Untitled

[hunnyisland]

༄｡°𝒞𝑜𝑜𝓁 𝒜𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝐼𝓉༄｡

George Weasley x Reader

When Fred notices you’ve taken a liking to his brother, he formulates a plan to wingman you.

CW: Gryffindor reader (sorry)/ fluff/ slow-burn for the length?

WC: 6k / MASTERLIST

While all of your friends had moved on from their childhood crushes and found true, meaningful connections with their peers, you stayed fixated on George Weasley. Romance hadn't been something you really fed much, but you still fell asleep with fantasies of what it might be like to hold his hand.

How silly.

The older you grew, the more it seemed the girls in your year favoured Fred over George. You couldn't see why. With the same appearance, the difference lay within their words. Why anyone would ever want the loud, boisterous one seemed to escape from your mind. Even though the loud, boisterous one was your friend.

"You're holding it wrong," Fred jeered as he made an exaggerated show of your throw, letting the Quaffle nearly slip through his arms before catching it at the last second.

"I am not!" you shot back, swerving close enough to swat at his arm. "You're just rubbish at catching." In the late afternoon, you and Fred took up the Quidditch pitch, tossing a quaffle back and forth hardheartedly, floating just a few feet off the ground on your respective brooms.

Fred clutched his chest in mock horror. "Rubbish? Excuse you, I'm the best Chaser Gryffindor's ever seen."

You snorted. "That's a bold claim coming from a Beater."

"Some people are multi-talented!"

"And you're not one of them."

"What?!" Fred was taken aback in faux shock, steering his broom in a wide, offended circle. "I'll have you know, I take great offence to that. Please enlighten me about my job. What could I possibly be doing so wrong?"

"You're like three inches from the ground," You gesture to the small gap between him and the grass, his feet nearly grazing it.

"You don't even-" he started to fire back, but then his gaze flicked over your shoulder. His grin widened. "Well, well, well..."

Your broom wobbled slightly as you followed his look and saw George striding onto the pitch, bat slung casually over his shoulder. Just like that, every clever retort dried up in your throat.

Fred noticed immediately. Your silence was deafening compared to the snark you'd been throwing at him seconds ago. He smirked, tossing the Quaffle lazily from his hands into yours.

"Blimey," Fred said loudly, eyes flicking between the two of them, "She hasn't gotten off my back in an hour and all of a sudden she's got nothing to say." You glare at him, "What? Silencing charm got your tongue?"

You grip the Quaffle tighter, wishing the earth would swallow you whole. George only quirks a brow, gives Fred a bemused shake of the head, and stoops to grab the broom he'd left lying in the grass.

"Forgot whatever this is," he says simply, flashing you both a quick grin before heading back toward the castle.

You can still feel the ghost of his smile long after he's gone.

And Fred-smirking, insufferable Fred-nudges his broom closer. "So," he drawls, "Was it the devastating good looks? It's the Weasley charm. Don't worry, I'll put in a good word. Brotherly discount."

Your face burns hotter. Without thinking, you hurl the Quaffle straight at his head. It smacks him with a very satisfying thunk. His broom wobbles, then tips- and with a yell of protest, Fred tumbles right off, crashing into the grass below.

Hovering above, you can't stop the grin tugging at your mouth. "Best Chaser Gryffindor's ever seen, was it?" you call down sweetly.

"Worst friend Hogwarts has ever seen," His hand instinctively reaches for the point of impact. "And I was only going an act of kindness."

"Act of kindness," You dismount your broom, holding it in your hand, staring down at Fred on the ground.

"And if you like him so much, why don't you ever actually talk to him? He's not going to bite- well, unless you ask nicely."

Your face flares with heat. "Fred!"

He cackles, utterly delighted. "So you admit it, then?"

"I don't like him, I barely even know him, and he's a replica of you. Wouldn't want to snog you ever in my life."

"Well, now I know you're just lying," He rises to his feet. "Seriously, it's not the secret you think it is."

"What isn't?" You furrow your brows once more, acting clueless as ever.

"You think he's got the best broom-handling in the family."

"I've never said that!"

"Oh, but you thought it."

You groan, dragging your hands down your face. "Fred—"

He leans closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. "Come on. Just admit it. You like him. You've liked him for ages. I'm not that dense, contrary to popular belief."

Your chest tightens. The words are there, pressing against your tongue, but saying them feels like getting waterboarded. You shake your head stubbornly. "No."

Fred narrows his eyes, mock-serious now. "Then I suppose I'll just tell Georgie how red you went when he smiled at you earlier—"

"Fine!" The word rips out of you before you can stop it. "Fine, alright? I like him."

"Knew it. Absolutely knew it."

You bury your face in your hands, groaning. "You're unbearable."

"Unbearably brilliant," Fred corrects, sitting back up. "Now that I've got confirmation, operation Wingman is officially underway."

"I don't need you to wingman me."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because I'm funny, and charismatic, oh- and I have a perfect rack."

"Define perfect." A smirk forms on his face.

"Oh, sod off."

"I'm only joking, that's no secret."

"Are you flirting with me?"

"Consider it practice," he shrugs.

"For what?"

Fred only winks. "For why you're about to owe me for the rest of your life, love."

"I hate you to death."

"I love you to life."

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The fire crackles low in the Gryffindor common room, and most students have already tucked away upstairs. You've claimed a corner table, parchment spread out in front of you, quill scratching against the page as you try to wrestle your assignment into submission.

For once, there's peace.

Until Fred drops into the chair across from you with a grin like the. deviil incarnate.

"Studying? How dreadfully boring," he says, reaching across to flip your parchment upside down. "Godric, your writing is so messy, I can barely read it."

You snatch the parchment back, glaring. "I should sew your mouth shut."

"Empty threats," Fred says cheerfully, lounging back in the chair like he owns it. "Transfiguration, not my strong suit, however," His gaze darts over your shoulder, and before you can react, his voice lifts. "Oi, George! Come here a second!"

Your stomach plummets. "Fred-

But George is already crossing the room, brow furrowed curiously. He's got ink smudges on his fingers, sleeves rolled up, he'd just come from working on something in their dorm.

"What's this about?" George asks, looking between the two of you.

Fred doesn't miss a beat. "She's stuck on her assignment. Thought my dashing brother might lend a hand." He winks at you so blatantly that you want the floor to swallow you whole.

Your quill freezes in your hand. "I didn't-

But George is already leaning down to glance at your parchment, polite and easy in a way that makes your chest ache. "What's the subject?" he asks.

George pulls up a chair next to you, close enough that you can smell him. It's like bubblegum, firewood, and gunpowder. The scent cradles you kindly, and you could almost swear your pulse was loud enough for Fred to hear across the table.

"So-" George squints at your messy scrawl. "Transfiguration theory?"

You nod stiffly, wishing your face didn't feel so hot. "McGonagall's given us an essay on the limits of Switching Spells. I can't make it sound right."

George hums, absently chewing on the end of your spare quill as his eyes scan the page. His brow furrows slightly in concentration, and you catch yourself staring at the way his hair falls into his eyes until Fred clears his throat loudly, clearly amused.

"Don't drool on her parchment, Georgie," Fred teases.

George doesn't even look up. "Don't be an arse." He's grown accustomed to this taunting. Then, pointing at one of your sentences, he leans closer to you. "Here-you've written that the spell only works if the objects are the same size, but that's not true. Remember McGonagall's example with the teacup and the tortoise? It's more about mass than dimensions."

You blink. "Oh. Right. I forgot about that."

"Easy mistake," George says kindly, sliding the parchment back to you. "Here, write it like this-'Switching Spells are limited by relative mass and complexity of structure.' That sounds fancy, and she'll like that."

You nod, scribbling it down. His thoughts make sense in a way your words didn't.

"Stunning, the most riveting conversation I've had the misfortune of hearing," Fred groans dramatically.

"No one's making you stay, y'know," Georgee glances up at him.

"Gosh, I wouldn't miss this for the world," His eyes shift between you and his brother. "Keep looking at him like that and he might think you actually enjoy his company."

George shakes his head, a slight smile on his face. "Ignore him, he lives to get under your skin."

"Trust, I'm aware."

"Uh- do you want me to go over the rest of it?"

You look across the ink-soaked parchment, then make to him, "If you don't mind."

"Not at all," George settles in properly, elbow resting on the table as he talks you through each paragraph, pointing out where you can tighten an argument or slip in another example. He's patient, explaining things in a way that makes your confusion melt into clarity, and every now and then, he throws in a joke that has you laughing despite your nerves.

There was a tranquillity with him that was unfounded with Fred. While George seemed to be a still lake, Fred was a cannonball disrupting the surface.

And you know that you will never look at bubblegum the same. That the soft scent mingled with gunpowder would guide you kindly to a gentle sleep where you imagine you lay your head upon love instead of an old feather pillow.

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The Gryffindor locker room buzzes with noise, players lacing boots, strapping on pads, and tugging on maroon jumpers. You're perched on a bench near the door, allowed to linger thanks to Fred, who insisted you'd bring them a lucky win if you came to wish them well.

You are a great deal colder than the team, arms crossed and trying to keep yourself warm. Fred insisted you wear the shirt he got you last Christmas for good luck; you were his charm.

Fred's already half-dressed, hair sticking up wildly as he yanks his jumper over his head. He throws a mischievous glance your way, then sidles up to George with a grin.

"Oi, Georgie," Fred says loudly enough for the whole room to hear, "you've got your spare, yeah?"

George frowns, pulling his broom from the rack. "Of course. Why?"

Fred jabs a thumb toward you. "Because she can't sit in the stands without proper support, can she? And my jumper's dirty- spilled pumpkin juice on it last night. She'll just have to wear yours."

"No, George. I'm fine in-

But he barrels right on, ignoring your protest. "It's only fair. You're the tidier twin. Your clothes don't reek like mine."

George blinks, caught off guard, his eyes flicking to you. For a heartbeat, you're certain he'll refuse, but then, without a word, he digs into his kit bag and pulls out a neatly folded spare jumper, still smelling faintly of fresh air and broom polish.

He tosses it your way. "Here. Better than freezing up there."

You catch it clumsily, the soft wool scratching against your hands, your heart hammering far too fast. "I don't want to ruin it-"

"It's for support," Fred interrupts, beaming. "You'll look brilliant in it. Practically family colours."

George shakes his head, but there's a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth. "Just don't spill anything on it."

"Well, what do you think she's doing up there?" Fred furrows his eyebrows at his brother, "She's cheering us on, not pounding malt whiskey."

"Alright, enough out of you," He swats at his brother. The two of them sissy slapping one another. You took this as your opportunity to sneak up the stands and away from them. 

"Looking good!" Lee Jordan's voice booms over the magically amplified commentary. He's already on about Gryffindor's chances, teasing Slytherin mercilessly, but you catch him glancing your way in the commentator's stand and winking.

You groan and pull the sleeves over your hands.

The players burst onto the pitch, broomsticks cutting sharp arcs through the air. The crowd erupts. Fred and George fly side by side, bats gleaming, the picture of chaotic unity. You stand with the others, cheering until your throat burns.

Fred, ever the showman, swoops lower on his broom as he circles the stands. He makes a great exaggerated gesture toward you and then deliberately elbows George, nodding in your direction.

George turns his head mid-flight, his eyes sweeping the crowd until they land on you. For a second, with the sun blazing across his hair and the wind whipping his grin into something effortless and alive, you're certain your knees might give out.

He lifts his bat in a quick salute. It's small, almost casual, but it's enough to send a surge of heat rushing through you.

Fred whoops loudly, twisting his broom into a dramatic spin, clearly milking the moment. The Gryffindor section goes wild.

The game kicks off fast. Quaffle soaring through the air, Chasers weaving like fire across the sky. The Bludgers whistle dangerously, but Fred and George are relentless, twin hammers batting them away with perfect synchronicity. You can't tear your eyes from them from George as he dives low, narrowly missing a Bludger, his movements sharp and fearless.

Every time he sends one rocketing away, the crowd roars, and you cheer with them, voice hoarse, sleeves flapping as you pump your fists in the air.

When Gryffindor scores, Fred circles back near the stands again, shouting up at you, "Lucky charm's working! Don't take it off!"

Your face burns hotter than the scarlet jumper you're clad in.

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The team's victory had pulled you all back into the common room, loud with the sounds of celebration. You are pressed into a cushy armchair by Fred, who insists this is the seat of honour, and you have earned it by being the lucky charm. Neither of these is true, but due to Fred's smugness, you don't argue.

Fred leans against one arm of the chair, a butterbeer in hand. "Don't move, you're our rabbit foot. Without you in that jumper, George would've flown straight into a goalpost."

"I thought it was the shirt you gave me last Christmas that was lucky?"

"Hmm, I dunno, that doesn't quite sound right."

"You're the worst liar I've ever met. Does that sound right?"

He shakes his head, furrowing his eyebrows like he's truly confused. "No, that's not it either."

But Fred only grins wider. And just when you're about to swat him, he glances up. "Oh, look, Georgie! Over here. Thought you might want your jumper back before she claims squatter's rights."

George, fresh from the center of the crowd with hair still windswept from the match, heads over with that easy smile of his. He rakes a hand through his hair, cheeks still flushed from the cold air outside. "Not sure I want it back if it's working," he says, nodding at the jumper. His eyes flick to you, and for a heartbeat, you're certain he's teasing just you, not the whole room.

Fred sits up straighter, smirking like he's orchestrating the whole thing (because he is). "Oh, listen to him. Smooth as treacle. Don't let him fool you, he's been flying in circles to get your attention since warm-up."

George shoots him a look before turning back to you. "You're comfortable in it, yeah?"

You nod quickly. "Yeah. It's warm."

His smile softens, and he scratches the back of his neck. "Good. Then it's yours until our last game. For luck."

"I guess I have to now," You shrug. "Wouldn't want to ruin this great flying streak of yours."

"Oh, yeah?" His words are almost challenging "You think it's keeping me from crashing?"

"I know it is."

"Then don't you dare take it off," George grins.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

You should've known that it wouldn't just be you and Fred going to Hogsmeade when he was being cryptically vague about the details.

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You should've known that it wouldn't just be you and Fred going to Hogsmeade when he was being cryptically vague about the details. With the first snowfall of the season, he insisted you accompany him on a trip to Hogsmeade.

George's hair looked brighter than usual against the snowy ground. He was wearing hand-knitted mittens and a scarf looped carelessly around his neck, no doubt made by Molly. Fred made up for most of the conversation between the three of you, babbling about odds andd ends within his life as well as yours.

The three of you crunch across the snowy path, your breath puffing out in clouds, the conversation remained light and teasing- mostly Fred's antics keeping things buoyant. But when the path narrows and George ends up walking close enough that your arm brushes his coat sleeve, you're suddenly very aware of every step you take.

Then, halfway down the lane, Fred smacks his forehead dramatically. "Blast! Forgot something back in the dorms. You two keep going, I'll catch up!"

"What did you forget?" You turn as his figure paces away from you.

"Something!" He calls back, "Go find us a table in the Three Broomsticks before they're all taken up!"

"Something," George mutters like he's pondering it thoroughly. "Blimey, that sounds important."

"Seems serious," You suck a breath through your teeth, looking up to George, who seemed to tower over you. "I sure hope he's all right doing something." You felt as though you were getting acclimated to George. After dipping your toes into the water, you were almost ready to dive right in.

"I hope he's not," George smiles. "Subtle he is."

"Maybe he thought I would make for better company."

"Well, I know you make for better company, it's no secret."

"Glad we're on the same page." The wind nips at your bare face, forcing you to pull your scarf tighter, nuzzling your face into it.

"I hope you're wearing my jumper under that coat." Just like Fred, his strides are so long that you struggle to keep up.

"I've got some bad news."

"Great," He exasperates. "You've just lost us the cup."

"That's all you. I've seen you knock Fred clean off his broom."

"That was an accident, a one-off."

You tilt your head, eyeing him, "Was it?"

"Accusing me of attempted murder?"

"Wouldn't put it past you," You smile, "You have that look about you."

"What look? Please elaborate in detail." George is lapping up every inch of this conversation.

"The look of... something," You snort, quickening your steps to keep pace with him.

"Something!?" He looks at you incredulously, "How you wound me." And how you wanted to do so much worse with him. "Here I was, thinking I had you utterly bewitched."

Your grin betrays you, warmth curling at the edges of your chest despite the cold wind. "Utterly annoyed, maybe. You might be more grating than Fred." Neither of you believes this statement; your lilt is much too soft for it to ring true.

"Admit it," he presses, leaning a little closer as his long strides pull him half a step ahead, forcing you to brush against his arm to stay even. "You'd be bored out of your mind without me."

You laugh under your breath, pulling your scarf higher against the chill. "You've got an awfully high opinion of yourself."

 You open your mouth to fire back, but before you can, a voice cuts across the snowy lane.

"George!"

Both your heads turn. Down the path, a Ravenclaw girl is waving cheerfully, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold, a knit hat pulled low over her hair. She calls his name again, her smile wide as she hurries toward the two of you.

The warmth you'd been riding falters, and suddenly the bite of the wind feels sharper. You remember, with a sinking heaviness, that George doesn't just belong to the little bubble of teasing you two slip into. Others call for him, too. Others smile like that at him. Others want his attention.

George raises a hand in greeting, grin easy and bright, before glancing sidelong at you. "Friend of yours?" you manage, voice light but thinner than before.

"Er- no, just someone in my year," he says, scratching at the back of his neck, almost sheepish. "But-" His words cut off as the girl approaches, her smile only widening.

You tug your scarf tighter, nuzzling into the wool, and try to force your own grin. But it doesn't reach your eyes. The banter, the teasing, the way it felt like maybe you were the only one who had his focus, it slips away, scattered with the snow underfoot.

And you're reminded, a little painfully, that you aren't the only one who wants George Weasley to look their way. 

She smiles at you; it's a perfectly straight smile. "Hi, I'm Anya."

"Hello," You smile just slightly to be polite. It doesn't seem that she cares to be polite much further, as you are quickly cut out of the conversation. Anya slowly squeezes you off the beaten path, taking your spot as you fall behind the pair.

George will turn around, casting you a sorry expression and asking your opinion on a topic you are unwelcome in. You drag further and further behind until you finally reach Hogsmeade and split from the two.

Your feet brought you to the Three Broomsticks where you plop yourself into the corner, waiting for Fred where you told him you would be.

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Professor Flitwick's squeaky voice drones over the classroom, lecturing on the finer points of Switching Spells. Your quill scratches steadily across your parchment, trying to keep up. For once, you're actually managing to focus- until a wad of crumpled parchment bounces off your elbow.

You look sideways. Fred Weasley is grinning at you from two seats over, wand spinning idly between his fingers like he hasn't a care in the world. He mouths something.

‘Boring, isn't it?’

You wave Fred off, trying to signal that it was time for you to focus up on your work; there wasn't time to entertain his antics. But a moment later, another scrap sails your way- this one smacks you in the cheek.

"Quit it," you hiss, glancing toward the front of the room. Flitwick is busy scribbling on the board, blissfully unaware.

Fred only smirks. "Lighten up, love."

"Sod off, seriously. You can't live with me when you're struggling to find a job after failing every class."

"Who says I'm failing?" Fred nudges his brother, "I've got my brother and my best friend to cheat off of. I'm better off copying you though. Georgie's been ripping off these two, and he’s been bombing all semester," he nods towards two Slytherin girls in front of them. He's joking clearly, but the dark-haired girl shoots him the dirtiest look you've ever laid eyes on. 

Before either of you can respond, a sharp, cold voice interrupts. "Professor Flitwick?"

The class quiets immediately. You glance up and see Adeline, the dark-haired girl stationed in front of the twins. Her hand is perfectly straight. 

"Yes, Miss. Bellcure?" He narrows his eyes in on her.

"George is cheating off of me,"  She says. There's a familiar groan of irritation from several other students in class. "He just said so."

Her friend nods in confirmation, "He did."

"Godric, how old are you?" You mutter, wrinkling your nose.

"Excuse me?" Adeline turns her attention to you, her face is contorted in disgust like she can't believe the sentence you've just saiid.

"I said How old are you? Like, how many years ago were you born? When did you come out of your mother's minge?" You pick up the same condescending tone she had when reporting to the teacher, though yours is not tolerated so kindly.

"Miss! Such mockery will not be tolerated!" Professor Flitwick's tiny frame stiffens, wand raised slightly.

 "Professor, I—"

"No excuses!" Flitwick squeaks, voice quivering with indignation. "You should think before you speak in the future. I don't make the rules."

"Yes, you do!" You exasperate. It seemed you had finally hit your boiling point and no longer could you hold composure. You were gripping the desk with white knuckles. "You literally make the rules!"

"And do you wish to break them again?" 

Your mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out. You hadn't expected this level of escalation. George groans audibly, hand hanging in his hands. 

Fred, of course, is practically vibrating with suppressed laughter from the back of the room. He hadn't planned this, but it still fell perfectly into place. He brought a hand to cover his mouth to hide his twitching lips. You and George stare at him angrily, knowing he had just escaped the detention you were now subjected to. 

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The dungeon air is dank and musty, the flickering torches casting long shadows across the stone walls. Filch looks more exhausted than usual, eyes half-lidded, muttering to himself as he sets up two buckets filled with murky, soapy water. Your wand has been confiscated, along with George's, leaving you both armed only with rough, wooden scrubbing sponges.

"Buckets here. Sponges there. And don't even think about moving faster than I say," Filch growls, already settling into a creaky chair at the end of the corridor. "Start scrubbing."

You and George obliged, playing a silent game of lulling filch into sleep. The corridor echoes with the squelch of sponge against stone and the occasional splash as you both jab at each other playfully, turning punishment into a tournament of sorts. A few times, your hands brush in the buckets, and you both pause for a second too long, the warmth of the water and proximity making your pulse quicken.

Filch snores lightly in his chair, oblivious to the subtle war of glances, nudges, and barely-contained laughter happening right under his nose.

You scrub at the cold, grimy stone, the sponge squeaking under your pressure. The soapy water drips down your hands and onto the floor, pooling around your ankles. George is methodical beside you, his long arms making quick work of the corridor, but you can't focus.

"I can't believe it," you mutter, mostly to yourself but loud enough for George to hear. "My aunt and cousins are coming to stay for Christmas. It's going to be miserable."

George glances at you, one brow raised, sponge paused mid-stroke. "Miserable how? Are they the type to rearrange the furniture or just eat all the pudding?"

You huff, wiping suds from your sleeve. "Both. And talk non-stop. My aunt? She's a big drinker, she's gonna get drunk and take her wig off, then I've got to pretend her bald, stringy head doesn't scare the giblets out of me."

This gets a laugh out of George; he dips his head, shaking it. "Drunk and full of pudding- you'd hate to spend a Christmas with me."

"You and my aunt might just get along."

George leans a little closer as he scrubs, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You think she'll let me wear her wig?"

You stop for a moment, sponge hovering in the water, and glance sideways at him. "Is that your subtle way of saying you'd like to come with me?"

"Oh, I wasn't trying to be subtle."

"Might as well ask for her hand in marriage," 

"I've gotta marry into the family somehow," He winks at you. It's teasing, joking, clearly. Still it sneaks under your skin, and you must bite to remain composed. 

"I think my uncle's on the market," You pause like you're thinking it over. "He's got a gold tooth and blood pressure medication."

"Decisions, decisions..." He mutters.

You're scrubbing the same stubborn streak of grime for what feels like the hundredth time when George lets out a loud sigh, leaning on his sponge.

"You know," he says casually, as if he's talking about the weather, "if you really hate the idea of being stuck with your aunt and cousins for Christmas... you could always come home with me instead."

You freeze mid-scrub, eyes narrowing at him. "Excuse me?"

He shrugs, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Well, it's warm, there's plenty of food, and I'm pretty sure Fred would've invited you anyway, so technically you'd just be... taking my offer over his."

"What's your angle?"

"None at all. This is from the pure kindness of my heart."

"You have no kindness in your heart," You quirk a brow.

"Seriously?" He mocks offend, "I'm a saint, giving you a ticket away from hell, all inclusive. None of us wear wigs, may I add."

"I've gotta maul that one over."

The last of the soapy water drips from your gloves as you slump against the stone wall, catching your breath after another round of scrubbing. George leans beside you, towel in hand, shaking some of the water from his hair. For a moment, the usual spark of teasing in his eyes softens.

"Hey... about earlier," he says quietly, voice unusually low. "I'm sorry about Anya, honest. I should've said something. You know, it felt..." He trails off, running a hand through his damp hair.

You shrug, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face. "It's fine," you say lightly, letting the words sound casual even though you notice the sincerity in his tone. "Really. You can't control who bumps into us."

George hesitates, then lets out a soft sigh. "Still, I was perfectly happy when it was just us."

"It's fine, I don't care." You jab your sponge a little too hard against the stone floor, and a sudden splash of soapy water arcs up straight onto George's chest.

"Oi! My eye!" he cries, clutching his face dramatically, stumbling back a step.

You freeze, horror flooding through you. "Oh my Merlin! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"

His excruciation turns into joy, a smile wide across his face, "I knew you cared."

･ ｡

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　　　　･　　ﾟ🍁 ｡

The first thing that hits you as you step off the small, crooked porch is the smell; a warm, homey mix of roasting chestnuts, cinnamon, and something unmistakably like Molly Weasley's perfume. The Burrow stretches before you, lopsided and charming, a towering jumble of wooden stories patched together with mismatched bricks and leaning windows that somehow seem to smile at you. Smoke curls from the crooked chimney, blending with the crisp winter air, and the faint sound of a kettle whistling floats from somewhere deep inside.

Before you can take it all in, the door swings open with a gust of warmth and laughter.

"Happy holidays!" Molly's voice wraps around you like a soft, comforting blanket. She swoops forward, pulling you into a hug so tight you feel like you're part of the house itself. "It's so good to see you! We've missed you!"

You had only been to the burrow one other time, the summer following your second year, Fred insisted you visit for the last week of summer so you could go shopping together and scheme before the semester began.

You breathe in her scent, letting the warmth of the kitchen and the Burrow sink into your bones. "Thank you for having me," you murmur, feeling the tension of the past weeks melt slightly in the coziness.

"Fred, help her with her trunks!" Molly instructs, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Immediately, Fred bounds forward, lanky and full of energy, his hands already on the straps of your travel bag. But before he can fully lift it, a familiar voice cuts in.

"I think I've got this," George says, stepping beside him, his hand on the other side of the trunk.

You pause, eyes wide as the twins begin a subtle tug-of-war over your luggage. "You two-"

"Oh, don't mind us," Fred says with a grin, his grip firm. "We're just helping."

George rolls his eyes dramatically, tugging just enough to make Fred stumble slightly. "Helping? You call this helping?"

"Of course! Someone has to make sure the bags don't float off on their own," Fred retorts, smirking at the harmless bickering that always seems to follow him and his twin. "She's my friend."

"I invited her," George retorts. 

You let out a soft laugh, the sound mingling with the warm smells of the kitchen—baking pies cooling on the windowsill, a fire crackling in the hearth, and the faint chime of silver spoons clinking in mugs of mulled cider. 

George lets go with a small grunt, Fred still holding firm. "Fine, fine, we'll work together," George mutters, giving Fred a side-eye that is half annoyance, half amusement.

"You two are impossible," you say fondly, shaking your head.

Fred beams. "Welcome to the Burrow! You'll get used to it or at least, you'll get used to us."

“I was promised no drunk aunties.”

Molly claps her hands, her eyes twinkling. "Come in, come in! Tea's hot, and there's plenty of cake for everyone. Christmas isn't Christmas without a little chaos."

The three of you step inside, the warmth wrapping around you like a magical cloak, the house creaking and settling around your feet. You glance back at the snow-dusted exterior, but already, you feel right at home.

･ ｡

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　･ﾟ*｡🍂･

　　･ *ﾟ｡　　 *

　 ･ ﾟ*｡･ﾟ🍃｡

　　　🌰･｡°*. ﾟ

*　　ﾟ｡·*･｡ ﾟ*

　　　ﾟ *.｡🍁｡🍂　･

　　* 🍃 ｡･ﾟ*.｡

　　　 *　🌰 ﾟ･｡ * ｡

　　　　･　　ﾟ🍁 ｡

The Burrow is quiet tonight, the usual cozy chaos stilled under a blanket of snow. The glow from the kitchen hearth spills through the crooked windows, painting golden patterns on the walls. You're just beginning to drift off, warm and drowsy, when a sharp, gleeful voice cuts through the quiet.

"Wake up!" Fred whispers into the room you had been sharing with Ginny who is still sound asleep, sprawled out upon her bed.

You groan, tugging the blankets tighter, but the sound of George shuffling in the hall beside you rouses you fully. "What?" he mutters, his voice thick with sleep.

"Come on!" Fred's distant voice echoes down the creaking stairs.

Reluctantly, you follow George, padding down the uneven steps with the faint smell of roasting chestnuts and cinnamon drifting in from the kitchen. "This is getting creepy."

"We must be haunted by the ghost of his ego," George's voice iis deeper than usual, groggy and rough from sleep. "You sleep okay?"

"I think I've got allergies, I've been up all night sneezing like- I dunno. Someone who sneezes a lot." You rub some sleep away from your eyes. Fred's voice ceased entirely, leaving you and George to stumble around in the dark searching for him. 

"That's no good." George frowns. He stops beside you under the doorway, narrowing his eyes at a swinging plant hanging overhead. 

There, above the worn, sagging doorway that leads to the kitchen, hangs a sprig of mistletoe, swaying gently as if teasing you.

George freezes next to you, eyes flicking from the mistletoe to your face, cheeks colouring in the warm firelight. "Fred." you whisper, voice barely audible.

He swallows, a soft smirk tugging at his lips. "Bollocks, I guess we don't have any other choice."

The warmth from the hearth, the soft glow of Christmas lights strung haphazardly along the beams, the scent of pine and fresh-baked treats- it all seems to shrink the room until it's just the two of you.

Without another word, he leans in. Your hands brush, hesitating for just a heartbeat, then slide together naturally. The world narrows to the two of you, the mistletoe swaying gently above, but somehow it feels entirely unimportant.

The kiss starts softly, shyly, then deepens with all the tension, teasing, and playful banter that's been building for weeks. His hand finding the small of your back and pulling you flush against him.

When you pull back, breathless, George grins at you, cheeks pink. "Merry Christmas," he murmurs, voice low.

You laugh softly, brushing a stray hair from your face. "Merry Christmas, George."

[hunnyisland]

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽𝓦𝓮𝓵𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮☾₊‧⁺˖

── ⋆⋅ ♰ hunny .˚⊹. she .˚⊹. enfp.˚⊹. hufflepuff ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓷!

꧁⎝ 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙⎠꧂

Fred Weasley:

Kissing Practices

Wild Horses & Heavy Rain

Here’s The Thing

Lipstick

Honeysuckle (pts 1-4)

Honeysuckle (pts 5-8)

Such Strange Times

Dating Fred (HCS)

George Weasley:

Cool About It

Good Luck!

Vicious/Delicious

Maps

Honeysuckle (pts 1-4)

Honeysuckle (pts 5-8)

Should’ve Been Me: (Mini-Series)

Part One- The Moon Stared at Me

(Please send Weasley Twin requests hehe)

what I will not write

[ros3mari3]

Love Potion Trouble

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

George Weasley x reader.

Trope: love potion, angsty/jealous, fluff, implied couple.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The twins were always scheming, always tinkering, always pulling you into the chaos with a grin and a wink.

You didn’t mind; it was fun being the test audience, even when things went pear-shaped.

But this time, you weren’t given a choice.

You’d been in the common room, curled up in your usual chair, when Fred offered you a piece of fudge. You should have known better, never take food from a Weasley twin without asking questions, but it looked normal enough.

Sweet, buttery, innocent.

Minutes later, the world shifted. A warm haze filled your chest, a heady pull that yanked your gaze across the room. And there he was.

Seamus Finnigan.

You gasped, heart lurching. How had you never noticed how perfect he was? The floppy hair, the crooked smile, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes; utterly irresistible.

You leapt up, nearly tripping over your own feet in your desperation to reach him.

“Seamus! Oh, Seamus, you’re— you’re brilliant!”

Seamus blinked in surprise, then grinned like Christmas had come early. “Er… thanks?”

Across the room, George paled.

“Bloody hell.”

Fred burst out laughing, slapping his knee.

“Oh, this is priceless!”

From that moment on, you refused to leave Seamus’s side.

You clung to his arm in the corridors, giggled at everything he said, and even tried feeding him bites of treacle tart at dinner. George followed like a storm cloud, jaw tight, hands curling into fists every time you sighed Seamus’s name.

“Alright, Y/N, that’s enough,” George muttered one afternoon, gently prying your fingers from Seamus’s sleeve.

“You need to come with me.” You yanked your hand back, glaring.

“Don’t be rude, Georgie! Seamus doesn’t mind.”

George’s frown deepened, something wounded flickering in his eyes. “Of course he doesn’t,” he muttered under his breath.

Seamus smirked, soaking up the attention.

“She’s fine here, mate. You jealous or somethin’?” George stiffened.

“I’m not—this isn’t—Merlin, you don’t get it.”

Fred sauntered over, smug as ever.

“Oh, I get it. Georgie doesn’t like that his little Y/N’s heart’s been stolen away by Finnigan!”

“Heart?” George snapped. “It’s not her heart, it’s a potion!”

You blinked, swaying slightly, confusion flickering across your features. But then Seamus leaned closer, and the haze returned full force. You sighed dreamily and rested your head on his shoulder.

George looked like he might actually hex him.

By evening, he’d had enough. He cornered Fred in the common room, voice low and deadly serious.

“Give me the antidote. Now.” Fred raised a brow.

“You’re awfully desperate.”

“Because she’s not herself,” George snapped. “And if you don’t fix it, I swear—” Fred handed over a green vial, smirking.

“Fine. But you owe me one. And when this is all over, I’m never letting you forget it.”

George didn’t waste a second. He tucked the vial into his pocket and stormed out of the common room, scanning for you. He found you exactly where he expected: sprawled on the sofa beside Seamus, giggling at whatever stupid story the Irish boy was telling.

George’s jaw clenched. He popped the cork on the vial, poured the antidote carefully over a chocolate frog he’d swiped from his pocket, and slipped it onto the table.

“Hungry, Y/N?” His voice was too tight, too sharp.

You barely glanced at him before sighing dramatically and turning back to Seamus. “Not from you.”

Seamus chuckled and snagged the frog. “Here, sweetheart. Let me feed you.” He held it up to your lips like it was the most romantic gesture in the world.

George’s heart stopped. His antidote. In Seamus’s hand.

You parted your lips obediently, still lost in the haze, and took a bite. The antidote slid down your throat before you could blink.

A rush of clarity slammed into you. The haze dissolved, the dreamy glow vanished, and suddenly you were staring at Seamus’s smug, self-satisfied grin with the sharp, nauseating realization of what had just happened.

“Oh Merlin.” You shoved the rest of the chocolate frog away and gagged. “I’ve been—ugh—Seamus?”

Seamus blinked, still holding the half-eaten sweet. “Er—yeah? Where’s my thank-you kiss then?”

You shoved him off so fast he nearly toppled off the sofa. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

George’s strangled laugh escaped before he could stop it. Relief, sharp and dizzying, washed over his features. He reached out, catching your wrist before you could bolt.

“You alright?” he asked, softer now, searching your eyes.

You nodded, cheeks burning. “I—I think so. But if I ever look at Seamus like that again, please hex me.”

Seamus, recovering from the shove, smirked. “Oi, no need to act shy now. Don’t I at least get a goodbye hug?”

You turned and glared at him, then made an exaggerated gagging noise before walking straight past, tugging George along by the hand.

George shot Seamus the smuggest look of his life as you dragged him out of the common room, his fingers tangled firmly in yours.

[ravenclaws-stuff]

Remus Lupin Masterlist

Maurader Love Language Drabbles

Christmas Lights

Hot Chocolate Kisses

Summary: A hospital visit after the full moon that involves more kisses than normal.

Coffee shop Dream

Summary: A bakery au with our Moony. Could be interpreted as muggle/wizard or just a muggle au.

Bloody Quidditch

Summary: What happens when Remus lets his jealousy get the best of him?

Bloody Quidditch (part two)

Summary: Remus knows he has to make it right, but can you forgive him?

Pillow, Plushies, and a pile of blankets

Y is for Yearning

L is for Late Night Calls

J is for Jealousy

"It's not much but I got you this."

Fake Date Au

A Pleasant... Surprise?

Summary: You just wanted to surprise Remus for his birthday.

Miscommunication

Summary: When the conversation of kids gets brought up, Remus brushes it off. Problem? You're pregnant with his baby.

Sand Dollars

[mastermindmiko]

Reveals (George Weasley Fanfiction)

Pairing: George Weasley + Reader Warnings: Hiding things in relationships, and obliviations. lmk if there is anything else. Summary: Your boyfriend is hiding something, and you finally find out what that thing is. Word count: approx. 1300

Hey! If you think this didn't completely suck, feel free to check out my masterlist.

"George, if you want to break up with me just tell me that you want to break up with me." I huff as soon as George comes home from his job. I have my arms folded in front of my chest as I wait on the sofa. I hope he doesn't notice how my eyes are red from crying for the past few days.

"Why would I want to break up with you?" George asks, taking his shoes off as he enters my apartment. He takes off his coat and looks at me in between steps. I roll my eyes, and sigh, "Come on, George."

He looks even more confused now. I talked with my friends a few weeks ago, telling them about my wonderful new boyfriend and how we've been dating for a little over a month now. They were quick to congratulate me then interrogate me. They asked me where he works, and I said he works in a shop in London. They asked which shop and I couldn't answer.

So I asked him, and his response was, "Nothing interesting enough to talk about."

They asked me if I've ever met any of his family, though it's still early. I haven't even seen his twin brother, his other half and his colleague. Not to mention the way he abruptly disappears, and I'm not lost on how odd he acts sometimes.

He isn't up to date with what's happening in the world, and he's never ridden the tube before. I once asked him to order pizza for us and proceeded to watch him struggle to call the number. Sometimes, he'd be standing in the room alone and when I'd enter the room or just call his name, he'd awkwardly fumble and hide things behind his back.

I've never been to his apartment, and I know that he's hiding something. I don't want to be some sort of girlfriend he only has temporarily just to pass time or until something better comes along. I'm looking for something serious, someone to get married to eventually.

"I feel like you have some big secret, and that you're not serious about us. You won't even tell me what your actual job is. Are you a hitman? Is it something illegal or just something you're ashamed of? I feel like you know everything about me and I only know bits and pieces about you." I blurt out, and I can't help the few tears that threaten to escape.

"That's not it at all." George says, he sits next to me, and he holds my hand in his. I can't believe him like this, I want answers. I don't want to be lied to. I don't want to be the person who is investing too much into a relationship while the other person isn't. I whisper, "You said you loved me George, did you lie or do you not mean it anymore?"

"No, I-" He breathed, squeezing my hand. I don't know why he's acting so helpless. He says, lifting his arms, "Wait, I'll-"

"But no one can know." He adds, and he stands up and he reaches to the door to lock it and he goes over to the window to close the blinds. He's frantic as he does it. I watch around confused, and I mumble, "What are you doing?"

"This is going to sound crazy." He starts, and he comes back, and he sits onto the sofa. He takes both my hands in his, and he squeezes my hands. He takes a deep breath in, "I'm a wizard."

"You're a wizard?" I repeat, and I scrunch up my face in confusion. George isn't the type of person to make fun of someone so why would he say something so absurd. I scoff, "You need to take this seriously."

"I am being serious." He says, as he grips my hand tighter when I try to let go. He continues, "There's an entire world of wizards and we're not supposed to tell muggles-"

"Muggles?"

"Non-wizard folk, like you." He says, and I frown, "It sounds like an insult."

"It isn't an insult I swear." He says, and I can see his upper-lip quirk up slightly in amusement. I take in a deep breath. George seems to be going far with this prank. I suggest, "Show me something, show me something magical. I want to believe you." 

He hums and thinks for a second. He reaches into his pocket and he pulls out a stick. A long, brown wooden stick with engravings on it. A wand maybe? Why would he carry something he needs for a prank around? He waves it and says something in latin, and the lights in the room switch to disco lights. He lifts his arms in a sort of jazz hands and he asks, “Ha?” 

“That’s impressive, but if they can make rooms where the lights turn on and off when a person claps then they can make rooms that do so when you wave a stick.” I say, and fold my arms, not impressed. George looks at me incredulously, he says, “It’s your apartment- it’s fine, it’s fine. I’m going to show you something that will make you believe it, but don’t be scared.” 

“Why would I be scared?” I ask, before George waves his wand again. I start rising from the sofa. I start screaming, flailing my arms in the air, “Oh my, oh my god, George. This isn’t funny, put me down, put me down!” 

My heart is still beating crazy inside my chest when I’m back down on the sofa. I clutch the arm and back of the chair, and I breathe heavily. He sits in front of me and I look at his wand suspiciously. I ask, “You’re a wizard?” 

“I’m a wizard.” He confirms, and he slowly eases my hands from their death grip on the fabric of the sofa. He keeps my palms in his hands. He smiles softly and I pull my lips into a line. I ask, “And I assume that your job is something wizardly as well.” 

“Yes, I own a joke shop.” He admits, and his smile is wide. A joke shop, like the one that sells joke products? He owns it? Are they some wizard jokes? Something magical? I ask, “A joke shop? And do you like it? Is it successful?" 

“Yes, a joke shop. I own it with my brother. I love my job, and yes, I’d say we’re fairly successful and we’re thinking of opening up another branch soon.” He explains and I nod my head. My boyfriend is a wizard. It’s something just as magnificent as it is crazy. I continued, “Jokes like fake insects?” 

“Yes.” 

“And fake knives?” 

“Yes-wait, fake knives?” He asks, curious. It’s a very typical prank, I’m confused as to how someone who owns a joke shop wouldn't know about them. I explain, “They’re knives that when the blade is in contact with something, it gets retracted inside. Usually people use it to fake stabbing someone.” 

“That’s actually a good idea, I’ll have to tell Fred.” He says, thinking about it inside his head. I’m reminded of something he said before and I ask, “Why can’t you tell mugels?” 

“It’s Muggles, and it’s forbidden by law. If the ministry were to find out I told you, I'd be in trouble and they would obliviate you.” George explains and I tilt my head and ask, “Obliviate?” 

“Wipe your memory.” George explained, feeling sorrowful. I’m suddenly feeling very anxious and scared. I don’t want anyone tampering with my memory or going inside my head or whatever. I frown and George is quick to reassure me, “They’re not going to find out, I’m not going to let them.” 

“I don’t want to forget you, George.” 

“I’m not going to let that happen, love.” 

[spamzaccfw]

Stains

George Weasley x Girlfriend!Reader

Content: Comfort writing, fluff, period comfort, no plot, writing for the sake of writing, no use of y/n

Wc: 1.6K

Warning (kind of): Once again, for those who see this on their feet, I’m new to writing fics, so please be kind, critique is very welcome. Also, english isn’t my first language, please ignore any typos or other mistakes, thank you ∩^ω^∩

Cw (also kind of): mentions of (period) blood

૮︵⭒‿᧔☪︎᧓‿⋆︵౨ ૮︵⭒‿᧔☪︎᧓‿⋆︵౨ ૮︵⭒‿᧔☪︎᧓‿⋆︵౨

A soft sigh escaped your lips as your mind slowly slipped back into consciousness. You let out a quiet hum, rubbing your still closed eyes to try and blink the sleep away a moment later.

The morning sun had already flooded the room. The scent was a distinct scent you’ve already grown used to since you spent almost every autumn at your boyfriend’s place.

The burrow always smelled like delicious cooked food and freshly cut flowers and everytime you breathed the aroma a warm feeling spread through your body.

You slowly became aware of your surroundings and your own body as your eyes adjusted to the light.

Your eyes flickered over, to George, he was laying on his side, facing you while one arm was heavily draped over your middle. A smile spread over your lips as you started to shift to press a kiss to his forehead.

But you froze a the moment you moved, there was something warm and wet between your legs, you knew the sensation.

“Shit” a quiet curse escaped your lips at the same time that you lifted the blanket, praying that you were wrong about your assumption.

You realized you weren’t when you saw the red stain on the bedsheets.

You groaned quietly, pressing your hands over your eyes as if you would disappear when you just closed them tight enough.

Merlin, how embarrassing, you thought I bled on my boyfriend’s bed. You shook your head lightly before pulling your hands away again.

It’s fine. you tried to reassure yourself. I’ll just get up quietly, change and cover the stain until I have time to change the sheets and he’ll never know.

You gathered yourself for another moment before you started to shift as slow as possible, trying not to wake George. You slowly lifted his arm trying to scoot out without jostling him.

You slowly placed his hand beside his face and were about to stand up when your hand slipped off the edge of the bed where you had been bracing yourself against, making you fall back onto the mattress with a soft ‘hmpf’.

The motion made Grorge stir, he had always been a light sleeper. His arm lifted and snaked back around your waist pulling you close, blinking into the bright light.

“Mornin’ darling” he murmured with a sleep-rough voice. You didn’t say anything just stiffened uncomfortably which your boyfriend noticed immediately even if he was still half asleep.

“You okay darling?” He asked, scanning your face with faintly concerened eyes.

“Yeah…” you said slowly because you just didn’t know what else to do. He was awake now and would see the stain of blood on his bedsheets. Heat crept up your neck at the thought and reflexively you hid behind your hands again, partly to avoid the impending conversation and partly because you didn’t want him to see the flush on your cheeks.

“Darling?” You heard George murmur which made you press your hands even tighter against your face. “Darling, what’s the matter with you?” He asked in the same hushed tone before you felt his fingers gently yet insistently try to pry your hands away from your face.

“Baby…” you started slowly, your voice cracking slightly from embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, first of all” you muttered as he succeeded with taking your hands off your face.

He looked confused but the softness only you ever got to see stayed. “Sorry?”

“Yeah… I uhm… I got my period in the night…” you finally confessed to him but before he could say anything you continued to mutter your apologies. “I didn’t know, I’m so sorry, if I knew I would’ve prepared myself…”

You continued to spew your apologies so much so you didn’t notice the gentle yet slightly amused smile on your boyfriend’s lips.

After a good minute of you rambling, he chuckled softly making you pause. “What?” You asked even more worried now. “Are you making fun of me? Cause if you are-“ you started but he shook my head, effectively cutting you short.

“My sweet darling, there’s no problem.” he said softly “you know with how you looked i thought you sleep walked and cheated on me with one of my siblings or something.” He joked “You just got your period, why are you so worried?”

Your brows raised in surprise at his calm acceptance “Well… baby, i bled on your sheets…” You said hesitantly.

“Yeah? I’ll wash them, it’s just a piece of cloth darling, nothing to worry about.” A gentle, reassuring smile drew over his lips.

“But… but aren’t you grossed out?” You asked, still confused.

“Grossed out?” He raised a brow as if you had just personally offended him with your statement. “Love, period are completely normal and nothing gross. They’re only gross for small boys who don’t understand a woman’s body.”

George shifted while he explained and before you noticed it, one of his arms was under your knees the other behind your back.

A moment later you were already cradled against his chest in a bridal carry.

“What are you doing?” You squealed as he lifted you, your arms instinctively wrapping around the back of his neck.

“I’m taking you to the bathroom.” He answered and shuffled off the bed with you in his arms. “Must be uncomfortable with bloody shorts.” He smiled down at you while walking.

You met his gaze, searching for anything that might betray he was joking about this whole thing, but you didn’t find any hint of a joke, so you had nothing else to do but slowly relax into him.

He could feel the tension bleed out your muscles, making his smile widen a little. “I’ll give you space to clean yourself up okay? And while you’re in there I’m looking for the most comfy clothes in my closet for you to change into. And I’m throwing Ginny out her bed so i can snag you some pads and tampons.”

A greatful smile curled your lips gently “Thank you…” you mumbled as George lowered your feet back onto the ground.

“Nothing to thank me for, love, I’m your boyfriend, that’s my job.” He smiled, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead before he turned to walk back out.

Your eyes followed him, an appreciative glimmer in your gaze.

George stopped once more at the door and turned to say one more thing “just put yoyr stained clothes into the basket, I’ll wash them together with the sheets.” He gave you a wink before walking out and closing the door behind himself.

You sighed softly and started to undress. The clothes went into the basket just like George had told you before you stepped into the shower to wash off the blood.

As you stepped back out there were fresh underwear, one pair of Georges joggers and a jumper of his on the counter. He had probably entered at some point to place them down and left right after.

Inevitably another smile made its way onto your lips when you noticed a pack of pads next to the clothes.

You dried yourself off before pulling on the clothes, they enveloped you in warmth and George’s scent, the sensation made you feel safe and at peace.

As soon as you were finished you patted back towards George’s room, you bare feet making the wooden floor creak faintly.

When you opened the door to his room, you were met with George throwing a pillow of his onto the freshly made bed.

He smirked when he noticed you standing in the doorway, his eyes starting to travel over your appearance, more specifically how you looked in his clothes.

After a moment of silence he stepped closer to snake one arm around your waist. “You know, it’s truly unfair that you look a hundred times better in my clothes than I do.” I murmured, pulling you flush into his chest.

A chuckle escaped your chest “Shut up” you giggled, making his smirk even wider.

“Nerver, not with you.” He said and leaned down to place a kiss against your forehead once again. When he pulled back his eyes had softened ever so slightly. “How are you feeling though, any cramps or something? Do you need anything?”

You contemplated his words for a moment before you shook your head. “No, I’m okay. Can we have another cuddle session though? I’m kinda in a cuddly mood.” You murmured, looking up at him through your lashes.

He chuckled lightly “Not even a question darling.” He said and slid his warm hand into yours to carefully tug you back towards the bed.

You complied happily and followed him the few meters.

George flopped down onto the mattress with a quiet huff before opening his arms as a silent invitation for you to cuddle into his chest.

And you did. You crawled into bed after him and laid down so your head rested over his chest. One of his strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you a little closer against him meanwhile reached his free hand for the duvet.

He pulled it over the both of you, covering your bodies in a soothing kind of warmth.

The room went quiet for a long moment before you quietly spoke up again “Baby…? Thank you for… reacting the way you did.” You whispered, looking up at him.

He smiled down at you. “Nothing to thank me, darling. Honestly, that’s the bare minimum.” He whispered back. “Now, go back to sleep, knowing that you can’t bleed out anymore.”

You let out a quiet laugh “Fine” you chuckled as he kissed the top of your head. You nuzzled back into his chest, enjoying the sensation of his fingers running up and down your arm until sleep came knocking on the door again.

૮︵⭒‿᧔☪︎᧓‿⋆︵౨ ૮︵⭒‿᧔☪︎᧓‿⋆︵౨ ૮︵⭒‿᧔☪︎᧓‿⋆︵౨

Thank you for reading ♡

[moonstruckme]

remus lupin oneshots (1/2)

page 2

✩ = 18+, mdni ♡ = mae's favs

Remus x Scamander!reader after a full moon

You teach Remus some French

Remus joins you outside in the rain ♡

Comforting aftercare with Remus ♡

Remus helps you with a tummy ache

Your Slytherin pals find out Remus is your boyfriend

You use Halloween to tell Remus you know his secret

Remus gets possessive before the full moon

Remus makes sure you get some much-needed sleep

You admit you want to kiss Remus (he's more than okay with that)

Remus x hearing impaired!reader when your aids are being fixed

Remus reassures you about your compulsive overchecking

Doctor!Remus when you're sick ♡ | cont.

Your boyfriend doctor!Remus heals your grave injury (small cut)

Doctor!Remus can tell when you're trying to power through

He gets you flowers

You steal shy!Remus from his friends

Remus thinks you deserve better company

Doctor!Remus helps you with a panic attack

Doctor!Remus discovers you at his work

Roommate!Remus comforts you after a nightmare

You and shy!Remus give each other flowers ♡

Doctor!Remus helps with your fear of needles

Your boyfriend doctor!Remus goes soft when you're hurt ♡

Remus gives you a scalp massage

Remus gives you a beginner's guide to scar care

Your boyfriend doctor!Remus rubs your stomach

Remus really, really likes you (you're oblivious) ♡

Remus wants you with him always

Remus won't let you call yourself ugly

Remus is your first kiss ♡

Remus defends whimsical!reader from taunting ♡

Remus apologizes for snapping at you

Shy!Remus gets set up with whimsical!reader

You're loopy after surgery, and Remus is smitten

Remus comforts you after you do poorly on an assignment

Doctor!Remus comforts you when you're afraid of hospitals

Remus thinks your glasses are adorable

Remus is absolutely besotted with you (plus size!reader) ♡

Remus puts your hair up ♡

Remus comforts you when you're overthinking

You have a migraine, but your boyfriend is a doctor

You and Remus have a bookstore date

Whimsical!reader's first snow day after moving in with Remus ♡

Doctor!Remus when your medicine makes you feel gross

Remus is rude to you, and apologizes profusely

Remus helps when you go nonverbal

Remus and american!reader disagree about tea

Remus reassures you when you're insecure about your stutter

Doctor!Remus helps when your chest hurts

Doctor!Remus comes over when you're sick

You comfort Remus after a nightmare

Self-reliant reader goes subby for soft dom!Remus

Shy!Remus (reluctantly) introduces you to his friends

Remus comforts you when you're insecure about your skin

Doctor!Remus is casually dominant

You're nervous to get blood drawn, and your pretty doctor helps

You have a high fever, and your boyfriend doctor!Remus is lovely ♡

Med student!Remus practices on you

Doctor!Remus humors whimsical!reader's alternative health practices

You and Remus have a sleepy nighttime routine

Whimsical!reader wants to heal doctor!Remus

You're Remus' "fake" wedding date

Remus is your tutor, and you're his unwilling student

Grumpy!Remus x sunshine!reader

You make Remus share his cigarette

Doctor!Remus calms you when you come into A&E

Doctor!Remus dotes on a miserably sick you

You're scared of the future, and Remus comforts you

Doctor!Remus is protective when you hurt yourself

Remus sets you straight when you're being bratty

A doped-up you finds out doctor!Remus is your boyfriend

Remus is your emotional support eye candy doctor

You and your roommate Remus are cut from the same cloth

He's all you need after a long day

Rockstar!Remus kisses you soundly

You get flustered during an appointment with doctor!Remus

Remus sees your scars

You and Remus are academic rivals

You go nonverbal in front of Remus for the first time

Remus is sweet and understanding when you're feeling down ♡

You come to doctor!Remus' work when you're sick

Doctor!Remus comforts you after eye surgery

Your doctor boyfriend takes care of your broken toe

Remus is your reluctant workout buddy

Remus isn't angry with you

Doctor!Remus feels guilty when you react badly to medication

You hide from roommate!Remus after an argument

You have health anxiety, and doctor!Remus comforts you

Remus reassures a drunk you ♡

Remus takes care of sub!reader feeling clingy after sex ✩

Soft dom!Remus is obliging when you're needy ✩

Remus is obsessed with your small boobs ✩♡

Remus finds out you like to be choked ✩

You help med student!Remus study anatomy ✩

Your doctor boyfriend gives you a breast exam ✩

[moonstruckme]

who's that girl

✩ = 18+, mdni ♡ = mae's favs

Your new roommates flatmates are not going to murder you

You learn the hard way about London social norms

The boys comfort you after a bad day

You learn the consequences of a shared bathroom

Your flatmates want you to be able to rely on them

You and Remus make a new friend (Sirius does not approve)

The boys help with your dating profile

You come home after a bad date

Your flatmates want to help when you're under the weather ♡ | cont.

You're stood up on a date, but you have your flatmates

Your flat is in a scramble after a kitchen incident

You and Sirius are up to no good

Your flatmates discover you're absorbing their speech patterns

Things warm between you and Remus when he's drunk

Remus calls you "sweetheart" ♡

Your flatmates sympathize in various ways when you have cramps

The boys celebrate your new job

Remus applies your lip gloss for you ♡

Your flatmates nearly catch you and Remus

[ravenwing127]

can someone please listen to my plea and write a flirty and heated makeout oneshot of george or young remus 😔💔💔🙏🙏

[dreaming-softly-in-the-night]

Remus Lupin

m a s t e r l i s t

Note: I just want to preface this by saying that in no way does me writing this stuff indicate that my views align whatsoever with Rowling’s. She is cruel and her ‘opinions’ — and I use that term incredibly loosely, as someone’s right to exist can never be reduced to something as small as an opinion — are just as horrific. I am in full support of the trans community and always will be. This will always be a safe space for EVERYONE, no matter what gender you identify as. I write these fics because I love the characters, and I know that so many of you do as well. And quite frankly, I think it’s hilarious that as a fandom we are taking something she has created and forming something new, fresh, and inclusive out of it, especially considering it goes against her views. I have never, and will never, condone her actions or thoughts.

🤍 = fluff ☁️ = angst

I Should Hate You (I Feel Stupid)

o n g o i n g s e r i e s ☁️🤍 | pt. 1 | pt.2

In which Remus decides that he is too dangerous to be with you, and that breaking up with you is the sensible, albeit painful, thing to do. The Marauders aren't having it, and decide that parent-trapping their friends is the only solution.

This Is New 🤍

In which Remus' favourite jumper is accidentally shrunken, and the Marauders hatch a genius (insane) plan involving your animagus form to restore it to its former glory.

Move On First ☁️🤍

In which Remus overhears you talking about the person you have feelings for, and decides to distance himself from you so that he can move on, with no idea that you were talking about him the whole time.

A World Away ☁️🤍

In which you and Remus take a quiet moment away from it all during the second wizarding war.