Kinktober Day 19 - Fred Weasley
After accidentally drinking an over-potent lust potion in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes - you're overwhelmed with need. Fred tries to help, but you pull him into frantic, multi-orgasmic sex on the desk - three climaxes for you, one for him - until the potion burns out and you collapse together on the floor.
CONTENT WARNING - explicit sexual content (penetrative sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie); dubcon (potion induced); accidental drugging
The air in Fred’s upstairs office hangs thick with the scent of spicy sweet potions, singed parchment, and the faint smokiness of his latest fireworks experiment. Twilight filters in through the dusty window panes, casting amber pools of light over stacks of joke-shop catalogs and glass jars labeled Fainting Fancies and Calming Draughts - and one dangerously over-potent vial crouched low on his desk.
You hadn’t meant to drink the whole thing. Fred’s mischievous grin when he handed you the cup should’ve tipped you off. But you’d trusted him. Now your skin is humming as though every nerve ending is lit aflame. Your pulse thunders in your ears and your palms are slick with sweat.
“Fred,” you whisper, voice unsteady as you stumble toward him. He swivels in his leather chair, hair tumbling into his eyes. He looks alarmed - his freckled cheeks paling under the flicker of candlelight.
“(Y/N), are you - are you alright?” He jumps up, twisting the chair so hard it groans.
You can barely focus on his face. All you can see is the flush racing up his neck, the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. Your head swims, and your jaw goes slack. “I thought it was a… confidence boost,” you manage, voice thick. “But it’s… it’s too much.”
Fred’s gaze darts to the vial at the edge of the desk. He grabs it, face falling. “Blast it, I miscalculated,” he mutters, corking the bottle. He sets it aside and steps toward you. His long fingers hover at your elbow. “You shouldn’t have drunk that much.”
The potion’s thrill claws at your insides - an overwhelming ache that can only be soothed by him. You reach out, tugging on his tie until he’s close enough to taste. You press your mouth to his neck, sucking gently on the pulse point. He gasps, hand flying to your wrist.
“Fred,” you croak, breath warm against his skin. “Please… I need you.”
His breath hitches. “(Y/N), wait—” He tries to pull back, but you tug harder on his tie, pulling him back to you. His hands trail down to your waist as you guide him, your lips trailing hungrily along his collarbone.
In a blur of motion, Fred yanks the fabric of your top over your head, tossing it aside. Your breath catches in your throat, the cool air rushing over your bare skin as he works quickly, peeling your jeans off with a frantic urgency. His fingers brush your skin with heated intensity, skin against skin, as your heart races faster, pulling him closer.
Before you know it, you're left in nothing but your underwear, your body bared to him in the dim, flickering candlelight. The only sound is the rapid thrum of your pulse and Fred’s breath hitching as he looks you over—eyes darkening in hunger.
You almost forget how to breathe as Fred takes a step back to admire you, his hands tightening around the fabric of his own shirt. You feel heat flood through your veins, your body begging for the release only he can give.
“Please, Fred,” you whimper again, your body trembling as the potion’s effects spread deep within you. “I need this.”
His gaze flicks to the desk, his lips parting as he steps forward, fingers pressing against your inner thighs, urging them apart. The heat of his body is so close now, and your need for him is unbearable. You slide your hands down his chest, yanking open his pants and freeing him from his restraint.
As soon as you do, Fred groans, lowering you onto the desk where the last remnants of his catalog spill onto the floor. Your back arches instinctively, desperate for the connection you crave. Fred doesn't need any more invitation. He slides into you effortlessly, his rhythm swift and commanding.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Fred growls, his hips snapping forward as he sets a pace that makes you cry out in pure, frantic need. The potion buzzes in your veins, intensifying every sensation as he fills you completely, the weight of his body making everything feel so real, so right.
You can only cling to him, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge.
Fred’s fingers curl into your hip as he thrusts up through your slick underwear, desk rattling beneath you. The rigid edge presses into the small of your back, arching you perfectly around him. Every inch of him inside you feels like a promise of release.
You grip the edge of the desk so hard your knuckles blanch, head thrown back, mouth open in a ragged moan. “Fred,” you gasp, voice trembling on the edge of collapse. “Oh god, Fred—harder.”
His green eyes darken, filled with equal parts need and concern. He doesn’t hesitate. He slams into you, hips pistoning faster, each thrust driving you closer to the brink. The friction of his cock against your most sensitive walls sends shockwaves through your body.
“I—can’t—stop,” you cry, chest heaving. “It’s too much.”
Fred’s breaths come in ragged bursts as he keeps up the relentless pace. You feel the coil of pleasure twist tighter. Your second orgasm rips through you, a blinding white heat that leaves you trembling and breathless, your back arching so far you can’t even see straight.
He holds you through it, thrusting just enough to keep you on the edge, then pulls back, letting you catch your breath—only to drive in again without warning. The sting of overstimulation mixes with the bliss until all you can do is scream his name.
“Fred… please…” your voice cracks, “one more time.”
With a low growl, he answers you. He positions himself deeper, pushing into you until your hips slam against the desk with a wet, echoing sound. The pressure builds between your legs until your third orgasm crashes down, your body convulsing around him, squeezing him tight.
Fred groans deep in his chest. His pace falters, then picks up one last time—slower, deeper, until he spills inside you, hot and trembling. He holds still, letting his release merge with yours, both of you riding out the aftershocks together.
When the world finally stills, Fred eases out and collapses beside you on the desk, skin and hair damp with sweat. You turn to him, breath returning in ragged pants.
“(Y/N)…” he murmurs, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead. “Are you okay?”
You trace the line of his jaw with trembling fingers. “I’m… perfect,” you whisper, voice soft. You wince as the desk edge presses into your hip, and he scoots closer, draping an arm across your waist so you can sink down onto the carpeted floor together.
Fred props himself up on one elbow, eyes flicking to the shattered vial on the desk, potion residue shimmering on the wood. With a resolute grimace, he leans forward and sweeps the pieces into a scrap of cloth, stomping them flat. “No more experiments,” he vows quietly, “unless you’re fully aware of the consequences.”
You smile, pressing a gentle kiss to his freckled cheek. “Next time,” you tease, “just give me the safe stuff.”
He laughs softly, pulling you close. “Deal,” he says, rocking you against him as you both catch your breath. Outside, the last light of dusk fades, and in Fred’s little office, everything feels right again.
