#george x reader

[ravenwing127]

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

[wheamsley]

Georgie hitting it from behind while you struggle try to read, basically...

georgie brainrot...georgie brainrot...

WC: 0.4k

CW: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MDNI!, prone bone, proofread? What's that? reader's gender isn't mentioned, reader is referred to as angel, bit of aftercare at the end i think, porn with a bit of plot I guess, wrote this with one singular horny braincell

I really just wanna write something before I drown in my responsibilities. Again. Lmk if y'all want a more er detailed one? Idfk

“C'mon, love. I thought nothing can take your attention away from your—ngh—book?” Your mind was too hazy and full of pleasure to bite back at George. He was deliciously sliding his cock in and out of you while you lay stomach flat on his bed at The Burrow, your book open in front of you. With Muffliato casted, sounds of skin slapping and your lewd moans filled the twins’ shared bedroom freely without the worry of being heard by his family. Just a little earlier, your boyfriend had bursted in and poked you for attention. “Georgie, I'm already at the exciting part.” “But I need your attention, love.” How absolutely needy. “You'll live.” “I literally won't.” “Shush, something bad is about to happen.” He pouted and pouted and pouted and yet you were immovable. You were confident that no matter how much distraction he produces, nothing can peel you away from your book. And as expected, he took it as a challenge. “Right. Nothing? Even if I have my cock inside you that you oh so love?” You rolled your eyes, still not even trying to look at him while you sank a bit lower on your book to hide your reddening face while you felt his hardening bulge as he pressed it onto your ass. George's determination is truly commendable, therefore it wasn't a surprise that you're now whining under him as he practically fuck you from behind. His long, slender hands roam from your hips to your hands that are gripping onto the book tightly as you try to ground yourself. He pressed his chest against your back, leeching on to your neck and whispering nasty things while he reaches your sweetest spots. “Don't fight it, angel. I know you're close. I can feel it.” He removed the book from your grip and threw it somewhere on the floor with a loud thud. The emptiness of your hands prompted you to hold onto Georgie's instead. As he increases his pace, your moans are a lot harder to contain. A few more deep thrust and you came hard, twitching and sweating under him. After you had calmed down from your high, he never failed to brag that he had, in fact, managed to snatch your attention from the book. The two of you cuddled for the rest of the day, with you finally finishing the book and George sleepily wrapped around you, your bodies intertwined.

[comfortcharacterwrites]

Fake-Date Me - G.W.

sum - When George Weasley asked you to fake-date him to get the girl he likes jealous, you find yourself slowly falling in love as he sets his eyes on someone who isn't you.

word count - 4.2k

content - light cursing, fake-dating, angst, fluff, (sorta) bookstore trope, best friends to lovers, she fell first, he fell harder

note - ugh this fic was so fun to write, and I felt myself falling in love with this man all over again. To all the george girlies out there, I hope you like this! - ccw

masterlist

"Oi, (Name)!"

Your head snapped up, your neck muscles complaining as you swivelled it, and spotted George, grinning mischievously by the doorway.

"Whatever it is that you're planning, it's a no," you sigh, looking back down at your Charms essay.

"Just hear me out," George wheedled, draping his long arms over your shoulders and looking at you upside-down, his face inches from yours. Your breath unwillingly hitched, and your face warmed as you rolled your eyes and playfully blew at his.

George made a whining sound. "Hey! Those are my eyes," and you responded in turn by blowing them again. The Weasley sighed, getting out of your face and sitting across from you. If there was any indication that he noticed your flushing cheeks, he didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he looked at you seriously, his hands clasped.

"Look, there's a girl I like," George admits, his shoulders dropping. Your eyes widen. You did not expect this. "She's... I don't know, she doesn't really notice me, if I'm being honest and I don't know how to get her to."

You blinked. "Who wouldn't notice you? You and Fred have gotta be the loudest, most obnoxious-"

"Okay shut up," George deadpans, and you smirk as he rubs his neck nervously. "Look, I'll just go straight to the point. I need to make her jealous."

"Okay, and?"

"And I need your help." George gives a miniscule shrug, looking sheepish yet cheeky at the same time. How he does it, you have no idea. "Fake-date me."

"Wait," you paused, your hand in the air, homework forgotten as you frowned. "You want me to help you by fake-dating you?"

"Uhm... yes?" George said, watching as your eyes bulged slightly for a moment. And then you burst out laughing. "What?" he asked, looking at you weird as you cackled.

You paused, wiping a tear from your eye. "Wait- you're serious?"

"Yeah..."

"Georgie, it's never going to work."

George squinted, tilting his fingers to form a frame around your head. "By my calculations... I think it could." he smiled brightly. "C'mon, (name), we'll never know until we try. What is there to lose?"

"My dignity, for one." You throw back. "Plus, there's nothing in it for me."

"I'll buy you that book you've been eyeing."

You paused at that, mulling it over for a moment as you stared at George, who grinned at you like he already knew you'd agree.

"Oh, fine, you git. It's a deal."

You shook on it.

—

The next morning, you were surprised to see George standing by the staircase. You lazily combed through your hair, barely containing a yawn. "Oh, hello."

"G'morning. Did you sleep well, darling?" George greeted smoothly, a charming smile on his freckly face. You froze.

Oh right.

You quickly composed yourself, smiling back at him. "It was nice. Missed you in my bed, though."

This time, it was George's eyes who widened, and you smiled cheekily up at him. He'd almost forgotten why you've been his greatest rival — and best friend — for almost 4 years now. And he couldn't just let you have the upper hand, could he?

"Well," he drawled, slipping his hand on your waist as you walked towards the door. "I'll be sure to warm that side of the bed soon enough." He grinned smugly at the flush that adorned your face and the people gawking as the two of you neared the door.

"By the way," you hummed, tiptoeing to whisper in his ear with a sly smile. "You still haven't told me who the girl is."

George's ears turned a dark shade of red, and he nudged you. "I'll tell you later. She's here." he muttered. He briefly glanced at his right.

Oh, Katie! Your eyes lit up in understanding, and a wide smile spread on your face as you tightened your grip on George's arm. "Then by all means, darling, let's go have breakfast."

And the two of you left the room.

"What the fuck just happened?" Ron spluttered.

—

Fake-dating George was a cinch. You two were already very close before you decided to do this anyway, so all you had to do was sprinkle in some sweet words, throw back sugary, teasing compliments when George flirted with you, and occasionally lean yourself against him, topped with either a sly smile or a light laugh. It was also so easy, in fact, that you could've gone like this for ages.

Well until he tried to kiss you, that is.

"Uhm, George, what are you doing?" you'd whispered that night, leaning back as your best friend slowly leaned into you. You took a step back, flustered.

"I'm trying to kiss you," he hissed, opening one eye, and continued with his approach. You cringed, stepping back a little, and did the worst possible thing you could do.

You bolted.

And now, as you stared up onto the ceiling, the lights turned off and your roommates snoring, you turned around, buried your face into your pillow, and quietly screamed.

Why? Why did I run? You despaired, closing your eyes tightly in embarrassment. You could still remember George's stunned face right before you closed the door, Katie's curious face by the back of the room.

Tomorrow's going to suck.

—

Breakfast was strange.

You sat down that morning, staring at the piece of toast in your hand as your friends chattered away beside you. You couldn't stop your thoughts from racing, George Weasley being the center of that mental cyclone. No understanding came to you whatsoever, as you took a tentative bite out of the bread, about why in the world George would try to kiss you when you haven't even talked about that certain part of the plan yet, and worse — why you ran.

But, you supposed as you nibbled on the edge, maybe some part of you was scared that it'd become more real, silly as it sounded. After all, George had eyes for Katie, and you had eyes on that book in Flourish and Blotts.

You were so deep in thought that you hadn't even realized George taking a seat by your side. You froze, unsure of what to do or say. Luckily, he took the lead.

"Sleep well?" he said, as if absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had happened the other night.

You swallowed, deciding that playing along was best. All you had to do was wait for Katie to notice him, and you could both go back to your normal selves. "Could do with a little bit less of the cold, but yes."

George hummed, stealing the last bit of toast from you with a playful grin. You shot him a half-hearted glare. "Wanna claim my offer? I could keep you warm, you know."

And strangely, uninvited, your breath caught in your throat. "Soon, Weasley," you replied breezily, but you weren't exactly sure if he had caught the way you blinked for a stunned moment and replied half a beat later.

If there was any indication that he did, he didn't show it, merely throwing you a grin and continuing on with eating his breakfast. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

What in the world is happening to me?

—

You started to notice more things about George. Small things that you never really saw, even if he always seems like an open book. For one, he likes the strawberry jam on his toast instead of the blueberry. He dots his parchments with black ink whenever he's distracted during class. His right dimple always lights up before his left. He loves to play with whatever is in his hands, whether it was a pen, a quill, a new product of theirs, your fingers. When you slip your hand into his, your fingers twining together, he'd pull on them, massaging the knuckles with confident pulls and gentle pushes.

Today was a sunny day. You and the rest of the school were sitting on the Quidditch stands, spectating the Ravenclaw vs Hufflepuff match, which was currently at 140-130. You bundled up further; it was really quite cold as Christmas was approaching slowly.

Beside you sat George, who begged you to stay with him instead of your friends, and you begrudgingly agreed, rolling your eyes and telling yourself that it was all for the act, because it is. You shivered, your breath coming out in a small puff of air, and you briefly wondered if there was a chance snow would start to fall today.

Then, without a word, George shrugged off his coat, leaving him in only a light sweater, and gently draped it on you.

You flushed as he shot you a smile, turning back to the game without so much of a word. Dazed, you did the same, trying not to think too much about your heart beating faster, and how the coat smelled slightly of him.

You failed, however, to catch the small, soft smile creeping onto George's face as you burrowed almost instinctively into the leather of his coat.

—

Things began to change, and you noticed this. Less and less would George glance at Katie whenever she entered a room, instead continuing on with whatever conversation the two of you were having with each other. That charming smile on his face would appear more often as you joined him to walk to class, his hand automatically clasping yours as you strode along the hallway.

Your fingers just felt so- so natural whenever they lock with his, and you loved the way his thumb rubbed over your knuckles — a habit of his, you assumed.

And then one day, you realized something had changed.

Mornings, all you thought about was George. What you would do today, what he would say to make you 'blush', what you'd retort back that would make that beautiful smile of his adorn him. How he'd run the pad of his thumb gently across your knuckles, absentmindedly tracing comforting circles on your palm whenever you sighed on a particularly hard assignment. You sucked in a breath, almost giddy from excitement, and for some reason, you found yourself paying more attention to the outfit you were going to wear that day

And then you rushed down the stairs, a silly smile trying to break through your quivering lips. You burst out of the common room, ran up to George with a huge grin, and threw yourself at him in a hug.

A small, surprised puff of air escaped him as your bodies collided on impact. But you didn't really care. Well, that is until you realized just what exactly you were doing and froze.

You scrambled off him, beet red in embarrassment, and cleared your throat. "Georgie."

George smiled down at you, his eyes twinkling. "Sweetheart." he greeted back teasingly, watching as you flushed a deeper red.

"Oh, shut it, you." you smacked his chest lightly, already reaching for his hand. Ah, well, what an embarrassing blunder but you supposed that your plan would be just to play it off for the rest of the day. Simple, right?

—

The plan went to trash.

And now you were here, sitting beside George, feeling sick to your stomach as a girl strut over to him with a smirk, and threw him a sultry smile. "Hey, George," she greeted, her voice sweet and smooth.

She continued to flirt as your hand loosened from George's grip. She continued as your breath stuttered slightly. She continued as your jaw clenched mid-chew. And she continued as your shoulders slumped, as you slowly stood up, excused yourself, and left for your room.

The girl, oblivious, continued to flirt as George shot your retreating figure a dismayed frown.

—

Lying down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, you decided something.

"I'm ending it," you whispered.

As painful, as strange as it sounded when it was never even real, tears pricked the edges of your eyes. You were falling rapidly in love with George Weasley, and he was slowly breaking your heart in the process, you knew it. You weren't stupid.

And frankly, you didn't want that, at all. So you'd just avoid it. Perfectly simple. All you have to do is say a few parting words, shoot him a pained smile and a final hug, and distance yourself as he pursues Katie who'd been recently throwing him not-so-subtle glances anyway.

Yet, thinking of it brought a dull ache to your heart. You swallowed hard, hugging your pillow to your chest, and sighing through your nose. Oh, how you were going to miss him! Miss his charming smiles, his mischievous smirks, his hand massages. How his eyes light up seconds before he'd burst out laughing. How his dimple would slightly peek out when he found something amusing. How he'd grin at you, laying a gentle, respectful arm around your shoulder as you walked through the hallways, uttering, "Mclaggen looking particularly like an ogre today." Your laughter bubbling out of you as he shot you a secret glance, all melty eyes and soft smiles.

But you could do it, couldn't you? You had to. For both of your sakes.

—

"Hey, George?"

He hummed, "Yes, love?"

Your heart skipped a beat at that nickname, and you looked away, clearing your throat. You wanted desperately to play along, but your mind could not agree with your heart. Taking a deep breath, you opened your mouth.

"I think we should end this."

George froze in his steps. His eyebrows furrowed as he slowly turned to you, confusion evident in his eyes. "What?" he breathed, as if scared that talking any louder would further scare you away.

You gulped, looking anywhere but him. "I don't know, George. Don't you think that this has gone long enough? I mean, Katie's obviously interested in you now, and that was the whole reason for the plan, wasn't it? You got what you wanted, so I don't see the point in continuing this further." your hands squeezed your robes, nervous, and you silently begged Merlin to take it easy on you.

And then George looked at you. Really looked. He pursed his lips, wetting them lightly with the tip of his tongue. A small furrow appeared between his eyebrows, and he opened his mouth, only to close it again. Disappointment washed over his face, if only for a moment, and you were hesitant to believe that you weren't just imagining it.

A quiet, "okay," was all he said. "okay," and then he was off on his way to class with a smile at you, seemingly normal.

And then that was it. No more 'you and George'. Now it was just George, and just you.

Sadness spread across your chest, your lips turning down at the corners as you continued to walk to class.

I guess that's it, then.

—

One week later, you heard a tapping on your window.

"Pigwidgeon?" You whispered, incredulous. You recognized the small, brown, tawny owl as the twins used to send him countless times to send you letters during summer, and also because of the prominent spot right next to his eye, which you'd always found uniquely pretty. Pigwidgeon cooed at you as you gently stroked her head, taking the letter from her beak and opening it.

Dear (name),

Don't think I've forgotten to give you that book. I still owe you, love.

Meet me in Flourish and Blotts at 5 noon. I've got the fat, gold galleons here for my one and only best mate and her big, bookish dreams.

George

Uninvited, a smile crept on your face. You sighed, your gaze staying on the word 'love' longer than necessary. It was so much like George to send you a letter when he could just talk to you, really, that you played along and hastily wrote one back.

Dear George,

Thank you, you redheaded dimwit. I'll be expecting those round, golden coins. See you later.

(Name)

—

George was already at Flourish and Blotts when you got there. At first, he didn't see you, occupied with peering at a book in his hands. For a moment, you allowed yourself to stare at him, to imagine that this man — with those soft, honey eyes, the smile that wasn't quite a smile, the freckles that gently dotted his charming features — was yours.

You shook your head lightly, stamping down the light, fluttery feeling in your heart, and entered the shop. "Hey," you greeted softly as the wind chimes tinkled.

George startled turning to look at you. Up close, he was even more beautiful than you could ever imagine. "Hi," he breathes, a smile spreading on his lips.

You twiddled your fingers behind your back, awkwardly grinning. "So, um, letter-writing, huh?"

George rubbed his neck, chuckling. "Dunno. Remembered once you said you liked it when people send letters. Claimed it was more romantic."

You blinked, the fluttery feeling growing. "Didn't realize you were paying attention," you uttered quietly. In response, George gave a tiny shrug, that shy smile still on his face.

You reached out to touch the books in the shelf, smiling gently at the feeling of the rounded and solid spines. Taking a deep breath, you sighed, closing your eyes. "I love the smell of books." You continued to walk further down the aisle, gazing at the art and the crisp pages, humming every so often when you read the back cover's summary of a few books.

What you didn't realize, however, is while you admired the books, George was admiring you.

A few moments later, you gasped. "Found it!" You pulled out a thick book, lightly running your fingers over the cover in awe as you whispered, "Oh, I'm actually holding it, aren't I?" in disbelief.

"Yeah," George chuckled softly. "You are."

"I've been wanting to read this forever," you squealed quietly, hugging the book to your chest as you spun in a small circle. George almost died right there and then, forcing himself to keep up his composure. He cleared his throat, suppressing a huge grin, and took the book from you. The two of you walked towards the bookseller, George's heart racing, and you light on your steps.

"Thanks, George," you quietly mumbled, as the two of you walked back to Hogwarts after paying. He shrugged again, giving a small hum of acknowledgement.

"We had a deal," he says, shooting you a glance and looking quickly away.

You let yourself soak in the moment for a minute. Snow fell around the two of you, adorning George's hair with little specks of white, and faintly, you could hear cheerful carols playing in the distance. Laughter from students, children, and families alike echoed around Diagon Alley, and Christmas ornaments twinkled brightly at every corner, winking at the passersby. A thought briefly flitted through your mind.

Perhaps, in another life, this could've been a date.

—

After the bookshop, things only got harder.

You had a hard time looking at George in the eyes now, and even as his best friend, your relationship just wasn't the same anymore. Jokes sounded forced to your ears now and smiles awkward. When once you'd be content with staying with George for hours on end, doing nothing but staying in each other's company, now you could barely stay five minutes alone with him for fear of doing something stupid, or bursting into tears.

And it hurt. It hurt not to be with him. It hurt to see him talk with Katie with that smile of his. It hurt to think of the times when he called you 'love'. It hurt because he agreed to end it so quickly that you knew it really meant nothing to him in the end.

You felt so silly, too. Crying over a guy at night, who probably didn't even think about you as much as you did him, who was probably daydreaming about her now while silent tears and muffled sniffles were covered by your pillow.

You didn't know that, at this very moment, George's fingers were twitching, crossing and uncrossing over and over again in hope, as his mind filled with nothing but your radiant smile.

He missed those smiles; he missed the times when they were aimed towards him. Katie had nothing on him now, honestly, and he wasn't sure when exactly he realized — probably midway through the whole 'plan' — that all along, it was never the chaser but you.

He smiled sadly to himself, lovesick and lovestruck, as he remembered how your lips felt on his cheek, and decided subconsciously to himself that he would continue to wait for you no matter how long it would take.

—

End-of-year exams occupied you lots before you were able to start on the book. The moment you finished the last test — history of magic, which you knew you probably passed — you collapsed on your bed, reached across your bedside table, and opened the book.

“Candice was never one who believed in romance... until she met a man who changed her life, who saw her like she hung the moon and the stars for him. And if only Candice had told him earlier that she wanted to give it a chance, he wouldn't have given up and found another woman.”

Closing the book gently, four hours later, you wiped your tears.

Ridiculous. It was ridiculous that you were crying this much over a book, and yet. Something struck true in the story, a bell chiming lightly in your head like when you'd opened the door to Flourish and Blotts. You bit your lip, sniffling softly. Nothing ever rang truer than the thought that currently reigned over your head.

Candice was you. The man was George. And if you didn't do or say anything, try and give it a chance, you would lose him and inevitably end up in the tragic lovers' story.

Heart pounding in your ears, you stood up. As if in a trance, you burst out of your room, running down the staircase leading from the girls' dorms, your hair flying, and rushing to the one place you knew George would be.

Breathless, you slammed the door open to the Astronomy Tower.

And there he was. Standing by the edge, watching the view of the courtyard quietly while snow fell overhead in a brilliant shower of fluffy white.

"George," you whispered.

He turned to you, shock and confusion painting his features. "(Name)? You okay?"

"Yes!" you breathlessly said, walking wobbly over to where he was standing. He looked down at you, amusement and fondness twinkling in his eyes, and at that very moment you wanted very much to leap up and kiss him senseless.

"George," you repeated.

"Yes, love?" he said, the shy smile and his right dimple back on his face.

You crossed your fingers behind your back, George doing the same unbeknownst to you. You took a deep breath. This is it.

"I just wanted to say that uhm... I'm kinda in love with you. And that maybe I wanna give this a chance, if you'd give me a chance, if- if it's not too late. I hope it's not too late. Is it? You don't have to answer that. Just wanted to let you know. Uhm, that's all, goodbye!"

You turned on your heel, your heart beating out of your chest. But before you could run off from sheer embarrassment — why did you have to ramble like that? — George gently held your arm and pulled you to his chest. Your breath caught in your throat.

He hummed, smiling down at you. "‘That's all’, huh?" he teased, his breath tickling your face, his lips just inches away from you.

"Well, I kinda also really, really wanna kiss you. But yeah that's it." You whispered, looking up at him. Your heart fluttered as his smile slowly widened.

"It's not too late," he whispered, and then his mouth was on yours. Embarrassingly, you let out a small squeak the moment they touched. Yet, it only took you a beat before you leaned into the kiss, your fingers curling on his coat and pulling him closer as his hands settled gently on your waist. It was soft and gentle and wonderful, and it felt like everything. Cheesy as it was, you did feel the fireworks shivering up your spine.

You never wanted it to end, but he pulled away first, to your disappointment.

"Merlin," you whispered, looking up at George, whose eyes were all melty again as he looked at you.

"Yeah, Merlin," he chuckled, and you eagerly leaned in to steal another small kiss.

"How long?" you whispered once you pulled away. "I thought, Katie..."

George shrugged, smiling bashfully, beautifully. "I guess, somewhere midway I decided that I've been chasing the wrong girl. And then I just waited, and it all paid off in the end."

You smiled softly and he lightly pecked your nose, grinning. "I'm kinda, really in love with you, too," he admits in a whisper.

Eyes closed, you smiled, your forehead resting against his. Thank you, Candice.

Maybe fake-dating George wasn't such a mistake after all.

[comfortcharacterwrites]

George Weasley

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these are all derived and reposted from my first blog @/falsedivide! all fanfics here belong to their discredited authors and I do not own any of them

: ̗̀➛ back to fic recs page

[tinymarikit]

His Hands

part 1

pairing: george weasley x fem!reader

summary: you're staring admiring george's hands

content: fluff, 2nd pov, slightly (?) longer fic, hands 😋, inspired by this tiktok (not george but same vibes 😌)

a/n: all i could say is thank you so much for the insane support. i honestly didn't anticipate that 'His Smile' would get any attention at all . anyways, if you want to be added to the taglist, please let me know!

p.s. i'm sorry this took so long. work and med school are not in my favor this month 🤧 i also may or may not have procrastinated as well. so, for future parts, please expect it will take long — mostly because i work well without deadline or expectations XD

p.p.s sorry for any spelling or grammar errors. my dyslexia is not bloody cooperating. and apologies if it's not as good as the first one, i'm running a bit on fumes when writing this 🤧

Being a prefect has its advantages. For one, you get to scold annoying gits with no repurcussions — to an extent, of course! Two, you have access to the greatest bathroom there is in the castle. Three, you get the earliest gossip of anything happening in Hogwarts — student and faculty alike!

Then, there's the unfortunate disadvantages.

Not only have you been covering people's shift in night patrols — because you are too kind for your own good — now, your presence is demanded for a whole week to decorate the Great Hall and certain corridors of the castle for freaking Valentine's Day.

All because Professor Dumbledore seemed to have liked the ex-DADA Professor Lockhart's idea of puking pinks, reds, and whites 'to illuminate the gloomy halls of this school'. Headmaster's words, not yours.

But, alas, with how humongous this school is, the student manpower is at odds. The week is almost over and the Great Hall and corridors looked like they were being torn apart instead of being decorated. It seems magic can't do everything.

"We called for volunteers from each house," your Head Girl grins widely as she returned from her ultimate expedition of gathering 'reinforcements'.

You tilt your head to look at the 'volunteers' that thudded behind her.

None of them looked happy to be there.

Is what you wanted to say to her if your eyes hadn't locked in on one volunteer.

George Weasley.

Your friend, who seemed to have materialized beside you out of nowhere, elbows you. "Prince charming is here," your friend states with a knowing grin.

"Shut it," you sent her a warning glare as you rubbed the spot she hit.

Then, Hermione Granger, one of the Gryffindor prefects, grins at you as she pulls Harry and Ron from behind her which pulled a chain of tugging from the begrudging Gryffindor 'volunteers'.

You could even hear her scold Ron, saying things like 'Ron, you're a bloody prefect too. Stop being so difficult!'

From what you can deduce, Hermione had forced Ron — another Gryffindor prefect — to force Harry, his brothers, and their friends to aid the decorating team.

"I've gathered us most of Gryffindor's Quidditch players, they can do a lot of heavy-lifting tasks," Hermione turns to you. And for a moment, you forgot that you were the one leading the labor force of the decorating team as you stared at her, still slightly dumbfounded that George Weasley is here.

"Y-Yeah, sure," you cleared your throat as you nodded.

"Wait, aren't you the smile girl?" Fred's voice suddenly cuts through your dreamy haze that soon became embarrassment.

George elbows his grinning twin before turning to you. "Sorry 'bout him, love. He's a bit of a loony," he smiles softly as Fred huffs out an offended 'Hey!' beside him.

Love. That word nearly took you out.

"I-It's okay— Um, I need you to divide your group into three," you cleared your throat again, trying your best to gather your bearings and not embarrass yourself further in front of him.

"One will stay here in the Great Hall with me. The others will go to the corridors with Ernie and Padma, separately," you gestured at the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw prefect beside you.

You watched as the group moves like an adorable, chaotic version of the boat is sinking. Some were even fighting to be in certain groups.

While you were too busy being amused at the chaos of red and gold, you failed to notice that a certain ginger boy had settled himself beside you.

"So, what are we going to do?" George asks with that troll-killing smile of his.

"Um— We're, uh—"

"Y/N's finishing up the paper garlands. But, there's still a lot to do — might need some help in there," your friend answers for you with that infuriating grin of theirs.

You don't know if you should thank her or strangle her.

"Alright. Lead the way, love," George — bless him — smiles softly at you as he extends his arm in gesture for you to, in fact, lead the way.

Your friend mouths 'Good luck' from behind you. You haphazardly mouthed a curse at her, and she just laughs at you.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

"Then, you fold it this way," you state as you looked over to your side, watching if George was doing it correctly. You nod in approval as he does.

"That was... complicated and easy at the same time. Weird," George grins, "and you improvised this because you find the one in the book to be too time consuming?" George watches you nod like it wasn't a big deal. It was.

"How brainy," George adds.

You playfully scrunched your nose at the awful attempt of a compliment. "You need to work your on your vocabulary," you chuckled.

"What? Like resplendent? I don't think my brains cut out for that level of braininess, love," George grins.

"I—" you flushed and turned to George, huffed through your nose with your lips pressed in a thin line and a look that says 'really? you just gotta go there, didn't you?'

"Sorry, sorry," George laughs, hands raised in appeasement, before returning to his paper garlands to finish up.

For a moment, the two of you sit comfortably together, folding paper garlands and exchanging light conversation. But, of course, in the midst of it, your eyes couldn't help but flicker towards him ever so often.

How could anyone blame you, really? For someone his age, his got hands for days.

Then, you watched him rolled his sleeves up, face frowned in concentration as he moves onto his next batch of garlands — and, Merlin help you — you think you might actually combust at how hot that was.

That's not all, see those long, prominent veins that wraps around his forearms? Ugh, absolute heart palpitations. Those long, slender, and calloused fingers of his from Quidditch practice and prototyping pranks — an absolute product of his hardwork? Yup, oxygen just left your lungs.

Oh, and if anybody asks how you know he practices more times than his teammates or how he tests his prank gadgets often? Well, let's just say a girl never reveals her secrets.

He's got the biggest hands you've seen in Hogwarts. You just know that anything he holds in them will be engulfed with warmth, and utterly protected. You'd be a total puddle if he ever wraps his hands on you.

Your eyes continued to follow his every move. Every time his finger slids on the paper to fold a crease, you wonder how it would feel to intertwined your hands together. Would his dwarf yours? Would it feel warm like a cozy fire or hot like a blazing furnace? Would yours and his fit like a puzzle piece waiting to meet? How would it feel to trace his veins up his arm? How—

"Ow!" you winced as the paper you had been absentmindly folding pricks you.

"You okay?" George frowns, eyebrows scrunching in worry as he takes your hand in his before you could blink.

"Y-Yeah, I'm okay, really...!" you chuckled nervously as his hands engulfed yours completely. Seriously, is that hand size normal??

George ignores you as he inspects the bit of blood the paper cut has drawn out of you, still having that frown on his face as if how dare the paper hurt you.

You hoped he doesn't hear how much your heart is hammering through your chest right now.

Then, he grabs something from his pocket and wraps a tiny bandaid around your finger with the utmost of care.

"I don't quite have the knack for healing spells. So, you'd have to settle for this one," George grins as he gently runs his thumb across the surface of the bandaid.

"Thank you, George," you smiled softly at him before returning to your garlands.

If you would have stared a little longer at him, you would have seen the blush that crept up on his cheeks. But, unfortunately, you only heard him clear his throat as he returns to his own garlands. You also don't notice how George himself had a paper cut a few minutes later, and had healed himself easily with a wordless spell.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

"Why not just use magic to hang these up?" George asked as he raised the finished garlands.

"My magic is in need of some practice when it comes to precise placement. And, I hate having these look crooked up there," you gestured at the walls where the garlands were supposed to go.

"Can you grab that for me?" you pointed at the ladder by the side, trapped and surrounded by boxes of decorating supplies and tools.

George nodded, already moving to grab it.

It was a simple request. A simple favor. So, why were you frozen in place, eyes tracing along his arms as you watched him criminally fold his sleeves for the second time today before bending down to carefully move the objects aside around the ladder so he could grab the very ladder you asked him to get?

It didn't help that you saw the way the muscles of his arm tense and contract so beautifully, so deliciously. It might be your imagination, but you feel like the veins on his forearm are going to pop if he moves more.

Honestly, could this man get anymore detrimental to your health?

"Here you go," George grins as he sets the ladder in front of you like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"Thanks," you squeaked out and hurried to climb on it before he gets the chance to see how flustered you were by him simply moving a bloody ladder.

But in your hurry, the ladder wobbled and you felt yourself start to slip.

"Ah—"

But, then, a firm set of hands clasps on your waist to steady you.

"You okay, love?"

You felt yourself shiver when you felt his breath on your back through your shirt.

"Y-Yes. Thank you, George. You— uh, you can let go now." You squeaked out body stiffer than an effect from a Petrificous Totalus spell.

George only chuckles at you, "I'm not taking any chances, love."

Your hands tremble as you try to hang the bloody garlands while his hands remained on your waist. The warmth from them seeps into your skin through your top and makes you light in the head.

You did try to focus on your task at hand, but all you could think about is how big his hands felt on your waist. Your mind latches on how firm and grounded he feels, and you know for a fact that there is no chance of you slipping with him protecting you from behind.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Hours later, you finally got a breath out as you waved at the leaving crowd of volunteers while some of them waved back at you. And, yes, George was one of them.

"Saw you earlier — that was some strategical flirting. Color me impressed," Your friend grins as they emerged from beside you.

"I nearly cracked my skull open and the first thing you say to me is that? What a friend you are.'" I turned to her with an unimpressed look.

"That's what friends are for!"

Oh, you so wanna smack that grin off their face.

taglist: @yaintpaint @djlance-rock @lilians17 @svnn132

[nickeverdeen]

Hello, happy new years! Could I request a George Weasley x fem!reader imagine where Reader is a werewolf? (You can decide whether it's romantic, platonic or a bit of both)

Throughout their first years of school, Reader acted as the quiet kid in class, always isolating herself. Out of curiosity and a desire to get to know her better, George decided to prank her (to see what kind of reaction she'd have). However, Reader somehow managed to avoid the prank and instead, pranked George back. That was the first time he'd ever seen Reader laugh. And he found himself even more intrigued.

After that, George began approaching Reader more, and the two started hanging out. However, George noticed she tended to disappear on full moon nights, and decided to investigate her strange behaviour. That's how he learns she's a werewolf.

Reader admits that the reason she always isolated herself was out of fear that she'd hurt any potential friends in her werewolf state, or get bullied for being a werewolf. However, George comforts and accepts her as she is.

Tysm in advance :D

Lycan | George Weasley x werewolf fem!reader

Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Type of fic: Fluff with angst, slow-burn, emotional comfort

Warnings: Mentions of lycanthropy, fear of hurting others, mild emotional distress, secrecy and isolation

————————————————

You had perfected the art of being invisible.

Not literally, of course - though you were fairly certain Fred and George had been working on that for years - but in every other sense. Quiet in class. Sitting at the edge of the Great Hall. Slipping out before conversations could start.

People didn’t bother you if they didn’t notice you.

And that was exactly how you liked it.

…or at least, what you told yourself.

George Weasley noticed everything.

Especially things that didn’t quite fit.

And you? You didn’t fit at all.

“You ever seen her talk?” George muttered one afternoon, nodding subtly in your direction as you sat alone in the courtyard, nose buried in a book.

Fred followed his gaze. “Once. Think she asked where the library was. Riveting stuff.”

George hummed thoughtfully. “Suspicious.”

Fred grinned. “You think she’s secretly evil?”

“Or secretly interesting.” George’s grin mirrored his twin’s. “Only one way to find out.”

The prank was meant to be simple. Harmless.

A charmed ink bottle that would explode into harmless purple smoke the moment you opened it. Nothing dangerous - just enough to get a reaction.

George had expected a yelp. Maybe a glare. Possibly even a laugh, if he got lucky.

What he didn’t expect…

…was for you to never open it.

In fact, the bottle didn’t even stay on your desk long enough to try. You glanced at it once - just once - and then casually slid it aside, untouched.

George frowned from across the room.

“Huh,” Fred whispered. “That’s odd.”

George narrowed his eyes.

Very odd.

The next day, George reached into his bag mid-lesson-

-and was immediately blasted in the face with a puff of glittering gold powder that smelled faintly like cinnamon.

The classroom erupted in laughter.

Fred wheezed beside him. “Brilliant.”

George coughed, blinking through the sparkles clinging to his eyelashes. Slowly, very slowly, he turned his head.

You were looking straight at him.

And for the first time since he’d noticed you…

You were smiling.

No - laughing.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. But it was real. Soft and bright and completely unguarded.

And George - who had built half his identity on making people laugh - felt something shift in his chest.

“Well,” he muttered, brushing glitter off his robes, grinning despite himself. “Game on.”

After that, things changed.

George started sitting near you. At first, under the pretense of “accidentally” choosing the same table. Then less accidentally.

You didn’t push him away.

Which, in your world, was practically an invitation.

“You’re good,” he said one afternoon, dropping into the seat across from you.

You didn’t look up. “At what?”

“Not getting pranked.”

A small pause. Then, quietly: “I noticed the spellwork. It was… sloppy.”

George gasped, hand over his heart. “Sloppy? I’ll have you know-”

That was when you glanced up, and there it was again-

That tiny, almost reluctant smile.

And just like that, George was hooked.

You weren’t loud. You weren’t chaotic. You didn’t chase trouble the way he and Fred did.

But you were clever. Observant. Quick in ways people didn’t expect.

You started leaving subtle traps for him charms that only triggered if he touched your things, notes that rearranged themselves into sarcastic comments when he tried to read them.

And George? He loved it.

He loved you.

Even if he didn’t quite have the courage to call it that yet.

But there was something… off.

George noticed it slowly.

The way you’d vanish every now and then. Not for long - just a night. Maybe two.

Always around the same time.

And when you came back?

You looked exhausted. Pale. Like you hadn’t slept at all.

“You alright?” he asked once, catching up to you after you’d returned from one of your disappearances.

You stiffened slightly. “Fine.”

George frowned. “You don’t look fine.”

“I said I am.”

Your tone wasn’t sharp, but it was closed. Final.

And for the first time since he’d gotten to know you…

You pulled away.

George didn’t like mysteries he couldn’t solve.

Especially not when they involved you.

So he paid attention.

Dates. Patterns. The lunar calendar pinned in the Astronomy Tower.

And when the realization hit…

It hit hard.

He found you the next time.

Not by accident. Not by chance.

On purpose.

You were on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, pacing like a trapped animal, your breathing uneven, your hands clenched tight.

“Hey.”

You froze.

Slowly, you turned.

And the look on your face - fear, panic, something dangerously close to desperation - made George’s chest tighten.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said, voice low.

“Yeah,” he replied gently. “Figured that out.”

A beat.

“…You know.”

It wasn’t a question.

George nodded. “Yeah.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then you laughed - except it wasn’t really a laugh. More like something breaking.

“Great,” you muttered. “Fantastic. This is exactly why I don’t-”

“Don’t what?”

“Get close to people!” you snapped, finally meeting his eyes. “This is why I stay away. Because the moment someone finds out-”

“I’m still here.”

You stopped.

George took a step closer. Careful. Slow.

“I’m not scared of you.”

“You should be,” you whispered.

“Why?”

“Because I could hurt you!” Your voice cracked. “I don’t even remember half of what happens when I turn. I don’t trust myself, George. How am I supposed to expect anyone else to?”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then George sighed softly, running a hand through his hair.

“You know what I see?” he said.

You didn’t answer.

“I see the girl who outsmarted my prank on day one.”

A small, shaky breath left you.

“I see someone who’s been dealing with something terrifying on her own for years.”

He stepped closer again. This time, you didn’t move away.

“And I see someone who’s so scared of hurting people that she won’t even let them get close in the first place.”

Your eyes burned.

“That doesn’t make you dangerous,” George said quietly. “It makes you… you.”

Your voice came out barely above a whisper. “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“I could lose control.”

“And?”

“And I could hurt you.”

George shrugged lightly. “Then we’ll figure it out.”

You stared at him.

“We?”

“Yeah,” he said, like it was obvious. “You’re not doing this alone anymore.”

Something inside you cracked then-not in a painful way, but in a way that felt like finally breathing after holding it in for too long.

“You’re insane,” you murmured.

He grinned. “Been told that before.”

Despite everything - despite the fear, the tension, the weight of what you were

You smiled.

And George felt that same shift in his chest all over again.

Only this time, it settled deeper.

Stronger.

Permanent.

After that night, things didn’t magically become easy.

You still struggled. Still feared what you were capable of.

But you weren’t alone anymore.

George stayed.

Through the quiet days. Through the jokes. Through the nights when you needed someone just to sit nearby, reminding you that you were still human.

And slowly - so slowly you almost didn’t notice it-

You stopped being invisible.

At least to him.

[wrenthewriterishere]

Hiya! Another request if that's alright. I would request on Tuesday instead but I didn't wanna forget so I'm requesting it now. Kissing hcs with my main four? And maybe an extra scenario where they're separated from reader(group) and get reunited and it's all affectionate and mushy lol.

Kissing Headcanons — BadBoyHalo, Skeppy, George, Quackity

BadBoyHalo

Gentle and cautious at first — he always checks if you’re comfortable, thumb brushing your cheek as he leans in.

Forehead kisses are his favorite. He sees them as the purest form of affection.

When he actually kisses you on the lips, he gets flustered every time, muttering “Goodness gracious” after like he didn’t instigate it.

He’ll cup your face softly and linger a few seconds longer than he meant to.

After pulling back he smiles that warm, proud little smile he only ever gives you.

Skeppy

Quick, playful kisses — the kind where he leans in, steals one, and grins like he just won something.

Loves to kiss you in the middle of talking just to fluster you.

If he’s feeling clingy he’ll hook a finger under your chin and bring you in for a slow, surprisingly soft kiss.

After kissing you he always bumps his forehead against yours, whispering: “Mine.”

He’d absolutely tilt your head up by tapping your cheek. The little menace.

George

Soft but intentional. He kisses like he’s trying not to smile but always ends up smiling anyway.

He’ll lean in slowly, hands resting lightly at your waist, giving you time to pull away (you never do).

His lips linger like he’s memorizing the shape of yours.

Gets shy after deeper kisses — turns his head slightly, ears pink, but nudges your shoulder like “do it again.”

Likes kissing you when you’re lying down together, brushing your hair back first.

Quackity

Passionate but surprisingly tender.

He’ll kiss you like he missed you even if you were gone for 5 minutes.

Likes to cradle your jaw with one hand while pulling you in with the other.

Mutters soft Spanish endearments between kisses: “mi amor,” “cariño,” “te extrañé.”

After a long kiss, he rests his forehead on yours, thumb brushing your lip with the goofiest lovesick smile.

💞 Reunion Scenario — “Lost and Found”

The group had been separated from you for hours — too long, too quiet, too wrong.

When the doors finally open and you stumble into view—

BadBoyHalo

He freezes first. Eyes wide, breath catching. Then he rushes forward, pulling you into a warm, crushing hug. “Goodness—you’re okay… thank goodness you’re okay.” He presses a kiss to your temple like he needs to reassure himself you’re real.

Skeppy

He practically tackles you after Bad lets go. “Don’t do that again!” he scolds, though his voice cracks halfway through. He litters your face with frantic kisses — forehead, cheeks, nose — ending on your lips with a shaky sigh.

George

He grabs your hands, squeezing them so tight you feel it. He steps closer, forehead touching yours as his breath wavers: “You scared me… I thought— just don’t disappear again.” Then he kisses you slowly, carefully, but with so much relief it feels like he melts against you.

Quackity

He doesn’t say anything at first — he just pulls you into his chest and holds you. When he finally leans back, his hands stay on your cheeks. “Never leaving my sight again,” he whispers, voice soft but firm. He kisses you deeply, like he’s pouring every minute of fear into affection. Then he hugs you again, refusing to let go immediately.

And the four of them hover protectively around you for the rest of the night — touching your shoulders, brushing your hands, kissing your hair — like they’re making up for every second you were gone.

[wrenthewriterishere]

Hi Wren, if you’re willing I have a request.

Separate Dream, Wilbur and George falling in love with a quiet yet playful m!reader streamer who loves to swim and cook. They enjoy leaving small plates of baked goods with teasing messages on their desks and cooking 4 star meals instead of going out to eat. But will also drag them out to burn off the calories afterwards. “Hmm, hey Insert Character, speedo or jammers?” 😉

Sorry, I’m bad at this. And thank you regardless if you write this or not!

Dream x Quiet-but-Playful M!Reader

Dream first notices you because you don’t try to get his attention.

You're the calm presence in the group calls — soft-spoken, usually cooking something between games, occasionally dipping out early to “get a quick swim in.” He thinks you’re sweet. Cute. But the moment he finds the first little plate on his desk — still warm, covered with foil, the note stuck on top reading:

“For the man who can’t remember to eat while editing. Hydrate too, blondie. -Y/N”

…he’s gone.

He doesn’t mention it. Not at first. He tries to ignore how his heart jumps when he finds another note the next day:

“Reward for surviving today’s recording: 8/10 brownies. You get the 8. You’re welcome.”

Eventually, you’re in his kitchen cooking a “quick dinner,” which somehow turns into a four-star meal that smells better than anything a restaurant could hope to create.

Dream watches from the counter, chin in his hand, pretending not to swoon.

“Why do you never just order takeout like a normal person?” he asks.

You shrug. “It’s cheaper to make it myself. Plus… it’s fun taking care of you guys.”

He blushes. Dream Minecraft Man™ actually blushes.

After dinner, you clap your hands once. “Alright! Grab shoes.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you just inhaled three servings of pasta and I’m not letting you get away with it.”

Cue Dream jogging behind you down the street at night, hoodie up, muttering, “I didn’t know falling for you meant cardio.”

Then, halfway through the run:

You glance over your shoulder, grin wickedly, and ask, “Hey Dream… speedo or jammers?”

He trips. Completely trips.

“You— I— Y/N—”

You’re already sprinting away cackling. He’s already in love.

Wilbur Soot x Quiet-but-Playful M!Reader

The first time Wilbur hears you laugh — really laugh — he nearly stops breathing. You’re usually reserved and calm, the gentle type who sits beside him onstream and smiles softly when he teases you.

But when you’re in your element — cooking — he sees the spark. The playfulness. The confident side.

He finds the first plate of baked goods in his streaming room after a long day out:

“For the tall idiot who forgets breakfast. Don’t burn the studio down. –Y/N”

Wilbur stares at the note for a solid minute before bursting out laughing. Then he eats three cookies in a row.

He starts gravitating toward your apartment more often — sometimes just to sit in your kitchen while you cook. He plays guitar on the counter while you chop vegetables, humming something soft and unpolished. You pretend not to notice he’s writing songs about you.

One night, after you’ve served him a shockingly good homemade curry, you stretch and say:

“C’mon, Wil. We’re going for a walk.”

He groans dramatically. “But I ate so much—”

“Exactly.”

You drag him outside anyway. He complains exaggeratedly the entire time.

Then you catch him staring.

“What?” you ask.

He smiles, soft and warm. “Just thinking how bizarre it is that the quietest person I’ve ever met is also the one who bosses me around most.”

You bump his shoulder. “I only boss you around because you listen.”

He chuckles — and then you drop the bomb:

“Hey Wilbur, be honest. Speedo or jammers?”

Wilbur chokes on air.

He stares at you, wide-eyed.

Then—

“Darling, if you wanted to see me in less clothing, you could’ve just asked.”

Your turn to choke.

He never lets you forget it.

George x Quiet-but-Playful M!Reader

George is… subtle. Very subtle. Painfully subtle.

You assumed he barely noticed you, at first — you were the quiet one, after all. But George notices everything.

Especially when the first plate shows up on his desk:

“Eat this before stream, you gremlin. –Y/N 💙”

He messages you:

George: “I am not a gremlin.”

You: “Eat the muffins, George.”

He does. All of them.

George starts hanging in your kitchen like a cat—perched on the counter, feet swinging, glasses slipping down his nose while you cook something way too fancy for a “casual dinner.”

He pokes at your food as you plate it. “You’re spoiling me.”

“That’s the point.”

He goes pink to the tips of his ears.

After dinner, you tug his wrist. “Walk time.”

“No. No! I could nap right now.”

“That’s why we’re going.”

You end up power-walking through a park at dusk, George whining dramatically behind you.

“You’re literally torturing me.”

“You ate like a king, this is the tax.”

Then your smirk appears — and he knows something dangerous is coming.

“So George…” you say casually. “Speedo or jammers?”

He freezes.

Completely shuts down.

Then—

“…why are those the only options?”

You laugh. Hard.

George flails his hands. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t answer! I just— I— give me time—”

He’s flustered for the rest of the night. You’re smug for the rest of the week. He’s in love forever.