Undeniably Screwed
-Summary: Working at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was never quiet, but Fred Weasley found himself more distracted than ever when you stepped behind the counter to help. Between George’s teasing, exploding products, and his own hopeless stares, Fred realizes he’s not just smitten, he’s completely gone for you. With every laugh, smile, and stolen glance, one thought rings louder than any firework in the shop: “I’m so undeniably screwed for this woman.”
-Word Count: 474
-Pairing: Reader x Fred Weasley
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The shop was alive with the usual whirlwind of sound and color fireworks crackling above, enchanted objects rattling on their shelves, a toffee that shouldn’t have been talking back to a customer but very much was. The chaos of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes would have been overwhelming to anyone else, but you’d grown used to it.
Fred Weasley, on the other hand, had not grown used to you.
From the moment you’d stepped behind the counter to help organize a shipment of Extendable Ears, he’d been useless fumbling quills, miscounting stock, dropping things that had never once slipped from his hands before. George had caught him at least three times staring instead of working.
When you bent down to pick up a runaway Skiving Snackbox, your laughter trailing behind you as Fred nearly tripped over his own feet trying to “help,” George gave him a sharp jab in the ribs.
“Merlin’s beard, Fred. If you ogle her any harder, the poor girl’s going to combust.”
Fred shoved his twin half-heartedly, but his grin didn’t waver. “Shut it, George.”
George raised a brow. “Shut it? That’s the best you’ve got? You look like a first year with his first Chocolate Frog card crush.”
Fred glanced back at you, catching the way your brow furrowed in concentration while you carefully arranged the display. Something tightened in his chest, and before he could stop himself, he muttered, low and uncharacteristically serious:
“I’m so undeniably screwed for this woman.”
George blinked. The seriousness in Fred’s tone was rare practically sacred. “Oh, bloody hell. You mean it.”
Fred dragged a hand through his hair, forcing out a laugh that came out a bit shaky. “Of course I mean it. Look at her. She’s brilliant. She makes my shop look less like a disaster, laughs at my worst jokes—well, some of them—and she… she doesn’t look at me like I’m just half of a pair. She looks at me like I’m—me.”
For once, George was quiet. Then he smirked. “You’re gone, mate. Absolutely gone.”
Before Fred could retort, you turned around, holding a box in your hands. “Fred, could you give me a hand with this? It’s heavier than it looks.”
Fred nearly tripped over his own boots hurrying to you. “Course, love. I’ve got it.” He took the box easily, but his heart was hammering in his chest. You smiled up at him, the kind of smile that lit a fuse deep inside him.
“Thanks,” you said softly.
And Merlin help him, Fred thought, if George hadn’t been standing there grinning like a Cheshire cat, he would have blurted it right then and there: I’m so undeniably screwed for this woman.
Instead, he carried the box to the shelf, cheeks flushed, trying not to look like his world had just tilted in your direction.
But George knew. Oh, George knew.
