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cinnamoncat17

This is the most attractive thing someone could wear

fuhutao

my best friend's brother is the one for me! <fic>

in which suna rintaro shows up to his sister's new apartment, but you’re the only one home to deal with it

featuring: suna rintaro x gn!reader

suna rintaro is your best friend's brother, meaning you've known him for as long as you can remember.

long enough that, if you really tried, you're sure you could count the exact number of 'be more careful's he's ever muttered bandaging your scraped knees in the sunas' backyard.

which also means he might still have that awful video from your first year of high school --- the one of you sobbing through the saddest movie you'd ever seen and clinging onto his sister like life depended on it.

and naturally, it means that in all your years of knowing him, he's always been just out of reach, always just two years superior.

suna rintaro, who stands in front of you now, plucking candy from the bowl you and his sister left out in your new shared kitchen.

comfortcharacterwrites

Oliver Wood

fic recommendation list

T - last one

T - run your mouth

T - the hate game ---

part one part two

T - marked

T - captain's favorite

T - the chocolate frog conspiracy

T - thicker than a broomstick

T - in the background

T - dancing in the moonlight

T - warm winters and empty rooms ---

part one part two

T - for luck

T - run to you

T - can't get out

T - what a crush is

T - mobility exercises

all fanfics here belong to their discredited authors and I do not own any of them! enjoy

ps: reblogging fics helps keep the community alive!

thetaehyungsgirl

"You feel like home" | Vernon (SVT)

⋆𐙚 ̊. 𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂. A boy who never liked being touched slowly learns what it means to stay, when you become the only place he feels like he belongs.

⋆𐙚 ̊. 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰. Vernon x fem!reader

⋆𐙚 ̊. 𝓰𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮. fluff, friends to lovers, soft romance, slow burn.

⋆𐙚 ̊. 𝔀𝓬. 2.4k

⋆𐙚 ̊. 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮. I hope this makes you feel soft and warm inside… take care of yourself and have a really nice day ♡😛

You and Vernon have been friends long enough to understand each other without needing too many words.

He’s easy to be around. Quiet, a little awkward sometimes, but in a way that feels… safe. He laughs at the right moments, listens more than he talks, and never makes things complicated.

But one thing about Vernon is very clear.

He’s not touchy.

Not in a cold way, just… unfamiliar. His high-fives are slightly delayed, like he has to process them first. Hugs are rare, and when they happen, they’re quick, almost unsure. He never initiates anything like that. Never lingers.

You’ve noticed it, but you’ve never pushed it.

It’s just how he is.

That day, you’re tired.

Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes, but the kind that sits heavy in your chest. Everything feels a little too much, a little too loud, a little too there.

You don’t even say much when you find him. You just sit next to him, closer than usual.

He glances at you, noticing immediately.

“You okay?” he asks, voice soft.

You nod, but it’s not very convincing.

There’s a pause.

And then, without thinking too hard about it—

you lean into him.

And wrap your arms around him.

Vernon freezes.

Completely.

You feel it in the way his body goes still, like his brain short-circuits for a second. Like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, with the space, with you.

For a moment, you think you messed up.

That maybe you crossed a line he wasn’t comfortable with.

But then—

slowly—

he exhales.

His shoulders drop.

And instead of pulling away…

he relaxes into it.

Carefully, a little hesitant, his arms come up around you.

Not tight. Not confident.

But there.

And he stays.

You’re the one who pulls away first.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t say anything either.

But there’s something different in the way he looks at you now. Like he’s trying to understand what just happened. Like he’s replaying it in his head.

After that, things change.

Not all at once. Not in an obvious way.

Just… small things.

“You look cold.”

You don’t, really. But he’s already pulling at the sleeve of your hoodie, adjusting it, smoothing it down like it matters more than it should.

His fingers linger a second too long.

“Your hand is small.”

It’s random. Out of nowhere.

He holds his hand up next to yours, comparing them. Your fingers against his, your palm pressed lightly to his.

You expect him to let go after a second.

He doesn’t.

He just… keeps holding it.

Like he forgot he’s supposed to stop.

It keeps happening.

Little touches.

Accidental, at first. Then not so accidental.

His arm brushing yours and not moving away.

His shoulder leaning into yours when you sit together.

His fingers tapping lightly against your wrist, like he needs to make sure you’re still there.

And the way he looks at you changes too.

Sometimes you catch him staring.

Just quiet. Focused. Like he’s studying something he doesn’t fully understand yet.

Like he’s learning.

One afternoon, you’re sitting side by side, closer than usual.

Your knees are touching.

His arm is pressed against yours.

And this time, he doesn’t shift away.

Instead, he leans in a little more.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Until his head is resting against your shoulder.

You go still for a second.

Not because it’s uncomfortable.

Because it’s not.

It’s warm.

Soft.

Unexpected.

He doesn’t move.

You can feel his breathing, steady and calm, like this is the most natural thing in the world.

But after a moment, there’s a small shift.

A tiny hesitation.

And then, very quietly, almost like he’s afraid to break something—

“…is this okay?”

Your heart does something stupid.

You don’t even think before answering.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “It is.”

He exhales again.

Like he’s been holding it in.

And instead of pulling away—

he relaxes even more against you.

Settling in.

Staying.

Like he doesn’t want to leave.

And for the first time,

he doesn’t.

At some point, Vernon stops holding back.

It’s not something dramatic, not a sudden change you can point at. It just… happens. One day you realize he’s closer than usual, and the next, he’s always there, like he’s found his place and decided not to leave it.

He sits next to you even when there’s plenty of space elsewhere. His arm brushes yours, then stays. His fingers find yours without thinking, fitting like they’ve done it a hundred times before.

And he doesn’t pull away.

You start noticing how often he follows you. He's not obvious, he just drifts in the same direction, like he naturally ends up wherever you are. If you get up, he looks for you. If you disappear for a few minutes, his eyes scan the room until he finds you again.

It’s quiet. Instinctive.

Like you’re something he doesn’t want to lose track of.

He leans on you a lot too. Your shoulder has basically become his favorite spot, his head resting there whenever he gets the chance. Sometimes he doesn’t even ask, just settles in like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

And somehow… it is.

What really gets you is how attentive he becomes.

He notices things you don’t expect him to. The way you relax more when he holds you a certain way. The way your fingers shift when you lace your hands together. The little reactions you don’t even realize you’re giving.

He adjusts to them.

Learns them.

There are moments where he pauses, like he’s checking, like he wants to get it right. Then he shifts slightly, holds you a little differently, and you can tell he’s paying attention to every small detail.

Once, while sitting close, he presses a soft kiss to your cheek. It’s brief, almost shy, like he’s testing the waters.

When you don’t react negatively, he does it again later.

More certain this time.

You don’t say anything.

Neither does he.

But something changes in the air.

Your friends pick up on it immediately.

They have to.

There’s no way they wouldn’t.

You’re sitting together like always, except Vernon is practically attached to you, his arm loosely around your waist, his body angled toward yours like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

One of them looks between the two of you, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, seriously… what is this?” he says, half amused. “You’re glued to her.”

Vernon lifts his head slightly, blinking like he just noticed.

Then he glances at you.

And instead of moving away, he shifts even closer.

His arm tightens just a bit, his face dipping near your shoulder, comfortable, unbothered.

“…What?” he says, calm.

The group bursts into laughter.

Another friend shakes his head, grinning. “Man, if you’re like this here, I don’t even wanna know how you act when no one’s around. She’s got it rough.”

Your face burns instantly.

You don’t even know where to look.

But Vernon doesn’t seem affected at all.

He just shrugs lightly, still holding onto you.

“She’s okay,” he says, simple, like it’s obvious.

And then he looks at you.

Not teasing.

Not embarrassed.

Just soft.

Like he means it.

And for some reason, that hits harder than anything else.

A few days later, things feel off.

You don’t see him as much. Messages get shorter. Time passes faster than you expect, and suddenly it’s been longer than usual without him around.

You don’t think much of it at first.

Until you see him again.

He’s still close, still there, but there’s a slight hesitation now. Like he’s not sure if he should be. Like he’s waiting for something.

It’s subtle, but you notice.

“Did something happen?” you ask quietly.

He hesitates for a second.

Then, without warning, he steps forward and pulls you into him.

It’s tighter than usual.

Not desperate, just… certain.

“I don’t like it when I don’t see you,” he murmurs.

Your breath catches a little.

Because he says it so simply.

Like it’s just a fact.

That’s when it starts to feel different.

Heavier.

Not in a bad way.

Just… real.

The sleepover happens not long after.

It’s supposed to be casual. Just staying over, watching something, nothing out of the ordinary.

And at first, it is.

You sit side by side, sharing snacks, commenting on whatever’s playing. He leans into you every now and then, but it’s contained, like he’s keeping himself in check.

Like he’s aware.

Then the night stretches on, and things quiet down.

You shift slightly, stretching your arms. “I should probably sleep.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

When you start to get up, his hand finds your wrist.

Gentle.

Just enough to stop you.

“…stay a bit longer.”

Your chest tightens at how soft it sounds.

So you do.

You lie down, leaving a bit of space between you at first. It feels normal. Safe.

For a few seconds.

Then he moves.

Just slightly.

Then again.

And again.

Until the space disappears completely.

His arm wraps around you, pulling you closer without hesitation. His face settles against your neck, warm and familiar now, like he’s done it a hundred times before. His legs brush against yours, fitting into place without asking.

He doesn’t question it this time.

But he’s careful.

You can feel it in the way his hand moves slowly along your arm, in the way he adjusts just enough to make sure you’re comfortable.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

There’s a small pause.

Then, softer, almost like a confession meant only for the dark,

“…this feels better.”

You don’t answer.

You don’t need to.

You stay like that, close and still, until his breathing evens out.

For a moment, you think he’s asleep.

But then his arms tighten slightly around you.

Just for a second.

Like a reflex.

Like he needs to make sure you’re still there.

And somehow, that says more than anything else.

The next day is worse.

In the most embarrassing way possible.

One of your friends looks at you both, smirking. “So? How was it?”

You try to sound normal. “It was fine, we just—”

“It was nice,” Vernon says, cutting in without hesitation. “She stayed.”

You choke.

Completely.

Your friend stares at him. “…Yeah. I stand by what I said. She’s going through it.”

Vernon doesn’t react.

He just steps closer behind you, wrapping his arms around you again, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“She’s fine,” he repeats softly.

And the worst part is—

you don’t even try to deny it anymore.

Because somewhere between the way he holds you, the way he looks at you, and the way he keeps choosing you without thinking twice—

you realize this isn’t just comfort.

It hasn’t been for a while.

Something has shifted between you.

It’s not loud or overwhelming. Nothing dramatic happens, no big moment that changes everything all at once. But it’s there, in the quiet spaces, in the way your eyes meet and don’t look away as quickly as before.

You notice it in the pauses.

In the way conversations drift into silence, but neither of you feels the need to fill it.

In the way he looks at you a little longer than he should.

And in the way your chest feels just a little too full when he does.

It’s not just comfort anymore.

It hasn’t been for a while.

You’re just finally starting to admit it.

You’re sitting together like always, close enough that there’s no space left between you. Vernon’s arms are around you, holding you in that familiar way that’s become second nature to him.

But today, he’s quieter than usual.

He doesn’t fidget. Doesn’t shift.

He just holds you.

Tighter.

Like he’s thinking.

Like something is sitting heavy in his mind.

You tilt your head slightly. “You okay?”

He nods against you, but he doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, his grip tightens just a little more.

And he stays like that for a moment, like he’s trying to find the right words.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low.

Careful.

“I didn’t know I needed this…”

Your breath catches.

He pauses, like even saying that much took something out of him.

His arms tighten again, pulling you closer, as if that somehow makes it easier.

“…I didn’t know I needed you.”

Everything goes still.

For a second, you don’t move. Don’t speak. You just feel it, the weight of his words, the honesty in them, the way he’s holding you like he’s afraid of what comes next.

Then he lifts his head.

And looks at you.

There’s something vulnerable there, something unguarded you’ve never seen so clearly before.

He’s not hiding behind anything.

He’s just… there.

Waiting.

Your heart softens instantly.

“You have me,” you say quietly.

It comes out easier than you expected.

Like it’s the most natural answer in the world.

Like it’s been true for longer than you realized.

Something in his expression breaks, but in the softest way.

Not pain.

Relief.

He exhales, shoulders relaxing, like he’s been holding something in for too long.

And then he leans in.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Giving you time to move away if you want to.

You don’t.

The kiss is soft at first.

Almost hesitant.

Like he’s still unsure, like he doesn’t want to mess it up.

But when you don’t pull back, when you lean into it just slightly, something in him shifts.

His hand moves gently against you, holding you a little closer, and the kiss deepens just enough to feel real.

To feel certain.

He doesn’t rush it.

Doesn’t break it too quickly either.

Like he’s trying to memorize it.

When he finally pulls away, he doesn’t go far.

His forehead rests against yours, breath warm, steady.

There’s a small pause.

And then, softly, almost like a question he’s afraid to ask,

“Can I keep you?”

Your heart melts completely.

You don’t even hesitate.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You can.”

He smiles then, small and real, the kind that stays in his eyes.

And just like that, everything settles into place.

Later, when you’re still wrapped up together, when nothing feels uncertain anymore, he says it.

Not dramatically.

Not like a confession meant to shake the world.

Just quiet.

Honest.

“I love you.”

Like it’s obvious.

Like it’s been there all along.

And the way he holds you after that, a little tighter, a little closer—

makes it clear he doesn’t plan on letting go anytime soon.

werewolfclaws

i feel like this is a dying art called 'being a good human being' anybody else agree. anybody

sadgirlautumn

“kids spend too much time on their devices” well what else are they supposed to do? there’s no corner shops with pinball machines in them on every corner anymore. there’s no malls or stores in small towns for teens to hang out in without being suspected of shoplifting or kicked out for loitering. sidewalks are too broken for them to ride their bikes and there’s no bike lane in the street to make it safe for them. i just don’t understand where they expect these kids to go when they keep taking places away from them. and yes having no safe public places for them is what leads a lot of teens into addiction if they end up at a place where people aren’t truly looking out for them.

maria021015

Seeing is Believing

Fred Weasley x FemReader

When you were partnered with Fred Weasley for Professor Trelawney’s class, you knew he would ruin the entire experience for you. He called Divination ‘glorified guesswork’, and you called it an art. But in a project involving crystal balls, dream journals, and half-serious prophecies scribbled over tea leaves, you began predicting your future together without meaning to.

———————————————————————

The air in Professor Trelawney’s classroom always smelled faintly of burning herbs. Smoke curled in lazy ribbons from a cluster of brass incense dishes, cloaking the round room in an amber haze that made your eyes sting and your hair smell like sage for the rest of the day.

You adjusted your teacup, trying to peer through the rising steam. Across the low table, Fred Weasley squinted into his own cup as if it had personally offended him.

“You’re meant to look for symbols, not glare at them until they appear,” you said, exasperated.

“I am looking,” he said, slouching back, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And all I see is hot leaf juice.”

“That’s because you’re not opening your mind.”

Fred gave a theatrical gasp. “Oh, I’m wide open, sweetheart. My mind’s practically falling out. Still nothing mystical’s appearing.”

You tried not to smile. ‘Tried’ being the operative word. “Maybe if you took this seriously…”

“Oh, I am,” he said with mock sincerity, lifting the cup to the light. “According to my inner sight, this bit here looks suspiciously like a blob, and that one, another blob! Truly a vision of the future.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt and peered at his leaves, finding the shape. “That’s supposed to be a griffin, you absolute menace.”

He blinked at you. “In what universe?”

“In the one where you actually believe in something beyond your own jokes.”

His grin flickered, then returned sharper, amused. “And in your universe, Professor Trelawney actually knows the future?”

“She sees glimpses and interprets it,” you said firmly. “Divination isn’t about certainty, it’s about intuition, connection, symbolism. About patterns.”

Fred leaned in, elbows on the table, voice low enough that only you could hear. “You think the universe cares enough to send you signs in a teacup?”

You met his warm, mischievous brown-flecked eyes and refused to back down. “I think the universe likes to play games with people who don’t believe in it.”

For a second, he looked startled. Then he laughed under his breath, something half-genuine softening his features. “Well, I’ll give it this much, it’s certainly entertaining.”

You fought the heat that crept up your neck, blaming the incense, the smoke, the ridiculous lighting.

Across the room, Trelawney’s voice rose in a dreamy lilt. “Class, do open your inner eyes! Remember, your partner’s energy may affect your reading.”

You and Fred locked eyes again. “See? Your energy is ruining my reading,” you accused with narrowed eyes.

“Well are you sure that’s not your own energy?” he said with mock solemnity. “It’s judgmental and slightly terrifying.”

You shot back, “Yours is loud and smells faintly of dungbombs.”

He laughed properly this time, tipping his chair back until it wobbled dangerously. The sound earned a few giggles from nearby tables.

“Mr. Weasley!” Trelawney swooped closer, her shawls swishing like moth wings. “Mocking the Sight will only cloud your inner vision!”

Fred straightened, hands raised in surrender. “No mocking, Professor, just…deep appreciation of the mystic arts.”

Trelawney eyed him suspiciously before drifting away, muttering about ‘unreadable auras’.

You leaned forward, whispering, “You’re going to get us both detention.”

He smirked. “Then at least we’ll have more time to discuss our blobs.”

You gave up pretending not to laugh. “You’re such a pain in the arse.”

He grinned. “And yet, you’re still sitting across from me. Must be fate.”

The word hung in the air between you, and you quickly retorted, “It’s called a seating plan, actually.”

Then Trelawney clapped her hands, jangling her bracelets. “Attention, my dear pupils! You will now be undertaking a term project. A partnership assignment of great spiritual significance.”

You heard Fred groan softly beside you.

“You and your partner,” Trelawney continued, “will be crafting a prophecy portfolio. A collection of four divinatory readings conducted over the coming weeks, each predicting an aspect of your futures! Tea leaves, crystal gazing, dream analysis, and card reading shall all be included.”

Fred turned to you, pale with mock horror. “Please tell me she’s joking.”

“Does she look like she even knows what a joke is?” you said, half-smiling, half-dreading what was to come.

He dropped his head into his hands. “Brilliant. A whole month of pretending to see the future.”

You closed your notebook, fighting another grin. “Then I guess we’ll have to find a time to pretend together.”

He looked up at you through his fingers, that telltale spark of mischief reigniting. “Careful, love. You make it sound romantic.”

“Only in your wildest dreams.”

He pointed a finger at you. “Ah, but dream analysis is part of the assignment.”

You groaned, gathering your books. “You’re going to tank my grade.”

“And you,” he said, rising and slinging his bag over his shoulder, “are stuck with me.”

You hesitated only a second before meeting his grin. “Fine. We’ll meet here after dinner on Sunday. Try not to be late.”

He mock-saluted. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As you turned to leave, Trelawney’s voice floated through the haze behind you. “Ah, I sense great significance in this pairing…two threads entwined by destiny…”

Fred whispered as you passed through the beaded curtain, “If destiny smells this much like burnt lavender, I want a refund.”

You bit your lip to hide the smile that wouldn’t leave your face.

———————————————————————

By Thursday night, the Divination classroom had emptied into silence. The last flickers of daylight spilled weakly through the stained glass windows, painting the room in colourful and moody shadows. Candles were already lit (Trelawney must’ve left them burning) and the air hung thick and warm with the scent of old parchment, wax, and the ghost of incense smoke.

You were the first to arrive, clutching your notes, your wand, and a small crystal orb you’d borrowed from the supply cupboard. You’d arranged your table carefully with your parchment spread, teacups ready, atmosphere set.

You told yourself it was for the assignment. Definitely not because you wanted to impress him. Him, who always seemed to make your stomach flutter and face flush.

The bead curtain rattled, and in walked Fred Weasley, his hair a little messy from Quidditch practice, tie loosened, grin perfectly insufferable.

“Well, well,” he said, hands tucked into his pockets as he took in the scene. “You’ve really gone for the full mystical aesthetic. Should I be worried you’ll start levitating any minute?”

You didn’t look up from your notes. “Not unless you keep talking. Then I might start throwing things instead.”

He laughed, stepping closer until you could smell faint traces of broom polish and something sweet. Sugar, maybe? “I brought snacks, by the way. Figured if we’re going to be communing with the spirits, they might appreciate a biscuit.”

You glanced at the packet of chocolate biscuits he placed on the table and rolled your eyes. “That’s not how offerings work.”

“Maybe not in your world,” he said, taking one for himself. “But I’ve found biscuits improve most spiritual experiences.”

You sighed but couldn’t help smiling. “Right. Let’s start with tea leaf reading. Sit.”

He dropped into the chair opposite, still smirking. “Yes, professor.”

“Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not mocking. I’m learning. I’m a very open-minded individual.”

You handed him a teacup, ignoring his tone. “Sip slowly and think about your future. Try to clear your mind.”

“That’s easy,” he said. “There’s not much in there.”

You gave him your best unimpressed look, and he grinned wider before taking a sip. For a few moments, the room was quiet. It was the kind of heavy quiet that made you aware of every heartbeat, every breath, and every faint pop of candle wax. You tried to focus on your notes, but your eyes kept flicking up to him, following the curve of his mouth, the way he squinted slightly as if thinking hard about something.

When he finally set the cup down, you reached for it. “Let’s see…”

You tilted the cup toward the candlelight, peering at the scattered shapes. “There’s…a wonky broom,” you said softly. “You’ll face a challenge, but come out victorious.”

He snorted. “Or I’ll just win my next match.”

You ignored that. “And here, see this? Looks like a heart.”

He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “That blob?”

“It’s not a blob,” you said, trying not to laugh. “It’s a heart. Which means…” You hesitated as you read over your notes. You could feel his gaze on you, teasing but curious. “Which means romance might be in your near future.”

Fred grinned. “Ah, so I’m getting lucky. I knew Divination had potential.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“Go on then, what else?”

You traced another cluster of shapes. “There’s…a flame. That could mean passion or transformation.”

“Passion and romance?” he said, leaning back with mock wonder. “Merlin’s beard, I’m practically a walking erotic novel.”

You huffed a laugh despite yourself. “Or it means you’ll burn something down. Which seems more likely.”

“Fair point.” He paused, tilting his head. “Your turn, then. Let’s see what fate’s got planned for you.”

“I already did mine earlier,” you said quickly, gathering your notes. The more time you spent alone with him, the more you found your heart rate jumping.

“Scared?” he said, voice low, teasing.

You looked up sharply. “Of what?”

“Of spending too much time with me. You know it’d inevitably lead to you fall madly in love with a dashing ginger prankster, obviously.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Dashing is a stretch.”

He laughed, leaning closer. “You didn’t deny the rest.”

You met his gaze for half a heartbeat too long before you looked away, pretending to rearrange your parchment. “Fine. You want to read my leaves? Go ahead.”

He grinned, turning your teacup around. “Right then. Let’s see what the universe says.”

He peered in, squinting. “Okay, I see…a blob. Maybe a badly drawn shoe. Or a potato.”

“That’s not even remotely close to a symbol.”

“Wait, wait!” He leaned closer. “That bit there looks like…two people.”

You blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said with mock seriousness. “They’re holding hands. One’s clearly taller. Obviously me. And the other’s…you.”

You tried to keep your tone light, but your heart did an odd little flip. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grinned. “Maybe. But if I turn out to be right, I’ll expect full credit for prophetic accuracy.”

“You’ll be lucky if you get credit for showing up.”

You started jotting down notes about interpretations and metaphoric resonance, trying to ignore the way your hand trembled slightly. When you finally glanced up, he was watching you. He wasn’t smirking this time, just watching. A little too long. A little too intently. The candlelight softened his usual sharp grin into something quieter that made your chest ache unexpectedly.

“What?” you said finally, half-defensive.

He blinked, then smiled again, easy and familiar. “Nothing. Just, maybe this isn’t complete hippogriff shit after all.”

You arched a brow. “Careful, Weasley. That sounded dangerously close to respect.”

He stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Don’t get used to it.”

But as he reached the door, he glanced back once more. “See you Sunday? For the crystal ball session?”

You nodded. “Same time.”

“Good.” He hesitated a beat, then added, softer, “Don’t stay up too late staring into the abyss or whatever.”

You smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

When the door swung shut behind him, the air still smelled faintly of sugar and smoke. You stared down at your teacup again, at the faint pattern that you believe was shaped like a heart, and wondered if there might be something to it after all.

———————————————————————

By Sunday evening, the Divination tower was nearly silent again, save for the low hum of wind against the windows. The air was cool now, tinged with the scent of rain and the faint shimmer of candle smoke. You sat cross-legged on the floor beside a round table, the crystal ball between you glowing faintly with reflected firelight.

Fred was late, of course, but only by five minutes this time. When the bead curtain clattered, you didn’t even look up.

“You’re improving,” you said dryly.

“Traffic on the moving staircase,” he said easily, dropping his bag with a thud. “Tragic, really. But I brought reinforcements.” He held up two steaming mugs. “Hot chocolate,” he announced proudly. “For when the mystical experience gets too intense.”

You took one, trying not to smile. “You’re impossible to take seriously.”

“And yet you still agreed to spend your Sunday night with me,” he said, settling across from you. His grin softened slightly as he looked at the crystal. “Alright then. Let’s see what the great orb of destiny has to say about our futures, shall we?”

You set your mug aside and brushed your fingers lightly over the surface of the sphere. It was cool and smooth, catching light in soft swirls. “You’re supposed to clear your mind first. Focus on a question. Something about your future.”

Fred rested his chin on his hand, eyes bright with mischief. “Alright. How about, ‘Will I survive this project without being hexed by my partner?’”

You gave him a look. “Try again.”

“Fine. Something serious, then.” He leaned in, the firelight catching in his hair. “What product should I use in my hair to eliminate the frizz?”

You rolled your eyes at him and pulled the crystal ball closer to yourself, “Fine, if you don’t want to take this seriously, I will.”

The crystal clouded faintly under your touch, mist swirling in slow, silvery shapes. You frowned, watching it shift.

“I see…” you started softly. “Light. Candles, maybe. And…movement.”

He grinned. “So far, sounds very vague.”

“Shh,” you said, squinting. The mists twisted again, forming something that looked like… “A table. Two people. Maybe sharing a meal?”

Fred chuckled. “A feast? Brilliant. We only have one of those every night in the Great Hall.”

You ignored him, tracing the image with your fingertip. “There’s more. A colour…Red. Like flame. And a sound…something falling.”

He tilted his head. “Falling?”

“Yes,” you murmured. “Something fragile breaking. And…oh.” You frowned. “And flowers. I can’t tell which kind.”

Fred’s expression softened, curiosity replacing humor. “That’s oddly specific.”

“It’s probably symbolic,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “Sometimes the images don’t mean anything literal.”

He leaned closer, elbows on the table. “You don’t actually believe that.”

You hesitated. “I believe the crystal shows what we need to see, even if it doesn’t make sense yet.”

He studied you for a long moment, that teasing spark dimming into something quieter, almost thoughtful. “You really think everything’s got meaning, don’t you?”

You shrugged lightly. “Not everything. But enough.”

Fred smiled. It wasn’t his usual cheeky grin, but something small and real. “That’s kind of adorable, you know.”

Your chest tightened unexpectedly at his words. They threw you off guard. You looked back down into the orb. “It’s your turn, then. See what you find.”

He cracked his knuckles dramatically. “Prepare to be amazed.”

He peered into the crystal, pretending to squint like Trelawney, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. “Ah, yes. I see…a stunning young woman across from me. She’s clever, mysterious, possibly in danger of falling madly in love with me—”

“Fred.” You chastised with blushing cheeks.

He broke off, laughing. “Alright, alright. I see…uh, well, it’s blurry. Some light. Some movement. And something red.”

You blinked. “Red?”

He nodded, leaning closer. “Red and…warm. Feels like…firelight.”

“Okay, now you’re just copying what I said!” You huff in annoyance. You didn’t know what you expected from Fred when it came to Divination, but was it really too much to ask that he take this assignment at leat a bit seriously?

“No, wait, I’m not done yet,” He shook his head. “There’s people laughing. It feels like something good’s about to happen.”

You met his eyes over the misting surface of the crystal, and for a long, unguarded moment, neither of you said a word.

Then he grinned again, the tension snapping like thread. “See? I told you I was a natural.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was still racing. “You’re hopeless.”

“Maybe,” he said lightly, rising to his feet. “But at least I’m consistent.”

He gathered his things, lingering a little too long by the door. “Next session’s dream interpretation, right?”

You nodded. “Next Sunday.”

“Can’t wait.” He smiled, softer now. “Though maybe we can talk somewhere a bit cosier. Meet me at the three broomsticks instead?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck somewhere between your throat and your heart. When he left, the room seemed too quiet. The crystal sat between your hands, still faintly glowing, its mist swirling like breath.

You leaned forward, watching as the faint shapes reappeared. There they were, two people at a table, candlelight, smashed glass, and the color red everywhere.

———————————————————————

The Three Broomsticks was alive with noise and warmth that evening, smelling of hot butterbeer and sounding of laughter. Candlelight danced across the low, golden wood tables. Fred hadn’t been joking about wanting somewhere ‘cosier’ to work. Which was how you ended up opposite him in a corner booth, parchment between you and two drinks steaming gently beside a flickering candle.

“You do realise this is supposed to be a working session,” you said, dipping your quill. “Not just an excuse for you to drink me under the table.”

Fred raised his mug. “A man can multitask.”

You rolled your eyes. “Alright, Weasley, let’s hear your dream from this week.”

He leaned back, eyes dancing. “I’m not sure you’re ready for this level of psychological insight.”

“Try me.”

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Fine. I was flying. Above the pitch, no broom, just floating. Then suddenly I was being chased by a giant teapot with Trelawney’s face. She kept shouting ‘read the leaves, Mr. Weasley!’ while hurling biscuits at me.”

You snorted. “Incredible. Truly symbolic. I’m sure the Department of Mysteries would be fascinated.”

“Don’t mock my subconscious, love. It’s a delicate ecosystem.”

You smirked. “I think it says you’re afraid of authority and hydration.”

He grinned. “Your turn then, dream expert. Let’s hear what the inner eye revealed to you.”

You hesitated, nibbling the end of your quill. “Mine was…odd, actually. I don’t remember much of what actually happened but I remember emotions and sensations. Like laughing and feeling happy. Like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.”

Fred stilled slightly. “That sounds…familiar.”

You blinked. “What?”

He shook his head quickly, forcing a grin. “Nothing. Just a bit eerie, that’s all.”

You frowned at him, but before you could say anything, Madam Rosmerta appeared with two plates. The rich smell of shepherd’s pie and roasted vegetables filled the air, and Fred brightened instantly.

“See, I told you studying’s better with food. Mystical revelations and mashed potatoes.”

You laughed. “You Weasley’s and your bottomless stomachs. It’s a modern medical miracle how you’re always hungry.”

“Admit it, though,” he said, leaning forward, “you’re having more fun than you expected.”

You wanted to deny it, to roll your eyes or make a quip, but the truth hovered too close to the surface. Between his ridiculous jokes and the easy rhythm you’d fallen into, it was hard not to enjoy every second.

“Maybe,” you said finally, teasing. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

He grinned. “Too late for that.”

You clinked your mugs in mock salute and that’s when your elbow caught on the little glass flower vase on the table. It toppled and water spilled in a wild, glorious arc, catching the candlelight as it splashed across the table. The glass shattered, red flowers scattering over the floor

Fred stared at the mess, mouth half open, then looked up at you.

“Fred,” you whispered. “It came true.”

He blinked. “What did?”

“The prophecy. The one from the crystal ball! Firelight, laughter, something breaking, red everywhere!” You pointed helplessly at the water-stained tablecloth. “This! This is exactly what we saw!”

Fred blinked again, then started laughing. “Oh, come on!”

“I’m serious!” you said, half laughing yourself. “You can’t deny it, this is word for word what we described.”

“It’s a coincidence,” he insisted, trying to mop up the water with a napkin. “A happy accident.”

You leaned closer, eyes wide. “You can’t possibly still think Divination’s rubbish after this.”

“I can and I do,” he said stubbornly, dabbing at the stain. “You knocked over a vase, you didn’t uncover the mysteries of the universe.”

You laughed so hard your sides hurt. “You’re such a cynic.”

“And you’re dramatic,” he shot back, but he was smiling. The type of smile that softened at the edges and made something flutter uncomfortably in your chest.

When the waitress replaced your vase, he raised his refilled drink toward you with a smirk. “To prophecy,” he said.

You clinked it lightly. “To denial.”

He grinned. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re smug.”

That made your pulse jump, though you tried to hide it behind your glass.

Outside, the snow had started falling softly against the windowpanes, muffling the world. Inside, everything was golden light and laughter and a feeling in your chest you didn’t dare to give a name.

———————————————————————

It started again a few days after the vase incident. You were sitting beside Fred in the library, parchment spread out, trying to draft your analysis for the Divination portfolio. He’d insisted he could help, though so far his contributions consisted mostly of doodles of Trelawney riding a broom made of tea leaves and scarves. Though he still insisted he was teeming with natural talent.

“Alright, fine,” you said, leaning over his shoulder. “If you’re such a natural seer, predict something else. Anything.”

He pretended to think deeply, tapping his quill against his chin. “Something small, then. Like…I’ll get ink on me within the next minute.”

You snorted. “That’s not a prophecy, that’s statistics.”

He winked, set the quill down and immediately knocked over the ink bottle with his elbow. It splashed spectacularly across his sleeve and your parchment.

You stared and he froze, then started laughing. “See? Prophetic genius.”

“You’re unbelievable!” you said, trying to blot your notes.

“Admit it, I’m magical,” he said, grinning as he examined the ink stain on his arm.

You smiled despite yourself. “Or just messy.”

He leaned closer, voice dropping. “Maybe both.”

A week later, during lunch in the Great Hall, he waltzed right up to you, sat down beside you and made another prediction, though this time unprompted.

“I foresee,” he said solemnly, “that within the hour, a feather will land directly on my nose.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised that he had ventured over to your table of his own accord. “That’s oddly specific.”

He just grinned, bit into a sandwich, and kept talking about something George had blown up in Charms.

Forty minutes later, an owl swooped overhead on its way to deliver a letter. A single downy feather drifted loose and, by some miraculous twist of fate, it landed perfectly on the bridge of Fred’s nose.

You gaped. “You planned that!”

“I didn’t!” he protested, eyes wide with mock innocence. “Fate clearly adores me.”

“Fate is mocking you,” you said, shaking your head, but you were laughing too hard to sound convincing.

He leaned across the table, feather still on his nose. “Admit it, you’re starting to believe in my abilities.”

You looked at him, at that infuriating grin, and said, “I’m starting to believe I need a restraining order.”

A few days later, during yet another Divination session, you were reading the cards together waiting for class to officially start. Fred was sprawled on the rug and you kneeling beside the table.

He flipped a card and frowned. “The Wheel of Fortune. That means…something’s about to change?”

You glanced at the card. “Or you’re about to find something you didn’t expect.”

He grinned. “Alright then. I predict I’ll find something of yours within the day.”

You laughed. “Please don’t make that sound creepy.”

That afternoon, after Transfiguration, he caught up to you in the corridor, holding something aloft. Your school scarf that you hadn’t even noticed was missing.

“You dropped this,” he said, mock solemn. “Prophecy fulfilled.”

You stared, half impressed, half suspicious. “You didn’t take that on purpose, did you?”

“Love,” he said, dramatically placing a hand on his heart, “I’d never steal anything but your heart.”

You reached for the scarf with flushed cheeks at his comment, but he held it just out of reach. “You could at least say thank you.”

“Fine. Thank you, O Great Prophet.”

He smiled, eyes bright. “You’re welcome, O Nonbeliever.”

Your fingers brushed his as you took it back, and for the first time you couldn’t tell whether your shiver came from the cold or from him.

The air in Trelawney’s tower was syrup-thick with the kind of sweet heat that made your eyelids heavy and your thoughts wander. Candles flickered in glass bowls, throwing soft light across crystal balls and decks of worn tarot cards scattered across low tables.

Professor Trelawney floated around the room in a cloud of shawls and perfume, her voice lilting through the haze as she finally began the lesson.

“Today,” she declared, “we will peer into the hearts of destiny. Each pair will divine something in their near future. Use the cards, the smoke, and your intuition. The Fates will speak through you.”

Fred slouched beside you, his chin in hand, trying and failing not to grin. “Oh, brilliant. You’ll probably predict I’m destined to fall in love with a banshee.”

You gave him a flat look. “You’d deserve it.”

He winked. “Bet she’d scream my name.”

You groaned, your stomach jolting and face shifting red at the crude joke. “You’re absolutely intolerable today.”

“And yet you still chose to partner with me,” he said, smirking as he reached for the deck of cards.

“I didn’t choose. It’s called the great and mystical seating plan. Now shut up and give me the cards,” you said, trying not to smile.

He handed them to you and you split the deck, letting the cards fan between your fingers, the edges soft from use. Fred leaned back, watching you like it was all a game.

“Ready?” you asked.

“Born ready, darling Seer.”

You rolled your eyes and drew your card first. It landed face-up between you. The Lovers.

Fred burst out laughing. “You’re joking. You rigged it.”

You stared down at the card, its two mirrored figures joined by a halo of golden light. “It’s not rigged,” you muttered, cheeks warm. “It means a deep connection…or a choice of the heart.”

Fred smirked. “A choice, eh? So, between me and you, who’s the lucky one?”

You flicked the edge of his card deck toward him. “Your turn, wise guy.”

He grinned, drew one, and flipped it. The Two of Cups.

You both froze. It was another card of love, two figures sharing goblets, a symbol of partnership and emotional bond.

Fred tilted his head, smirk fading just slightly. “Alright, that’s weird.”

“Coincidence,” you said quickly, though your pulse had started to quicken. “There’s a lot of relationship cards in the deck.”

He leaned closer, voice low. “You sure about that?”

Trelawney drifted past, humming until she caught a glimpse at the cards pulled on your table. “Oooh, the two of cups, and the lovers! What a rare treat for us today. I know the perfect exercise for the two of you!”

She hurried to bring over two crystal stands with sticks of incense stuck into the base. “Now, focus on your crystal incense burners. The smoke will be guide by the spirits. Ask about your future partner.”

You tried to ignore her large, bug eyed staring at you as you exhaled nervously and rubbed your palms together. “Alright. Future partner,” you whispered under your breath, lighting the incense cone. “What will he be like?”

Fred leaned on his elbow, pretending to be bored but watching out of the corner of his eye.

The smoke curled upward, shifting in lazy spirals until it began to twist into a familiar shape. A bird of some kind. Wings spread, feathers curling like fire.

Fred noticed it before you did. “That looks like…a phoenix.”

Trelawney blinked, her eyebrows shooting up. “Ahh yes, symbolising someone bold, warm, and fierce.”

“Fierce?” he echoed with a lopsided grin. “Oi, that sounds like me.”

You snorted. “You wish.”

Then strangely his incense caught too, a plume of silver smoke spilling from his burner. You both watched as it thickened, spiralling into something slender and graceful.

“Whoah,” Fred straightens sharply in surprise.

It looks like…water,” you commented, watching it flow endlessly in the air before fading.

“Hmmmm,” Trelawney hummed lowly with a wagging finger. “Water means sensitivity. Empathy. Calm.”

Fred looked from the smoke to you. “Now that one’s definitely you.”

You felt the blush creep in before you could stop it. “Don’t start.”

“Too late,” he said softly, still watching the fading curls of mist.

“Now!” Trelawney called suddenly and loudly, startling you both as she dropped a handful of crystals and tiny items onto the lace tablecloth. “Close your eyes. Let your hand be guided to an item on your table.”

You hesitated, then shut your eyes. Your fingers drifted over the table until they landed on something small and cold. When you opened them, you found a silver button.

“A button?” Fred asked, grinning. “What’s that supposed to mean? You’re going to marry a tailor?”

“It means…” you frowned, flipping through your Divination notes. “Security. Attachment. Someone who holds things together.”

“Mmm quite correct my dear,” Trelawney nodded with an absent smile.

Fred hummed, amused by the whole thing. “Alright, let’s see what fate gives me.”

He reached out blindly until his fingertips brushed across your sleeve, and then, accidentally, your wrist. You both stilled. You looked down at his hand, lingering against your skin, the contact electric in the quiet hum of the classroom.

He swallowed and pulled back quickly, trying to cover with a joke. “Ah, well. Looks like fate’s given me…uh, you.”

“Very funny,” you said, but your voice wasn’t steady anymore. In fact, the growing amount of predictions that seemed to be leading in a direction you were too nervous to pursue was leaving you increasingly anxious. Or were you simply feeding into your own delusions? Your own biased want for it? For him. The first rule in divination was not to look through a lens but to remove yourself from the equation. A rule you didn’t feel like you were following.

Fred was still looking at you when he said, softly, “Yeah. Hilarious.”

Trelawney’s shawls rustled as she finally moved away to Andrea the whole class. “Now, my dears. The final task. Place your cards beneath the crystal ball and seek clarity! It will show you what needs to be seen for your future to become clear.”

Fred grinned again, but there was something nervous in it this time as he followed the instructions. You leaned in together, faces reflected in the milky glass. Mist swirled inside it, shapes forming and breaking.

At first, you saw nothing. Then, light. Flickers of red and gold. Laughter. Something falling. Water arcing. Smashing of glass. Your breath hitched in your throat.

“Fred,” you whispered. “Do you see…?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Neither of you said it aloud, but you knew that you’d already lived this moment. That night at the Three Broomsticks. The mist faded, leaving only your reflections staring back at each other, your eyes wide, hearts racing, something new and undeniable between you.

Fred cleared his throat, trying to hide the shift in his expression. “Well,” he said, voice low. “Either I’m getting very good at pretending to predict things, or that’s the weirdest déjà vu I’ve ever had.”

You forced yourself to smile feebly, unable to look away from him. “Maybe the universe is just trying to get your attention.”

He tilted his head, gaze soft now, almost fond. “I think it’s doing a bloody good job.”

“Whatever, it’s all just a bunch of hippogriff shit, right?” You brushed it off, tearing your gaze away from him as you quote his original sentiments. It didn’t stop the nagging feeling in the back of your brain that was screaming at you to look at all the signs.

“Oh, I don’t know about that anymore,” he said softly, and when you flicked your gaze back up to meet his in surprise, he quickly cleared his throat. “I am a master Seer after all. And I’m predicting that the next time I see you, you’ll be carrying something blue and humming”

Your smile returned as he drifted his fingers over the crystal ball dramatically, and you rolled your eyes. “Right, predicting the important things as usual, Weasley.”

———————————————————————

The Divination tower was quiet that Sunday afternoon. No classes, just leftover incense and the ghostly tick of the old clock. You dumped your things on the floor and perched at one of the low tables, quill scratching against parchment as you tried to finish your report for Trelawney.

Fred burst in like a firework, only minutes after you’d arrived, suspiciously on time for once. “You are not going to believe this.”

You didn’t look up. “That’s the general pattern, yes.”

He ignored the jab, striding toward you with that manic gleam in his eyes. “You remember the completely accurate prophecies I made last week? The one about the scarf and the feather?”

“I remember you making a lot of noise,” you muttered.

He grinned, undeterred. “Well, guess what? It happened again.”

You finally glanced up. “What did?”

He sat down across from you, leaning forward like he was about to reveal the secret to immortality. “I predicted, and I quote, ‘the next time I see you, you’ll be carrying something blue and humming.’”

You stared at him. “And?”

He pointed triumphantly. “You were!”

You blinked. “I was what?”

“You were humming on the stairs! And you’ve got that,” he gestured at the ink-stained ribbon holding your quill set together, “That’s the blue thing! I saw it! Exactly as I said!”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Fred, that’s not a prophecy. That’s an accident. You probably just noticed I always hum when I’m working.”

“No, no, no, this was the Inner Eye!” he insisted, eyes bright. “I felt it! The smoke, the cards, the bloody tealeaves…all of it’s been leading here!”

You blinked at him. “You mean here as in…to my quill set?”

“As in to you and me!” he said, gesturing between you. “Don’t you see it? Every reading, every symbol, every prediction, it all pointed to us!”

You let out a forced laugh, a bit breathless. “Oh, so now you believe in Divination? The same bloke who called it hippogriff shit two months ago?”

“Exactly!” he said, almost giddy. “That’s how I know it’s real! Because I wasn’t even trying!”

“Fred,” you said, half exasperated, half fond, “you’ve been rigging half of those predictions.”

“I have not!”

You gave him a look. “You literally said ‘I predict ink will spill’ while your elbow was already halfway across the bottle.”

He pointed a finger. “Coincidence. The universe works through elbows.”

You laughed. “You’re being ridiculous.”

He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with that rare earnestness that always caught you off guard.

“No, listen. We predicted you’d knock over that vase and it happened. I said a feather would land on my nose, and it did when I was eating lunch with you! I said I’d find something you lost, and I did! Every time, it’s been us. It’s always you.” His voice softened. “Tell me that’s not fate.”

You stared at him, heart thudding traitorously hard. “It’s not fate,” you said firmly. “It’s you being annoyingly lucky.”

He smirked. “I prefer ‘destined’.”

You rolled your eyes and went back to your parchment. “Even if it were real, there’s one thing you haven’t managed to predict yet.”

He frowned. “What?”

You looked up, meeting his gaze with a challenge. “Anything even remotely of meaning or consequence!”

Fred froze, mouth parting in surprise, before that slow, infuriating grin spread across his face. “So you’re saying…I just have to make a genuine, serious, proper prediction?”

You shrugged. “If you can make it happen undeniably, so even I can’t argue, then fine. I’ll admit you’re a true Seer.”

“Then you’ll admit we’re meant to be together and you’ll go out with me?” He arched a brow at you, refusing to back away from the subject.

“Fine, if you make a genuine prediction that comes true, I’ll go out with you.” You agreed, cheeks pink as you tried to sound casual. In truth, your heart was bursting out of your chest. You didn’t want to look too eager, and for the first time you hoped that one is his ridiculous ‘predictions’ would come true.

He sat back, eyes glinting like mischief incarnate. “Oh, you’ve just doomed yourself, sweetheart.”

You smirked. “We’ll see. Now sit down and help me write this damn presentation script.”

———————————————————————

Three days later, you were in the corridor outside the courtyard, arms full of Divination scrolls you’d borrowed from the library, when you heard Fred’s voice from somewhere behind you.

“Careful!” he called, laughing. “The Fates will be testing you today!”

You turned and at that precise moment, Peeves swooped past, gleefully hurling a bucket of soapy water toward a group of second-years. You gasped, trying to dodge, but your foot slipped on the wet stone.

Before you could even blink, strong arms caught you around the waist, hauling you upright.

You found yourself pressed against Fred Weasley’s chest, his laughter warm and wild in your ear.

He steadied you, grinning down at you. “Didn’t see that coming, did you?”

You opened your mouth to retort, then froze. Because above you, where Peeves had thrown the water, the sunlight from the tall windows refracted through the droplets, scattering rainbows across the corridor in a shimmering arc.

Fred followed your gaze, his grin fading into something softer. “…I might’ve actually predicted this,” he said quietly.

You frowned. “What?”

“The incense smoke,” he said. “Remember? My smoke was in the shape of water.” He smiled faintly, and your heart faltered. He was right.

You stared, and then shook your head, already shutting down the hopeful thought. “No, that was meant to represent personality, not to be taken literally.”

“Well it works both ways,” He shrugged, still holding you close. “Fate finally cashed in. Come on, go out with me.”

You stood there for a long beat, the corridor washed in prismatic light, his hand still at your waist, his eyes brighter than you’d ever seen them.

Finally, you sighed, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “You’re not a Seer.”

He grinned. “Come on, you promised.”

You groaned, trying not to laugh. Okay, so maybe you didn’t believe he was a master of the Sight, but you did believe in the signs that kept accumulating. And really, even if you didn’t have any divine intervention, you still felt that infuriating flutter in your stomach whenever he was around, and the rapid beating of your heart. So why keep denying him?

“Fine. You win. I’ll go out with you. Not because I believe you have even an ounce of prophetic talent, but because you’ve annoyed me into agreeing.”

He looked delighted. “You’ll go out with me?”

“I said fine, don’t make me revoke it.”

He chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You smiled despite yourself, glancing up at the fading rainbow above you. “So what now, Prophet Weasley?”

He winked. “Now, I predict dinner. Tonight. Just you and me.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

“I always am,” he said, eyes glinting. “The universe told me so.”

——————————————————————-

The castle was quiet as you walked side by side with Fred through the winding corridors. The night air lingered faintly on the stone as you left the empty courtyard, picnic blanket in hand. The torches flickered shadows across the walls as you entered the halls of the castle.

“I can’t believe you ate all of that and still had dessert,” you said, shaking your head.

He grinned, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes. “What can I say? My inner eye told me to”

You rolled your eyes. “Did your inner eye also tell you you’d probably spill your drink on me?”

“Why yes, it did!” he said, nudging you gently with his shoulder. “See? Right about everything.”

You smirked. “Oh, of course. The great prophet Fred Weasley, never wrong, always fabulous.”

He laughed, and then, with a sly grin, leaned a little closer. “So…does that mean you admit I was right?”

“Not a chance,” you teased, stepping around him as he tried to catch your wrist.

He caught it anyway, holding your hand gently, his green eyes sparkling in the torchlight. “Come on. Just one little confession?”

You laughed, heart thudding. “Fine! Maybe…maybe you’re not completely wrong about reading the signs.”

“That’s all I ask,” he said softly, and before you could respond, his lips were on yours.

It was warm and easy, gentle at first, then teasing, full of laughter and surprise. Your arms curled around his neck without thinking, and for a moment, the whole castle felt smaller. It was just the two of you and the quiet magic of the moment.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless, your eyes fell on the wall behind him. You stiffened, blinking at the image before you. The painting you were standing in front of depicted two goblets, perfectly mirrored, golden light spilling across the cups, intertwined in a way that made them look like they belonged together.

You looked at Fred, who was grinning like he’d just won a Quidditch match.

“You see that?” you asked, pointing at the painting. “Two cups. Like…the card you pulled.”

He looked over his shoulder and laughed, the sound warm and triumphant. “Exactly like it. I told you the universe was on my side.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “Oh…fine. Maybe you were right all along.”

Fred’s grin widened, and he leaned closer, brushing a kiss against your temple. “I knew you’d see it eventually.”

“You talk a bit game for someone who didn’t even believe in Divination a month ago.” You laughed again, letting yourself rest against him as you walked down the corridor, hand in hand, finally willing to believe in a little bit of fate…and in a lot of Fred Weasley.

———————————————————————

The Divination classroom now carried an extra undercurrent of anticipation and a little nervous energy, mostly yours.

You and Fred had finally finished your joint portfolio, which included charts of tea leaves, crystal ball sketches, tarot readings, and a carefully chronicled list of ‘Accidental Prophecies’, complete with dates, times, and evidence of each uncanny coincidence.

Fred, of course, had insisted on a cover page decorated with doodles of stars and, inexplicably, a phoenix wearing a monocle.

“Perfect,” he said, beaming. “Totally academic, very official. Professor Trelawney won’t know what hit her.”

You shook your head, smiling. “I hope she doesn’t explode when she sees the ‘prophetic evidence’ section. Or that phoenix.”

Fred shrugged. “A little mischief never hurt anyone. And look at the bright side, we proved Divination works.”

You snorted. “You mean you now believe it works, after being dragged through every ridiculous prophecy imaginable.”

He winked. “Exactly. I now worship the Inner Eye. Also, it told me to ask if you’d like to continue…um, being prophetic together?”

You arched a brow. “You mean…like another date?”

He nodded, eyes sparkling. “Yes. Like another date. And possibly another date after that. And more after that. Until maybe the end of forever?”

“Is this your way of asking me to be your girlfriend?” You ask, eyebrows dipping slightly.

“Yes, that’s exactly what this is,” he nodded, a tinge of pink dusting over his freckled cheeks.

You rolled your eyes, hiding the smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. But only if you promise not to predict spilling anything else on me.”

“Agreed,” he said, mock solemn, “though I can’t make promises about fate itself.”

Just then, Professor Trelawney glided in, shawls billowing dramatically, eyes hidden behind their usual mist of purple lenses. “Ah,” she said in her high, tremulous voice, “I can sense…a great merging of destinies! You’ve…completed your work?”

Fred leaned forward, trying not to grin too broadly. “Yes, Professor. All documented. Every…uh…anomaly, coincidence, and premonition.”

Trelawney’s gaze flickered at him, then to you, then back again. “The signs, I felt them. Remarkable.”

You and Fred exchanged a small, victorious glance.

“Thank you, Professor,” you said, trying not to laugh as she hummed dramatically and glided to another table further down the row.

As she left, Fred nudged you gently. “See? I told you. The universe is on our side.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “Alright, alright. Maybe there were some cosmic signs.”

He grinned, taking your hand and entwining your fingers together in a way that made your stomach flip. “I knew you’d come around eventually. The cards never lie.”

You rolled your eyes, glancing down at the crystal ball that had started it all. Its mist swirled lazily, reflecting flickers of light across the walls, as if giving its own silent approval.

But you couldn’t be mad. As it turned out, you didn’t mind at all that the universe had been quietly, unavoidably, and completely on Fred Weasley’s side.

———————————————————————

Tag list: @vivianette @ellouisa17 @wisp1q @divineani @cattleray @billieeilishkisser @lupinsweater @allielovesstars @starryeddie @adhxmoony @jaredcadillaci @lilians17 @velvetthunder93 @somestufftoday @kekecc @allielovesstars @chaosomnipotent13 @samyayaya

chars4u

I MISS FLUFFY FICS EVERYTHINGS SMUT NOW💔

lumosflairr

JUST FRIENDS - FRED WEASLEY

Summary: You and Fred are just friends. However, you can't help but feel a tug at your heart whenever he does little things - making you question if your 'just friends.'

warnings: a pinch of angst, cussing, friends to lovers.

Word Count: 4,504

You and Fred were just friends. Nothing less, nothing more. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself. Over and over, like a charm you hoped would eventually work—because if it didn’t, you weren’t sure how much longer your heart could take it.

He did things, little things that didn’t feel exclusively friendly.

Like how he always found you in a crowded room—his eyes scanning until they landed on yours, lighting up like you were the only one worth seeing. Or how he saved you the best part of every dessert at dinner. Or when he’d throw an arm around your shoulders after a long day, fingers curling into the fabric of your robes like he didn’t even notice. Or when he’d lean in close during study sessions, reading your notes upside down, his cheek brushing yours while he made some cheeky comment that had your stomach somersaulting.

And the worst part? He never seemed to notice what it did to you.

It was the casual intimacy of it all—his easy affection, the warmth in his voice when he said your name. The way he’d ruffle your hair when you were annoyed, or hold your pinky instead of your hand when he tugged you through the busy corridors between classes. Things that shouldn’t have meant anything… but always did.

The saddest part was that you knew Fred Weasley. Almost as well as George. You knew he flirted with half the castle. You knew the not-so secret hookups he’s had with other Gryffindors and some Ravenclaws here and there. You knew he wasn’t serious about relationships with them, or maybe even anyone.

However, none of them got the quiet parts of him. The stillness behind his laughter. The worry in his eyes when you were too quiet. The way he’d wait up for you after late Prefect rounds, claiming he “just happened to be up,” even when his hair was mussed from sleep. Or maybe you just noticed far too much and overanalyzed him.

So no, you weren’t in love with Fred Weasley.

But sometimes—when he looked at you like you hung the moon—you really, really wished you were just a little better at lying.

Because whenever he does things like that, you find it even more difficult to keep pretending. Like tonight.

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with post-Quidditch victory energy—scarlet and gold banners fluttering, laughter echoing off the walls, and butterbeer flowing in celebratory bursts. Someone had dragged a wireless from the dorms and turned the volume up, and a few people had pushed the couches aside to make room for dancing.

You sat curled into the arm of a chair, trying to keep your focus on the cup in your hands and not the way Fred Weasley moved through the room like he belonged to it—easy, magnetic, glowing with that same wild charm that made people gravitate to him without even realizing it.

Your stomach flipped when his eyes landed on you. He was still in his Quidditch gear, hair windblown and cheeks flushed from the game, but somehow he looked better like that—unpolished and completely alive.

“Hey,” he called, making a beeline for you through the crowd. “There’s a rule that says you have to dance with the winning team.”

“I think you made that up,” you replied, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned, unbothered. “I make up a lot of rules. Doesn’t mean they’re not good ones.”

Before you could protest, he was holding out his hand. And you—idiot that you were—took it.

The crowd parted just enough to let the two of you fall into step with the slow rhythm of the music. It wasn’t really dancing, not proper anyway. Just swaying in place, your hand in his, his other resting gently at your waist. But the closeness made your thoughts stumble.

He smelled like firewood and grass and a hint of cinnamon—like autumn wrapped in trouble—and he was looking at you like you were something rare.

“I told George you’d say no,” Fred murmured, tone soft enough that only you could hear it.

You tilted your head. “To what?”

“Dancing with me.”

“Why would I say no?”

His smile flickered at the edges, a little too careful. “Dunno. Just figured you might’ve had enough of me.”

You rolled your eyes to hide the way your heart skipped. “Don’t be dramatic. Why would I ever say no to you?”

He chuckled, spinning you lazily in a slow circle. “I can’t help it. It’s part of my charm.” And it was. All of it was. The humor, the warmth, the way he pulled you close without a second thought like you belonged there.

But you had to remind yourself again- just friends. Thats exactly what you were.

His eyes lingered for a second longer than usual, and his smile shifted—less mischievous, more… genuine.

“You look really nice tonight,” he said, voice quieter than before. “That color suits you. Its my favorite to be exact.”

You glanced down at the red fabric tucked neatly into your black leather skirt—nothing fancy, nothing flashy, just something that made you feel a little braver than usual. “It’s your house color,” you said with a small smirk. “Of course it’s your favorite.”

Fred tilted his head slightly, his eyes still on you. “Yeah, well… you make it look like a whole thing.”

You laughed, mostly because it was easier than letting yourself sink into the way he was looking at you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re stunning,” he said simply, without any of the usual flair. Just that. And then he looked away like it hadn’t completely disarmed you.

“I could say the same about you,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

His brows lifted. “What, this?” he gestured to himself—the grass-stained Quidditch uniform, his jersey untucked, pads hanging a little lopsided. “I’m literally sweating. This is me at my least impressive.”

You grinned. “That’s the sad part. You still look good.”

Fred let out a loud, theatrical gasp. “Are you—flirting with me?”

You rolled your eyes. “Relax, Weasley. It’s a compliment, not a marriage proposal.”

“Damn,” he muttered. “And here I was already planning the color scheme.”

He twirled you unexpectedly, making you laugh again as you stumbled back into his arms.

It was easy with Fred. Always had been. You danced like that for a while—slow, steady movements in the middle of a party that was growing louder by the minute. But in your little bubble, the noise faded. He asked you about your classes, groaned when you reminded him about your shared Transfiguration essay, and gave you a dramatic reenactment of how he almost died catching the last Quaffle, complete with flailing arms and fainting poses.

You rolled your eyes, but secretly you lived for these moments—when he let the silliness melt into something softer.

You talked about how much longer you had at Hogwarts, about the DA meetings, about how he and George were already plotting something “big” before they left for good.

He looked down at you as he spoke, his expression open, like he wanted you to remember this version of him—the one who wanted to be more than just a bloke who never took anything serious. The one who wasn’t laughing at the world, but sharing the laugh with you.

And you let yourself pretend, just for a moment, that you were something more.

“Oy, Weasley! Get over here, mate! We need a you!”

It was Lee Jordan, standing near a cleared table that had clearly been repurposed for an aggressively chaotic game of wizard’s Exploding Snap. George stood beside him, smirking like he’d been waiting for the perfect time to interrupt.

Fred groaned dramatically but smiled at you as he loosened his hold.

“Sorry, love,” he said, voice low and far too casual for the way your heart reacted to the nickname. “Best if i head off to Lee before i get a bludger to the head next practice.”

You forced a laugh, letting your hands fall away from him slowly, too slowly. “Wouldn’t want to deprive the common room of your talents.”

He grinned, already backing away, fingers still brushing yours until the last second. “Exactly. Sacrifices must be made.”

And then he was gone—folded back into the crowd, into the noise and the warmth and the chaos that always seemed to orbit him. Like he had never looked at you like that. Like he hadn’t just taken your breath away without even trying.

You stood there for a second, unsure what to do with yourself, before your eyes scanned the room and landed on Hermione, seated near the fireplace, a cup of punch in her hands and a knowing look already blooming on her face.

She glanced up as you walked up to her, lifting her cup slightly in greeting. “Well, you two looked cozy.”

You scoffed, too harsh, too fast. “We’re just friends.”

There was a pause—brief, but enough.

Then Hermione set her cup down and leaned forward slightly, her voice calm, like she wasn’t trying to pick a fight—just deliver the truth.

“You say that like it’s a fact,” she said softly. “But you look at him like you’ve already written a thousand love letters you’ll never send.”

“That’s quite dramatic,” you muttered, though your voice lacked bite.

Hermione didn’t respond right away. She just looked at you—really looked at you—with that frustratingly perceptive expression she wore when she was holding back something she already knew. You hated how well she could read you, even when you were trying not to be readable at all.

“I notice things,” she said quietly, as if reading your mind. “Like how you laugh before he even finishes a joke. Or how you scan a room the second you walk into it—only to relax the moment you see him.”

You stayed silent, because… well, what could you say to that?

“He touches you differently than he touches anyone else,” Hermione continued. “It’s not just friendly. He’s gentle with you. Like he’s afraid if he holds on too tightly, you’ll disappear.”

Your throat closed up. She wasn’t wrong. And that was what made it so much worse.

“I can’t…” You shook your head, struggling to find the words. “I don’t want to feel like this, Hermione.”

She frowned. “Why not?”

“Because it’s Fred,” you whispered, like saying his name too loud would unravel you. “He’s not—he’s not someone who does real feelings. He flirts with everything that moves. He jokes when he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s… impossible to pin down. He’s not the kind of boy you fall for expecting something back.”

Hermione’s voice was gentle but firm. “Maybe he’s not the kind of boy who used to do real feelings. But maybe you’re the exception.”

Your heart ached at that. It would be so much easier if you could believe it.

But you’d seen Fred with other girls. Heard the way he flirted, laughed, turned everything into a joke. And even if he was different with you, what if it was just that—different—but not more?

“You don’t get it,” you said, barely above a whisper. “If I tell him how I feel and I’m wrong, I lose him. I lose this. I lose my best friend.”

Hermione reached over and gently placed a hand on your arm. “I do get it,” she whispered, “More than you think. But you deserve to be loved out loud. And I think Fred might be a lot closer to that than you realize.”

You looked over at her, eyes stinging.

“I’m scared,” you admitted.

“I know.” Her smile was small, kind. “But just because you’re scared doesn’t mean he’s not worth the risk.”

It had been three days since the party, and you still hadn’t stopped thinking about the way Fred had looked at you or the way he spoke to you. You couldn’t stop replaying Hermiones words of affirmation she informed you of.

“You deserve to be loved out loud.”

You didn’t argue with the concept of it- no, you knew your worth. You argued with the fact it was Fred. You knew it wouldn’t be him no matter how many times you’d pray and hope just maybe- maybe he’d be the one who would shout your name from rooftops. The one who would love you out loud. You knew it was a fantasy - a fantasy that you’d have to be mad to believe would become true, because its Fred.

That led to reminding you on Hermiones other expression.

“But maybe you’re the exception.”

You didn’t believe that at all. You refused to. He must look at other girls like that right? You two were just friends. It’s what you both told everyone, so why act like theres something there?

Still, you’d kept it to yourself. Like always.

It was now time for dinner, and the Great Hall buzzed with the usual chatter. You sat across from Ron and beside Hermione, absentmindedly poking at your bangers and mash while Harry launched into yet another rant about Snape deducting points for “existing too loudly.”

“Honestly, I breathed, Hermione,” Harry said, gesturing with his fork. “And he docked me five points for being ‘aggressively present.’ What does that even mean?”

Hermione sighed, though she was clearly holding back a smile. “It means you were being annoying again.”

“He said it with fanfare,” Harry added. “Like it was the highlight of his week.”

You smiled weakly at their bickering, but your focus was slipping. It had been since the moment you caught sight of Fred down the table.

He was leaning in toward Angelina Johnson, all relaxed shoulders and easy grins, his arm casually draped behind her on her shoulder. Her hand was on his forearm—light, familiar—and he didn’t move. Didn’t shift away. If anything, he leaned closer when she said something in his ear, and he laughed—open and loud and effortless. You noticed how she looked at him.

It shouldn’t have meant anything. He and Angelina had been friends for years. Teammates. Comfortable.

But you’d always noticed the way she touched him—like she could. Like she had every right to. And she did, Fred wasn’t yours to claim.

And in the quietest, most insecure part of yourself, she had always been the reason you never said anything. Because if Fred Weasley were going to fall for someone—really fall—it would be someone like her.

Beautiful. Confident. Untouchable.

Not someone who spent the night rereading every word he said and pretending her heart didn’t race at his touch.

You looked down at your plate and tried to focus on the way your mashed potatoes were pooling into your sausage. Anything but the twisting in your chest.

“So I told him,” Harry continued, oblivious, “if he wants me to stay quiet, he can try giving me detention, but I refuse to stop breathing.”

“Very brave of you,” you muttered, your voice a little flatter than intended.

“Thank you,” Harry perked, then returning to his conversation about how ‘insufferable’ Snape was

Hermione looked over at you for a moment, quiet. You could feel her eyes on you like a weight. “You okay?” she asked softly, voice low enough that Ron and Harry wouldn’t hear.

“Perfect..” You mumbled, eyes flickering between Fred and your plate.

Hermione’s eyes followed yours, hers landing on Fred and Angelina - which she immediately caught on. “He doesn’t look at her how he looks at you though.“

“It doesn’t matter, Hermione.” You bit out, voice sounding more bitter than you intended. “I can’t keep telling myself something is there when there isn’t. I refuse to pretend that he’ll randomly wake up one morning and pick me. Because we’re friends. Just friends. And its stupid for me to pretend that theres something more lingering between us when it’s just me.”

You didn’t want to hear any of Hermione’s comforting words now- because you knew you wouldn’t believe it for a moment. Not when Fred was laughing like that, not when his hand stayed where it was, not when you felt like you were five inches shorter than usual and your chest was trying to cave in quietly while everyone else just enjoyed their dinner.

You pushed your food around and nodded along as Ron started going on about Quidditch lineups, and you told yourself—again—that it was fine. Because even though it wasn’t far from fine, you had no say in it whatsoever. You and Fred were friends. Nothing less, Nothing more.

And you had to accept that.

You told yourself you had to start pulling away.

Whatever this thing was—this not-quite friendship, not-quite something more—it was starting to hurt. It sat in your chest like weight, blooming every time he looked at you like you meant something and fading just as fast the second someone else made him laugh harder.

You started with small things. Sitting at the far end of the table. Taking longer routes to class. Turning the other way in corridors when you saw that familiar flash of ginger hair coming around the corner. You told yourself it was for the best. That you were being smart. That it was self-preservation.

But then you saw him in the halls. Again. And again. And always… she was there.

Angelina.

She wasn’t doing anything wrong, not really. She wasn’t draped over him or clinging to him in a way that demanded attention—but she was there. Lingering at his side like it was natural. Like she belonged.

And the worst part? He didn’t look like he minded. If anything, he seemed at ease—laughing at something she said, leaning in close to hear her, nudging her shoulder as they walked.

It chipped away at you slowly. Like frostbite. You didn’t even notice how cold it made you until it started to numb everything else.

So when Fred tried to talk to you—because of course he did—you gave him almost nothing in return.

“Hey, you heading to Charms?”

“Yep.”

“Mind if I walk with you?”

A shrug. “I suppose.”

He tried to joke, keep it light, keep it Fred, but you didn’t meet him halfway. Didn’t give him the usual grin or sarcasm or playfulness he was used to.

Just short answers. Polite, distant. A version of yourself you didn’t even recognize.

He looked at you a little funny when you said goodbye—like he was trying to figure out where he lost you, and whether or not he was supposed to chase after it.

“Hey,” he said, reaching out to gently catch your elbow just before you turned down the corridor. “Hold on.”

You stopped, but didn’t turn.

“You’ve been short with me,” he said, not accusing, just… confused. “Barely said more than a sentence all week.”

You shrugged, eyes fixed on the stone floor. “Busy.”

There was a pause, and then a quiet scoff. “Love, you don’t expect me to buy into that, do you?”

You finally looked at him. He looked tired in a way you weren’t used to seeing—like the mask of constant jokes and easy charm had slipped for just a moment.

But it didn’t matter. You couldn’t let it matter.

“Then don’t,” you said, voice sharper than you meant it to be.

Before he could say anything else, you turned on your heel and walked away, your footsteps echoing far too loudly in the quiet corridor.

Snow had settled thick across the rooftops of Hogsmeade, like icing on a gingerbread village. Icicles hung sharp and glinting from every overhang, and the crunch of boots on the snow-covered paths echoed softly with every step.

You were wrapped in your warmest coat, scarf snug around your neck, but the cold still bit at your fingertips through your gloves.

It was supposed to be a good day. One of the rare weekends where you could all go into the village, drink hot butterbeer, browse shops, feel normal. And for a while, it worked.

You and Harry had argued over whether the sweets at Honeydukes were superior to Zonko’s joke shop, while Ron had made it his mission to find the thickest socks in the village. Hermione kept insisting you all stop walking directly in the path of slush puddles, tugging you out of the way with narrowed eyes and half-smiles.

Eventually, the four of you ducked into the Three Broomsticks for warmth and steaming mugs of hot butterbeer. The fire crackled nearby, warming your cheeks and thawing the chill from your coat. For a moment, you let yourself settle. Let yourself pretend you weren’t avoiding anyone. That you weren’t trying to keep your heart from splitting open every time you saw Fred.

After finishing your drinks, you and Hermione wandered into a little winter shop tucked between two larger storefronts—full of knitted scarves, earmuffs, enchanted mittens that refused to get wet, and cloaks lined with soft furs and golden clasps. Hermione was flipping through a rack of deep green cloaks, going on about practicality and wool content when something over her shoulder stopped you cold.

Fred.

He was across the store, walking with George, Lee, and—of course—Angelina.

He looked good. Too good, honestly. That effortless charm about him, jacket open just enough to show his Gryffindor scarf, cheeks pink from the cold, and his hands animated as he joked with the group.

Angelina was laughing, nudging him with her shoulder. She lingered close. She always did. And as if it couldn’t get worse, Fred turned his head mid-laugh—and his eyes met yours.

Your stomach dropped.

You looked away instantly, hands fumbling with the scarf you were holding. Hermione didn’t notice at first, still explaining how she’d been needing a new cloak for weeks.

“I’m just going to pay,” you said quickly, already stepping toward the counter.

Hermione blinked. “Alright, I’ll just look at these earmuffs—”

“No,” you said too quickly, too firmly. “Actually, why don’t you go ahead to that bookshop you mentioned earlier? I think I’m just going to take a walk.”

She gave you a look. “You sure?”

You nodded, offering a smile that was tight and definitely not convincing. “Yeah. Just… need a bit of air.”

And then you were gone. You didn’t even remember what you bought. You just needed to not be there. Not see him. Not feel that crushing ache rise every time you remembered all the things you could never say. It had been weeks since you spoke with him, but it felt just like yesterday. Too soon. Too early.

After you turned the corner, you let out a shaky sigh. Due to the cold and your heart’s pounding within your chest.

Before you could even think, a hand grabbed your arm—firm, urgent—and before you could react, you were pulled into the narrow alleyway between two shops, boots scraping against packed snow, your heart thrashing in your chest.

“What the—let go of me!” You slapped wildly at the arm until the grip loosened.

“Oi, alright—bloody hell—stop hitting me!”

You froze, your hand dropping mid-swing.

“Fred?”

He stepped back, holding his hands up, breathing hard. “Hi.”

“Are you bloody mad?!” you snapped, your voice sharp, angry, and very much covering the panic and heartbreak roiling underneath. “You don’t just drag people into dark alleyways!”

“I had to talk to you!”

“There’s this thing called speaking like a normal person, Fred!”

He ran a hand through his hair, flushed, snow catching in his lashes. “You haven’t been speaking to me at all. It’s been fuckin’ weeks.”

You folded your arms. “I’ve been busy.”

“Don’t.” His voice cracked a little—just enough to silence you. “Don’t give me that. You’ve barely looked at me in weeks. You won’t sit near me, won’t talk to me, you disappear when I walk in the room. It’s like I’ve done something awful and you won’t even tell me what it is.”

Your throat tightened.

Fred took a shaky breath and kept going.

“I miss you,” he said, voice raw and exposed. “I miss everything. I miss your laugh in the common room, how you always threaten to hex me whenever i steal your homework, I miss your smile. I miss knowing you’ll be there when I look up. I miss… you.”

You looked away, but he stepped closer.

“And I don’t get it,” he said, eyes searching yours. “What did I do? Did I screw something up? Did I say something? Just—just tell me, and I’ll fix it. Just—don’t leave me like this.”

You swallowed thickly, heart racing. And then—

“I’m in love with you.”

Fred froze.

Your words had sliced through the cold air like a blade, sudden and shaking.

“I’m in love with you,” you said again, more quietly this time. “And I’ve been trying to pretend I’m not, but it’s exhausting, Fred. And it hurts. It hurts to see you with her, even if there’s nothing going on. Even if she’s just your friend. Because I’m not just your friend. Not anymore. Not in my head.”

His mouth parted like he wanted to speak, but you didn’t let him.

“You always made me feel like maybe… maybe there was something there. And I held onto that. Every time you looked at me like I mattered. Every time you made me laugh when I wanted to cry. I thought maybe… just maybe you saw me the way I saw you.”

You shook your head, voice cracking.

“But then she’s always there, and you never push her away, and I know it’s stupid, but I thought—I thought if I got some distance, I’d stop hurting. But it didn’t work. It just made everything worse.”

Silence. Thick. Cold. Endless.

And then Fred moved.

He stepped forward, cupped your face in his hands, and kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t clumsy or desperate. It was gentle. Like something he’d been carrying for far too long, and could finally let go.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath trembling.

“It was always you,” he whispered. “It’s always been you. I don’t know how you didn’t see it. I flirted with half the castle just to hide how badly I wanted you. Because I was terrified of scaring you off. Terrified of making you uncomfortable. Terrified that if I wanted you too loudly, I’d lose you completely.”

You blinked up at him, tears brimming, your chest aching in that awful, beautiful way when hope finally claws its way through.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he said. “You’re not some backup plan. You’re not some secret I was waiting to get over. You are—you’ve always been—the only one I’ve ever wanted.”

His voice shook now.

“And if you give me even half a chance, I swear I’ll never let you wonder again.”

Your hands gripped the front of his coat. “Fred Weasley—if you walk away after saying all that, I’m hexing you.”

He grinned—really grinned—and kissed you again. The snow kept falling, yet the cold didn’t touch you.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you had to lie to yourself anymore.

maria021015

Better Than Revenge

Fred Weasley x FemHufflepuffReader

Dating a Slytherin beater in secret seemed thrilling at first. Until he made it clear he was happy to be seen with everyone else…just not you. What started as a heartbreak quickly spirals into bold revenge, chaotic Quidditch games, and unexpected sparks with someone entirely new.

Warnings: cheating ex

———————————————————————

You’d convinced yourself that secrecy could be romantic.

At first, when Cassius had suggested keeping your relationship under wraps, you’d almost felt special. Like the two of you were sharing some thrilling, forbidden secret. He was a Slytherin beater with a reputation to maintain, and you? You were just happy he’d chosen you. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself as you snuck around empty corridors and met under the cloak of darkness for stolen kisses, weaving excuses for why no one could know.

It had been flattering. Until it wasn’t.

Until you saw him in broad daylight, hands roaming casually over the waist of one of your best friends, Kat, the girl he’d always sworn was just a mate. The same girl who now had his Quidditch jersey slung around her shoulders as they laughed by the Great Hall doors. Very publicly, very obviously, together.

And suddenly, secrecy didn’t feel like a thrill anymore. It felt like humiliation.

You’d locked yourself in your dormitory that night and cried until your chest hurt, your roommates gathering around you in awkward but earnest attempts at comfort. Emery had paced the floor, muttering threats under her breath. Pavi had conjured a box of Honeydukes chocolates and insisted you eat at least half of it. Eve had sat silently beside you, holding your hand.

It had almost felt bearable, until the door had opened. And there she was. Kat.

The room had gone dead silent, all four of you turning to stare as she stepped in. Her face paled under the weight of your combined glares. No one said a word, but the message was clear enough. She wasn’t welcome here. Not anymore.

That night, you didn’t sleep. Anger sat heavy in your chest, pulsing in time with your heartbeat. It wasn’t just heartbreak. It was betrayal, humiliation, and rage wrapped into one ugly knot. And as the morning sun rose, a single, stubborn thought took root.

You were going to do something about it.

binchidavinci

hello! first off i looove your writing and im so glad to see you still have your requests open! anyway can u pls write smth of fred weasley and its like they're in the middle of the second wizarding war right and theyre joining harry, hermione, and ron during their hunt for the horcruxes and fred is rlly protective of her even tho he knows she can handle herself and one day when theyre in the malfoy manor, fred just gets torn apart hearing her screams as bellatrix tortures her for information and when theyre rescued shes like close to death from all the torture and fred just tries his best to nurse her back to health and hes rlly gentle with her and never lets the others touch her because hes afraid of her getting hurt again. just tons of fluff at the end!

Torturous

(Protective!Fred Weasley x reader)

'Fred is forced to listen to your screams as you’re tortured by Bellatrix. When you escape Malfoy Manor, Fred stays with you your entire recovery and promises never to let you get hurt again.'

scarletwriter101

Worth it (Fred Weasley x Fem! Reader)

The Burrow was louder than usual tonight, which really was something. Laughter bounced from wall to crooked wall, silverware clinked cheerfully, and someone - probably Ron - kept accidentally kicking her ankle under the table. She didn’t mind. The noise felt warm, familiar, and she enjoyed it.

xitcantlast

Midnight Broom Ride

Mattheo Riddle x f!reader

Summary: Mattheo wakes you in the middle of the night with a grin and a broom, insisting that it's the perfect time for a little excursion. You agree. Of course you do. But you never expected the sky, the cold, and Mattheo's hands on your waist to feel like this.

Warnings: fluff, mutual pining, late-night sneaking out, physical closeness, flying scenes, Mattheo being soft and cocky at the same time Please let me know if there are any more.

Word Count: 848

Part of the A Serpent’s Holiday event

You were asleep. Warm, comfortable and blissfully unaware, when someone tapped your shoulder. Once. Then twice and then a little harder the third time.

“Hey,” a voice whispered. “Wake up. Come on.”

You groaned into your pillow. “Go away.”

binchidavinci

Helloooo 😝😝😝 I am a fellow requester asking for your attention and ever-so-splendid writing talent

Bsf!Fred Weasley but like rlly rlly best friend since kids randomly proposing to you out of absolutely nowhere and like completely skipping the dating stage but he makes it equal parts sweet and funny but totally meant it 💗💗💗

And have an amazing day as well!! 💕

Marry Me

(BFF!Fred Weasley x reader)

‘You and Fred have been best friends since first year; twin-flames, as some have described you (including George, his actual twin). One evening, Fred realises it’s you he wants to spend his life with.’

doingitforbokuto

Thinking about knight!Ushijima and princess!reader falling into a forbidden romance without even realizing it...

He is the most competent knight you have ever seen, his speed and skill unmatched by anyone as you watch him training with the other knights in the courtyard. When he became a part of the royal guard he started being assigned to guard and protect you, as every one of the royal knights has been from time to time, but when he is with you you can feel his presence looming behind you, always keeping a respectful but safe distance. He mirrors virtually every one of your steps, moving forward when you do, taking a step to the side when you so much as lean to the side. It's as if he is a puppet on a string and you are his master. His presence might be intimidating to others but even when you feel him looming over your shoulder all that you feel is calmness, a security that only washes over you when you are with him. You know that he would gladly lay down his life for you without question.

So of course you ask your father if he would be willing to let him be permanently assigned to you, and why would he deny you this wish? Ushijima is an excellent knight and if you feel safe with him, he should be guarding you.

It feels only natural for him to kneel down in front of you, observed by the whole gathered court, to swear his undying loyalty to you. It is only normal that he looks up at you like you are his whole world, his entire life’s purpose, right? He is yours now, after all. Yours to command, yours to lead, yours to reward for a job well done, yours to punish if he should ever fail to fulfill his duties to your satisfaction. He is laying his whole existence in your hands while his heart beats faster than ever before - but that is completely normal, is it not? A knight is supposed to be devoted to his king, his family, his princess. It is nothing he should not be feeling. Right?

And for you, it was just what you were always promised: A knight so unwaveringly devoted to you he practically worships the ground you walk on. That is what all the knights in the tales and stories do, is it not? So it is only to be expected that he becomes the man you trust the most, that he is the one you go to whenever something troubles you.

It is completely normal that you ask him to come into your chambers so that you can show him your newest dress, twirling in front of him, asking him sweetly if he thinks it suits you while he tries to keep up the unmoving, strong face you have come to admire so much. For every other man it might be inappropriate to see you with your hair down, your body wrapped in a soft robe after your bath, but he is not any other man - he is your knight. Of course you can call him into your room in this state, dismissing him of his duties for the night and wishing him a good rest. It is not inappropriate at all. Is it?

Neither is it that when something scares you, your hand immediately reaches for his arm as he steps in front of you, shielding you from whoever might harm you. Or that when he has to rescue you from an attacker, he slips his big, strong arm around your waist, clad in the softest silk to pull you to safety. He has a duty to fulfill, after all. And of course his arm lingers around your body for a few moments afterward, his thumb rubbing gentle circles through the layers of your royal dress. He has to make sure you are alright, it is only his duty. And who can think anything unpure of you when your hand grips his arm in return, pushing your body closer to his armor-covered one? After all, you are only doing all of this because he keeps you safe. All of this is just how a knight and princess are supposed to act, after all.

emeritusemeritus

All alone on Christmas [Fred Weasley] Masterlist

Nobody wants to be all alone on Christmas. When your Christmas plans fall through, you lie to the people you love the most, even if it means spending the holidays by yourself.

Warnings: BestFriend!Reader, Fred is in a relationship but no infidelity or cheating. Sorry to anyone named Jennifer? Love confessions and reveals. Just a short cosy Christmas romance.

Chapter 1: Where do lonely hearts go?

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

thathufflepuffgirl0

Just a girl trying to find more Hufflepuff reader x character works... There's so little :(

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