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Caleb ♡︎.ᐟજ⁀➴ Love and Deepspace (+18)
: ̗̀➛ Again
Caleb is pushed past his limist.
: ̗̀➛ Dream a little dream of me
Caleb gives in to his fantasies during a sleepless night, torn between overwhelming guilt and an obsession he can no longer ignore.
George Weasley ♡︎.ᐟજ⁀➴ Harry Potter
: ̗̀➛ Stolen Nectar, Misadventure:
There was something greatly wicked in the way he had begged you to do this, and you finally caved.
: ̗̀➛ Fever (In The Morning, All Through The Night):
A faulty potion left George feeling a little heated.
: ̗̀➛ Merry Go Round:
It's Fred and George's birthday, and some things never change.
: ̗̀➛ Isn't too hard to see we're in love:
Freshly graduated from Hogwarts, you try to make breakfast for George.
: ̗̀➛ Diamonds Good For My Appetite:
Verity left a void in the shop that George refused to fill, leaving you with the decision to hire another employee. Unfortunately, your choice might not have been the best.
: ̗̀➛ But I waited my whole life for just one:
The future was a foreign land, and so, you asked George for something he just couldn't refuse.
: ̗̀➛ Malfoy Reader Series:(On hold)
You didn't expect to meet the most gorgeous redhead you had ever laid your eyes upon at the Quidditch World Cup, and what should have been a boring trip quickly unravels
: ̗̀➛ You Need Vitamins Series:(Ongoing)
After the Yule Ball, and with no apparent girlfriend in sight, George makes a bet with Fred. Get a girlfriend and keep her until the next school year, or be the sole product tester until they open the shop.
🖤 Summary: After the Yule Ball, and with no apparent girlfriend in sight, George makes a bet with Fred. Get a girlfriend and keep her until the next school year, or be the sole product tester until they open the shop.
🖤 Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Reader.
🖤 Warnings: Fake dating, maybe OOC George.
🖤 Word count: 3.8k
🖤A/N: Today early! Remember, if you want to be tagged, leave a comment! Taglist:@eliiiiiiieeee @lulunix15 @shewhomustnotbenamedshhh @avee-wavee @yaintpaint @mysticspruce @eviesletters @falsedivide @lulzs-world06 @stari-struck @aallis0n @wannabe-rotten-sunflower @peterthehorseisinhere @lilians17 @kinggosia @i8akitkattt @keithrys @n31ly @thequeenofdramaqueens @call-me-mr-delulu@llkea @lilyyyyy08 @tesstickles01 @kakaolover @chicken-hot-pockets @khumiko@liv-109 @koala-wonderland @buibeeboo @sneezelee444 @doomsdqy@velvetangelitaxo @probably-a-femcel@wolfhowling5234 @bugsludge @ondina-granger @lolita--joy @hagridshaircare @totallycoolgirl
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You didn’t need anything in this life but a peaceful existence.
Overthinking was something you hardly ever did, preferring to focus your mind elsewhere when you believed you were about to spiral. That fixation, in your opinion, was unhealthy and highly useless. Why would you obsessively think one thing over and over again? What good would that do to you?
More often than not, you did things without much thinking before or afterwards. You kissed George on a whim; you hadn’t thought about it when you stepped inside his room, and after, you only allowed yourself a few minutes to freak out before snapping back.
The Nessa situation had been the same; you didn’t want to overthink it a lot, so you went with the first option your mind had conjured, Daphne, and you stuck to it without fixating on whether she was the best candidate or not. Everything that came afterwards had been just as fast.
Even the bet on itself.
You had never thought you were going to strike a deal with George; it had been something that came to your mind and said it as if it wasn’t that big of a deal—at that time it hadn’t been.
Perhaps you should’ve overthought that to let the idea simmer in your mind. If it hadn’t been because you applied your usual logic to the deal, then you wouldn’t be here, overthinking something you had no agency over.
All your distraction methods had failed; not even begging Cedric to play a friendly match had served to stop your mind for even a second.
You wanted to slam your head against the wall so that you would stop thinking about it. There was nothing you could do to change the outcome. No matter how much your thoughts circulated over the same thing, the fact remained the same.
George hadn’t replied to your love confession.
You scrunched your face and slammed your face against your arithmancy book, a groan escaping from your lips when you caught yourself thinking about it for the third time since the day started.
Getting over it was proving to be harder than it had been three years ago. At that time, you had done everything in your power not to think about it, and eventually you had forgotten you even had a crush on George. Now that you knew what it was like to be held in his hands, to be kissed and touched by him, it was so difficult to turn your brain off.
Sighing, you went back to rereading the same page you had been reading since you stepped into the library. You were able to read through until the next page when a hand on your shoulder took you by surprise.
For a moment, you almost pronounced George’s name, but then you turned your head and saw that the boy by your side wasn’t your… fake boyfriend.
A brunette Ravenclaw who took Arithmancy with you and usually sat down in the front row of the classroom looked at you with shy eyes that made the irritated edge in your eyes disappear.
“Can I help you with something?” You asked, marking the page you had been reading.
“Do you have a partner?” he blurted out.
You cocked a brow up, about to answer when he shook his head and settled the books he was carrying down on the table.
“I mean, an arithmancy partner… for the final project.” He clarified, biting his lip. “Mine just ditched me.”
“There’s a bit more than a month until the end of term; do you think I don’t?” You blinked a few times, feigning offence. He blushed and stammered, trying to find the correct words. “I don’t.” You chuckled. “Don’t worry. We can partner together.”
His face illuminated like fireworks. “Really? I was resigning myself to finish it alone; you see, my partner decided she liked another group’s idea better, so she spoke to the professor, and they agreed to let her move partners if I was able to get another partner, too.” He explained, barely taking a breath between sentences. “I was really nervous because Natalia said I'd better get with someone or I would be paying the consequences. Her father works at the Ministry, you see? Head of the Department I want to work at so—”
You covered his mouth with your palm. “Listen to me… what’s your name?”
"Jason," he muffled out.
“Listen to me, Jason. If we are going to work together, you better keep the talking to a normal speed.” You nodded at him, eyes twitching. He nodded back. “And no more than fifteen words at a time.”
He did a military salute. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”
You smirked. “Good.”
***
Plenty of things had changed, and at the same time, plenty of things remained the same.
George and you didn’t stop kissing; actually, you started doing it even more, not just the quick press of lips they usually did in public. Pecks that quickly turned into snogs and heavy breaths taken amidst the growing warmth of the room.
Everything had changed.
Yet there was something in the air. Charged with a tinge of unspoken things George didn’t know how to voice. It was slightly suffocating, completely heavy and utterly puzzling.
He had, for the first time, fully enjoyed being with someone. He had found arousing being touched like that in a deeper way than only a quick release. His mind kept replaying in his head that day with a mental clarity that he had never had after any encounter.
Because of you, George had found what it was to feel defenceless in the devastatingly pleasurable way, to not feel like he needed to think of ways to please when he himself felt not pleased at all.
It had been so different from what he felt while under the influence of what he had been commanded to feel while Jane—
No, he couldn’t think of that.
With you, he hadn’t needed to think; everything came naturally, like breathing. He knew what you liked based on the way your breath hitched and your moans became whinier; he correctly guessed when you didn’t find it enjoyable by the way your fingers would start playing with his hair.
And if he hurt you, you had no qualms about saying so and making him find the way to make you feel the same way he was feeling.
George and you had had many trial-and-error encounters, each more satisfying than the previous.
He didn’t even know how to put into words how much he loved spending time with you, kissing you, and making love to you. Nothing mattered when he was with you; his mind blanked with the blissfulness of being in your presence.
Words tangled in his tongue whenever he tried to voice his feelings, something heavy settling on his chest.
It filled him with doubt. And doubt was his greatest enemy.
The matter wasn’t whether George was in love with you or not anymore. The heart of the problem fell on the fact that George had spent so many weeks thinking of you as his fake girlfriend, pretending he was in love, that he didn’t know if what he felt was real or just the acting bleeding into reality.
If after all this time he couldn’t even pronounce those three words, then maybe all that wasn’t love but a powerful imitation after months of feigning said love.
All these thoughts only got to him when he was away from you. Away from your eyes that sang to him and showed him just how powerful a touch, a whispered praise, or a smile could be.
Worst of all, you were catching up.
George had said the first day of being together—when you had kissed him for the first time—that he had no intention of hurting you, yet he had failed. Because he had no answers, and you had been looking for them ever since that time you had told him you were still in love with him.
Despite him not wanting to think of it, the words replayed in his mind again and again like a broken record: I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you otherwise.
No had; you had used 'have'.
You didn’t press him in the slightest; on the contrary, you hadn’t mentioned it again ever since. But he could see the way you were constantly looking for something in his eyes.
And after a while you simply stopped searching.
That subtle change had been pretty noticeable. For him, at least.
You never stopped kissing him, never prevented him from touching, hugging, or even stealing every bit of your personal space, but the small changes didn’t go unnoticed. Kisses weren’t as heated as before; you pulled away first from the hugs and didn’t initiate the touches.
A great part of that was his selective muteness.
“What is up with you?”
The sudden voice of a woman took him out of his thoughts, and when he turned around, he was face to face with his dear old sister. She had a magazine in her hand and a Muggle pen in the other.
“What’s up with what?” said George, confused as he scooted to the side on the Gryffindor sofa.
“With that long face.” She plopped herself on the couch, slapping him on the thigh as she did so.
George quickly hissed and rubbed his skin. “Nothing happened, you psycho.”
“Something must have,” she muttered. “Which leads me to: What’s an emotional and physical state of deep longing or distraction caused by romantic attachment?” She read the clue of the crossword she was doing in the magazine.
“Close, lovesick," Ginny corrected as she wrote the word. “Just like you.”
He groaned and sprawled all over the couch. “I’m not lovesick.”
“You get this kind of look on your face when you think of her,” Ginny said, then she imitated him.
She put on a pathetically stupid face of someone completely in love and besotted with their partner.
“Like you two years ago with Harry?” He asked, regretting it right after the words came out of his mouth.
That earned a hard punch on his shoulder, making him yelp and shove her away.
“Just because you can’t accept you’re in love with her doesn’t mean you have to be so mean, you arsehole.” She hissed.
“You’re right, I was an idiot, sorry.” He said quickly.
“Damn right.”
Ginny went back to finish the crossroads, and George looked at her as she completed it.
He thought of her words, mulling them over. There were three weeks until the end of the term, and then summer break was waiting for them. Meaning that their breaking-up date was nearing, and he had absolutely no clue what he was going to do.
Did he want to continue whatever you two had? The answer came quickly.
Yes.
Was he in love with you because of all the time you two had spent together or because they had confused real with fake? That was the answer eluded him.
“Do you think I’m in love with her?” George suddenly asked Ginny, tone low and hesitant.
“Yes,” she simply said.
“What if it’s confusion?”
“Think of this." She turned to George. “Imagine you’re getting married to her.”
“What?!” He screamed/whispered.
Ginny clicked her tongue. “Do it. Not now, but in, like, ten years.”
George squinted at her, but then he did it.
Walking down the aisle with a beautiful white gown and bouquet that didn’t match the perfection of you. Hair perfectly styled and face so bright it almost blinded him.
You reached him, and he could almost smell the scent of your lip balm. Lemon.
He was seeing a star, the brightest in the whole sky. No, it wasn’t a star, nor a sun. You were the solar system, the entire Milky Way.
Shining, radiant, resplendent, luminescent. Making him rack his brain for the appropriate words.
The idea, contrary to scare him, filled him with indescribable emotions. In the future, you are going to be the most mesmerising bride.
“Now imagine she’s marrying another lad.”
The image shattered like glass.
He couldn’t even find a face to the prick saying yes to marrying you, but he knew he didn’t deserve to be with you. He smiled the wrong way, he said the wrong things, and you were much too perfect for someone like that.
Yet you smiled at him, and George, as a guest, could do nothing but watch as his imagination conjured the most painful thought ever: you in love and happy with another.
Smiling the same way you smiled at him, kissing him just the way you kissed George, looking at him like he hung the stars. All of what was supposed to be his.
His heart squeezed painfully, as if needles were piercing it constantly, and breathing became harder as the tears threatened to spill.
“Do you have the answer?” Ginny took him out of his imagination.
George swallowed hard, then nodded. “But that only proves I don't want anyone else to have her."
"George."
"That's not love."
He had been able to imagine so vividly you in love with another because he knew how those gestures looked on you. And imagining that being directed at another but him was truly the worst image his brain made up.
“Is not love, but you don’t get cold feet at the idea of marrying her?” she asked, raising a brow. “George, I’ve seen the way you look at her; you are a satellite, and she’s your moon. When was the last time you felt like you ever had to fake anything with her because of the bet?”
He didn’t answer. The truth was that, most of the time, he forgot that the reason he got to hold you now was because of a bet. Those brief times that he did remember it, the threat of the ending was what terrified him.
Not the fact that everything had diverged from what he had originally planned.
Or that his heart was the most at peace when he was with you, so full of…
Love.
“Everything stopped being an act the moment you started to want to spend time with her.” Ginny rolled the magazine and hit his head with it. “You are in love with her. Probably for longer than you can think of. Sisters know best.”
Irrevocably, it didn’t matter if it had been confusion or anything else; he was in love with you.
***
The day you decided to take Arithmancy as an optative was the day you definitely lost your mind; Ancient Runes wasn’t nearly as complicated as the first, and it had no final project that required hours of extensive research in the library while you had a nerdy boy freaking out over it.
Ever since Jason had come to you, proposing to be your partner, the days had turned into long hours sitting at a table, open books and losing their composure to try and merge your projects. You had every intention of doing the project alone, having none of your friends with you in that class, and with the majority of the people already partnered, you had just shrugged and begun doing it alone.
Doing it alone meant that nobody would look at you as if they were about to cry because you cut them mid-sentence when they were explaining things.
Jason was like a lost puppy, trailing after you from the library to the arithmancy classroom and from the classroom to the library once again. Staring at you with doe eyes as he munched on some healthy snack and wrote down the ideas you said.
The project had proven to be hard. You and him had had different ideas, so combining them into one coherent and cohesive thing had been hard. Much of your time had been consumed by it, paired with studying for the other subject’s final exams.
You had had to lift Jay’s mood more than once after their study dates in the library, once or twice having to dry his tears while rolling your eyes and wishing you had been stronger and refused him.
It was a matter of time before you found your first grey hair.
“Love!”
You turned towards George, who was running down the hall towards you.
Smiling, you started speaking. “Hell—” and were promptly cut off by George slamming against you and lifting you in the air. “Put me down!” you shrieked.
George chuckled but did as you said, planting a long kiss on your lips before separating himself from you. His long fingers placed a strand of your hair behind your ear.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
You froze. "Blister," you mumbled, closing your eyes. “I forgot.”
Today, he had agreed to show you the secret passage to Hogsmeade like he had promised to do months ago. You had been looking forward to it until it slipped out of your mind.
“What?” George’s face fell for a few seconds before he schooled it.
“Jason is waiting for me in the library.” You grimaced. “We agreed that today we would finish the first draft of the final project of Arithmancy and show it to Vector before the day ends.”
“But you wanted to use the passage since forever.” He pouted.
It only made you want to bite his lip. And you did it, placing a small kiss when he yelped. You didn’t deepen it, closing your eyes to enjoy the softness of his lips against yours.
“I know, but this project is important," you mumbled, squeezing his shoulders. “I will try to finish it as soon as possible; then I’ll meet you in your room. How about that?”
“To do what?” His tone dropped.
You smirked. “Whatever you want.”
“Okay.”
You saw it coming, so you closed your eyes and waited for the kiss. But before his lips could touch yours, Jason appeared behind you both, calling your name and startling you both.
“Sorry!” he said loudly. “I didn’t know.”
Jason’s blush made you chuckle. If you were a prude, then Jay was even worse than you, to the point that even the mention of kissing would make him blush and stutter.
“It’s alright, Jay.” You smiled softly at the boy before turning to George.
George wasn’t smiling anymore; rather, his face was contorted in a grimace, stuck between anger and disgust as he looked at Jason. It was very clear that your (fake) boyfriend didn’t like your new friend at all.
More than that, his contempt turned the temperature of the hallway colder, and a shiver ran down your spine when his jaw tensed.
In a way, it was hot, too.
He seemed all bothered and mad and… jealous. It made you wish you could drag him out of the place and snog him silly.
But Jason was timidly waiting, and George shouldn’t be angry at the ball of nerves in the middle of the hallway because he was the one who had left you without answers. And you had stopped looking for them.
Perhaps you had overthought a lot, but you knew that he had to have some feeling for you, but he either didn’t accept them, or they weren’t as strong as yours. So you'd rather stop searching for the hurtful truth.
You had been the one who had to deal with the consequences of voicing your feelings, watching as every day without answers broke you a little more. It was a pain much worse than that of petty jealousy.
So, being jealous was on him, really. Jason was only a classmate.
“See you in a few hours, okay?” You smiled at George.
Something dark shone in his eyes. “Okay.”
Going on your tippy-toes, you placed a kiss on his cheek before strutting away, grabbing Jason’s hand. And if you felt George’s gaze boring holes in your back, you’d rather not think about it.
***
At the end of the day, you and Jay ended up staying until curfew in the library, but luckily you both had finished the draft of the project and would be able to present it to Professor Vector the next day.
Once you had parted ways, you were so tired you had completely forgotten to go to the Gryffindor Tower, and you only remembered to go once your body hit your bed. By that time, you had no energy to climb up the seven floors, and when you least realised it, you fell asleep.
When you woke up, startled by the sound of your last alarm, your brain finally caught up with what you had neglected yesterday.
Uh-oh.
Quickly, you took a shower and changed into fresh clothes, going downstairs to see if you would be able to catch George. He was always the first to arrive at the Great Hall, and you had taken to matching his schedule so you both could have a bit of time for yourselves before starting your classes.
Practically flying down the stairs, you hadn’t noticed the person sitting on the couch in front of the bonfire until your hand was caught when you had one foot off the Hufflepuff House.
“Where are you going?" George said.
“George!” You turned around, startled, before hugging him. “I woke up so late; I was going to look for you.”
He furrowed his brows. “I’m here.”
You blinked, hands resting on his shoulders as you pulled away. “Yes, I know. I thought you were already going to class.”
“You didn’t have breakfast," he mumbled.
“I was going to skip it. I woke up, like, ten minutes ago.” You spoke.
Something in his face shifted; it wasn’t a pissed-off look like he had yesterday, but he wasn’t jumping on one leg from happiness either. It wasn’t even a weird middle ground. He was… blue.
“Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t—”
Words were left hanging in the air as his lips crashed into yours in a slow, deep kiss.
His breath mixed with your minty one, and the lack of flavour other than your toothpaste made you remember you hadn’t applied any lip balm. Though you could be disappointed, it tasted slightly sweet, probably from eating a pastry.
The snog lasted for long minutes, when your back had been pressed against the exit door, and his long fingers curled on your nape, sending shivers down your spine.
When he let you go, not before biting your lower lip, you already forgot what you were intending to apologise for.
“Let’s skip class," he mumbled.
At that, fully knowing that there was a trick to get him into your room, you nodded slightly, dazed.
🖤 Summary: The future was a foreign land, and so, you asked George for something he just couldn't refuse.
🖤 Pairing: George Weasley x Reader.
🖤 Warnings: Canon typical ig
🖤 Word count: 1.8k
You had really pretty lips.
Not that George looked at them constantly; it was an observation he had always made when it came to you, the same way he noticed the moles on your skin that appeared after being exposed to the sun without protection for too long.
It was a fact.
They were luscious, always moisturised and plump. Sometimes splotched red after you bit the dryness on them, sometimes painted in different shades. Not too big, not too small. Just… pretty in that impossible-not-to-notice way.
Sumptuously tender, made to be kissed. Not that he ever thought of kissing you… too much.
But the main point was that they looked like they’d feel good against someone’s lips. That’s why he was, for lack of proper words, surprised when you confessed you had never kissed someone.
Even more flabbergasting were the words that followed that incredibly verbose revelation.
“Would you—" you exhaled, seemingly gathering the courage to speak fluidly. “Would you kiss me?”
George blinked rapidly, his head tilting slightly; his body swung forward as if, by doing so, he could understand you clearly. His brain took a few long, quiet seconds to catch up with what you just requested of him.
It was enough for your anxiety to speak again.
“I mean…” You clicked your tongue, trying to come up with explanations. “I’ve never kissed someone, and it's only a matter of time before You-Know-Who gets a hold of the Ministry.”
Illuminated only by the shine of the moon coming through the open window, he saw sparkling eyes that he had seen plenty of times but never quite like this. Stripped of masks, completely bare in front of him, betraying everything you were feeling.
You weren't one to wear your heart on your sleeve, but right now he could see why people said that eyes were the windows to the soul.
Closing your eyes, you sighed with a resigned air. When your eyes fluttered open, George saw in them a combination of both fear and determination.
“We are heading into a war, and whatever step I take could potentially kill me, and I just—I could die tomorrow.” Your brows furrowed, contorted into the saddest, yet cutest, grimace George had ever seen.
“Don't say that; you won't die,” George whispered back, his voice slowly filling with the fear of a potential.
Just hours ago they had gone and retrieved Harry from his aunt’s house, dressed like him in an attempt to fool the Death Eaters and get him to the Burrow safe and sound.
But Moody had died. He himself had lost an ear in the process.
Imagining you dying when that could’ve really happened pulled the strings in his heart even more than the fact that he would be permanently deaf from one side.
“You don't know that, George.” You turned your head to the side. “You almost did.”
“But I didn't,” he replied quickly.
“If the spell had hit you anywhere else, you could have.” Your chin trembled. “Moody did. And he’s not going to be the last one.”
He took a step forward and grabbed your shoulders, his eyes trying to find yours, and once he did, the sight absolutely devastated him.
Unspilled tears were crystallising your eyes.
“I could die tomorrow and the only thing I can't help but think is how much I wish I were able to experience even once what it is like to be… to be held.” You swallowed and looked up at him. “To know what it is like to be loved for even a few seconds.”
“You are loved.”
“But not the way that makes people wish to kiss me.” You blinked away the tears. “I’m always the friend, never the lover.”
“Then we shall find somebody who can truly appreciate you.” George softly rubbed his hand over your shoulders.
You chuckled. “George,” biting your lips, you simply looked into his eyes. “Please.”
It was soft, barely a whisper uttered above the sound of the slumbering Burrow. Stable and easy, steadier than anything you had said so far.
His eyes lowered to your lips, the ones he knew the shape and form of. For a moment, he stared at them, his thoughts scrambled, trying to come up with excuses as to why they shouldn't, or why you shouldn't. But the more he stared, the more his resolve wavered.
Kissing was something soft, something too intimate for him to do with just anybody. Something much more significant than people gave credit for. Doing it with you would significantly change forever the way he looked at you, associating you with the feeling of the kiss.
It would be much more serious than what you seemed to think, because for him it was that serious.
“Please,” you repeated.
And this time, your breath brushed against his lips. His skin erupted in goosebumps, and his fingers trembled with broken willpower.
“Okay,” he whispered.
Slowly, very slowly, he drew closer to your face. His hands travelled up to cup your cheeks, turning your head up. George had intended to make it tender, delicate, something that would make you smile once you remembered it. You, on the other hand, had other plans.
Once his lips were so near yours that he could feel the warmth of them, you went on your tiptoes, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and crashed your mouth against his. What followed wasn't worlds colliding or stars exploding in the firmament. It was rather an exploration of unknown territory.
Lips moving unsynchronised, learning how to. Gradually memorising the way it felt right, unpressured by any factor.
For George, it felt more like an analysis than anything else. You had always been a great learner, but your head always worked differently than his, so it was no wonder you applied your studying methods to a kiss.
It was cute.
And at the same time, as he tried to guide you unsuccessfully, it became incredibly infuriating.
You tasted faintly of toothpaste, of the blood you had drawn from your lips after biting them while trying to explain everything to him, and of something so unmistakably you.
Despite the sloppy and utterly provoking way you were investigating, he was able to admit that, as he had observed, you had very kissable lips that made up for the absolute mess their clashing teeth were creating.
God, you were demanding even when you didn't know what you were supposed to do. Yet, as George’s tongue tried to go past your lips, you jerked away; your scrunched nose and squinted eyes were telling enough.
“That didn't feel right,” you mumbled, lips rubbing together as if to taste the kiss.
“It usually doesn't the first time.” He snorted, his thumbs pressing lightly on your cheeks, making your lips pouty.
“Does it get better?” It was hard for you to speak, considering he was smushing your face.
“Eventually.”
You blinked. “Can I kiss you again?”
“Depending on if you’re going to keep trying to control it,” he replied, lifting a brow.
“How do I not control it?” you mumbled.
“Not thinking about it.” He closed the distance again.
“I wasn't thinking.” You defended yourself, but his knowing smile made you backtrack. “Well, maybe I was thinking, so what? I'm nervous.”
George shook his head, amused, and just when you were about to reply, he cut you off by pressing his lips against yours in a tender, still definitely sloppy, but much more synchronised kiss. This time you weren't trying to examine it, allowing him to guide your lips into something more enjoyable.
It was significantly better. Way better, actually. This time he was able to move more freely, demanding even more from you than before. His tongue softly caressed your lower lip, and this time you didn't jerk away, and he was able to taste you fully without you jolting away and finishing the kiss.
And… well, he was probably doomed, because now the kiss was becoming entertaining, pleasurable even. Something he feared would happen, yet he had been unable to say no to your plea.
This was exactly the reason he didn't want to agree. This newfound intimacy, the complicity of it all, the trust you had in him—all were leading him to his downfall in your hands.
You sighed on his lips; it wasn't quite a whimper, but it was something similar and equally as devastating. Then, just like before, you tore away from him; however, your lips parted from his with a small, delicate sigh that made him want to just press you against him again.
This time, your eyes fluttered slowly, like the flight of a butterfly. Your face felt hot underneath his hands, and your mouth was ajar, lips glistening with the mix of yours and his saliva.
“That was better,” you observed, licking your lips.
“Way better or marginally better?” he asked, breathy.
“It was better," you only replied. “Thank you.”
George's smile returned, not in full force, though. Something was reality-inducing in that gratefulness; it made him feel something drop in his stomach.
“Whenever you want, love,” he whispered tenderly.
As if to prove it, he placed a peck on your lips. That alone felt a hundred times more intimate than the other two kisses. Maybe it was because there was something reverent in the way he did it, or perhaps it was that something had been irrevocably changed.
“I'm heading back to Gin’s room,” you said, finally taking a few steps away from him.
“Yes, sure.” He nodded.
“I’m going now.” You hesitantly started retreating from his old room.
“Okay.” His eyes tracked your jittery movements.
Once you were at the door, you turned to him before opening it. Your already swollen lips were being bitten down, and your hand gripped the knob with more force than necessary.
“Night, George,” you said, loud enough for him to hear, yet quiet enough not to disturb the sound of silence.
“Night, love.”
He plastered a bright smile on his face until the door closed behind you. It was then that he allowed his body to sway and fall on the bed, being careful enough not to land on what was left of his amputated ear.
His heart beat like crazy, and the redness on his ears slowly overpowered the rest of his face as he replayed the scene in his head.
What was worse wasn't the fact that he had kissed one of his closest friends; it was the fact that his view of you was now completely shattered, coated with the pink hues of something he didn't want to name.
He should have done it. Yet, as his mind travelled again to that moment, he couldn't find it in himself to regret it.
Even more damning, every part of his being was asking him to kiss you again.
What a way of developing feelings.
What a way of ruining a friendship.
He needed to kiss you again. He was going to do it again.
I forgot that the Malfoy!Reader story had been my excuse to write sex, so now that in writing the 3rd part I just will continue using that excuse to HAVE EVEN MORE OF THAT!!!
First: I’ve been getting my masterlist post all dolled up. I published YNV12. I created masterlists for my series. I worked. I bought an army bomb. Girl’s been busy today.
Second: Argentina, us.
Third: Over the weekend there will be a new post of a one-shot. I'm working on another series, too, and I have an idea for an A/B/O one-shot too. So maybe my depression post Argentina’s loss made me more creative ;p
Fourth: I have a few drafts of a fix-it fic, Hinny/Romione that I want to edit and publish, too, but I don't know if that should happen here or on AO3.
🖤 Summary: You didn't expect to meet the most gorgeous redhead you had ever laid your eyes upon at the Quidditch World Cup, and what should have been a boring trip quickly unravels
🖤 Pairing: George Weasley x Reader.
🖤 Warnings: See each individual part.
🖤Status: On hold
Masterlist
: ̗̀➛ What are you going to do so lonely tonight? (Pt1)
You didn't expect to meet the most gorgeous redhead you had ever laid your eyes upon at the Quidditch World Cup, and what should have been a boring trip quickly unravels
: ̗̀➛ Captive Moon (pt2)
The Durmstrang delegation arrived at Hogwarts, bringing new revelations. George was flabbergasted at seeing you again. This time around, things didn't go as smoothly as they did during the summer.
🖤 Summary: After the Yule Ball, and with no apparent girlfriend in sight, George makes a bet with Fred. Get a girlfriend and keep her until the next school year, or be the sole product tester until they open the shop.
🖤 Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Reader.
🖤 Warnings: Fake dating, maybe OOC George.
🖤 Status: Ongoing.
Masterlist
: ̗̀➛ Part #1
: ̗̀➛ Part #2
: ̗̀➛ Part #3
: ̗̀➛ Part #4
: ̗̀➛ Part #5
: ̗̀➛ Part #6
: ̗̀➛ Part #7
: ̗̀➛ Part #8
: ̗̀➛ Part #9
: ̗̀➛ Part #10
: ̗̀➛ Part #11
: ̗̀➛ Part #12
🖤 Summary: After the Yule Ball, and with no apparent girlfriend in sight, George makes a bet with Fred. Get a girlfriend and keep her until the next school year, or be the sole product tester until they open the shop.
🖤 Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Reader.
🖤 Warnings: Fake dating, maybe OOC George.
🖤 Word count: 3.8k
🖤A/N: IT'S BACK!! Today's chapter feels like this for me and also this.
Remember, if you want to be tagged, leave a comment! Taglist:@eliiiiiiieeee @lulunix15 @shewhomustnotbenamedshhh @avee-wavee @yaintpaint @mysticspruce @eviesletters @falsedivide @lulzs-world06 @stari-struck @aallis0n @wannabe-rotten-sunflower @peterthehorseisinhere @lilians17 @kinggosia @i8akitkattt @keithrys @n31ly @thequeenofdramaqueens @call-me-mr-delulu@llkea @lilyyyyy08 @tesstickles01 @kakaolover @chicken-hot-pockets @khumiko@liv-109 @koala-wonderland @buibeeboo @sneezelee444 @doomsdqy@velvetangelitaxo @probably-a-femcel@wolfhowling5234 @bugsludge @ondina-granger @lolita--joy
Other Works | Previous ◁ ❚❚ ▷ Next
Days flew by in the blink of an eye, and when George least realised it, almost two weeks had passed since his birthday. Slowly, it seemed the coldness was easing, some days warmer than others. But, despite spring coming and starting to make its presence noticed, there was something still frigid that clung to George’s body every day.
It was almost numbing in a way that had nothing to do with the temperatures.
He was drowning in a frozen ocean—kind of haunting. He wasn’t able to stop his brain from fixating on that specific moment, on what he could’ve done differently to change the outcome.
“Gi.”
He should have known better, but how could he?
For goodness sake, he knew Jane wasn’t up to any good. He had seen the way she looked at him, as if she wanted to devour him whole, but that was the way she always looked at every Quidditch team member. Never in his life could he have imagined she would do something like that.
“George.”
Though he never expected it, it had been his fault for trusting her. For being so naïve, so foolish as to fall right into her trap so easily. Because her touch had felt good, George even remembers thinking that kissing her was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and her hands on him were like a reward for… for trusting her so stupidly.
He should’ve stopped her before his body learnt to respond.
Everything, from head to toe, had betrayed his heart. And once he realised what had happened, he felt so disturbed.
So helpless.
Yet the worst of all hadn’t been realising that; it had been remembering the look on your face every time he said Jane was the love of his life. He hadn’t only betrayed himself; he had betrayed you.
Realising that had been the most devastating thing so far.
So much for not cheating.
“George!” You snapped your fingers in front of him.
Coming out of the paralysed state he had been in mere seconds ago wasn’t easy. And lately, he found himself retracting inside his brain more often than not. But how could he not? Every time he looked at you, something in his chest burnt, and that characteristic redness filled his cheeks.
Shame.
“Yes, I’m listening,” he mumbled, looking at his hands.
“No, you’re not.” He didn’t look at you, but by the way you said it, he guessed you were pouting.
“You were talking about Nessa and Daphne.” He held your gaze for an instant before turning his head away.
“What about?” You crossed your arms, lifting a brow.
He thought for a bit. “How good are they as a couple?” he asked, tentatively.
You stared at him, lips tightly pursed together as your eyes tried to find his. He dared, for a second, to look into them, finding it impossible not to give in when you looked like that: pleading and begging him with puppy eyes. Much to his chagrin, your eyes showed not an ounce of anger or even annoyance. Rather, they were looking at him with something akin to sadness. Almost too close to pity.
Which was worse.
He knew how to handle anger, exasperation, fury. But this? This look of concern and understanding, as if you knew perfectly well why he hadn’t been paying attention to the point of compassion.
It was sickening.
“They are about to end everything,” you finally said, voice soft as you linked your arm through his and started walking back towards the castle. “It’s not even been a month, but they are not doing well as… whatever they are."
He hummed, walking at your pace as you guided him through the hallways. “All the work for nothing.”
“Nessa forgot about Rose, at least.” You shrugged.
Silence settled over them, the kind of silence that was charged with something heavier than they were willing to talk about.
For days, their routine had changed drastically ever since their birthday. The first few days after the accident, George had refused to see you, avoiding you completely and hiding in his dorm after classes. But you had been stubborn and had vehemently denied his denial.
Even when he didn’t dare to talk about it, you simply were there, like a stoic presence.
It had taken him a while to finally gather the courage to be in your presence without feeling like the worst kind of scum ever, and yet he still had that thorn prickling in his heart. The one that yelled at him that he didn’t deserve you.
“Fred says that it happens sometimes.” You spoke again. “The bubbling feelings after a kiss with someone you like physically that then end up fizzling out.”
“I wouldn’t know.” His smile tilted downwards.
Fred had kept you company during those days he hid. And it seemed like he had earned your respect in one way or another. That should’ve been a good thing; he wanted his brother to have a good relationship with you.
But then his heart didn’t think it like that, and it ached twistedly whenever you brought him into the conversation, which was a lot of the time lately. You and Fred, as it might seem, had allied to make Jane Williams’ life unbearable. And honestly, he doesn’t know whether he liked that development.
After all, it had been his fault, too. And for that reason he had practically begged everyone not to tell any of the adults at Hogwarts; he should’ve known better.
“Yes, well. They decided that they were better off as friends.”
He hummed. “Okay.”
“George. You know you can talk to me, right?”
No, because he knew what you would say.
He wasn’t dumb; he obviously knew what you thought. These past months served to understand you and your way of thinking better than you even understood yourself.
This, as idiotic as it was, was his punishment.
“Yes.” He whispered, out of obligation.
You stopped in front of him. “Then talk to me. Please,” you pleaded, brows knitting together.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” He crossed his arms.
“George.”
The look on your face was devastatingly beautiful. Eyes full of plea, sparkling with restrained emotion, were searching for an answer inside his. Answers he didn’t want to talk about but couldn’t hide from his eyes, answers that would earn your pity.
You stepped towards him, only a few centimetres closer, and it was enough for him to smell the scent of your perfume. Powerful, just like you. Able to make him, if for an instant, forget that he was supposedly atoning for his sin by depriving himself of you, of your smile, of your whole being.
There wasn’t any make-up on your face, and the lip balm had dried off. He wished he could reach into your pocket and reapply a thin layer of it, just as he had sometimes done before everything soured. But he couldn’t, because there was something bigger stopping him.
Guilt.
Fiercer than any other emotion he felt.
“Stop it.” Your hands lifted to brush away a strand of hair from his face. “I know you’re overthinking.”
“It’s my natural state.” He teased.
You smiled sideways. “Yes, but not like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like it’s your fault.” Barely a thread of sound came out of your mouth, so hushed, in fact, he had to think over your words to understand what you said.
George blinked at you, eyes sparkling like diamonds, but remained silent. It made you grimace, your smile downturned.
“Darling, you know that, right?” Your hands rested on his cheek.
He didn’t speak. And for you, that was the answer.
You sighed and took his hand, squeezing it before leading him through the maze of hallways.
***
They hadn’t been in the den for quite some time, not even since the day before his birthday. Being there meant remembering all the times he had enjoyed your presence in every way possible. Not only that, but your touches, your kisses, your caresses.
Being there reminded him he had tainted that.
Avoiding being near you here, or in the prefects' bathroom, was the real torture. He couldn’t simply intend to be with you, to pretend he could be near you without thinking that, even if you thought that their relationship was fake, he had hurt you.
He had hurt you.
Just like he said he wouldn’t do.
There hadn’t been a day he didn’t think of the way your face had fallen when he had claimed that you weren’t his girlfriend, and he had confessed his sick love for Jane. The way you scratched your scalp constantly, almost unconsciously, in that way you did when something hurt you.
No, he simply couldn’t forget that.
“George.”
He sat down on the twirl of cushions, feet planted on the floor rather than criss-crossing them like you did, back straight as you sat beside him. Your body was turned towards him, looking for his gaze as you lifted your hand; it hovered in the air before you rested it on his back.
“Please, tell me what’s wrong.” Your hand started rubbing soothing, small circles.
“There’s nothing wrong.” He replied quickly, shivering at the sudden warmth.
Your face softened. “Gi, please.” There was a pause. “George—"
George turned his head quickly, and his sharp eyes found yours. “Stop,” his voice came out fierce, yet broken. “What do you want me to tell you? That every time I think of it, I feel like throwing up? That the guilt I feel for cheating on you is-is—”
“Breathe.”
He hadn’t realised it, but his breathing had quickened. Not completely breathless, but the kind of ragged breath after an outburst. Short, aggressive.
Tears didn’t spill from his eyes; he wouldn’t shed a single tear, not in this situation, but his eyes became glossy, turbulent, as he flickered them between yours. Looking for anger, for that accusatory gleam in them that you knew how to use.
That kind of emotion that didn’t belong in your eyes when you looked at him, and he feared the day when they did.
It wouldn’t be today, though, because your pupils were dilated with another kind of emotion, one that deserved tears and love confessions instead of avoidance and an explosion.
“You’re allowed to feel that, George.” Your voice was soft, barely a whisper that nearly got lost among the silence. “All of them. Even the things you’re not saying.” You placed your other hand on his knee. “All except for guilt. There’s nothing to feel guilty—”
“Yes, there is.” He shook his head and rubbed his forehead. “I did it. I remember it, everything. I touched her, I kissed her, I betrayed you.”
“It wasn’t you.”
“I was.” He blinked a few times. “I truly was. I wanted that; at that time I wanted it.”
You opened your lips, then closed them again. “Would you have touched her if it were for the love potion?” Gently, you grabbed his face and made him look at you. “Do you know what the definition of consent is? Being able to say no.”
George removed your hand from his face gently, intertwining his fingers with yours. “But I remember.” Without realising it, his mouth turned downwards. “I should’ve known better.”
“No, shouldn’t.”
“I should have.” He grimaced. “I drank what she gave me. I enjoyed her touch; I-I touched her. I cheated on you, and I hurt you.”
“No.” Your lower lip wobbled. “No, you didn’t, baby.”
Before George could speak, you went in for a hug, enveloping him in the lavender warmth he had missed so much but didn’t allow himself to reach for it.
Even then, he didn’t hug you back.
Stubborn was what characterised you, and he knew you wouldn’t give up on anything you set your mind on. So when he didn’t hug you, you only shifted your body, allowing his face to be buried in the crook of your neck.
No.
This wasn’t what should have happened.
You should be angry, yelling at him for hurting you and going back on the agreement you two had established in January.
Anger would mean he could atone. Anger meant he would know how to handle it.
“Let me think it alone, please.” He mumbled with a trembling voice.
Inhaling the scent of you, filling his lungs with you after two weeks of only holding your hand, he tried to remove himself. Obviously, you only held tighter.
“George, would you have blamed me or called me a cheater if some boy fed me a love potion, kissed me and touched me?” Your fingers tightly grasped his long sleeve as you talked. “Would you have told me it was my fault because, under the influence, I enjoyed it? Wouldn’t you have been angry if you knew that if I hadn’t been drugged, I would’ve refused his advances?”
He didn’t want to think of it. Despite everything he had said, he knew that if the roles were reversed, he would never, ever blame you. George thought that if that ever happened, he would have obliterated the git until there wasn’t any part of his body covered in bruises and blood.
Yet, for some reason, when it came to his experience, his brain couldn’t think of it that way.
“George, answer me.” Hands intertwined with his hair, pulling his face away from your neck and making him stare at you. “Would you have said it was my fault?”
He shook his head slowly, barely a movement, but since you had his hair in your fingers, you noticed, and for now, that was enough.
“I’m sorry.”
“What for?” you asked, voice tense.
He inhaled. “For not being able to think properly, I didn’t want to cheat on—”
George hadn’t been able to finish his words, not because he was moved to the point of tears. George hadn’t been able to finish his words because your mouth on his prevented it.
It wasn’t a kiss.
Or not one like the other kisses you two had shared. This was a pressing of lips, barely a graceful flutter.
“Don’t, George. You weren’t able to say no; that’s the textbook definition of assau—”
This time, it had been him who pressed his lips against you.
He didn’t want to hear that word; he didn’t want to think of it at all, actually. Overthinking had been his main activity this past two weeks, and his second had been avoiding having any sort of contact with you outside of the performance in public.
How he had missed the taste of you on his tongue, the little game of guessing what the taste of your lips was. Even though the lip balm had dried off, he still was able to feel the faint sour yet sweet tang of it.
Today was lemon.
Like it was the first time you had kissed.
But you wouldn’t be shut up by a kiss, not when what you wanted to say was important.
Warm fingers graced his cheekbones as you looked at him lovingly. “I know what kind of person you are, Gi.” Your voice softened even more. “I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you otherwise.”
For a second, neither of them spoke, letting the words sink inside his head. Then, with a tender force he didn’t know he could possess, he kissed you. It would have been borderline aggressive if it weren’t for the reverent way he was holding your face.
“I don’t want to think about it.” He whispered in between.
“Then don’t. Think of me.”
And he did so. Wholeheartedly.
His mind, previously a battlefield, was overtaken by you, and only you.
Everything else could wait.
George deepened the kiss, losing himself in the taste of you, in your scent, in your touches that were so different from anyone's, only reserved for him and him only.
Your breath changed; he felt it when his tongue went in and played with yours.
They had the time they didn’t during the bottle game; nothing could interrupt them or make them separate from each other now. With no time limit and no people eavesdropping on them, George grasped your hips and, in a fluid motion, brought you on top of him.
Things didn’t escalate quickly, and when you released a breathless moan once you came into contact with the bulge in his pants, he, unwilling to let go of your lips, slowly laid you on the twirl of cushions without breaking contact.
He took his time to slowly kiss you, to get you used to the rhythm of feeling desired, of being wanted to the aching point, leaving sloppy kisses on your neck, nibbling and marking the tender flesh, allowing red splotches to bloom—some vibrant, others barely a pinkish blush—to the point where you were wholly breathless and filled with a greedy thirst that only grew bigger as he continued to show you what devotion was like.
Not really knowing when, they discarded their clothes to the side, slowly baring themselves to each other. George had to take a moment to admire your naked form, finding you mesmerising, and he told you so, making you blush and try to cover yourself with your hands.
“Hands off, pretty girl,” he chuckled, grabbing your arms and making you wrap them over his shoulders as he buried his head on your skin.
He memorised the sound of your breath as he made a slow descent towards your breasts and almost moaned with you when he caught the perky button in his mouth, going harder or slower according to the little whimpers that escaped past your lips and travelled straight to his groin.
“Wait,” you breathed before he could keep going down your body.
George’s mouth hovering over your belly button stalled, and he flickered his eyes up at you. They were filled with something undeniably raw in a way you had never seen before—or that he had ever felt.
Alive.
He felt so fucking alive, so awake.
All his past experiences had been quick, with almost no time to taste or kiss; a hasty release that left him feeling completely void afterwards. Yet, right now, he found himself unable to part his lips from you, wanting this moment to last for as long as you allowed it.
So fucking different from what he felt with her.
“Is it okay?” he asked, watching you shiver as his lips grazed your skin.
For a moment, your head lulled to the side before you went on your elbows again to look at him. Your eyes were feverish, gleaming with a shine that wasn’t tears but the edge of desire.
"I-I haven’t…” You chewed your lower lip, and it only made George want to go in for another kiss. “You know… I’ve never—”
“I know.” He kissed below your navel, eyes never leaving yours. “Do you want to stop?”
You shrugged, gaze darting away from his, shyly. “I don’t.”
“Then I won’t.”
It wasn’t demanding, nor fast. This wasn’t a quick release.
It was everything.
Your taste was glorious, something he would never get tired of. It made his aching hardness leak and his mouth lick and suck with ferocious hunger that made your legs crush together, squeezing his head between them.
If George died now, he would do so happily.
And God, he wasn’t Shakespeare, but the poems he could write about this instant.
“Fuck, George!”
For the first time since he met you, he heard you mouth a curse. Once, he had wondered what it would take for you to curse, and now he knew. He had to bring you such pleasure that, in between the throes of orgasm, you didn't remember the absurd rule your mother had engraved in your mind.
The fingers clutching his hair eased as your body slumped against the cushions, exhausted and completely at his mercy. When he reached up towards you, he met your mouth halfway, tenderly licking your bitten lower lip as you brought him to rest on top of you. And you grimaced, making him laugh.
“We’re good?” you asked, fingers caressing his cheekbone.
George hummed as his lips started kissing your face, peppering it with pecks. It made you giggle and move your face away from him.
“Stop.” Your laugh only grew louder when he started playfully nibbling your cheek. “You’re covering me in slobber.”
He smirked. “You didn’t mind it when I was lick—”
You cut him off by covering his lips with your mouth. “You’re a brat.”
“Now you are not cursing?” He gently peeled your hand away from his mouth, planting a small kiss on your palm before quickly pinning it down above your head. “What did you say?”
“I don’t curse, liar!”
You tried to hide your free hand behind your back, but his weight on top of you prevented that, so he ended up capturing both your wrists above your head.
“Yes, you did.” He planted a kiss on the tip of your nose. “What was it? Ah, yes. Something like, ‘Fuck me, George!’”
“Vulgar,” you whispered high-pitched. “So vulgar, don’t repeat it.”
“I won’t say it again,” he whispered wickedly. “But I’m sure you will.”
As if to make his point clear, he slithered a thigh between your legs and slowly moved it. Still sensitive, you whimpered lightly.
“Will you?”
Not only was he pressing your core deliciously, but his shaft was slowly thrusting against your hip.
In another instance, he would’ve already dealt with it. But this wasn’t that.
It was you.
And your comfort was more important than his own. Unless you explicitly said it, he would do nothing more.
Perhaps it was his body still processing everything that happened, or maybe your words had been imprinted on his mind. Whatever it was, George didn’t want you to feel even in the slightest bit as he did.
Helpless.
Though, by the way your eyes were filled with pleasure from the beginning, he doubted you did.
“Say it, love.” He whispered in your ear, fingers sliding down until they found the nub that made you see stars.
“Please,” you breathed, eyes closed.
“Please, what?”
It took you a moment to gather the words in your mouth, but then, with your cheeks flushed, you spoke slowly, almost hesitantly. “Please, fuck me, Gi.”
Something on his heart unknotted.
Unravelled.
And the pressure behind his eyes increased.
“Okay, love.”
It was something sacred, something to be handled with utmost care. Delicate like a rose, timidly opening its petals in the midst of a spring day, and he treated you as such.
For him, that was his truth. No matter what, he would always see you as something to be handled carefully. Sometimes because you had the temper of a ticking bomb, and sometimes, like now, because you looked so fragile it was making his heart ache.
Even when he knew that it would inevitably hurt, he still apologised repeatedly in your ear for daring to make you feel pain once again.
Agonisingly slow, he moved. Enveloped by your warmth, there was only one thing he thought.
🖤 Summary: After the Yule Ball, and with no apparent girlfriend in sight, George makes a bet with Fred. Get a girlfriend and keep her until the next school year, or be the sole product tester until they open the shop.
🖤 Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Reader.
🖤 Warnings: Fake dating, maybe OOC George.
🖤 Word count: 3.5k
🖤A/N: ETA LOCURAAAAAAAAAA Yesterday I posted in Spanish, so for those who didn't get the memo, I said in one of the comments that if Argentina won against England, I would post today, and here we are! Follow me on IG to see my slow descent to madness this Sunday at the final! Here <3
Remember, if you want to be tagged, leave a comment! Taglist:@eliiiiiiieeee @lulunix15 @shewhomustnotbenamedshhh @avee-wavee @yaintpaint @mysticspruce @eviesletters @falsedivide @lulzs-world06 @stari-struck @aallis0n @wannabe-rotten-sunflower @peterthehorseisinhere @lilians17 @kinggosia @i8akitkattt @keithrys @n31ly @thequeenofdramaqueens @call-me-mr-delulu@llkea @lilyyyyy08 @tesstickles01 @kakaolover @chicken-hot-pockets @khumiko@liv-109 @koala-wonderland @buibeeboo @sneezelee444 @doomsdqy@velvetangelitaxo @probably-a-femcel @wolfhowling5234 @bugsludge @ondina-granger
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It was probably when you were ten years old that you realised what type of man your father was.
Early summer, and you had been nursing a cold from the sudden temperature change. Your mother was already sleeping after a day of attending to a toddler and a sick child. But your throat was dry, and the glass your mum had left in your bed before she tucked you in was empty already. So you had decided to go downstairs and fill it again.
Despite the shivers running down your spine and the cold sweat that spread through your whole body, you managed to reach the kitchen, open the refrigerator and weakly tried to take the jug of water out of it.
You were unable to; you needed help.
It was hot all over, and the night was much too obscure for you to really see anything besides what the moonlight showed you, yet the distinct rustle of voices coming out of your father’s studio drew you toward the room.
Not knowing why, when you stubbed your little toe against the edge of the wall, you didn’t utter a single sound, clamping your hand over your mouth to prevent the wail of pain from escaping your lips. It seemed like he was on an important call.
Just in that moment, it was when you heard it. Your father’s tender voice speaking over the phone.
That tender voice he reserved only for your mother.
But he wasn’t talking to her, couldn’t have been talking to her. You checked; she was asleep. So, if your father wasn’t speaking with your mum, with whom was he speaking so lovey-dovey? He called that other person 'love' and talked about meeting soon and missing her.
Tears rimmed your lashes as you heard the whole conversation behind the heavy, ajar door where a clandestine encounter was being agreed upon.
You had seen it in a Muggle show, and the neighbours had split up because of the same thing.
Father had decided to wrong your mother.
Three years later, after actively avoiding thinking of that, of trying to erase that memory, of thinking of it as a feverish dream, you had seen it with your very own eyes. A girl's trip with Nessa and Heidi to the Muggle shopping mall had shown you your father kissing another woman while he was carrying hundreds of bags for her.
Then came the confession.
He had never loved your mother; he had gambled with his own love life because he had been sick even when he was a wee teenager, and even if he won at the time, in the long run, he ended up losing tremendously.
Marrying your mother for the sake of winning some galleons had been the worst thing he had done.
His words, not yours.
All the emotions you hadn’t felt in a long while hit you all at once. Pain, betrayal, that dull ache that settled on your bones as you watched your father splurge money they didn’t have on a younger woman.
It was a pain that you had promised yourself you would never feel.
Not because you knew what was going to happen in your life, but because you believed you would be able to manage your relationships correctly.
Then, as you turned your head to look, you saw George kissing Jane Williams.
And everything came back like a wave that crashed against the shore; you were thirteen again, watching as your father left your mother for another woman yet again while she worked overtime to pay off his gambling debts.
Not even thirty minutes ago, you two had been inside that goddamned closet, and he had held you with such a heated force it made your knees weak and your pulse quicken. The way he had looked at you had been pure, unadulterated desire.
You had felt it.
Love hadn’t been what bloomed in that closet, but something indeed had bloomed.
And now he was kissing that Ravenclaw girl, holding her with the same hands that had cradled your cheeks with barely contained emotions. His hands on her waist, her hands on his shoulders.
She, whom you recognised as one of the groupies Fred had once told you about, was touching him everywhere, not caring that they were in public or that it was extremely vulgar to touch somebody’s… penis in front of a large crowd.
It wasn’t contained or tentative. It was filth. It was disgusting, nauseating, even. Jane kissed him with the hunger of a vulture, like a bitch in heat. And he didn’t stop her.
If this was a joke, it was a really bad one. Disregarding your feelings completely.
Feelings that only today you accepted you still had for George.
Fingers went numb as you cradled the small box inside the hidden pocket of your skirt, chin wobbling as your eyes traced every movement of the bodies in front of you.
You hadn’t even given him your gift.
No, you weren’t going to cry. It was a silly crush; you had said it before. Yet, as your cheeks turned red and your heart felt heavier and the knot in your throat got tighter with every breath, you couldn’t help but want to bolt away.
“What the fuck?” mumbled Fred, tightening his grip on your shoulders.
Closing your eyes, you sighed, swallowing hard as your brain worked as fast as it could to process the image. There had to be a reason why. There must be a reason.
Wasn’t he the one who clearly said ‘no side romances’? Wasn’t he the one who said, regardless of the circumstances, they should wait until the end of the bet if they wanted to date other people? Wasn’t he the one who got angry at any mere suggestion of you flirting with other people?
“Don’t curse,” you mumbled, more out of a reflex than anything.
George’s lips were moving out of sync, much too robotic. Oddly stiff. Not like any other kiss you and he had shared. Nothing like the way he held you.
A very fishy thing was happening right now.
And you needed to find out what it was before Fred punched his twin, which was about to happen.
Like right now.
Fred charged against George and yanked him out of the embrace. “What the fuck are you doing?”
One thing George had mentioned in passing was that Fred hated cheaters, which would explain why he was so angry right now. Just, you never thought he would apply it so rigorously to his own twin, either.
“Get off me.” George shoved Fred away and grabbed Jane’s hand. “Get away, you coconut dundyhair!”
George’s eyes, usually sharp yet contradictorily so soft when they looked at you, were weirdly unfocused, filled with rage as he stared at his twin. He looked exactly like your brother under a heavy dose of anaesthesia after he had undergone peritonitis surgery.
Yet, he had used that ridiculous misremembering of one of Captain Haddock’s curses, the ones you had taught him after you kept telling him not to curse, even when his eyes didn’t recognise you.
Such incongruence made your skin crawl.
Fred was about to grab George by the collar when you stepped between them and grabbed your boyfriend’s hand. “George, what is the meaning of this?”
By now, the stares of people were boring holes into the three of them, but neither paid attention. You wanted answers.
Your George would never do any of these things, not after all the work you two had put into their fake relationship working, not after kissing you as he did.
He could be lots of things, but your George wouldn’t consciously hurt you.
“Are you drunk?” You extended your hand to touch his face, but he dodged you.
George scorned. “Don’t touch me. Can't you see I’m with the love of my life?” He turned to Jane, and his face softened. “You’ll push her away.”
His eyes were glazed, much too gleeful and socially unaware to be true.
By George’s side, Jane was smiling brightly. “Freddie, don’t be jealous; if you want, you can join—”
It was then that you grabbed her arm, digging your nails into her flesh as she let out a pained yowl. “What did you do?”
Fred stopped George before he could touch you, forcefully wrenching him away from Jane’s tight grasp. “You have a girlfriend, you motherfucker.”
“Yes, and that is Jane!” George thrashed in Fred’s grasp, trying to go back to Jane.
“Georgie, please, don’t fight!” The girl said as she tried to shake your hand off her.
In an instant, Angelina had come by your side, and you both stopped her from reaching out to George. “Do you really want us to believe George is cheating? With you?” She said.
“Well, Johnson, he wanted to kiss me!” Jane said calmly, yet the tapping of her foot betrayed her emotions. “Maybe he likes me more.”
But Angelina was having none of it. “You’re a slag; George would rather chop off his dick than kiss you.”
“Willingly,” you added, face flushed with anger. “You spiked him with Amortentia, don’t you?”
“I did not!”
George was fighting against not only Fred, but also Lee and Ron, just to get to where Jane was. His voice was angry, yelling at his brothers to get lost and to let him be, growing more agitated with every step they drove him further away from said girl.
It was like watching a wild animal getting caged; they dragged him away to their dorms, Lee holding one arm and Ron the other, while Fred tried to make his brother see reason.
“Yes! You drugged him!” you yelled, which only made the girl try to silence you by shoving her hands against your mouth. “What? You’re too ashamed of people finding out you spiked his drink and kissed him unwillingly? That if we didn’t catch him, you would’ve taken him to God knows where to do disgusting things?"
“I wasn’t, I—” She tried to defend herself.
“You want us to believe you were only kissing him? I saw where your hand was, Jane. You gave him Amortentia to have him, even if unwilling. I’m telling Dumbledore!” you yelled, your anger and pain finding a recipient to vent. “You are disgusting.”
You spun, looking in the direction where you could hear George’s breathy, broken screams for Jane. If only you hadn’t gone to the bathroom. What would have happened if Jane had successfully lured him away from the party?
Would George have been able to live with his conscience if Jane had escalated further? You shuddered at the idea.
Jane was deranged, just like every other Quidditch groupie, but you never thought any of them would go so far as to strip someone of their volition to have it their way.
“Well, maybe if you satisfied him enough—”
The common room didn’t quiet down, but your ears heard nothing else.
A breath caught in your throat, and your mind repeated again and again what she said. So outrageous, so wrong in many ways.
She should have seen it coming.
Your fist connected with Jane’s nose in a matter of seconds; not even Angelina, who had great reflexes, could have been able to stop it. Not like she would have if she saw it.
There was a crack, and then she fell to the ground, yelling in pain as blood started pouring from her nose.
“Jane Williams, by now you must know that the fact that you’re a Ravenclaw doesn’t make you smart.” You crouched down to grasp her hair; nobody tried to stop you. “And here, you’re the dumbest bitch I have ever seen in my life. For your own good, I advise you to stop pulling these little tricks, or next time I won’t stop at a broken nose.”
***
It took you a moment to regain your composure once you had climbed the stairs. The adrenaline from punching Jane slowly started draining from your body, driving away the raging energy that had built up since you saw what you saw.
Inhale, exhale.
Rhythmically, slowly.
Violence was never the option you wanted to resort to, and for some reason, it was the first one your brain always went to when you felt threatened. Your fight or flight response always chose the one that left you feeling bad.
Your mum was a pacifist; she had always tried to make you and your brother understand that fighting was the last resort. And if you did use violence, it had to be for a good cause, not because a girl was insulting you.
Again, you could already hear your mother scolding you just like she did when you pushed your nosey neighbour away when he tried to pull at your pigtails. Just like that, fragments of your mum’s voice yelling at you to stop being problematic started to grow in your head.
But it wasn’t your fault that you were a troublemaker without cause like your father.
Though that voice seemed less like yours and more like your mum’s.
This whole thing was giving you a headache.
You pushed yourself from the wall, took in a deep breath and started walking towards George’s dorm. From outside, even behind closed doors, George’s voice could be heard. Loud and clear, full of sick reverence, spewing nonsense about Jane.
“I love her; I’m going to marry her because we are destined to be together,” said your boyfriend as you stepped inside the room.
Instantly, all the faces in the room turned to look at you, even George, who was being held down by Ron and Lee while Fred rummaged through his trunk, mumbling something about antidotes and, for some reason, cursing Ludo Bagman.
“There is your girlfriend, George! Remember?” Ginny said, getting close to him and grabbing his face to make him look at you.
Still in an Amortentia-induced haze, he squinted his eyes at you as if he were trying to remember something but couldn’t quite recall what it was.
“She’s not,” he finally said. “My girlfriend will only be Jane, or I’ll kill myself.”
You lifted a brow. “Dramatic much, Georgie?”
Deciding not to get too close to him, you went towards Fred. “Do you have an antidote?”
“We had it,” Fred said, clicking his tongue. “Before Mum threw all the products from the shop away and that nonce Bagman decided to fucking trick us during the Quidditch Cup."
“What shop?”
He paused for a second, then tilted his head to have a better look at you. “George didn’t tell you?”
“Should he have?” You cocked a brow.
“Well, I thought he did; you’re his girl after all.”
“She’s not my girl!” George yelled, trying to free himself from the grasp of his brother and friend.
“Nobody taught you it is bad education butting into others’ conversations?” You shot back, hands on your hips.
Fred went back to his trunk. “It’s our joke shop. After he regains his consciousness, ask him to explain.”
“I am conscious!” George yelled louder. “You just don’t want to see it! It’s my heart; I’m in love with her!”
“You don’t even know her!” Ginny rolled her eyes.
“That’s the point of dating her! So I can get to know her and marry her!”
“Stop speaking like that in front of your girlfriend, mate! You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lee, just like Ginny, was starting to get irritated by the nonsense.
“She’s not my girlfriend!” George said, even more pressed than before.
You were about to tell everybody to stop saying that amortentia was making him think and believe he was in love with Jane and that no matter how hard they tried to persuade him otherwise, unless the effects passed, his love was the new reality.
But just when you were opening your mouth, George was faster.
“It was all fake!”
You moaned in horror.
“We planned every—”
Right when he was just revealing their secrets, Ginny, like their saviour, slapped him.
That shut him up quickly.
He started whining, begging her to explain why she would do something like that when she knows that Jane likes his face.
All the air came back to your lungs, and the micro heart attack you were about to have was stopped by the girl’s fierce palm that left a red mark on George’s cheek.
Your scalp started itching, though.
There was a reason you liked Ginny; her quick thinking and action were one of them, so you were glad she knew everything that was happening. A slap like that, coming from her, could mean plenty of things.
And as it seemed, nobody questioned why she did it, probably assuming she wanted to shut her brother up so he wouldn’t break your heart.
Late.
Like, four years late.
And probably like thirty minutes late, too.
In that instant, Fred grabbed you by the elbow, making you crouch down next to him.
“Look. I have an idea.” He mumbled, showing you a pink vial while the others were berating George. “This is Amortentia.” He opened it.
You don’t know what he smelt, but it made the harsh edges on his face disappear.
Understandably, you could already feel you were back home by only a shallow whiff of the potion: hot chocolate, quince pie and… a tinge of that firework scent you always smelt on George’s clothes, no matter how clean they were.
You cleared your throat. “What’s your idea?”
Fred stole a glance towards George before looking back at you. “You will feed him with it.”
Blinking, you squinted your eyes. “Why?”
“Work with me, yeah? It’s a theory; I don’t know if it's true. The effect of this Amortentia should cancel out the effects of Jane’s one way or another.” He bobbed his head. “If he is already in love with you, then if you feed him a love potion, in theory it shouldn’t work because the love is already there, thus cancelling Jane’s, right?"
“Right.” But you elongated the diphthong, not completely convinced.
“Then, if he is not in love with you yet, then all that energy..." He pointed to George with his head. "It will be directed at you, his girlfriend.”
“And if neither of them happens and we end up poisoning him?” You took the Amortentia out of his hands and looked at it closely.
“Then I have a small piece of Bezoar, the last one that we have.” He lifted his other hand, showing a small, rock-like thing covered by a handkerchief. “I would feed him with this now, but Amortentia is not a venom, so he isn’t poisoned; therefore, it wouldn’t work on him right now.”
You raised both brows, impressed. “Wow. You’re actually not a dunce.”
“Of course not. Why would you think that?” He feigned indignation.
“Remind me how many T’s you got in your OWLs."
He rolled his eyes and pushed you away. “Go put that into something edible.”
“Water?” you asked. “Potions is my weakest subject.”
“I guess it works with water.” He sighed.
Quickly, from a nightstand of one of the boys’ beds, you picked up a jug of water and filled one glass next to it. You dropped the whole contents of the potion inside it, and, in an instant, it turned pinkish, with bubbles exploding and colliding against one another.
Now, how could you give it to him without him rejecting it?
There were a few things you could do, but your brain conjured the only one you should avoid.
“You lot, hold him steady,” you said, loud and clear, so Lee and Ron heard you above all the ruckus. “Ginny, open his mouth.”
Automatically, the girl grabbed his brother's face and did as you ordered. Her small hand didn’t really measure the force she really had, so George, outnumbered, was rendered helpless, trying to free himself.
He looked at you as if you were He Who Shall Not Be Named himself.
Your chest ached when you saw the way his eyes filled with heated anger and mistrust, and the need to scratch your scalp was getting stronger with every second you spent looking at this George that wasn’t yours.
So, before he could free himself, you got on top of him and covered his eyes.
“This is for your own good.”
You didn’t know if it was.
Slowly, you poured the contents of the glass into his mouth. He resisted at first, so plenty of it ended up soaking his shirt, but once Ginny pinched his nose, he finally swallowed a mouthful of it; he lost all his will to fight.
Uncovering his eyes, the truth was finally revealed
George blinked once, then twice.
“What?”
His eyes, which mere seconds ago were hazy and turbulent blue, regained that tempered ocean colour you loved. The ones that looked at you with gratitude and curiosity rather than strangeness and hate.
The ones that were definitely not crazed with a love potion. Clear blue as the sky, devoid of artificial devotion, looked at you with guilt.
Watching the reactions to the ending of Ch. 10 of YNV 👀, were you surprised? Writing it was very fun for me, I got to get a resolution to the Daphne-Nessa situation and George and Reader made out in a closet.
When I started envisioing the story, the first scene that came to my mind was of them in a closet snogging, then I started creating around that scene, though in the end I had to change the situation a lot!
The original scene was of the reader being self-conscious about kissing for the first time in public, so George kissed her in a broom closet and then didn't stop, despite knowing they had to, because, to everyone's shock, they weren't really a couple. I split that narrative into two scenes (the one in the staircase hidden passage, and the one in the closet after the game), and while I cannot say I'm completely satisfied—I never am with my writing—I can say I reached a cute arrangement for it.
Anyway, lot of text.
I started working on another story, again of George and Reader, but with Fred x Reader as a platonic relationship. Writing You Need Vitamins taught me the importance of mapping the story, the plot and what the chapters are going to be about, so I did what I didn't with YNV, and for now the other story has 30 Chapters. I will probably upload it to AO3 rather than Tumblr; I'm not sure.
Light a candle tomorrow for Argentina! I will, for sure. I don't wanna suffer a heart attack again, but I know that tomorrow’s match is going to be hard 🤧
🖤 Summary: After the Yule Ball, and with no apparent girlfriend in sight, George makes a bet with Fred. Get a girlfriend and keep her until the next school year, or be the sole product tester until they open the shop.
🖤 Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Reader.
🖤 Warnings: Fake dating, maybe OOC George.
🖤 Word count: 4.5k
🖤A/N: I almost forgot today was update day! Also, it's July 9th, Argentinian Independence Day. This Saturday we play against Switzerland, and I'm learning how to cure the evil eye. If Argentina loses, I'll break a few things (my computer). Maybe I should link my Twitter; I have a lot of things to yap about every time I post, and I shouldn't do it in the notes.
Let me know what you think of this chapter ;)
Remember, if you want to be tagged, leave a comment! Taglist: @eliiiiiiieeee @lulunix15 @shewhomustnotbenamedshhh @avee-wavee @yaintpaint @mysticspruce @eviesletters @falsedivide @lulzs-world06 @stari-struck @aallis0n @wannabe-rotten-sunflower @peterthehorseisinhere @lilians17 @kinggosia @i8akitkattt @keithrys @n31ly @thequeenofdramaqueens @call-me-mr-delulu@llkea @lilyyyyy08 @tesstickles01 @kakaolover @chicken-hot-pockets @khumiko @liv-109 @koala-wonderland @buibeeboo @sneezelee444 @doomsdqy @velvetangelitaxo @probably-a-femcel
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Though the night was just starting and people continued arriving, the party was a total success. Maybe it was because they had extended the invitations to the Beauxbatons delegation and some of the Durmstrang girls, too, but this year’s party was even bigger than any other celebration yet.
McGonagall very seriously advised them against the use of alcohol, and Flitwick reminded George that he had the orchestral practice tomorrow evening. Yet, as he saw Lee being handed a plastic cup full of straight vodka from a Durmstrang girl, George couldn’t help but wonder how many days of detention they would obtain after the party.
Probably for… till next year.
Fred nursed a bottle of butterbeer in his hands, claiming he needed a clear head if he was going to help you set Nessa up with what he called 'that little snake’. Surprisingly, Lee was the one who had started drinking earlier on, and everyone could see that in the way he was happier and chattier than ever.
Meanwhile, George was waiting for you.
It wasn’t something they had agreed on. He was simply attentive to the door every time someone opened it.
“You look like a lost pup.”
A voice behind him startled him, and when he turned his head a bit, he saw a dolled-up Ginny smirking at him.
“Waiting for your owner, are we?” She sat beside him, smoothing her skirt as she did it.
“Isn’t that skirt too short?” He pointed.
“Your girlfriend picked it up for me this morning.”
The way she had pronounced 'girlfriend' sent shivers down his spine, and it reminded George that Ginny was the only one who knew that you two were pretending to be together. You had told him you had confided that small secret in Ginny, which left him confused because he never thought you and she were that good of friends. Apparently, you two were as thick as thieves.
He rolled his eyes. “Well, then my girlfriend should know you’re too young to wear that kind of skirt.”
“And you’re too old to be playing pretend,” she hissed.
George was about to answer her when a pair of warm hands settled on his eyes, obscuring his vision and filling his senses with the smell of lavender and something smoky, like incense. He didn’t even have to hear your voice to know it was you.
He would recognise you everywhere.
It wasn’t like you used the same perfume every day; just like with your lip balms, you liked to use various scents on your skin. But there was something so characteristic about all your aromas that he could guess which was yours and which weren’t.
Flowers, for example.
Every time he smelt lavender, or jasmine, or roses, he couldn’t help but be taken back to you. His mind filled with thoughts and sensations related to you, adding to his already messed-up feelings.
Were you, just like him, able to recognise him by his scent? Doubtful; he hardly ever remembered to use cologne.
“Who am I?” You asked.
He placed his hands above yours, gently intertwining his fingers with yours.
Not only was it your perfume, but also the length of your fingers and the weight of them against his own. It was your middle finger with that small callus from writing with that Muggle pen for years, and your slightly long nails painted a different colour every week.
Before, he wouldn’t have been able to recognise you by these small things, but after spending almost every free moment he had with you, knowing you, and seeing you, he considered himself an expert on you.
George hummed, smiling as he felt your body pressing against his back. “Angelina?”
“Don’t be cliché," you chuckled.
“You’re the one being cliché.”
He shrugged your hands away before turning and grabbing you by the waist, pulling you onto his lap. By doing so, he had to use a bit of strength to hoist you from behind the backrest.
“Happy birthday,” you mumbled, placing a small kiss on his lips.
Unknowing to you both, Ginny had turned to your group of friends and stared at them with incredulous disgust, which they mirrored.
“I have never in my life seen such a disgusting scene,” Heidi spoke, walking from behind the sofa and stopping near them, palming George on the back, making him wince.
“I did,” you chirped. “When you and Gabe kiss—”
“Daphne and Astoria are here!” Gabriel interrupted you, shoving the two girls forward.
In an instant, Fred had arrived at the scene and plopped next to Ginny. He wasn’t happy, and you could see it in the way his shoulders were tense and his jaw tight.
“Welcome,” he said, not bothering to extend his hands towards the girls, and taking a swing from his butterbeer.
Ginny, too, wasn’t too happy, but contrary to Fred, she was better at hiding it, greeting the girls with a small smile.
“Happy Birthday," Astoria spoke first, pulling from her pocket two small packages.
“You prepared a gift?” Nessa asked.
“It’s rude to go to a birthday party without a gift.” Daphne shrugged, another one who wasn’t thrilled about the situation.
Heidi huffed. “Great, Daph, now you’re making us look bad.”
George grabbed the package and opened it. It was unnecessary, actually; he didn’t even think half of the people even knew it was their birthday.
Inside, he found a guitar pick.
The weird sister’s guitar pick he had seen plenty of times around Astoria’s neck.
One day after a rehearsal, he had asked her why she had it around her neck, and the girl had said that her cousin's sister-in-law worked with the Weird Sisters, so it was one of the picks they used, and, apart from being amazed, as a joke, he had said he would steal it someday.
It looked like he wouldn’t need to.
“Thank you so much, Astoria.” He mumbled, smiling sincerely at the girl. “But I couldn’t—”
She shook her head and turned her head, but George saw her blushing. “Just take it; I’ll ask my cousin for another bigger thing.”
“Yeah, yeah, thank you,” Fred mumbled, still not happy but not tense anymore.
George peeked over at Fred’s gift and saw a small but fancy-looking gift card belonging to Honey Ducks and something else he hadn’t been able to see before his twin stood up.
Slinging his arm around the sisters’ shoulders, Fred started to drive them away from there. “We have some introductions to make, don’t we? Parade you two around so people don’t freak out if they see little snakes hanging around.”
Quickly, Nessa wished George a happy birthday before grabbing Heidi and Gabe and pulling them to trail behind the other three. And when he turned to see his own sister, she wasn’t there anymore.
“Happy birthday,” you mumbled again, hugging his shoulders.
He raised a brow. “Didn’t you say you prepared a gift?”
“So greedy, do you only want me for the thing I can do?” Your fingers slithered up and grabbed his hair.
“I want you for that… and for matters far more wicked,” he whispered, his voice completely devoid of his usual tone, replaced by a regal and poised one.
You squeezed his hand on his head. “If this is your idea of gentlemanly conduct, sir, I fear for my virtue.”
“What virtue?” he smirked, head tilted and unmoving as he allowed you to be a little rough with him. “You possess none; I have never seen a more vixen-like creature than you.”
“Hey, I’m not.” Pouting, you slapped his back.
George couldn’t help but stare at you. With your face so close, it was hard not to.
Blush crept up his neck to his cheeks when his eyes slowly made a downward path to your lips. They were slightly pink, with a small coat of gloss that just made them look luscious and delicious.
It bothered him a little that there was no scent this time. Part of his routine when he saw you was guessing what flavour you were using, and it made him feel slightly less conscious about looking at your lips.
Now, he had no excuse as to why his eyes lingered so much on them.
“No flavour this time?” Mumbling, his hand lifted to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.
“Wanna guess?”
It was enough for him to close the distance and pull you down for a kiss.
***
“It’s your turn!”
George groaned as Lee pointed at their roommate and told him to spin the bottle.
It was a childish game, very silly. Yet people seemed to be eager to do something with the sexual energy the alcohol brought out in them, because as soon as Fred proposed playing spin the bottle, various other students joined in.
At first, they had tried to play truth or dare between their group of friends, but then everybody refused to do the truths or the dares, which only made you mad and call everybody cowards. George didn’t mention you had decided to drink, too, instead doing the dare Ginny had told you.
The point of that game had been to get Nessa and Daphne to do something as a pair, something romantic you had said earlier on. But after it had failed, Fred had decided to go with what he said would work from the beginning, against your and George’s protests.
Ginny had bailed as soon as it was announced, and you had looked at her with a knowing look; Harry, Ron and Heidi had decided not to play after the first round; Hermione had never played any games.
At first, George had wanted to refuse this game, but then Lee had proposed that if a person didn’t want to do the kiss, they needed to take a vodka shot. With that, you had batted your pretty eyelashes, and he had agreed.
“She had you wrapped around her fingers, doesn’t she?” Fred had mumbled.
He didn’t say anything, but it was pretty clear what the answer was.
You were the only one who, without saying anything, could make him do things he didn’t want to do. And not because she was forcing him, but because he wanted to make you happy.
He wanted to make you happy.
That was it. That was why he had been accepting everything that was happening right now.
When you were happy, he felt something inexplicable that bloomed in his heart and travelled through his veins to every part of his body, warming him with a feeling he felt no need to decipher.
If you were happy, he was too. Radiantly so.
“Okay, Gi,” you whispered, leaning closer to him, pretending you were resting your forehead on his shoulder. “After that boy, when he spins the bottle, you need to make it land on Nessa, and when Nessa refuses and spins it again, you need to make it land on Daphne.”
“And what if they refuse to kiss?” he wondered.
“Nessa won’t drink two shots back-to-back, and you can see Daphne is already too drunk.”
Well, yes. Daphne had been dragged into the game by Astoria, and Astoria had been dragged by you.
Despite them being there, people were still wary of the Greengrass sisters. Normal, considering they were Slytherin and Daphne had been seen with Draco’s group multiple times. Though Astoria claimed they weren’t friends with them, it was weird.
You had vouched for them very vehemently, and so he had no reason to believe you were wrong about their characters. But his friends had no reason to believe they were nice outside of George believing you.
“What if it still doesn’t work?” he mumbled, but he started pulling his wand out of his pocket.
“We use Imperio.”
George turned to look at you, and you smiled sheepishly at him.
Sensing his change of demeanour, you quickly grasped his chin and shook his head slightly. “I’m joking.”
“You better be.”
When the lad finished kissing the girl, George flickered a spell when the boy spun the bottle again. It went on for a few seconds before it slowly landed on Nessa, who, as fast as she could, grabbed the vodka, a shot glass and drank it.
Your hand rested on his thigh as you watched attentively.
It was Nessa’s turn, and just as you had asked, he messed a bit with it and made it land on Daphne.
He could almost hear you vibrate with energy as Daphne lifted her head and looked at the brunette girl and then, slowly, to the bottle of vodka. She was about to reach for the cup when a hand stopped her.
Your nails dug into his thigh as Astoria convinced Daphne not to drink, claiming she had already drunk plenty.
“Please, let her do it.” You whispered to yourself, yet he heard it.
Daphne had conceded. And you almost squealed in delight. It made George chuckle at the absurdity of being so invested in other people’s love lives. He would never be able to understand that part of you, but he could always appreciate the fact that it obtained such reactions from you.
He looked at you.
Really looked at you.
The sun had come down to earth and personally turned you into sunshine by how bright your smile was.
It made the wrinkles on your eyes even more pronounced; your eyes disappeared, closed into half-moons that made your pupils spark very noticeably. Without lying, you were the most gorgeous girl he had ever seen in his life.
It made him wonder why you had developed a crush on him in the past. It’s not like he was that good-looking.
Not compared to you.
All of a sudden, he felt his heart skip a beat when your eyes found his. His hands felt sweaty, and his mouth went dry.
And that something new, something that he had never felt so strongly, flourished inside.
Scorching heat.
But this time you weren’t kissing his neck. You weren’t pulling his hair.
Something he hadn’t dared to name before, yet now it was clear as day.
Desire.
“They kissed," you said low.
He cleared his throat. “Good.”
***
It didn’t take a lot for everybody to get drunk. Plenty of people wanted to play, but only to kiss the one they were attracted to, so many decided to take a shot instead of the other option. To be honest, besides Nessa and Daphne kissing, he believed the game was pretty boring. So did you, by the look on your face.
Daphne had quit long ago and was watching from the sidelines, and Nessa had gone on and kissed another person before she quit, too.
Of course, the bottle had landed a few times on George, but just as they had agreed early on, he refused to even breathe the same air as another girl or boy. Be it a game or not, he was no cheater. And the times it had landed on you, your glare had made the other person take the shot instead of you. So, in comparison to him, you were more sober.
Right now, the bottle was pointing at you, and the one who had spun it was Astoria. Without much thinking, you bent forward and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek before spinning it.
Slowly, it stopped, pointing at him.
“Boring!” He heard Fred mumble.
Easily, he grabbed you by the hips with one hand and with the other, he squeezed your cheeks together, making your lips purse. He placed a peck on you but didn’t let go of you fully; his hand travelled to the small of your back and stayed there.
Rather than moving to the centre of the circle and spinning, he took out his wand and flickered it in front of everybody, just as he had been doing the past rounds.
It spun again, and as if it were destiny, it pointed to you.
George blinked. Out of all the times people had been playing, not once had the bottle been pointed twice in a row at the same people.
“Oh! Tongue—” Fred started, but was quickly shut up by George’s glare.
“I know.”
He was fairly sure, almost completely, he could say, that it was Fred’s doing. He had that smirk on his lips, the one that was a permanent feature on his face, but what stood out the most was the playful gleam in his eyes.
It was the smirk of doing something wicked.
But the thing was, they had never kissed with tongue.
That kiss you had shared at the start of their journey, the one on the stairs of the secret passage, had been deep and heady, but with no tongues involved. Maybe he had graced his with your lips, but that had been all.
And he remembered you telling him that had been your pseudo first kiss.
So it was French kissing you when you had no experience in that, or drinking a shot.
Luckily, you were a quick learner, and he had big enough hands.
“I’m regretting ever saying yes to this game.” You mumbled, hands trembling as you grabbed his collar and brought him closer.
Your cheeks were painted a pretty crimson he hadn’t seen in a long while. And your breath brushing against his lips was shaky, not necessarily afraid but nervous, unable to contain the jittering.
That time, you had been like this, shyer even.
George placed his hands on your cheeks and pressed his lips with yours again, shifting his hands in a way that covered their locked lips. He moved his lips in that way you knew well, not rushing or making you more self-conscious than what you already were.
The roar of the room dimmed, not because everybody had suddenly shut up to see them kissing, but because George’s attention shifted entirely to you and your lips and the way your breath got agitated, hands tightening on his collar.
With tentative slowness, his tongue brushed your lower lip, a small request for access that you conceded by opening your mouth.
Timidly, your wet tip found his.
If George had been half the man he was, he would’ve sent every precaution out of the window and devoured you the way he wanted to. You tasted like firewhisky mixed with liquorice chocolates. Not the cherry of your lip balms, but the utter devastation of you without any external flavour.
Someone patted him on the back, and he snapped back.
“That was pretty hot!”
It was a girl who had said that in a high voice and completely wasted.
When his eyes opened, he found a vision that would haunt him in his most sinful dreams. Lips stained pink, slightly swollen, and shining with the mix of them.
Behind your eyes, there was a fire that he recognised almost immediately.
It mirrored his.
“Spin the bottle, love,” George mumbled, watching as you caught your breath.
Not offering any other comment, you moved and spun it before returning to your place, eyes never leaving his.
If you kept that, then there was going to be a bigger problem than kissing with tongue in public for the first time.
A gasp took them out of their staring contest, and when George looked to the centre, the spout was pointing once more at him.
He turned to Fred, but he raised his hands, then signalled behind George. There, sitting at a lover's seat with a big, brilliant smirk, was Ginny.
She raised the butterbeer in her hands and winked in his direction.
Well, he had been wrong.
***
Rules said one time was a peck, two times was a deeper kiss, and a rare third time was for seven minutes in heaven. Or at least that was what Lee had said before grabbing them and shoving them to the small service room that nobody but the house elves used.
You were so close.
So close, in fact, he could feel the slight tremor of your body trapped in the small yet cold closet. To look fashionable, you had sacrificed your comfort over looks, and so the clothes you wore did nothing to shield you from the gust of wind coming in through the open window above you.
He was about to be a gentleman and take off his jacket to give it to you, but you had other plans.
“It’s cold,” you mumbled before wrapping your freezing arms around his waist, hiding your face on his chest.
It took him a moment to realise what was happening, arms frozen in the air as you shivered against him. His jacket was open, so you were touching his back, rubbing it to steal his heat.
Shivers ran down his spine, though for a different reason than the chilly weather.
“I noticed,” he said, arms wrapping around you, shielding you. “I’m sorry.”
“What are you apologising for?”
He felt, more than saw, your lips moving against his chest.
Thinking of rainbows, and Snape’s homework, and McGonagall teaching them to dance wasn’t enough to get his mind out of how good your lips had felt when they tentatively opened to let his tongue—
“Well, you said you didn’t want your first kisses to be in public.”
You lifted your head from his chest. “It’s okay.” You shrugged. “It would’ve been weird if we made up an excuse not to do it. It’s what normal couples do, right?”
“It shouldn’t have been in front of everybody.” His hand travelled to cup your cheek. “And it was Ginny who manipulated it, so I should apologise.”
You sighed, and the heat of it hitting against the thin material of his long sleeve made him tense.
“Don’t. Because you’re making me think you’re regretting it.”
You blinked at him, the way that made his breath catch in his throat and his stomach flutter. Probably you didn’t even realise you did something like that. Or you did and used it to your advantage every time.
“Do you?”
He cocked his head. “What do you want me to answer?”
“Whatever you want, George.” You bit your lips.
Neither knew who started it, but both knew neither wanted to finish it.
You moved up, going on your tippy toes, helping yourself by grasping his shirt to maintain equilibrium. He moved down, bringing your face forward by the cheeks.
Their lips crashed together hungrily.
More so than before.
Without any witnesses, George was unable to contain himself any longer. His hand tightened around you, not to hurt, but to keep firmly in place, preventing you from moving away. Though he didn’t need to do that, you were gripping him with a force he had never felt you use. You had shifted your hands, one on his hair and the other on his shoulder.
It was a long overdue encounter and, at the same time, one that should’ve never happened.
How could George go on with his life after finding out this is what kissing someone felt like?
Warm, asphyxiating, overpowering.
In a way, this was a first for him, too. First time feeling like his life depended on whether you wanted to continue or not.
The temperature inside the tiny room rose, and heady breaths could be heard mixed with the wet, clicking sound of lips coming together. Tongues fought, one more audacious, while the other, curious yet eager, tried to follow the rhythm imposed, learning quickly.
George didn’t realise when you had backed him against one of the shelves, but when he did, he turned you both around, pressing you hard. It only drew a quiet moan from you, and he couldn’t help but bite your lip to silence the whimper that rose and threatened to escape from his mouth.
Before he could even think of hoisting you up and pressing his hardening length against you, a knock interrupted them.
“Are you presentable?” Lee’s voice came from outside.
And just like that, the spell broke.
***
The walk of shame had been awkward; everybody had looked at you and George with knowing eyes as you stepped out of the closet. It didn’t help at all that your hair was messed up and your lipstick was all over the place.
You quickly excused yourself to go clean up, not daring to look George in the eyes.
That snog had been everything your thirteen-year-old self had dreamed of and more. So much more than that. It left you feeling all warm and giddy, as if you were again that 3rd year girl with a crush.
Embarrassment and self-assuredness battled inside you. The first one because everybody knew, and the latter because you had felt just how much he had been into you.
Good, nice. You had kissed your crush, and he felt the same.
Wait.
Crush? Not ex-crush?
You had no time to dwell on that, though, because as soon as you neared the bathroom, you heard voices. Feminine voices.
Nessa, Daphne.
Quickly, you flattened yourself against the wall and glued your ear to it. It was muffled, but you were able to catch Nessa apologising to Daphne.
What was it today with the apologies? You rolled your eyes.
“No need,” Daphne said.
From your pocket, you took a tissue and started cleaning your mouth.
“It was a stupid game, Ness.”
Oh, nicknames. It meant that they weren’t just acquaintances anymore. It only made you smirk.
“Yes, but I know you don’t like girls, so I apologise; I should’ve just kissed your cheek or something.”
“Who said I don’t?”
Your eyes widened, and your hands stilled on the fixing of your hair. Confession? Giving Nessa her trust? What was this?
“And for the kiss, you don’t need to apologise at all. Actually…”
Daphne said something in a very low tone, something you weren’t able to hear, yet what you did hear was the soft thud of bodies coming together.
Just like you and George before.
You did a small celebratory dance. Everything was going according to plan.
Rushing towards the Common Room, you started searching for George again. He needed to know the sudden development of the DaNessa situation.
People were scattered, games finished, wasted and dancing to whatever music someone was playing; you found Fred talking with Angelina in a corner.
“Do you know where George is?” You asked.
“Let me check.” His hand disappeared in the left pocket of his jacket, then in the right. “No, I don’t have him with me.”
“We haven’t seen him,” Angelina replied kindly.
“I went away for three minutes, and suddenly he’s lost?” You placed your hands on your hips.
Fred, with a tense smirk, grabbed you by the shoulders and spun you around. “He must be somewhere; let’s see.” He took a few steps forward, moving you, before whispering in your ear. “You’re interrupting.”
“I don’t care! The matchmaking worked; I need to tell you, brother!” You swatted his hands away and looked at him.
“He said he was going to get water! Look for—” Fred’s eyes wandered behind you, and his voice cut off abruptly.
I'll have a merienda and I'll come back to post Ch10 of You Need Vitamins, I almost forgot about it lol, that’s why it's late. (France is playing against Morocco now, do I need to say I’ll be posting about the World Cup in the A/N? Morocco for the win people, I don't wanna be French)
You are geniunely INCREDIBLY talented. I downloaded tumblr just to read your works and finished all of them in a day.
As someone who studies translation if you have not gone to uni I highly recommend checking Eng lit or translation with a focus on literature translation. You are more than talented enough to be able to monetize your passion. Lots of love!!! Please keep on writing <3
Hello! Thank you for your kind words, you have no idea how much it warms my heart to hear that.
I’m not in uni; more like I'm doing a Diploma of Higher Education that’s not uni but kind of (si sos de Arg, hago un terciario), I'm studying to be a Teacher of English as a foreign language, and after finishing that I want to go to Translation or start again Bachelor of Arts in Literature. Literature has been in my plans since I tried going to college for the first time and I had to drop it!
I wish somebody above would hear you, and I could work doing what I love! (definitely not teaching)
theartofmadeline
amandla
gummygunk
dailybridgerton
turnnoffyourmind
tangentwithtanner
