred to you that surprising the Curse-breaker in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm was a stupid idea, but it was too late now.
Bill wrenched open the door, hair rumpled and dressed only in sweatpants, his wand aimed at you, green wisps of magic dancing at the end of it. Thunder rolled overhead, a crack of lightning making you jump.
“Bill,” you gasped, stepping into the light of his front porch, and he nearly dropped his wand.
“Y/n? What the fuck are you—”
“I'm sorry about what I said.” You jumped headfirst into your apology, needing to get it out before it drowned you. “I was scared and stupid and I didn't mean it. I want you, no matter the risks. I can't let you—I can't let this go by without trying.” Tears will spilling down your cheeks again, mixing with the rain, your words coming out in hiccuping gasps. “I'd never forgive myself for being too cowardly to try.”
Bill bound down the steps, grabbing you by the throat and silencing you with a savage, bruising kiss. He kissed you the way a drunkard takes to a keg, ravenous and greedy. You could taste whisky on his tongue, smoke on his breath, but it only made you kiss him harder, open yourself wider for him to devour.
“Inside,” he gruffed when you broke the kiss to breathe. “Now.”
You obliged, hurrying up the slick steps with him on your tail. The cottage was cozy and dimly lit, a fireplace roaring in the corner and the moon serving as the only illumination. There were books everywhere, piles of blankets and shelves lined with trinkets, art hung on every wall.
Taking advantage of your distraction, Bill scooped you up bridal-style, one arm notched under your knees, the other around your mid-back. You gasped in surprise, but quickly settled into the warmth of his chest, leaning your head against his bare shoulder to kiss along his rain-damp clavicle.
“I told you to sleep on it,” he murmured, carrying you across the living room and up a set of stairs.
“Couldn't,” you hummed, licking a jagged scar on his shoulder. “Not without fixing things.”
“Neither could I,” he said, nudging open a door with his foot and carrying you across the threshold. It was his bedroom, decorated with even more of his findings and a giant four-poster bed made of solid wood, the quilt a thick woven masterpiece that you only got to admire for a second before he was dropping you onto it and shirking your wet clothes.
He paused, muttering an incendio to light the fire place, and you sat up, head level with his sternum. Hesitantly, you kissed a long his abdomen, tracing the dips and swells of his muscles, his scars with your lips.
He hummed low in his chest, petting a hand over your damp hair. “Whatcha doin’, pretty girl?” he asked, his voice silken.
“Nothin’,” you mumbled, licking along one his scars, growing bolder as he placated you with scalp scratches. “Wanted to touch you.”
He chuckled. “Been wanting you to touch me—” he groaned when you shifted your body to lay down on the bed, kissing along the grooves of his hips, teasing the edge of his waistband with your fingers. “Baby, you don't have to—”
You cut him by licking a stripe over the hard bulge of his cock, feeling it twitch and swell through the fabric. You nearly moaned at the feel of him, thick and long and warm, and your pussy purred, fluttering around nothing.
“You want my cock, darling?” He asked, gently sweeping your hair into a ponytail, the strands held together by his fist.
You nodded, looking up at him through your lashes.
He tsked, smirking. “I suppose I could indulge you for a bit.” With his free hand, he reached into the front his pants, freeing himself. He wrapped his hand around the base, a pearl of precum squeezing from the swollen tip.
You caught the salty morsel with your tongue, kitten licking the underside of him. He tasted fucking divine, velvety smooth and masculine, and your jaw fell open on its own accord, eager to take more of him.
“Such a good girl,” he cooed, feeding the first few inches into your mouth before retreating, patting your tongue with his cockhead when it chased him past your lips. “Fuck, look at you. So eager to please.”
He eased himself back into your mouth, holding still so you could move at your own pace, bobbing your head in slow, sloppy movements, savoring the heavy feel of him on your tongue.
Soft, breathy moans spilled from his lips, his hand tugging a bit harder at your roots. He started moving you up and down his length, his hips rocking forward, thrusting gently into your mouth. You moaned around him, fisting the sheets below you as a flood of arousal made you pussy throb.
“Oh, darling. You want me to be rough, don't you?” He hummed, pulling his hips back until just the tip rested on your tongue.
Your eyes lifted to his and you nodded the best you could. Please, please use me.
“Your safe word is ‘hex’, okay?”
You nodded again, pleading with your eyes.
He thrust back into your mouth, his fist keeping your head in place as he forced his cock as deep as it could go. He set a punishing pace, fucking your face with every ounce of the brutality you knew he kept locked up right in his chest, hidden from the world.
Now, hidden from everyone but you.
You both needed to let go of control, to surrender to the truth in your heart, and with each other, it was starting to seem not only possible, but safe.
“Such a good fucking slut, gagging on my cock—this what you wanted? To be pushed to your limits?” Bill clutched your jaw with his other hand, feeling the strain in your muscles, the force of him stretching your mouth wider, and he groaned, head tipping back on his shoulders. “I'm gonna mold that pretty little throat in the shape of my cock, yeah? You're mine. This throat is mine.”
You could only whimper, taking every savage thrust like it was a gift from god. More than happy to worship at the altar of Bill Weasley.
He withdrew suddenly, leaving you gasping for air, a thread of drool connecting you. He craned your head back, lifting you until your hands left the mattress, back bent like a doll.
“This is it now, you understand? I won't go back.” His voice was rough with intensity, eyes shining with sincerity, vulnerability despite his hold on you.
“This is it,” you repeated, shuffling your knees underneath you and reaching for him. He loosened his hold so you could wrap your arms around his neck, molding your tender mouth against his in an attempt to convey what your were feeling, how much you needed him.
He kissed you back harder as thunder boomed above you, tongue twining with yours, and low groan loosened from his chest. He released you fully, sliding his hands down your back and scooping you up by your thighs, guiding your legs around his waist.
He held you aloft for a few moments, basking in the heat of the kiss, but it wasn't long until you were squirming in his hold, trying to create more friction between your bodies as desire blazed under your skin, raging like the storm outside.
In a quick movement, he broke the kiss and dropped you back onto the bed, sprawled on your back. Before you had time to process what happened, his rough hands forced your thighs apart, revealing the puffy, drippy state of you. One of his hands slid up to part your folds, exposing your sensitive bundle of nerves to the cool air of the room.
Again, you had the echo of the feeling that you were an artifact under his jurisdiction, being examined with the utmost attention, like the code to cracking you open was written on your skin.
Bill saw you down to the soul, and it terrified and exhilarated you in equal measure.
“You're perfect,” he murmured, moving to ease his middle finger inside of you, curling his knuckle to prod that gooey spot inside you and draw a moan from your lips. “The most beautiful curse I've ever had to break.”
“Bill,” you whined, hands grabbing at the sheets, hips trying to rock against his hand, needing more.
He smirked. “Seems I've already broken you, needy little thing. Haven't even gotten started.” He leaned down, laving his tongue over your clit before sucking it between his teeth, and you keened, vision tunneling as bliss washed over you. The relief so palpable it brought tears to your eyes.
He added a second finger, setting a slow but intense pace, stretching and molding you with his fingers, his mouth messily slurping on your clit to keep you loose and moaning beneath him. Pleasure singed every nerve, burning through your muscles like lactic acid, eating into your bones until they were gelatinous, a puddle of simpering goo on Bill’s bed. He was doing just enough to elicit pleasure but not enough to make you cum, and it was starting to make you desperate again, bucking your hips against him in search of more.
“Hush,” he scolded, swatting at your inner thigh when you opened your mouth to beg. “You'll be begging me to stop coming soon enough.”
You couldn't tell if it was a promise or a threat, but either way, you snapped your mouth shut, a fresh wave of arousal making your pussy clench around his fingers.
He took some mercy on you though, and picked up the pace with his fingers fucking you with his hand while he kissed up your stomach, leaving a trail of slick from his chin over your stomach to your tits. He guided a pert nipple into his mouth, lashing it with his tongue before sucking hard, and your back bowed off the bed as you cried out for him.
You tangled your fingers into his hair, urging him closer, and he obliged, bathing your tits with his lips and tongue, using his teeth to elicit sharp gasps of pain before soothing the sting with pleasure. Your orgasm began to build, winding like a gear in your low belly until you were barely able to breathe, every scrap of energy drawn to the apex of your thighs.
“Merlin, your tight, love,” he murmured against the side of your tit, kissing his way back down between your legs. “Ready to come for me?”
“Please, Bill—fuck, please,” you mewled, dragging him by the hair to your needy clit.
“So pretty when you beg,” he purred, swirling his tongue just around your clit, careful to avoid direct contact. “Who does this pussy belong to?”
“You,” you immediately answered, trying to chase his tongue with your pelvis. “I'm yours, Bill.”
He grinned. “That's right. Mine.” With that, he fastened his lips around your clit and sucked hard, curling his fingers against your g-spot at the same moment, and something inside you gave way. You came with a scream, bliss bursting through like a tsunami and dragging you under.
It filled your mind and soul, an endless torrent of bliss drowning you in its bottomless depth. When if finally spit you back out, gasping and overwrought on the shore of Bill's bed, he was still lapping at you, his face and shirt soaked with your release.
“Good fucking girl, well done,” he cooed, withdrawing his fingers to massage the ache from your trembling thighs, his tongue dipping down to drink at the pool of your pleasure. “Twice more, now. That's my girl.”
You shook your head, feeling like a wrung out sponge, but sure enough, Bill has to ratcheted back up in no time, screaming his name, clenching around his fingers as you came a second and third time. It was like magic, the way he coaxed your body into doing what he wanted, even when you thought you couldn't. Playing you like an instrument, drawing whatever song he wanted from your body.
When you came down from the third, twitching and raw, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, he finally relented.
“Did so well, darling,” he cooed, easing his fingers from you and licking them clean. “Are you alright?” He asked, resting his cheek on your thigh as you caught your breath.
You nodded, grasping at his hair again to pull him up your body. He obliged with a chuckle, letting you crash your mouth to his in a desperate, messy kiss, your essence on his tongue making your head spin even more.
“Fuck me, please,” you mumbled into his mouth, wrapping your legs around his waist and tugging him fully onto the bed.
“Insatiable,” he purred with approval, shifting to slide down his sweatpants fully and kicking them off. He grasped himself, sawing through your drenched slit with a groan. “This was all I could think about in Cairo,” he rasped. “Being balls deep in this fucking pussy, feeling your wrapped around me, squeezing my cock the way you do my fingers.”
“Please, baby. Need you so bad,” you whined, rocking your hips in time with his.
“Need doesn't begin to cover what I'm feeling.” His voice was a strained growl, a primal sort of plea, and it drew another whimper from your chest. “You remember your safe word?” He asked, nearly trembling with effort of not burying himself to the hilt.
You nodded. “Yes, sir.”
He shuddered, a breathy moan fanning against your neck, as his control severed. He slammed his cock into you, sheathing himself completely in your depths, and you both cried out, clinging to one another as he dragged his hips back, then slammed them forward again and again. Rutting into you like a feral beast. Brutalizing every inch of your overworked pussy, your overworked mind, until you were brainless, boneless, his to claim entirely.
“Feels even fucking better—shit, baby. So fucking tight and hot, so wet f’me. My perfect little cunt takin’ me so well.”
You could only moan and nod, eager as a bobblehead. “Yours,” you parroted, digging your nails into his shoulders.
“Mine,” he gruffed, yanking your head back by your hair so he could ravish your neck with his teeth and tongue.
You were so sensitive from before that you could already feel that knot tightening a fourth time, making you flutter and clench around him as he railed you.
“Come for me, love. Give it to me,” he growled, his free hand dipping down to work your clit, his thrusts growing rougher by the second. Tearing you apart on his cock.
Nothing else would ever satisfy you the way he was, he was molding you into the shape of him, ruining you for anyone else. No one could please you the way he did, understand your body so viscerally, so completely, that it bowed to him before it did you.
He owned you mind, body, and soul, and you wouldn't have it any other way, because you knew that you owned him too. Like a lion on a leash.
“Come with me, come with me,” you cried, your trembling body trying to meet him thrust for thrust.
“Fuck yes,” he huffed, breath hot and heavy against your neck. “Gonna paint this cunt white. Make you mine.”
“Yes, yes! Fuck, Bill, I’m—” You came so hard you couldn't even scream, your mouth falling open as pleasure exploded from your center, a bomb detonating in the depths of your soul.
Bill sank in his teeth into your neck, bottoming out while his cock kicked inside of you, fulfilling his promise and painting your insides with his release. You collapsed onto the bed, scattered pieces in the swallow of space, half-there with Bill as he fucked you both through it, kissing at your neck and muttering praise, and half-gone, a disembodied soul floating on a river of bliss.
Slowly, you returned piece by piece until air slammed back into your lungs and you were gasping, shivering, clinging desperately to him.
“Sh, sh I’ve got you. You're alright,” he shushed, shifting on the bed to fold you into his chest, raining kisses over your forehead and temple. “You did so well, my love. I'm so proud of you.”
“That was—” you panted, feeling the race of his heart under his skin, in perfect synchronicity with yours.
“I've never felt anything like that,” he murmured, nosing into your hair and taking a deep breath. “Like you.”
“Me neither.” You wrapped your arms around his middle snuggling closer. “You're a madman,” you chuckled, and you felt him smile.
“Only for you.”
You were quiet for awhile, the room filled with the sounds of your laborers breathing, the onslaught of rain on the roof, the pop and crackle of the fire.
“I'm sorry for leaving like that before,” Bill whispered, breaking the drowsy quiet. “I didn't trust myself to not lash out…” his voice trailed off, his hands tightening a bit around your body, like he was scared you'd pull away from him at the reminder of before.
“Thank you for trying to protect me,” you responded, lightly tracing the scars along his back, and tension in his body melted.
“Nothing’s going to hurt you, especially not me,” he said, lifting his head to look into your eyes, his dark irises so soft and sincere. “You really think you could fall for me?” He asked, bumping your nose with his.
“I think I've already started,” you whispered, bashful, and he beamed, catching your lips in a light, languid kiss.
“I know I was supposed to be the one teaching you…” he murmured against your mouth, kissing along your jaw, down your neck. “But you've opened my eyes so much, helped me learn the lessons I was avoiding—” his voice caught, and he buried his face in your neck, holding your naked body pressed against his, not even air separating you. “I feel like I can be the man I want to be with you,” he confessed, pressing a kiss to the bite mark he'd left along the curve of your throat. “Like I don't have to hide anymore.”
“You're mine too,” you whispered, and he loosed a breathy sound, almost like a whine, and held you even tighter. “And I want you exactly as wild and stubborn and clever and complex as you are.”
Bill shifted upwards, catching your final words with his mouth, moving purposefully, indulgently, against yours. Saying everything he couldn't express with words, and your heart was so full it started leaking from your eyes, tears snaking down your cheeks and getting caught in the kiss.
He moved his lips to catch your tears, shushing you softly. “I'm yours,” he said, pecking your lips again. “And I have those good-for-nothing jackasses to thank for it.”
You burst out laughing, flopping back onto his pillows. “They're going to be so damn smug.”
Bill groaned, burying his face in your tits. “Worth it when I get to show you off and crush their dreams.”
“They'll live,” you giggled, combing your fingers through his hair.
Bill's alarm suddenly blared from the side table. “Silencio,” he barked, and the clock fell silent once again. “We're calling out,” he mumbled.
You nodded, sleep already starting to tug at you, your limbs going heavy on the mattress. “As long as the boss says it's okay.”
He huffed a laugh. “Good thing he's a pretty laid back guy.”
You rolled your eyes behind closed lids, and hummed in agreement. That was a lesson for another day.
Thank you so much for reading and supporting this series! This is the last part of the core series, but I'm considering doing a few extra drabbles that go along with it (let me know if there's anything in particular you want to see!)
SUMMARY: Things escalate with your boss, Bill Weasley, at the twins birthday party when you plot to make him jealous. But he gets his revenge back at the office.
CW: MDNI 18+, smut, jealous!Bill, reader gets a lil toxic, oral (f receiving), age gap, bill is a pleasure dom I don't make the rules, mentions of alcohol and smoking, strong language
part one | part three | masterlist
Things shifted between you and Bill after that night. You were more than just coworkers, mentor and apprentice, you developed a mutual understanding.
And what started as a little crush has grown into a beast with teeth, eating you alive, consuming every spare moment of your life. You had never felt so connected to someone before, so attuned to their feelings and desires, like your souls were tied together.
You couldn't be sure how he felt about you, but he seemed to read your mind as well as you did his. He somehow could anticipate your needs, no matter how trivial, and would go well out of his way to ensure those needs were met.
He was also fiercely protective, a trait of his that claimed several more victims than Waylan as the weeks progressed. But for you, Bill seemed to have a never ending well of patience. You couldn't ignore the amount of times you caught his gaze lingering on you, or the frequency he went out of his way to touch you, to help you, to serve you.
But you just couldn't believe that Bill Weasley would be even remotely interested in someone like you. Not to mention, the professional boundaries of your relationship were still intact.
It had been three months since the incident with the cursed axe, and it was the twins birthday. You hadn't spoken about the fact that you would both be attending the same party outside of work, but the thought made your nerves tingle with adrenaline.
You and Bill had only seen each other at work or during work-related functions. But this, attending a family party, felt like uncharted territory.
Would he be willing to cross the lines of professionalism? You weren't sure. Would you be willing to risk a career at Gringotts? Again, you weren't sure. But every day, it became harder and harder to ignore the burgeoning heat between you, that soul tie winding tighter and tighter.
You were at a standstill, paralyzed by indecision, and it was driving you mad.
The two of you were the last in the office, and you slipped away to get ready in the bathroom while he finished things up. You changed into your outfit, a maxi dress in your favorite color with a pair of heeled boots, and refreshed your makeup.
You did a small turn in the mirror, a wave of insecurity making you doubt your selection. Was it too tight for a birthday party? Too formal? Not formal enough?
Well, it was the only one you brought, so it would have to do. You collected your things a returned to Bill's office.
When you pushed open the door, you found him mid-change, wearing a white sleeveless undershirt and fastening a black belt around his waist, his shirt folded neatly on the desk.
You knew he was strong from years of hard travel, but this. He was lean and toned, broad shoulders with a narrow waist, and even littered with scars from Fenrir’s attack, he was gorgeous.
“Oh! Bill, sorry. I didn't—” You managed to tear your gaze from his body up to his face, finding his eyes glued to you, jaw a little slack, and the apology died in your throat.
He lowered his hands to his sides, belt still undone. The simmering heat between you bloomed to an inferno at your open perusal of one another, and you found yourself taking a step towards him, brainless as a moth.
His hands flexed, then balled into fists, and you paused, a flicker of reality passing through the haze of desire.
“We need to go,” he said, clearing his throat and grabbing his shirt.
You nodded, disappointment setting like a stone in your stomach.
You took the Floo System to the Burrow, managing to arrive only five minutes late.
“Bill!” His family cried, swarming him. But the twins went straight for you.
“Y/n! Look at you!” George gushed, pulling you in for a hug.
“Happy birthday to us,” Fred smirked, and you swatted his arm before pulling him in for a hug. Over Fred's shoulder, you caught Bill glaring daggers at his younger brother, but he quickly schooled his expression and turned his attention back to his father.
The twins introduced you to the few family members you hadn't met, and you answered the dozens of questions they threw your way while dinner was served. Bill was ignoring you almost entirely, caught up in conversation with his father and Percy. You knew you shouldn't take it personally, you were just colleagues after all, but it still rankled, and you could feel an attitude brewing.
Then, a wicked idea wormed it's way into your mind.
You laughed loudly at one of George's jokes, leaning into his side while he gestured in the air. He draped his arm over you, the type of platonic physical contact the two of you did all the time, but Bill didn't know that.
You saw Bill’s sharp eye snag on the movement, and bit your lips to keep from smiling at your small victory.
A few moments later, you reached over to take a sip of Fred's beer, making a show of wrapping your lips around the mouth of the bottle, your fingers delicate on the glass. You set the bottle down, then shifted to whisper something in Fred’s ear, your hand resting on his. You didn't say anything of real interest, just a little inside joke between the two of you. Fred chuckled, turning to whisper something back to you, and you grinned, winking at him.
You risked a glance at Bill and saw him white knuckling his empty whiskey glass, eyes trained on the birthday cake at the center of the table, and your confidence swelled.
“Mrs. Weasley, would you like some help clearing up for dessert?” You asked, batting your lashes.
“Oh, thank you, dearie!” She chirped, grinning at you.
You jumped up and started to collect the plates, using your wand to clear away the food. Moving around the table, you reached Bill, who was chatting with Ron about Ministry things. You leaned over Bill's shoulder, brushing against his arm to retrieve his plate, but he didn't react. Didn't even look up at you.
You huffed internally and brought the dishes to the kitchen, casing a spell so they'd wash themselves. You went to the fridge, retrieving a fresh beer for Fred and grabbed the bottle of fire whiskey from the counter.
You returned to the dining room and set the beer in front of Fred, who accepted with a smile.
“Thanks, love,” he cooed, taking a sip.
Then, you filled George's whiskey, careful to pour the correct amount. You could feel Bill’s eyes burning into you, his jaw clenched, and a giddy excitement flared in your lower belly. You capped the whiskey, licking a stray drop from your thumb, and returned it to the kitchen, leaving Bill’s glass dry.
Cake was served, and you let George feed you a few forkfuls while you and Fred told a few of your favorite stories from your time together at Hogwarts.
You knew you'd done it when Bill excused himself to smoke, a habit he never indulged in at work.
You knew it was wrong to push him, to strain whatever tenuous balance the two of you held, but you just couldn't help yourself. He was driving you insane.
After dessert, everyone ventured back into the living room for games and more drinks, and you slipped outside to find Bill.
He found you first.
An arm snaked out of the shadows and tugged you into the dark, directly into a hard chest.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Bill growled against your ear, the smell of smoke and whiskey clouding the air around him.
“I don't know what you mean,” you replied, tilting your head.
His took a drag off of his cigarette, glaring at you through the smoke. “You know better than to lie to me,” he warned.
“I didn't peg you for the jealous type, Mr. Weasley,” you teased, desire spilling through your body and making your thighs clench.
His free hand lifted, skimming your throat before moving around the nape of your neck. “It already kills me that they met you first, that they know you so well.” His grip tightened, scruffing you, and you gasped. “Is this what you wanted?” He rasped, his eyes locked onto yours.
“Yes, Bill,” you whimpered, pressing your body against his. “Please.”
He smiled, a wolfish, sharp thing, and dragged you the last few inches to his mouth. It was a rough kiss, a culmination of weeks of longing, his teeth nipping at your lower lip, prying your mouth open so he could taste you. His tongue tangled with yours and you moaned, getting drunk off of his lust, his dominance.
It was so different than his usual professional, collected demeanor. You knew he had an edge to him, an undercurrent of darkness that made him so adept at handling curses, but you never expected this. Having him be so rough, so needy, it made you want to climb him like a tree.
He flipped the two of you around, pressing you into the wall, his free hand splaying across your lower back to keep your hips anchored to his as he leaned into you. He felt so different than the other boys you'd been with, so confident and commanding, knowing exactly how to handle you and your desperation.
“Bill,” you gasped, head falling back as he kissed and licked down your throat, his teeth grazing your fluttering pulse. It felt like he was devouring you, biting off chunks of your rationality, your resolve, until you were nothing but a writhing, moaning mess in his arms.
His hand released your neck, sliding down to grab your waist. “But now I know you better, and I. Don't. Share.” Each snarled word was like shot of adrenaline to your heart, forcing your already dizzy self to clutch his shoulders to stay upright.
You nodded, desperate to be closer to him, to have him touch you. His possessiveness drove you crazy, had you practically foaming at the mouth for him, but he wasn't having it.
He grabbed your hands and removed them from his body, and you whined in protest. “Behave, and go back inside before you smell like smoke,” he ordered, though his voice was decidedly softer than before, almost breathless. He nudged you away from him and took another draw of his cigarette, the sharp planes of his face illuminated by the glowing tip.
Reluctantly, you ventured back inside, your thighs sticky with slick and knees weak. You were so focused on what you could do to drive him mad, you forgot entirely about what he could do to you.
So, you were in your best behavior the rest of the night. Charming the parents, befriending the other siblings, being as fun and social as you could manage. By the end of the night, you were buzzed, socially drained, and unbelievably horny, ready to pounce on Bill every time you caught his eye.
“Alright, we have to get to the bank early tomorrow. Y/n, I'll take you home.” He gave you a pointed look and you nodded. “Goodnight, family!” Bill called, hugging his siblings before ushering you towards the Floo Station.
“Happy birthday!” You hugged Fred and George on your way past, and half-stumbled into the Floo Station from exhaustion.
Bill caught you with a strong arm around your waist and held you up, casting the spell before his family could see how close your bodies were.
The next moment, you were back in the office, head spinning from the booze and the magic.
“Alright, love?” He asked, tightening his grip on you when you swayed on your feet.
You nodded and he released you, leaving you cold and unsteady. You walked in silence back to his office to get your things.
When you arrived, you stopped in the doorway. “M’sorry about earlier,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms around yourself.
“So am I,” he replied, walking towards his desk and loosening his tie. Your stomach dropped.
“Why are you sorry?” You asked, bracing yourself for rejection. “I was the one that acted like an idiot.”
He looked up at you, a sharpness in his eyes. “Don't speak about yourself like that,” he snapped, and you nodded, looking at the floor.
You heard the tread of footsteps, then his hand reached out to hold your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. They were stormier than you'd ever seen them, the sky before a shipwreck.
“I'm sorry for being so rough with you, I can be—” his eyes flicked away, brow pinching in consternation. “After the attack, and the war, and the divorce…I can be cruel, angry. It's a part of me I don't like to show,” he admitted. “So I'm sorry if I frightened you, or overstepped.”
“You didn't frighten me,” you said, placing a tentative hand on his sternum, wanting to comfort him. “Far from it.”
He searched your face as you gazed up at him, starry eyed, and the silence stretched for a few moments.
“This is what I saw,” he murmured.
“What do you mean?” You asked, practically trembling with anticipation.
“When you wore the Chameleon necklace,” he replied, his eyes tracing the hollow of your throat before lifting back up to your face. “I saw you like this.”
“You wanted to see me like…this?” You asked, looking down at your dress, confused.
He shook his head, his hand moving up to caress your cheek. “No, not the dress,” he said, so close you could smell the whiskey on his breath. “That right there,” he hummed with a soft, satisfied smile, his thumb smoothing just underneath your lower lashline. “The desire in your eyes.”
Heat scorched your skin and your tried to pull away out of embarrassment, but he held you firm.
“No, darling. You're done hiding from me,” he said, the petname making your pussy thrum, slick collecting on the inside of your thighs. “I've been waiting to see that look in your eye. To see you need me as badly as I've needed you.”
Your heart stalled, your thoughts turning to static.
Needed me?
“I had to be sure this was what you really wanted, that I wasn't just seeing what I wanted to see…” he trailed off, expression softening as he continued to look into your eyes.
“I didn't think you wanted me,” you whispered, in complete disbelief. “I thought I was going crazy.”
“Perhaps we both have.” He bumped his nose against yours, warm breath fanning against your skin. “You've ruined me. My entire life I've been the epitome of restraint. But with you—” His thumb tugged at your lower lip, sending a tendril of arousal curling down your spine. “I can't seem to help myself.”
“Then don’t hold back,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck and running your fingers through his hair. “I want you to ruin me too.”
“Sweet girl,” he cooed, feeding his thumb into your mouth. You flicked your tongue over it, tasting the salt of his skin before sucking lightly. “I intend to.”
He surged forward, capturing your lips in a breathtaking, soul-deep kiss that you felt through every nerve ending. You kissed him back eagerly, tugging his hair as he hauled you closer, lifting you into the air so you wrapped your legs around his waist.
Without breaking the kiss, he carried you across the office and set you down onto one of the overstuffed leather armchairs, the same one he conducted your interview in. He kissed you a moment longer, his tongue delving in to taste you before he withdrew and lowered himself to his knees in front of you.
“I'm going eat my fill of you, and you’re going to take it all,” he ordered, his voice rough and breathy, chest rising and falling quickly. “Okay?”
“More than okay,” you answered, nodding like an overeager bobble-head.
He chuckled, his eyes holding yours as he gathered up the fabric of your dress and pushed it up your legs, kissing your knees, and up your inner thighs, his long hair tickling the sensitive skin until he reached your clothed cunt, your white panties betraying how aroused you were.
“Look how pretty you are,” he exhaled, breath warm against your skin. “All this for me, baby?”
You nodded, combing your fingers through his red hair so you could see the lovesick look on his handsome face, his eyes soft and mouth upturned at the corners. It was all in such stark contrast to the brutal scars on his face, silvery in the waning candlelight.
You couldn't imagine someone being more beautiful than Bill was in this moment.
He hummed low in his throat, his tongue licking a stripe over your sodden panties and making you whine, desperate for him to touch you.
“How many times have you orgasmed in a row?” He asked, pulling your panties to the side with his middle finger.
“Oh, uh—” your cheeks warmed, caught off guard by the question. “Only once with a partner. Twice on my own. Why?”
You felt him smirk as he leaned closer, pressing a kiss to your swollen clit. “Three, then.”
“Three—oh god,” you moaned, grip tightening on his hair as he laved his tongue through your slit, flicking against your bud before repeating the motion, two, three, five times.
He nursed your clit between his teeth, lashing it with his tongue and making you buck your hips up, the pleasure too intense to hold still. He dropped a forearm over your lower stomach to keep you from moving away, your nails dragging across his skin as you cried out.
He moved down to your entrance, lapping at the pool of slick there before thrusting his tongue inside. With his other hand, he began to massage your clit with his thumb, the rough pad creating delicious friction over your sensitive skin.
Fuck, you could feel your orgasm building already, a coil of heat making your whole body tense and shake, unable to escape his pleasurable assault with his heavy arm holding you down.
“Taste so sweet,” he murmured against you, kitten licking your clit to make you twitch and gasp. He pulled back and spit on your pussy, gliding two fingers through your lips before easing one inside your drooling entrance. “Good girl, can you take another? I know you can—thaaaat’s it, love. Little pussy sucking me right in, so perfect for me.” He was speaking directly against your clit, the movement of his lips and flick of his tongue making your mind go fuzzy, your body ratcheting closer to release by the second.
He curled his fingers inside you, his lips finally sealing to your clit again, and you keened. Sensing you were close, he increased his pace, ruthlessly dragging you to the very edge.
“God, Bill—shit, I'm gonna come!” You cried, your fingers threading through his in an attempt to hang on while he sent you to orbit.
With a final flutter of his fingers against that spongy spot inside of you, you broke, a burst of dizzying pleasure making your eyes roll back, your body convulse in his hold as your orgasm tore through you.
“That's one,” he purred, only slowing for a moment so you could take a full breath before he ramped up his movements again, adding a third finger to your sloppy channel.
“Fuck, I can't—” you whined, tears squeezing from the corners of your eyes as your body was wound tight once again, helpless as a ballerina in a music box.
“You can. You will,” he ordered, his tone making your pussy clench around his fingers. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? You've got me now, darling."
“Bill, I—” you screamed as he bit down on your clit, sending you directly back over the edge again, your first orgasm not even fully dissipated before the second one slammed into you, faster and stronger, white hot. Like he'd forced it out of you with his expert touch and tongue.
“That's two. Well done, my love,” he cooed, soothing the bite with his tongue and gently removing his fingers.
You were in a daze, trembling and liquified, practically boneless in the chair. You'd never come so hard on your life.
“Ah-ah,” he chastised, reaching up to pat your cheek with his wet fingers before feeding them into your open mouth. “Not done with you yet.”
You sucked your release off his digits, mindless and happy to do whatever he wanted, so long as he keeps touching you like that.
He withdrew his fingers and lowered his head between your legs again, dragging his tongue through your sensitive folds, smiling when you shivered. With slow, unhurried strokes, he cleaned up the mess he'd made of you, making wide circles around your clit to apply less direct pressure and avoid overstimulating you.
“I could stay here forever,” he groaned, the vibration making you gasp. “Give me one more, yeah? Please? Let me be the one that takes you there.”
It was surreal, being completely at his mercy, yet he's the one begging you to let him make you come again. He'd rendered you completely brainless, and still wanted to give you more.
And you still had barely gotten to touch him.
It was the most delicious torture, the most exquisite suffering, and you knew you were so royally fucked.
There was no going back from this.
“Wanna touch you,” you whimpered, too far gone to do anything but squirm.
“Not yet, I told you how this was going to go. One more, then you’re getting some rest.” He hiked your leg over his shoulder, nuzzling against your pussy. “You don't want to be exhausted at work tomorrow, do you?”
You shook your head, having forgotten completely about anything that wasn't Bill Weasley and his magic fucking tongue.
“Good girl. Now relax and let me work.” He lifted you up slightly, angling you directly towards his mouth, and he resumed feasting, taking big, messy licks and sucks of your cunt, the sounds lewd and unabashed, and you fucking loved it.
You did as your were told and relaxed your muscles, sinking deeper into the chair with your legs in the air. You'd submitted to him already, but this was a a true surrender, passing your entire self, body and soul into his hands. Trusting that he would take care of every part of you.
“That's it, just like that,” he praised, kissing your sticky thighs before returning to suckle your clit, making your body hum back to life, pleasure beginning to mount once more.
You moaned his name, nails biting into the leather as he brought you higher and higher, his languid, self-indulgent movements making your head spin.
Feeling your body start to tremble, he flicked his tongue out, just the tip tickling against your hyper-sensitive bud, and you rolled over the edge, simmering, honeyed pleasure spilling through you as you came a third time. It wasn't a harsh, debilitating orgasm, but a blissful release of endorphins that brought tears to your eyes, your muscles and bones unraveling down to the cellular level.
“And there's three,” he said, placing a final, tender kiss to your clit before righting your panties and pulling your dress down.
You were completely blissed out, in your own world as he tugged you off of the chair and into his lap, pressing feather-light kisses up your neck and jaw.
“Come back to me, baby. Let me see those pretty eyes so I know you're alright,” he murmured against your cheek, his hands absently massaging your thighs and hips to guide you back into your body.
You blinked your eyes open, turning to press a kiss to his scarred cheek, your chest warm with affection.
“There she is.” He smiled, catching your lips in a soft, sipping kiss. “Okay, love?” He asked, leaning his forehead against yours.
“Yeah,” you said, breathless. “That was—I’ve never—”
“You were amazing. And if you didn’t look ready to pass out, I would be taking number four and five.” He helped you sit up, fixing your hair and wiping away a streak of mascara with his thumb.
“Not possible,” you giggled, reaching up to brush the hair from his eyes, your hand moving down to cup his scarred cheek. “As talented as you are, there's no way I could come again.”
He smirked, leaning into your palm. “I guess we'll have to find out. C’mon, let’s get you home.” He helped you to your feet, your knees a little wobbly, collected your things, and led you back out to the Floo Station.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” You asked, taking your things from his arms.
“For a bit, but I leave tomorrow afternoon for Cairo, remember?” He looked genuinely apologetic for having to leave, and your heart deflated a bit, disappointed that you wouldn’t see him for a week, maybe more.
“Right, Cairo,” you said, trying to hide how you felt.
“Hey.” He reached out to wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you back into his chest. “If it wasn’t so dangerous, I’d take you with me. But I can’t risk something happening to you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Plus I need a capable curse-breaker to manage things here.”
“I know, I know,” you sighed, nosing into his neck and breathing him in.
He held you quietly for another moment, his hand trailing up and down your spine before you finally pulled back, yawning.
“Go on, I’ll see you in the morning.” He caught your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “Goodnight, love.”
You stepped into the station and grabbed a handful of the floo powder. “G’night,” you said with a sleepy smile, and cast the spell to transport you home.
Though, you realized with a nervous pang, it felt like you were doing the opposite.
SUMMARY: Your best friends Fred and George convince their older brother, Bill, to give you a shot at a coveted curse-breaker internship position at Gringott's.
CW: age gap, boss/intern, fem!reader, reader is whip smart and sweet, dark curses and magical artifacts, men being shitty, hurt/comfort, dark academia vibes
AN: inspired by an ask I accidentally deleted (im so sorry) about Bill tutoring Fred & George's best friend. It spiraled into this.
part two | part three | masterlist
“You're going to be fine,” George soothed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.
“Yeah, Bill’s not so bad. You aren't scared of us, are ‘ya? So there's no need to be scared of him,” Fred added, bumping your knee with his.
You were sandwiched between them on a hard wooden bench in Gringott's, just outside their older brothers office, his name emblazoned in gold on the fogged door window. The twins, two of your closest friends from school, had secured you an interview for a coveted internship in the Ancient Artifacts Department, and you hadn't slept in a week leading up to it.
This was your dream job, a real stepping stone to the career you'd always imagined for yourself. You couldn't screw this up.
But that didn't quite explain the bone-deep anxiety clawing through your skin. It felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, one foot hanging into empty space.
Then, a shadow crossed the fogged mirror, tall and broad, and you shivered.
“You've got this,” George murmured at the same moment the door handle turned. It swung open, and your heart fell through the marble floor.
Bill Weasley was, objectively, terrifying. He had none of the softness of the twins, none of the jovial ease of youth. He was dressed in a white button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and charcoal trousers, traces of magic glittering along his forearms.
Standing at least a head taller than the twins, he had long copper hair and sharp cheekbones, deep scars across the left side of his face that only enhanced the striking beauty of his features. His green eyes were arresting, challenging in the way they swept across the hall before settling on you.
“Bill!” Fred said, jumping up, and Bill’s demeanor immediately shifted into something friendlier.
“Freddie,” Bill said, extending a hand to his younger brother with an expression you could almost call warm.
“Bill, this is our friend, y/n,” George said, getting up to shake his brother's hand, and you rose to your feet, hoping he didn't notice the slight tremble in your knees.
“Pleasure, y/n. I'm Bill Weasley, Head of the Ancient Artifacts Department here at Gringott's.” He extended a hand to you, calloused and long-fingered, a golden signet ring on his middle finger.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Weasley,” you said, placing your hand in his for a brief shake. He was gentle, but you could feel the undercurrent of strength in his movement, the intention he had to put towards being soft.
“Fred and George have told me a lot about you,” Bill said, glancing at his brother's. “You’re interested in Blessed Artifacts, correct?”
You nodded. “Yes, primarily magical items created with the intention of offering protection or assistance,” you answered, fighting the nervous heat climbing up your neck.
The corner of his mouth lifted, scrunching the scars across his cheek and eyebrow. “The opposite of what I do, hm?”
You laughed nervously. “Yeah, I suppose. Though I've studied your curse-breaking work extensively. A curse and a blessing are two sides of the same coin, and we can learn a lot about the workings of one from the other.”
Bill’s expression shifted slightly, his eyes narrowing and skimming over your face, and suddenly you knew what it felt like to be one of his artifacts.
No wonder he never crossed a curse he couldn't break.
“Step into my office, I have a few questions before we discuss terms of the internship. I'll see you two this weekend at the Burrow, yeah?”
“Yep!” Fred and George chirped in unison, and Bill slipped back into his office. The twins gave you a big thumbs up and you gave a nervous chuckle, waving them away before following Bill into his office.
It was nothing at all like you expected. Two enormous windows filled the back wall, spilling grey light across the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along the left wall. The shelves were overflowing with tomes and littered with artifacts, more than you'd ever seen outside for a museum or Dumbledore’s office. They perfumed the air with the scent of parchment and sandalwood, the warm musk of incense.
The carpet was plush under your feet, a mesmerizing pattern of deep maroon and teal, and overstuffed furniture rested against the right wall, a couch and two arm chairs framed by more loaded shelves and a gallery wall of shifting art.
But most surprising was his desk. It looked like it belonged in a research tent in the desert, not a gold-plated bank. It was covered in tools and stacks of paper, open books and deconstructed items, half-drank mugs of tea and a spilled ink pot.
“You look surprised,” he mused, following your eye.
“I didn't realize you still did field research,” you admitted sheepishly. “Now that you're head of the department.”
Bill shrugged, grabbing a mug and a stack of papers from the table and gesturing to the furniture against the wall. “I prefer the hands-on approach. Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything?”
“Oh, no thank you,” you answered, sinking into one of the arm chairs. It was so comfortable, you had to force yourself to sit upright. You could smell his cologne on the leather, vetiver and black pepper, and it made your chest warm.
He sat in the other armchair, bracing an ankle on the opposite knee. “So, how did you come to befriend my brother's?” He asked, taking a sip of tea.
“Fred needed some help in Charms,” you said, crossing your legs. “Then George needed help in Potions. And we just worked well together. They're good friends.
“So you're the reason they didn't flunk out, hm?”
You shook your head. “Not at all. They just needed a different perspective. They did the work themselves.”
Bill nodded, shuffling the papers in his lap. “Have you ever worked with curses directly? Beyond Defense Against the Dark Arts?”
You shook your head. “I don't have a lot of experience with curses, but I can read magic well, and have an eye for detail. I know I'm not the most qualified of the candidates you've probably met with, but this is my dream, and it would be such an honor to learn from the best— ”
“It's alright, y/n,” Bill stopped you with a small shake of his head, his low voice demanding acquiescence. “You're clearly bright, and determined to learn. That's more valuable to me than anything else.”
You exhaled in relief. “I appreciate that, Mr. Weasley,” you said, offering a small smile.
“Bill,” he corrected. “Bill is fine.”
Your heart gave an excited thump, and you nodded.
“So, for this internship, you'd be working directly with me, mostly archiving artifacts as they come in and out of the bank. You'll be spending a lot of time here and in the vaults. The pay isn't great, but if you do well over the six months term, there's potential for full-time employment.” He passed a contract to you, a quill floating over from his desk and into your hand. “And you're welcome to conduct supervised independent research whenever there's downtime.”
You blinked, shocked at the employment contract in your lap. “You don't—you don't have any more questions for me?” You asked.
Bill shook his head, giving you an amused smile. “You already showed that your head and heart are in the right place, and I trust my brother’s judgement. If they like you this much, there must be a reason.”
“I—thank you, sir,” you said, a grin breaking through as you signed your name on the line. The ink blazed gold before settling back to black, the contract magically binding.
Bill rose, extending a hand to help you to your feet. “Welcome aboard, y/n.”
The first few days of your internship were spent with members of Bill’s team, taking lengthy tours of Gringotts and the Archives. You quite liked Rumi and Kira, two of the lead archivists, but had a difficult time with Waylan, the Collector, as they called him, who seemed to have it out for you.
You waited with bated breath for your first project with Bill, but you'd barely seen him since you started. You brought it up to Kira at breakfast one morning, and she chuckled.
“He's around, I promise. Hardly goes anywhere else. But we usually only see him if he needs something.”
“Or when we fuck something up,” Rumi added, and you chuckled.
Kira rolled her eyes. “They're being dramatic. Bill's not nearly as scary as he looks.”
“Aren't I?”
The three of you jumped, turning to find Bill leaning against the wall beside Rumi’s seat. He looked exceptionally handsome this morning, his hair tucked behind his ears, a single strand falling over his eyes, dressed in finely pressed white shirt and navy trousers.
“Well you are when you sneak up on people!” Rumi laughed, and Bill cracked a smile.
“Apologies, mate. Y/n, ready for your first assignment?” His eyes met yours, brilliant as polished jade, and your tongue forgot how to function.
“Oh, uh, yes, sir!”
“Sir?” Kira snorted. “Are we supposed to call you ‘sir’?”
Bill shook his head. “I’d rather you didn't, but maybe you could use a lesson in manners from this one,” he teased, stealing Kira’s croissant. “Come along, fledgling,” he said, his deep voice resonant and rough around the edges.
The nickname jolted through you like a lightning strike, heating your blood to a simmer, and you nearly gasped, hiding your reaction by taking a final swig of breakfast tea.
Fuck no, you were not developing a crush on your boss. Get it together, you chastised yourself.
You got to your feet and hurried after him through the dining hall and into the wrought iron elevator. He held the door for you as you scurried in. The grate rolled shut, and the machine heaved off the ground with a metallic groan.
“Glad to you see you're getting along with the team,” he remarked, eyes trained up to watch the pulley system.
“Yes, they've been very welcoming,” you said, resisting the urge to stare at the hard angle of his jaw, the reddish stubble dusting it and spreading down his throat.
“There's a lot they can teach you. They're some of the best in the business,” he said, glancing down at you as the elevator came to stop. The doors rolled open and he strolled out, his long legs taking him a third of the way down the hall before you managed to get your knees to unlock.
You caught up to him at his office door. “What are we working on?” You asked, excitement building as you followed him to his desk.
He moved around it, stopping in front of a black velvet box. Carefully, he lifted the lid. “Waylan brought this back last month, and I hadn't been able to crack it until our meeting.”
“Oh?” Your heart began to beat a little faster, eyes fixed not on the box containing the object, but the way his deft fingers handled it with such a care.
He turned the box around, revealing a stunning necklace, dripping with black sapphires and diamonds, the chain a thick and luscious gold.
You gasped, covering your mouth. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry you'd ever seen.
He smiled at your reaction before catching himself, returning to neutral, if a bit curious, expression. “I hadn't considered that it might be a blessed object until our conversation.” He gingerly lifted the necklace from the box, the luxurious stones creating a stark contrast against his laborers hands. “And if I read the magical signature correctly, it should be a chameleon charm. To make any spectator see what they want to see in the wearer.” He came around behind you and you lost your breath, his closeness overwhelming your senses.
There was something about him that tilted the axis of the world, bending everything to center around him. He had his own gravity, his own magnetic force that you were struggling to resist.
“May I?” He asked, and you nodded, holding your breath as the cool stones kissed your clavicle, his fingertips ghosted the edge of your throat.
With a small click, the necklace was fastened around your neck. You could feel the magic in it, warm and buzzing as it spread through you.
Bill stepped away, moving back around to your front, and his brow furrowed.
“What? Did I grow a horn?” You joked, trying to dispel the tension winding tighter between you.
He shook his head, stepping back to ring a silver bell by his desk, a small plaque reading ‘Kira’ beneath it. There was one for each of you, you noticed.
A moment later, Kira walked in. “What's up, boss? Oh, did you change, y/n? I absolutely love that designer in Hogsmeade. His work is stunning,” Kira praised. “Sorry, can I help with something?” She said, turning to Bill.
Bill’s frown deepened as his eyes skimmed over you. “That'll be all, Kira. Thank you.”
“Oh, uh, okay. Let me know if you want to go shopping sometime, y/n!” She said before stepping back out of the office.
“So, she saw something in common that we didn't have before,” you observed, moving to jot some notes down on a piece of parchment in an attempt to stay on track despite the frustrated look on his face. “What do you see?”
“You can take it off. I need you to decode the magic signature yourself, archive the piece and charm accordingly, and see if you can replicate it on something else,” he directed, turning away and rustling through some pages on his desk.
“Sure, no problem.” Carefully, you unclasped the necklace and set it into its velvet case, confused by his sudden shift in demeanor, both the absence of the necklaces magic and his sudden distance leaving you cold.
What did he see in you?
He conjured another chair for you and sank into his own, turning his attention to what appeared to be a wooden horse.
Uncertain, you sat down and pulled the necklace towards you, along with the parchment and a quill, and got to work.
The uncertainty dissolved as the minutes turned to hours, both of you working quietly side by side to solve your own puzzles. The only sounds were the rustling of papers and scratch of quills, the soft music playing from a record player in the corner, and you felt a wave of peace settle over you.
Being able to work at your own pace, in a quiet, peaceful environment was all you'd ever wanted. And finally, you felt like you found a place that allowed that.
You glanced over at Bill, finding him scribbling something with his black feather quill, completely zeroed in on his task, and you felt a rush of gratitude for him, and a determination to ensure he didn't regret his decision to take a chance on you.
You turned back to the necklace, eager to uncover it's secrets.
The rest of your first two weeks passed the same way, you and Bill with your heads bowed, working on separate projects. He'd come over periodically to check your work, but mostly left you to your own devices unless you needed help, which he provided without judgement or reservation.
You and Bill seemed to work together well, both of you preferring the quiet so you could focus, with the occasional conversation about your findings during your lunch break or afternoon tea.
Despite yourself, your ill-advised attraction to him only grew as he loosened up around you. But that's all it was, you told yourself over and over again. An attraction to a handsome, accomplished man.
You were only human, after all. Who could blame you?
On Friday, Bill had a meeting with the Board and left you in his office to work. You were more than happy to occupy his space, enjoying the comfortable quiet as you reviewed your notes on the artifact you were working on.
A knock pulled you from your work. Waylan walked through the door, a long, thin wooden box in his arms.
“Oh, hey Waylan,” you said, getting up. “Bill is in a meeting—”
“I know, but this can't wait.” He dropped the long box onto the desk with a thud, scattering your meticulously organized notes, and a prickle of irritation climbed the back of your neck.
“What is it?” You asked, already sensing the dark energy permeating off of the box.
With a pry bar, Waylan cracked open the box, a putrid smell wafting out of it.
“Are you sure we should be doing this here? Surely a vault would be safer—”
“It's fine,” he snapped, and you cracked your jaw shut, irritation growing to full on anger. “This is a cursed executioners axe,” he said. “And the curse needs to be broken now.”
“Waylan, surely—”
“I thought you were qualified?” He bit. “Isn't that why you got the job? Or was it because your friends with his brothers?”
You grit your teeth. “What's the nature of the curse?”
“You tell me.”
You moved to look at the axe, it's blade dark and stained with gore, the handle black wood. Tiny notches decorated it's expanse, and your stomach turned imagining what each notch represented.
Carefully, you held your hand over it, coaxing the magic to reveal itself, but couldn't focus properly with Waylan breathing down your neck, the magic slithering through your fingers like a sieve.
Suddenly the room went dark, all the light and air sucked from the world around you until you were staring into the void, cold dread dripping down your spine.
“Waylan?” You called, fighting the urge to panic. You tried to lift your arms to feel around, but found that you couldn't move. “Waylan?!” You cried, a little louder.
Something white, a delicate, vaguely human shaped mist floated by you and you screamed, unable to move away from it. Then another appeared, slightly more formed like a person, then another, until you were surrounded by spirits. Terror split your skull, your heart pounding so hard it made your vision shake.
“No, please,” you croaked, fighting your body to move even an inch away from them. “Let me go!” You shouted, but they only moved closer. “Let me go!”
Suddenly you slammed back into your body, the bright light of the room blinding you. You were on your back, staring up at the ceiling. Bill was leaning over you, his mouth moving like he was speaking.
“—m’right here, you're alright. It was just a trick, just a little curse. Wake up, love. Come back to me,” he murmured. “There we are, that's it,” he shushed when you began to shake, his grip tightening on your shoulders when you tried to sit up.
Your body was still tingling with numbness, nerves prickling painfully back to life. “Bill,” you gasped, clinging to him as you came fully back to consciousness.
“Are you alright? Does anything hurt?” He asked, helping you sit up slowly, one hand braced on the slope of your ribcage, the other supporting your head.
“No, no. I--what happened?” you asked, looking around the room. You noticed Waylan then, also prone on the floor, eyes staring wide at the ceiling. It seemed Bill made no effort to wake him up.
Bill glanced at Waylan as well, shaking his head. “He was trying to scare you. Prove you didn't deserve the position. And apparently was too stupid to realize the curse would affect him too.”
“Will he—”
“He'll be fine. Are you okay?” He repeated, catching your eye so you'd look at him.
You nodded. “I think so.”
Waylan groaned, stirring on the carpet, and you saw a flicker of anger in Bill’s eyes.
“Wait for me in the lobby,” he said, helping you to your feet. “I'll deal with him.” There was no question in his words, and you obeyed without thought, collecting your things and slipping out of the room.
As the elevator doors started to close, you heard Bill shout, “I should have you sent to fucking Azkaban for pulling—” The groan of the machine cut off the rest of his words.
You did as you were told and waited in the lobby for Bill, busying yourself with people watching and admiring the expansive marble floors.
Twenty minutes later, Bill appeared from one of the elevators, holding Waylan by the scruff of his neck, a box of his stuff in his arms. You jumped up, alarmed when a few security guards rushed over to them.
“Waylan is no longer permitted on the premises, my orders. I discovered him tampering with curses,” Bill directed. “He's a threat to Gringott’s security.”
Your jaw dropped when the security guards nodded and dragged Waylan away without question, effectively tossing him out onto the street of Diagon Alley.
Bill stepped up beside you, concern over your frowning face drawing his brows together. “What is it?” He asked.
“Did you—you fired him?” you stammered.
“Absolutely. I can't have someone on my staff that doesn't take curses seriously. It puts us all at risk,” he said, without an ounce of hesitation.
You nodded, you supposed that made sense.
He started walking, beckoning you to follow with two fingers, and you fell into step beside him. “Come on, I'm going to teach you how to dispel that curse.”
You froze. “What?”
He turned to look at at you. “You heard me, fledgling. I need to make sure something like this won't happen again.” His voice was firm, but not unkind, and you found yourself yielding despite your trepidation. “I'll be with you the entire time, okay?” He said, a bit softer when you returned to his side.
“And if we both get knocked out?” You scowled.
He smirked at your pout. “Do you doubt me?”
A pulse of heat curled around your spine, warming your lower belly. “No, sir,” you replied, intending it to come across as teasing, but you saw something dark flash in his eyes, something hungry, and your heart began to race.
Surely you imagined it, you told yourself as the two of you descended into the vaults. There was no way you could be affecting Bill the same way he was affecting you. He was Bill Weasley, and you were just some intern that got a lucky break. He would never be interested in you, not to mention how wrong it would be for a boss to be romantically involved with his subordinate.
So, why did that thought make your pulse spike?
He guided you to a private vault, the heavy door unlocking with a wave of his hand. The inside was dank and poorly lit, permeated with that same rotten smell as before. The axe rested on a table at the center of the room, encased in glass.
You hesitated at the door, that cold, deathly sensation crawling over your skin again.
Bill paused, sensing your fear. “You can do this,” he said, offering you his hand. “I'll walk you through it.”
You placed your hand on his, focusing on his warmth, his steadiness, as he led you into the vault.
“You can feel it, right? The energy of the void clinging to it?” He asked, his voice low.
You nodded. “Feels like death,” you murmured.
“That's what this curse does, makes you feel like you died. It was used by an old Ministry executioner to subdue prisoners before their deaths. Kept them from trying to escape.” He cast his eyes to the axe, a somber look on his face. “Waylan was supposed to leave it here until after my meeting. They just unearthed it this morning.”
“That's awful,” you said, finding yourself counting the notches along the handle. There had to be at least two hundred, maybe even five hundred.
“With every kill, it got stronger, until it eventually took the executioner himself. It was buried with him, until some unfortunate muggle grave robber dug it up and nearly killed himself.”
“So, how do we dispel it?” You asked, hating the tremble in your voice.
“Take your wand out,” he instructed, and you obeyed. “I'm going to open the box. Stay focused on your breathing, the ground beneath your feet. When I open the box, you'll feel it start to pull at you, to drag you under.”
You nodded, lifting your wand and squaring your shoulders, forcing your lungs to take big, deep breaths despite the rotten smell.
“Good, when you feel it pull at you, imagine your wand is an axe itself, okay? You're going to cut the tether of the curse reaching towards you. It will resist, but I promise you can do it. Ready?”
You grit your teeth. “Ready.”
With a wave of his wand, he opened the box. The curse spilled out of it, clawing and twisted, and you immediately felt the blackness start to tug at the edge of your vision, its cold talons digging into your flesh.
“You can do it, fledgling. I know you can. Fight it,” Bill encouraged, somewhere to your left.
You pushed back against the darkness, refocusing on your breathing, the stone beneath your feet, your wand at the tips of your fingers. You slashed through the air with it, imagining an axe cutting through thick, black tendrils, and suddenly the tugging sensation vanished, the blackness receding from your vision.
“Yes, good girl! Keep going, push it all the way back into the axe.”
You did, pushing with all your might against the dark magic until it began to retreat, sinking back into the blade of the axe. But it wouldn't go all the way in, resisting your quickly depleting energy, when you felt something akin to a warm breeze blow over you: Bill’s magic. It joined your efforts, making the final push to force the curse back into the axe.
“Now hold it for me. Just like that,” Bill said, moving around the room. “I'm going to try a counter curse, but it may not take. Are you ready?”
“Ready.” You nodded, a rush of excitement pulsing through you. You were actually doing it. And doing it well.
With a flourish of wand movements and a string of words you don't understand, a beam of white light blasted from the end of Bill's wand and towards the axe, blinding you.
Something gave a godawful shriek, echoing off the walls until rubble rained over your head, and you heard a thunderous snap, followed by a whoosh of screaming air.
The light suddenly vanished, leaving you and Bill alone in the dark room, silent besides your ragged breathing.
“Lumos,” Bill muttered, and the torches along the walls relit, revealing the room around you. The axe lay on its side on the table, splintered in half. The rotten smell, and the curse, were gone. The handle was now just smooth wood, no notches in sight.
You exhaled, a giddy laugh bubbling up, and Bill smiled, crossing the room to you.
“Let me see you, you alright?” He asked, taking your hands to inspect your trembling fingers. The touch sent a zing of energy under your skin. “It didn't hurt you?”
You shook your head, dizzy from his unexpected tenderness and the after effects of using so much magic. “I'm okay,” you murmured, a little breathless.
“Okay,” he said, releasing your hands, though for a second, he seemed reluctant to. “I'll clean up here. Go home and get some rest, yeah?”
“Yes, sir,” you said, dipping your chin obediently.
His eyes searched your face for a moment longer, his jaw flexing, before he nodded once and turned back to the axe, dismissing you.
You slipped out of the vault and returned to the surface, reckless hope burning in your chest.
CONGRATS ON HITTING 1K, you deserve all the love you're getting and more <3333 for your celebration could i get a thousand stitches with bill? Your writing of him has been completely brilliant, i love the way you characterise him <333
hi my darling!!! thank you much!! I'm so grateful you're here and I hope you enjoy 🫶
1000 stitches | B.W.
feat. Bill Weasley x reader
cw: MDNI 18+, injuries and blood, near-death experience, early stages of werewolf!Bill , love confessions
masterlist
The sun crested the horizon, shades of violet, clementine, and rose, and still, Bill and the others hadn't returned from Hogwarts.
The full moon lingered at the edge of the sky, obstinate in its refusal to dip below the trees. You'd begged Bill not to go out while the moon hung bloated in the sky, an unusual, ominous shade of red.
But he'd gone anyways. Which was fair, you supposed; he wasn't yours to order about. You weren't a couple, despite the simmering tension between you, heightened by the deep connection you’d forged through over a decade of friendship and work and suffering and joy.
You'd loved him all your life, and he wouldn't be Bill Weasley, the man that held your heart hostage, if he didn't plunge headlong into danger, especially where his family was concerned.
Always eager for the hunt.
It was Harry, Lupin, and Tonks that arrived back first, bloodied and beaten, singed by the glancing blow of curses.
Molly ran out to them, screaming for her children, but Remus was quick to assuage her.
“They're right behind us—Molly, you must—Molly listen to me,” Remus snapped, shaking her gently. “Ron and Ginny are fine, but Bill—Greyback got a hold of him.”
You clutched the rusted porch railing of the safe house, limbs going numb as the blood drained from your brain.
“He's alive, but barely,” Remus continued, keeping Molly upright by sheer force of will. “And we don't know if he was—”
“Bitten,” you finished, your voice little more than a whimper. Remus looked up at you, nodding solemnly.
He looked like he was going to say something further, when the others suddenly apparated into the clearing. Ginny ran straight into the house, shouting for the medic assigned to the safe house. Ron and Neville held a body between them, the figure limp as a freshly killed stag and twice as bloody.
Bill.
Your ears began to ring, a monotonous, consuming sound, drowning out all of the shouting. You couldn't breathe.
Was he breathing?
You took a sip of air, lungs burning. You'd breathe for him.
Remus grabbed hold of Molly, keeping her out of the way as they carried Bill into the house. Up the stairs and towards you, five steps away, three, one—Ron caught your eye as they passed, looking for too guilty for a boy of only 18, but he quickly looked away, struggling under the weight of his much larger brother.
More members of the Order ran out to help carry him, relieving the boys of the burden, and you could only stand there, staring down at the twin smears of blood where Bill's feet had dragged across the threshold. Staining the stone forever.
Tonks was speaking to you, her hands on your shoulders, but you couldn't hear her, could only stare at the red, red, so much red. Too much red. How could he have anything left?
“We need more hands!” You heard someone call, the words filtering in through the din in your mind.
Hands, hands. You had hands, you could help.
“Tonks—”
“I don't think that's a good idea—”
“We don't have a choice,” Remus said, gently nudging Tonks aside and cupping your face. You forced your eyes to focus on his forehead, his crooked nose, his scars, his eyes. “Can you do this?” Remus asked.
“I-I can,” you affirmed, your voice sounding far away. Like someone else had spoken through your mouth.
“Good, let's go.”
It took more than five hours to stitch all of Bill's wounds. He'd been savaged, butchered, by Greyback. Almost unrecognizable under the swelling and bruising and gore.
The fact that he survived was nothing short of a miracle.
No one was sure if he'd been bitten. There was one wound on his right thigh that looked suspicious to Remus, but Bill was in too fragile a state for them to test anything.
So you waited, and waited, and waited. Four days of burning fever. Four days of changing head-to-toe bandages. Four days of ladling broth between his chapped lips. Four days of praying to anyone that would listen to spare him. To bring him back to you.
You knew he'd be different, no one suffered an attack like that and remained the same, but you knew that you'd love him anyways. The scars on his skin would pale in comparison to the scars left on his psyche, and you would find whatever strength you needed to help him through it.
You'd stitch him together with your own muscle and bone if you needed to.
On the fifth day, many of his wounds had finally healed down to pearlescent, puffy scars thanks to the medics magic. Deep gauges littered his torso and arms, creating new dips and valleys along the lean muscles of his body, a topographical map you could study for eons. The slashes across his face was healing better than anyone dared hoped, and he finally was beginning to look like Bill again.
But the wound on his thigh remained stubborn, pulpy as rotten fruit and refusing to knit together, growing more putrid the more magic that was thrown at it.
An uneasyness settled over the house. No longer a question of will he wake up, but what will wake up.
On the seventh day, Bill woke up screaming.
You were in the kitchen, helping Neville prepare the evening meal, when a roar shook the cedar bones of the old house.
You dropped the dish in your hands with a crash, roast and root vegetables exploding all over the grubby tile floor, and leapt over it, flying up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Tonks caught you at the end of the hall, grabbing you by the arms. “He's asking for you, but you have to—y/n, listen to me,” she snapped, and you stilled, coiled and ready to flee. “You have to be careful—that kind of trauma…he might not be the Bill you love.”
“I don't care.” You yanked free from her hold and dashed down the hallway. You burst into the room Bill was being kept in, a white-washed guest room on the quieter, darker end of the house, and found Ron, Arthur, and Remus desperately trying to restrain a frantic Bill on the bed.
“Where is she?” He bellowed.
You shoved Ron aside and flung your arms around Bill's neck, throwing your weight on him in the hopes of keeping him down.
“I'm here, I'm right here,” you soothed, not bothering to hold back the tears of relief streaming down your face and into his ruddy hair.
He groaned low in his chest, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and heaving a deep breath. His knotted muscles immediately went lax, and he looped an arm around your waist, hauling you into the bed with him. You were shocked at how much strength he still had after a week of bed rest.
“There you are,” he whispered, a throaty purr against your pulse. He drew another deep inhale, nose pressed against your jugular, and you suppressed a shiver.
“Are you alright? You didn't tear anything open—”
“Don't care,” he said, his lips charting a scalding path up your neck, days of stubble scratching mercilessly against the tender skin.
“Bill,” you argued, a fire sparking in your lower belly. You tried to push back a bit from his hold so you could inspect his bandages, could escape the intoxicating effect of his newfound affection. His grip tightened, bordering on painful, and a rumble resounded from the barrel of his chest. Something carnal, possessive, and you immediately dissolved back into his arms. Helpless to resist him.
“A ripped stitch isn't going to kill me,” he mumbled into the downy space behind your ear, his voice so much softer than whatever beast had been roused moments ago.
“Bill, we really need to do a full examination,” Remus interrupted gently. “What you've gone through—”
“It can wait,” Bill snarled, glaring at Remus over your shoulder. “Now get the fuck out.”
You gasped, shocked by his crude language, the aggressive edge to his voice. Bill was hardly the delicate sort, but you'd never seen him be outright hostile. Especially not towards his friends and family.
“Bill,” Remus said, hardening his voice.
“Please, just let them check you,” you whispered, stroking his cheek. “It'll give me and your family peace of mind.”
His eyes fluttered closed as you soothed him, his breathing leveling out. From bestial to docile in the span of a few heartbeats. “Only if you stay,” he answered finally, opening his eyes to look at you.
“I'm not going anywhere,” you assured, and he finally let you untangle yourself.
The medic came in first, checking all of his stitches and his vitals. Besides the wound on his leg, he was mostly healed, just some soreness and a slightly elevated temperature and heart rate.
His hand only left your body when the doctor needed it for something, otherwise he maintained contact through the entire examination.
You weren't sure what it meant, this sudden clinginess. If it was the trauma of almost dying, a head injury making him forget you weren't actually together, or something…else.
His family came in next, a cacophonous, emotional ordeal that made your heart ache with relief. With them, he seemed more like himself; the good-natured, charismatic man you'd fallen in love with, and some of your uncertainty ebbed.
You hadn't hated the intensity from earlier though, quite the opposite, actually. You just wished you knew what caused it, and why you.
Eventually, Bill declared that he wanted to properly shower, and everyone filed out to give him some privacy. When you stood to leave though, his hand tightened around your wrist.
“Don't go,” he said, drawing you back towards him. He was standing, propped against the bedframe for support.
“But you said you wanted to shower?” You blinked up at him, completely perplexed by this dramatic shift in his demeanor. Bill had never been very physical with you, besides platonic hugs and shoulder bumps.
“Help me,” he murmured, tilting your chin up.
Your heart stopped. “W-what?”
“Are you going to make me beg?” His breath fanned across your lips, balmy and disorienting. Headier than any hit you'd taken from a roll or a pipe.
“Bill, we aren't…together,” you argued weakly, a rabbit negotiating the terms of its release from the jaws of a catamount.
“Something I'd like to remedy, if you'll have me.” His other hand ensnared your waist, pulling your body flush to his.
“I'm not sure you're thinking clearly—” you tried to take a step back, but his grip turned to iron.
“Oh, I am. For probably the first fucking time,” he growled, patience wearing thin. “I’ve loved you for ten fucking years, and I almost lost you. So forgive me, darling, I will not be letting you go again.”
You liquified, muscles and bone turning to simpering goo in his arms. You didn't care if it was the pain medicine, or a head injury, or lycanthropy. All you'd ever wanted was to hear those three little words.
“I love you too,” you breathed, and he smiled, bumping his nose against yours before dragging it down your cheek, his hair tickling your lips.
“I know,” he hummed, the hot muscle of his tongue laving over the pulse point beneath your ear. “I can smell it on you.”
You gasped, arousal hitting you like a clap of thunder, your thighs squeezing together against your blooming cunt.
He chuckled, the sound low and viscerally pleased. “Can smell that too, baby. Little heart’s racin’ like a rabbit.”
Oh, fuck. You swallowed thickly, throat closing as fear pumped through your blood, mixing into a strange ichor with the ever-present desire for him.
“You're trembling again,” he said, softening a bit as he pulled back to look you in the eyes. “Are you afraid of me?”
You shook your head. “Should I be?”
“No, love. Of course not. I'm still me.” He smoothed the hair from your forehead, palming the side of your skull with his long-fingered hand. “But Remus should be if he tries to get between us again.”
A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it, inundated with both dread and delight.
He leaned down, catching your laughter with a lissome press of his lips. The last of your reservation dissipated, dripping out between your thighs as the kiss deepened. His lips were pillowy, tongue tinged with iron and herbs, you leaned into his embrace, content to let him devour you whole.
talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show-stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before!!!!!!!!! i love it so much!!!!!!!!! i keep rereading it 🩷🩷
amandla
stormborns
yousharknotpass
areudirty
titsay
