#weasley twins

[weezyweasleys-fg]

I love how my creative process just involves me writing the roughest one-shot outline, no paragraphs or bullets, just one long block of text with the most confusing grammar that can only be decoded by an interstellar species, and I just eyeball the writing. And somehow, it still works.

[cupcakegirlgreen]

Watching You..

- Fred Weasley x Fem Ravenclaw Reader

Summary: Reader is a 6th-year Ravenclaw who catches Fred Weasley's eye. Fred is a year older (7th-year).

Contains: mutual pining, fingering (fem receiving), tension

a/n: not proof read

word count: 3.2k

MDNI

The cold wind cut through your winter robes as you hurried up to the castle from Care of Magical Creatures. You kept your head bent down with your hood on to shield yourself from the frigid air.

As you approached the courtyard, you noticed a pack of students coming out of a corridor heading towards the warmth of the castle. You didn't have any company from your previous class because you had stayed back to ask Hagrid a few questions you had from the lesson. And by the time you were done, all your classmates had fled to the warmth of the great hall.

You turned the corner and saw a small cluster of 7th-year Griffindors huddled together down the hall. You shrugged your hood off and fixed your hair as you continued down the hall. You could hear from the tone and volume of the 7th years that the Weasley twins were among them. Cracking jokes as usual or plotting some prank or other.

As you neared the group, you noticed a glint of fiery hair shift, and you saw a head turn from the conversation to meet your gaze. Your step faltered as your eyes met Fred Weasley's, deep brown and searching. You felt your cheeks grow a little warmer as he watched you approach him. He still had the ghost of a smile on his face as he peered down at you. His tall frame shifted as you passed him. And you saw in your peripheral vision that his head had turned to watch you go.

This wasn't the first time the two of you had held eye contact that felt inexplicably charged. For the past few months, you had found yourself crossing paths with him nearly every day. You'd never exchanged many words over your past six years at Hogwarts, but he had always seemed to be around wherever you were.

As you entered the Great Hall, you felt the warmth and enticing smells of tonight's supper. You made your way to the Ravenclaw table and sat down next to a few of your friends, and set your bag on the bench next to you. Your eyes flicked to the door as you saw Fred and his crew enter the hall and take seats at the Gryffindor table. You returned your attention to the food in front of you and began filling your plate.

A few minutes later, once the meal was well underway, you felt someone's eyes on you. You looked up from your fork and glanced towards the Gryffindor table where Fred was facing you from across the hall. He was holding his glass of pumpkin juice and lifted it to his lips as you met his eyes. You blinked, then averted your gaze quickly, embarrassed by the eye contact.

He grinned to himself as he took a sip of his juice.

Later that night, as you were returning from the library with a few new books cradled in your arms, you heard the quick approach of footsteps coming up the hallway. Their hushed, excited words became louder as you neared the junction, and the Weasley twins turned around the corner sharply, now bearing down on you. You took a quick inhale of breath as you almost ran into Fred, nearly losing your grip on your stack of books. He halted abruptly, hands reaching out in surprise, steadying both of you,

"Whoa, you alright?" He tensed his fingers, then quickly dropped them to his sides, feeling your sharp flinch at his touch.

His eyebrows stitched together for a split second, then relaxed. His eyes peered down at you in an infatuated fashion. He was still close enough for you to feel his body heat. And you looked up at him, still shaken, as you managed a quiet,

"Yeah, I'm fine, sorry." You couldn't meet his gaze. And you felt your face flush in the dim lighting of the hallway. The moment lasted another beat as Fred stood in front of you staring.

George cleared his throat, and Fred was brought back to reality. He looked at his brother, who motioned with his head down the hall. And Fred nodded.

"Well, have a good night." You met his eyes, and he gave you a quick nod as he continued down the hall.

You turned and watched him go, his scent still in the air.

His chest felt light as he hurried to catch up to George, glancing back at you, catching sight of your robes as you turned the corner toward Ravenclaw Tower.

Your heart was beating much faster than it should have as you made your way to your dormitory that night. The thought of Fred being so close and real in front of you plagued your consciousness. The feeling of his hands on your arms replayed in your mind as you lay down in your bed. His low voice rang in your ears as you closed your eyes. And his towering frame encircled your dreams that night.

_______________________

After that encounter with Fred, he seldom left your mind. It didn't help that he appeared everywhere all the time. You saw him laughing with his friends in the Great Hall, or in the corridors whispering with his twin, or in the library, not studying.

The ladder was where he found you a few weeks after that night.

It was a rainy evening; not many people were in the library. And you were tucked into a small recess, reading your favorite book, when you heard his voice. He was with George as they turned the corner at the far end of the bookcase in front of your reading spot.

You were trying to look very focused on your book as you heard them coming closer to where you were sitting. Then you heard their voices grow quieter; you noticed George nod with an amused expression on his face and start walking in the direction from which they had just come. Fred continued down the row until he reached the shelves nearest you. He turned his attention to the closest line of books, and you could sense the disingenuous nature of his browsing.

He turned to face you a few moments later and leaned against the bookcase with his hands behind him, propping himself up. You glanced up at him from your cozy nook. He tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow,

"Would you be able to show me where the biographies are? I can't seem to find them."

You stared at him for a second, surprised by this direct encounter.

"Uh, yeah, sure." You mumbled in a breathy voice. You slid your bookmark into place and stood.

He grinned and followed after you as you began down the aisle. He took long strides to stay by your side; he caught a whiff of your shampoo as your hair swished past him. Your aroma had been on his mind since you nearly bumped into him all those nights ago.

His head buzzed as he watched you lead him through the rows of books.

You turned a corner and headed down a darker, empty row. You knew there was an alcove at the end of this path and once you reached it you turned suddenly to face Fred.

He was too focused on the scent of your hair and the proximity of you to him to realize you had brought him to a deep, private corner of the library that did not, in fact, house the biographies.

So it took him a split second longer to stop himself. Now he stood right in front of you, peering down into your bright eyes.

You pursed your lips. Slowly inhaling his musk. He had a curious yet mesmerized look on his face.

You opened your mouth slightly, and your breath hitched as Fred reached out and brushed a piece of hair out of your face.

Your heart was racing now, overwhelmed at his closeness. You looked at the shelves of books near you and whispered,

"I- uh- this isn't actually where the biographies are."

His eyebrows raised slightly, eyes never leaving you.

"Then why did you bring me here, love?" Your face grew hot then. Taken aback by the pet name.

You let out a shaky breath and met his gaze. Unsure as to how to ask him what was on your mind.

You folded your arms and looked at your feet.

Finally he spoke again,

"Is it because you wanted to be alone with me?"

You glanced at the alcove, which was fitted with a half-moon sofa and filled with the warm glow of a single candle.

He followed your gaze, and a soft smile spread across his lips.

"Well.. I- I just wanted to see if you maybe-" You trailed off, unable to finish your thought.

Fred's hand came up to your chin and lifted your face up to meet his eyes.

"If I maybe wanted what you want?"

Your brows flinched together for an instant. Looking into his deep brown eyes, unsure of what he was saying.

"Um- well, no- I- I was not sure if you.. I don't know-"

His gaze softened as he loomed over you, amused somewhat by your inability to articulate.

Your mouth opened again as if to add to your mumbles when you felt his finger brush your lower lip. His touch was gentle, and his hand felt warm.

He cupped your cheek, and you looked up to see his half-lidded eyes were filled with desire.

You shuddered as his thumb began rubbing softly against your face. Your eyes fluttered at the motion.

He leaned his head down, and you felt his hot breath on your neck.

"I do." He whispered in a low, heavy tone, making something stir in you.

You let out a shaky sigh as you leaned into his touch, captivated by his presence. Swaying slightly on your feet.

His other hand came up and ran through your hair, making you feel weak.

He turned his head slightly and pressed a soft kiss under your ear. You felt heat grow in your lower belly, and Fred began working his way down your neck, sucking softly at the warm skin.

Your breath was heavy and shaking now. You brought your hand up to his shoulder to steady yourself as his hot breath moved back from your neck.

He leaned back to meet your eyes. You bit your lower lip as he stepped forward, closing the small gap between your bodies even more.

You looked up into his eyes, which were alive with passion. Your lips parted as he leaned down and tilted his head to the side, pressing his soft lips to yours. His hands still cupped your cheek and held you from the back of your head, tangled in your hair.

Your eyes drooped closed as you kissed the fiery red-headed boy a year ahead of you. Surrounded by the darkness of your quiet passage, illuminated by the glow of the candle in the alcove.

You stepped back; now pressed between the wall and Fred's torso. Your hands were now tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

His hands now found themselves exploring your sides, squeezing your waist, and venturing down to your thigh- now slightly exposed as Fred's hand lifted your skirt, rubbing the hem of your panties.

Your knees felt like jelly as his finger hooked under the lace on your hip.

He pulled away and took a look at how your lips were now puffy, your chest rose and fell faster, and you already looked destroyed.

He caressed your face as he stepped forward. He bent down and started kissing your neck again. Now, with one hand kneading at your breast. You moaned softly.

Fred smiled to himself as he kissed your collarbone. His other hand moved from rubbing your hip to your ass. Gently squeezing handfuls as you involuntarily bucked your hips forward, craving more sensation.

He huffed as you ground against his front. You could feel how hard he was, which made your lower belly grow hotter.

When you did it a second time, Fred retreated from your neck and gave your ass a small squeeze. Your eyes were closed when you felt his other hand join the other under your skirt. Your eyes shot open, however, when you felt Fred tugging gently at your panties with both hands.

He looked down at you with pleading eyes, hands on your hips. His frame encircling you.

You nodded, "Please," was all you could manage.

He let out a sigh and turned his attention to your skirt. His fingers took hold of your panties and dragged them down your legs. You stepped out of them, and Fred brought them to his mouth, licking the soaked spot where your warmth had just been pressed against.

You felt weak. He then pocketed the fabric and slid his hand under your skirt once more.

The cool air on your core made you gasp, then Fred took your face in his hand and pressed another kiss to your lips. You slid your tongue into his mouth and felt a low groan come from his throat.

His hand moved down to your expecting cunt. A soft moan escaped your lips as one of Fred's long fingers gently pushed into your core.

"Shit, you're so wet for me, huh?" He mumbled softly as if to himself.

You clenched around his finger, and he groaned.

"Fuck- so damn tight."

His other fingers were now rubbing you just right as he curled in and out of your soaking hole.

Your head was now resting against the wall, your mouth hanging open, your body full of pleasure.

Quiet moans were escaping your lips as Fred worked your cunt. He slid a second digit into you and you gasped.

He grinned, enjoying the sight of you so wrecked from his doing. His head fell back slightly as you clenched hard on his fingers, clearly close.

You moaned and rolled your head to the side,

"Freddie, don't stop."

He clenched his teeth, holding back a groan, feeling his dick throb in his trousers.

You were grinding into his hand as you neared your climax, movements becoming jerky and desperate. His fingers kept their pace, quickly pushing you over the edge.

You bit your lip as you tried to stifle your moan, coming undone all over Fred's hand.

He was breathing heavily, sweat on his brow as he continued pleasuring you as you came down from your high.

You were letting out quick, short breaths as you came back to reality. With your hands still clenched in his shirt, you leaned forward and rested your head on his chest. He took a deep breath, inhaling your delicious scent as you panted against him.

He removed his hand from beneath your skirt and licked his hand clean, smiling as he did so.

He then kissed the top of your head, held the back of it, and then moved back slightly to look at your face.

You met his gaze and gave a tired smile.

Then your brows knit together suddenly, as if in confusion.

"How did you know I'd be there tonight?"

He looked taken aback for a second, then sheepish.

"Well, I- uh- I kinda.. follow you sometimes."

Your lips turned up at the edges, and your brows pinched together.

"But why? I always see you anyway."

His eyes flicked away for a moment then met your again.

"That's because I- I basically know where you'll be at any given time.."

You let out a breath, surprised that he was so aware of you.

"Oh."

"Sorry- I know how it sounds- I just- You're so-" He sighed, looked up at the ceiling, and ran a hand through his hair. "You haunt me; I can't get you out of my mind. And I can't stand not seeing you."

His cheeks grew pink as he averted his eyes from yours.

You grinned, reached up, and brushed his hair behind his ear. Then ran your fingers through his hair, pulling his head down to your level and bringing your mouth close to his ear.

"You know, you could have just talked to me." You smiled, then kissed his cheek. His hands were on your waist, keeping you near him; they tensed. You cupped his face with your hands, the tips of his ears were red. You leaned in and your lips pressed against his.

Suddenly, you heard a bang. Then laughter. Peeves.

"Oh shit-" Fred looked back down the hall towards where the sound came from and then back at you.

"It must already be past curfew." You whipsered with a worried expression extched on your face.

Fred took your hand and led you down the row, making sure to stay quiet to avoid Peeves.

When you finally escaped the library without Peeves seeing the two of you. You both let out a relieved sigh.

Then you felt Fred's hand tense at your side, and you turned to see a concerned expression on his face. He was looking down the corridor where a light was moving, accompanied by the uneven footsteps that could only mean Finch was approaching.

Fred turned and hurried you in the opposite direction and around a corner, holding your hand tightly.

Five minutes later, you found yourselves climbing the stairs to the astronomy tower, both slightly out of breath. It turned out Ravenclaw Tower was being patrolled by Mrs. Norris (Finch's cat) so Fred had brought you here instead to avoid detection.

When you reached the entrance, Fred helped you up onto the platform, and you felt the cold night air cut through you.

He led you out to where the stars were wonderfully bright and visible and wrapped his arms around you from behind. You rested your head on his chest and closed your eyes. Taking the moment in. You realized then how inconceivable your night had been, you and Fred. You smiled to yourself. Another gust of wind made you shiver,

"Cold?" Fred asked as you turned to face him.

"Yeah, kinda." He lifted his jumper off his torso and over his head, then handed it to you. You smiled, took it, and pulled it on.

"Better?" He reached and pulled your hair out from the neckline and rested his hands on your waist.

"Much." You reached up and gave him a quick kiss. As you leaned back, he was smiling. Savoring the feel of you being his.

He then led you deeper into the room, where the wind wouldn't reach as well, and lay down. You followed and nestled yourself next to him, head on his shoulder, legs between his. He wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss to your temple.

You fell asleep soon after, but Fred couldn't, considering your warm body was on his, snuggled up against his chest. He watched you until fatigue overcame him and he drifted off into dreams of you.

[marshallowpuff]

Don't Fall For It

Pairing: Fred Weasley x gryffindor!reader

Summary: Forced onto a blind date by your mum, you decide the easiest way out is to make him hate you. However, fate seems to have other plans.

Warnings: no use of y/n

Cw: a little angst

Wc: 4k+

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10 (Last part)

You changed your outfit three times.

The first one was the one you had laid out, which told you something already. You did not lay outfits out for things that did not matter. When you put it on and looked at the mirror it felt too much like you were trying to say something with what you were wearing, and you did not want him to read anything into it before you had even left the room.

So you changed.

The second one was the opposite problem. Too casual. The kind of thing you wore on a Sunday when you were not planning to go anywhere. You stood in front of the mirror in it and thought about the way Fred had said seven o'clock like it was something he had been planning for more than one day, and you thought about the way his face had looked when you agreed, and the second outfit did not feel right either.

The third one was fine. It was just fine. Not too much and not too little and it was what you were wearing now and you were not going to think about it anymore.

You looked at it in the mirror for another thirty seconds.

Then you made yourself stop.

Nadia was sitting on her bed behind you, holding a book. She had been holding it for the last fifteen minutes. You had not heard a single page turn.

"Do not," you said.

"I was not going to say anything," she said.

"You have been holding that book open to the same page since I got back from the bathroom."

"I am reading slowly."

"Nadia."

A small pause. "You look nice," she said simply. "That is all."

You looked at yourself in the mirror one more time. Then you picked up your bag out of habit and put it down again because you did not need a bag. Then you picked it up again because without it your hands did not know what to do with themselves. Then you put it down one final time.

She chuckled.

"Go already," Nadia said.

You went.

----

The common room was mostly quiet when you came downstairs. A few second years were hunched over something near the fire, talking in low urgent voices and occasionally looking over their shoulders. Someone had fallen asleep in the big armchair with a textbook open on their chest, rising and falling slowly. The fire was low and orange and the room smelled like warm wood.

No Fred.

You stood at the bottom of the stairs with your hands clasped in front of you and waited and felt slightly ridiculous and told yourself that was fine, that was a normal thing to feel, and then the portrait hole swung open and he came through it.

He was still pulling his jacket on with one hand. His hair was slightly damp at the ends, like he had washed it not long ago and then left it to do whatever it wanted, which was what it always looked like. He was looking down at the jacket buttons when he came through and then he looked up and he saw you standing there at the bottom of the stairs and his face did the thing.

It was a small thing. It was not dramatic. It was just that something in him settled when he saw you, like a question he had been holding got answered without him having to ask it out loud.

"You came," he said.

"You told me to come."

"I know," he said, still working on the jacket. "I just." He looked at you properly. "Good. You came."

You tilted your head. "You said that already."

"I know," he said again. And then he smiled, warm and a little crooked, and held out his hand. "Come on. We are going to be late."

You looked at his hand. "Late for what."

"The surprise," he said patiently. "Obviously."

You looked at him for one more second.

Then you took his hand.

He knew the castle the way people knew places they had grown up in, not by thinking about them but by feeling them, turning where he needed to turn before he reached the corner, slowing before a step that was slightly higher than the others. He moved quickly and quietly and you moved with him, and after the first few familiar corridors you stopped recognising where you were and just followed.

He checked around corners before turning them. At one point he pulled you sideways into a shadowed alcove so suddenly that you barely had time to process it before you were pressed against the stone wall in the dark with Fred's hand on your arm and one finger raised to his lips.

Filch came around the corner below, lantern swinging, muttering something you could not make out. You both stood completely still and did not breathe and watched the light from the lantern move along the wall and then diminish and then disappear.

The corridor went quiet.

Fred looked at you in the dark.

"We are sneaking out," you whispered.

"We are absolutely not sneaking out," he whispered back.

"We are hiding in an alcove from the caretaker."

"We are pausing," he said, "at a scenic point along an unconventional route." He said it with great seriousness. "It is completely different."

You stared at him.

He stared back.

The corner of his mouth moved.

----

You pressed your free hand over your own mouth to keep the laugh inside as he pulled you out of the alcove and you followed along.

The way out was a passage near the ground floor that he went to without hesitating, crouching down and pressing on a section of wall in a specific place that made it swing inward. It was narrow and low and smelled like cold stone and earth and the night air that was already coming in from the other end, and you ducked through it and came out on the other side and straightened up.

The grounds opened up in front of you.

And the sky opened up above.

You had been inside for weeks. You had forgotten, properly forgotten, what the sky looked like when there was nothing between you and it. It was enormous above the grounds, deep blue going to black at the edges, and it was absolutely full of stars. Not the handful you could see from the tower windows. All of them. More than you could count, more than you could take in all at once, laid out across the dark in every direction.

You stood there and just looked at it.

The air was cool and clean smelling like the lake and the particular freshness of a spring night that had not quite decided to be warm but was not cold either. It moved through you when you breathed in, settling something.

Fred stood beside you and did not say anything.

He just waited while you looked.

After a moment you took a step forward. Then another. Then you let go of his hand without thinking about it, just to have your arms free, just to be properly in the open, and you walked out further onto the grass and tipped your head back and looked up at all of it.

The stars were the kind of bright that felt almost close. Like if you reached up far enough you could brush them with your fingers. You turned slowly with your head back, taking in the full arc of the sky from one side to the other, and there was too much of it to hold all at once and you did not mind. You just kept turning slowly.

Fred watched you from a few feet away.

You turned back to face the lake and that was when you saw the rocks. They were at the far edge of the slope where the ground dropped away toward the bank, large flat ones jutting out from the earth, and from here you could tell that if you stood on them you would have the whole lake in front of you with nothing in the way.

You were already walking toward them.

You did not decide to walk toward them. Your feet just went.

The grass was soft and slightly wet under your shoes and the lake got larger as you got closer. When you reached the rocks you climbed up onto the first one, then the next, finding your footing in the dark, and from the top one you stopped. The whole lake was in front of you; it was extraordinary.

The water was completely still. The moonlight lay across it in one long unbroken line going all the way to the far bank. And the sky reflected back from the surface so that the stars were below you as well as above you, and you were standing in the middle of all of it, surrounded on every side by dark and silver and light.

You heard Fred climb up beside you.

Neither of you said anything for a while. You just stood there together and looked at the lake and the sky above it and the sky below it and let it be as big as it was.

Then you jumped back down to the grass and kept walking.

"Where are you going," Fred said, landing beside you.

"I want to see the rest of it," you said.

He did not argue. He just walked with you.

-----

You followed the edge of the lake for a while, close enough to hear the small sounds the water made against the stones at the bank. The grass was wet and your shoes were going to need drying out tomorrow and you found that you did not care at all.

You walked without talking. The silence was comfortable in the way it had been comfortable on the back step at the Burrow, full rather than empty, and Fred walked beside you with his hands in his pockets and matched your pace and let you lead and did not try to direct you anywhere.

A fish or something else moved out on the water and sent a ring of ripples spreading outward in the dark. You stopped to watch them come toward the bank and spread and disappear. Then you turned and kept going.

You rounded the curve of the bank and the ground flattened out where the field began, and that was when you saw it.

It was a tree at the far edge of the field, standing alone, old and broad, taller than the others nearby. And at this time of year its branches were full of white blossom, heavy with it, so much that the whole tree glowed faintly in the moonlight. You could see it from here, pale and soft against the dark sky behind it.

Then the breeze that had been moving across the lake reached the field.

It moved through the blossom and the petals came loose.

Not all at once and not in a rush. Slowly. One petal and then a few and then more, drifting down through the dark air in soft pale spirals, turning slightly as they fell, each one catching the moonlight for a moment before it landed on the grass without any sound at all.

You walked toward it the way you walked toward things that needed to be closer.

You did not think about it. You just went, crossing the grass steadily until you were standing under the branches, and then you stopped and you looked up and watched the petals come down around you.

One landed on your hair. You didn't even realise it was there.

You stood there with the blossom falling and the tree above you and the moonlight coming through the gaps in the branches and landing in small bright patches on the grass around your feet, and after a moment you closed your eyes.

Just to feel it.

Fred had stopped a little way back.

He stood in the field and looked at you under the blossom tree and he did not say anything and he did not come closer. He just looked. The petals were in your hair and on your cheek and your eyes were closed and your face was tipped up to the dark between the branches, and the blossom was coming down around you slowly in the quiet, and he stood there in the field, looking at you the way he had been trying not to look at you for months.

He let himself look properly.

''God, she’s beautiful''.

He thought about the back step at the Burrow. The way you had held the mug with both hands and said you had not felt lonely here, not once. He thought about the first morning in the kitchen when you had laughed at something and tried to stop and could not. He thought about the empty chair beside him in Charms that he kept accidentally saving. He thought about all of it, and he stood in the field and looked at you standing under the blossom tree, and it was not a difficult thing to understand anymore.

It had not been difficult for a long time.

He had just been waiting to say it.

---

After a while you opened your eyes. You lowered your face and looked out from under the branches at the field and the lake beyond it and then you turned and looked at Fred.

He was already looking at you.

You smiled. Not the careful smile or the composed smile. The real one, the one that happened when something had moved through you and left something good in its place.

"Fred," you said.

"Yeah," he said.

"This is the best thing anyone has ever shown me," you said. "And I do not think this is even the surprise yet."

He laughed softly. "No," he said. "It is not."

You looked back at the tree for a moment. A last few petals came loose and drifted down between you, pale and slow in the moonlight. You watched them land.

Then you turned walking back toward him, and he fell into step beside you, as you headed across the dark grounds toward the lane.

The village was a twenty minute walk down through the field and along the lane, and you walked it in the cool quiet night air with your arms close together, your sleeve brushing his with every few steps. Neither of you moved apart. Neither of you said anything about that either.

Ottery St Catchpole at night was a different place from Ottery St Catchpole in the afternoon. The same streets and the same buildings but emptied of the daytime and left with something softer. The windows of the houses were warm and lit from inside. The voices from the pub around the corner were distant and comfortable. The cobblestones were dark and slick with dew and the lanterns on the corners made small steady gold pools on the ground.

You walked through it and looked at everything.

-----

The bakery where Mrs Abbott had given Fred the cheese pastries was closed and dark but you could still faintly smell bread through the gap under the door. You slowed as you passed it without meaning to, just because of the smell. Fred noticed and did not say anything, just slowed with you.

He stopped outside a small shop halfway along the high street.

Its window was warm and amber from the inside, glowing steadily in the dark. You looked at the sign above the door and read it twice. A sweet shop, the sign said, though you could tell from the way the letters were painted that the sign was old, much older than most things around it.

"It has been here since before my grandfather was born," Fred said, looking at it. "The woman who runs it has been here for almost as long." He pushed the door open and the little bell above it rang and the smell came out to meet you.

It was extraordinary.

Warm sugar, something deep and chocolatey with a little floral underneath all of it, and something else beneath that which you could not name no matter how long you stood there trying. It was the kind of smell that did something to you immediately, something about it that went past your nose and settled somewhere else, somewhere further in.

The inside was narrow with ceilings that were slightly lower than they should have been and every wall lined with jars from the floor all the way to the ceiling, jars of every size with things in every colour inside them. A wooden ladder on a rail ran along the shelves for reaching the ones at the top.

The light came from two lamps on the counter and one hanging overhead and it made everything in the room look golden.

An old woman behind the counter looked up when the bell rang. She had white hair piled on top of her head and glasses on a chain around her neck and the unhurried, certain expression of someone who had been watching people come through that door for a very long time and was not surprised by any of them.

She looked at Fred. "Fred Weasley," she said.

"Evening Mrs Abbott," he said.

She looked at both of you.

"Well....sit down then," she said.

Fred pulled out the chair nearest the window and looked at you. You sat in it. He sat down beside you.

The shop settled into quiet around you. Somewhere near the back of it a clock was ticking and the needles on Mrs Abbott's knitting started up from the counter, a soft steady clicking. The candle between you was small and the light it made was warm and close.

You looked at the jars on the walls. All the colours of everything in them, catching the lamplight, going all the way up to the ceiling.

You could have spent a long time just looking at the jars.

Mrs Abbott appeared at the table without you having heard her approach and set down two mugs, one blue and one green, without explaining what was in them or asking what you wanted, and turned and went straight back to her counter.

You picked up the blue mug and held it with both hands and smelled it. Warm apple and something spiced and something else underneath that you could not identify no matter how carefully you tried. You took a careful sip.

It moved through you the way warmth moved through you when you came in from a cold night. From the centre outward, slow and steady, reaching your hands and your feet and the back of your neck. Your shoulders dropped before you told them to.

You looked at Fred over the rim of the mug.

He was watching you taste it, his own mug held loosely in both hands, with a small quiet smile that was waiting to see what you thought.

"What is in this," you said.

"Nobody knows," he said. "She has been making it since before my dad was born and she has never told anyone what goes into it. My dad asked her every summer for twenty years." He looked at his mug. "She never told him."

You took another slow sip.

"Did he come here as a child?" you said.

"Every summer," Fred said. "He used to bring all of us when we were small. He said some places carried magic in them even when no one was casting any. That some places built it up over time just from all the people who had been happy in them." He looked around the small warm room, at the jars and the ladder and the lamplight and the low ceiling. "He always said this was one of those places."

You looked around too. You thought about what it would have looked like to a small Fred Weasley, all those years ago, standing in this room with his brothers and his sister and looking up at all those jars going to the ceiling.

----

The clock ticked. The knitting needles clicked. The candle between you had burned a little lower. Outside the window the lane was dark and quiet when a cat had appeared from somewhere sitting very precisely in the pool of light from the street lantern, cleaning its face with great dignity.

You watched the cat for a moment.

Then Fred said, "Do you remember the last night at the Burrow?"

You turned back to him. "The one on the back step," you said. "With the tea."

"Yeah," he said. "That one."

He turned his mug slowly in his hands. He looked at it rather than at you for a moment, which was unusual enough that you noticed it.

"You were looking at the stars," he said.

"We both were," you said. "That was an extraordinary sky."

He nodded slowly. "You said they were the prettiest stars you had ever seen."

"They were," you said.

He was quiet for a second.

"And I said I had seen prettier," he said.

You frowned slightly at the memory.

"I said I was not copying you," he said.

"You said the exact same words."

He finally looked up from his mug and at you. "I said the same words," he said. "But we were not looking at the same thing."

The shop was very quiet.

You looked at him carefully. "What do you mean."

He put his mug down on the table. Slowly. Like he was making sure of something before he said it.

"You were looking at the sky," he said. "I was not."

The clock ticked.

The candle flickered once and steadied.

You looked at him and he looked back at you and neither of you said anything for a moment and the sweet smell of the shop was all around you and the light was very warm and low.

"I walked away from the Burrow that night," he said, quietly, "thinking I had been very obvious about what I meant. I thought you must have understood." He shook his head slightly. "And then later, when we were on the grounds on the way back inside, you said they were the prettiest stars you had ever seen and I said I had seen prettier." He paused. "And you spent a long time looking around the dark for what I was talking about."

The memory of it came back slowly. Standing on the grounds outside the castle. Frowning at the dark. Looking left, looking right, trying to find whatever he was looking at that could possibly be prettier than that sky.

"I looked everywhere," you said.

"I thought maybe there was something somewhere," you said, and your voice came out smaller than you meant it to.

"There was nothing at anywhere you were looking," he said.

"I thought maybe a light or something. A reflection."

"There was no reflection," he said.

"I thought you meant something in the sky," you said. "I spent a while comparing the actual stars to each other. I thought maybe some of them were brighter than usual."

He looked at you with an expression that was very soft and very careful. "I was not talking about anything in the sky," he said.

-----

The heat came into your face before you could do anything about it. You could feel it happening, moving up from your neck, and you could not stop it. "Fred," you said, very quietly. "What were you looking at."

He faced towards you.

Then he looked at you steadily and said, "You."

One word.

Just that.

"I was looking at you," he said. "You were sitting there with the moonlight on your face and your head tipped back and you were smiling at the stars like they had said something kind to you. And I said I had seen prettier because I was looking at something I thought was prettier." He paused. "I was looking at you. I had been looking at you most of the evening and I thought you knew. I genuinely thought you knew."

You could not say anything.

"You were my view," he said simply. "You have been my view for quite a long time."

The shop was so quiet you could hear the candle.

You sat there with his hands around yours and the warmth moving through your face and everything that had been building between you for months sitting right here at the surface of this moment, unhidden, nowhere left to go.

After a long moment you said, very quietly, "I compared the individual stars to each other. I thought some of them were brighter than normal and that was what you meant."

A laugh came out of him, soft and a little undone. "I know."

"I spent time on it," you said. "I was being thorough."

"I know you were," he said.

"And you watched me do all of that," you said.

"I did," he said.

"And you did not say anything."

"I was hoping it would come to me, what to say," he said. "And then we went back inside and I kept thinking I would find the right moment and then the moment kept not being right and then you started taking the east corridor and I thought I had lost you entirely before I ever said it."

You looked at him across the small table with the candle almost out between you.

"You were not looking at the sky," you said.

"No," he said.

"The whole time," you said.

"The whole time," he agreed.

You sat with that. Let it settle into all the places it needed to settle.

----

Then, without making anything of it, without announcing it or building up to it, you reached over with your free hand and picked up his mug from the table.

When you suddenly leaned towards him, slowly and without hurrying, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. You brought his mug to your lips and took a slow sip. It tasted the same as yours, warm and spiced and sweet. You set it back down carefully. Light and quick and warm and then you were settling back into your chair and picking up his mug again; looking out the window at the cat in the lamplight as though nothing had happened at all.

The shop was completely quiet.

Fred did not move.

You could see him clearly in the corner of your eye, in exactly the position he had been in, except that the quality of his stillness had changed. It was a different kind of still now. Like something in him had stopped and was deciding what to do next. Like the moment between a breath in and a breath out.

You kept your eyes on the window and your face entirely calm and took one more small unhurried sip.

----

Then, very slowly, Fred reached over and took his mug back from your hand.

You turned to look at him.

He considered your mug, sitting on the table in front of you. Then he reached over and picked that one up too. He now had a mug in each hand, one blue and one green, held out slightly from his sides, and he was looking at you with an expression that was warm and deliberate and doing something very specific to your heart.

"That is my drink," you said.

"I know," he said.

"I would like it back."

He thought about this with great apparent seriousness. "No," he said.

You looked at your empty hands for a moment. Then you looked at him. And something decided itself in you, something that was not really a decision so much as the next obvious thing, and you leaned forward slowly as he watched you come closer, he did not move back and you turned your face just slightly toward his cheek.

You were going to do it again. The same as before. The cheek. Quick and light and then back to the window.

He turned his head.

His lips met yours instead.

It was soft and warm and completely unhurried. The shop was still around it, the clock still ticking, the needles still. The kiss was not short and it was not hurried and it was real in the way that things were real when they had been true for a long time before anyone said them out loud. His hands were still holding both mugs, slightly out to either side, and there was something about that which was so completely him that when you felt yourself smile against his mouth you could not help it.

He felt it too.

When he pulled back you were both still leaning toward each other, very close, close enough to see his eyes clearly in the low light. His ears were pink. Both mugs were still in his hands.

He looked at them.

Then he looked at you.

"You did that on purpose," you said, very quietly.

"I did," he said. He looked completely unsorry.

You looked at the mugs. At his face. At the mugs again.

And then you started laughing.

----

It came out of you warm and real;a little undone as Fred laughed too, quietly, his shoulders shaking, and the shop came back into focus around you, the jars on the walls.

You reached over and took your drink back.

He let you take it.

You both settled back into your chairs and the warmth of the shop was all around you and outside the window the cat was still in the lamplight, still cleaning its face with enormous self-possession, and the lane beyond it was dark and quiet and the night was carrying on exactly as it had been.

You held your mug with both hands and looked at it for a moment.

Then you looked up.

Fred was already looking at you.

"What?" you asked softly.

" Nothing," he said, smiling smugly.

----

The candle had gone out. The only light now was the lamp overhead and the glow from the street coming through the window, the shop smelled like sugar. The clock was still ticking, and Mrs Abbott had gone very deliberately back to her knitting, neither of you going to mention that she had stopped for a while.

His hand moved until his fingers found yours.

You looked down at them.

Then you smiled and turned your hand over, threading your fingers through his.

Fred looked at your joined hands for a moment before looking at you.

" You're smiling."

"So are you."

" I know."

His thumb brushed slowly over your knuckles.

" You're very pretty when you smile," he said.

You made a face. "That's horribly cheesy."

"I know."

"And you still said it."

“I did.”

----

You tried not to smile harder and failed. There was something about the way he was looking at you that made it impossible to keep your face straight, like he had somehow made the entire room smaller until there was nothing left but the two of you and the warmth between your hands.

Fred squeezed your hand gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"I like you," he said quietly.

The words were simple, almost painfully so, but the way he said them made your heart give a little flutter. You looked at him for a moment, pretending to consider it seriously, even though the smile threatening the corners of your mouth had already given you away.

" That’s all?"

He smiled, glancing down at your joined hands as though he were suddenly shy about saying more. His fingers tightened around yours.

He thought about it for a second.

"I like you a lot."

You tried to hold back your laugh, but a soft smile slipped through anyway. You tilted your head, looking at him with the sort of fondness you would never admit to having if he asked.

"That’s still not very good."

His smile widened.

He leaned a little closer, his eyes warm and impossibly soft as he watched your reaction.

" I love you, then."

Your heart seemed to stop for half a second.

----

You looked at him, completely caught off guard, and felt your face grow warm almost immediately. It was ridiculous how easily he could do that to you. One stupid sentence and suddenly you had forgotten what you were supposed to say.

" You can't just say that."

Fred's eyebrows lifted, amusement flickering across his face.

"Why not?"

You looked down at your hands, suddenly very interested in the way his fingers were wrapped around yours. You could feel yourself smiling despite your best efforts.

" Because now I have to say it back."

His grin widened into something unbearably pleased.

"You don't have to."

There was something teasing in his voice, but his eyes had softened again, waiting for you without pushing.

You looked back at him.

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Then you squeezed his hand.

" I love you too."

His expression changed instantly. The teasing disappeared, replaced by something so openly happy that it made your chest ache.

"I know."

---

You stared at him.

Of course he had to ruin the moment.

A laugh escaped you, and you shook your head, though you couldn't stop smiling.

"You're insufferable."

His fingers lingered for just a second against your cheek.

He smiled at you, soft and stupidly fond, like he had just discovered something wonderful.

You stared at him.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said. "You're just very pretty."

"That was awful."

His mouth twitched as he tried not to laugh.

"I thought it was romantic."

"It was embarrassing."

He gave your hand another little squeeze, looking entirely too proud of himself.

You tried to look annoyed.

You really did.

----

But your cheeks were warm, your heart was beating far too quickly, and you couldn't stop the smile that appeared.

And somehow that was the worst part.

You sat like that for a long time, hands tangled together across the table, both of you smiling like complete idiots.

The warmth of the shop, the dark of the lane, the clock ticking, and the soft little sounds of Mrs Abbott's knitting needles starting back up again.

Steady and soft.

Like a house that had been happy for a very long time and had decided, quite shamelessly, to let you be happy in it too.

It was, you thought, exactly what Fred's dad had meant.

And it was the best surprise you had ever been given.

A/n: and its the end...oh and before that the next series im writing would be an angsty george weasley fic...so comment if you would like to be tagged in it!

Taglist: @gabriellewood, @svnn132, @lulzs-world06, @superlegend216, @kttyruby, @lightprincess-world, @frogtits1, @lilians17, @yani-nthpinch, @394pitterpatterpotter394, @lilyyyyy08, @rrhiaaqvss, @swancreeper, @moritas-tiny-theatre, @gorg-e11e, @adhxmoony, @lalunneee, @crying2hs, @miasandia11, @notfckincreative, @mariaunused, @justscar07, @theanonymousweeb2010, @summ6rbummer, @aunicornmademedoit, @kindarealgirl, @likedbygaslyy, @alakaythepink, @cherryribbonss, @crochetingthedayaway, @magicdragonnamedpuff, @aammiraa, @calkestiswife, @mikequeerle,

[nargaltronus]

₊ ⊹ ݁˖ . ݁ specific turn-ons for the twins

✶ 𝓟airing: Weasley Twins/fem!Reader ✶ 𝓣ags: 18+ , size difference kink , George is a perverted gentleman , and Fred is a respective brat , biting , bedroom roleplay . ✶ 𝓢ummary: what is says on the can

✶ 𝓐/𝓝: back with filthy thoughts on the boys ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎♡ currently working on some dark!Twins stuff so my inspo for that may bleed into this

⋆˙⟡

— 𝓖eorge :

★. Absolutely into the fact that he towers over you. Whether or not this contributes to his blowjob fantasies, George purposely straightens up around you just so he can look down on you whenever you're talking to him.

☆. Him being taller also equates to him being bigger. He's fond of comparing your hand sizes and being able to hold a whole half of your face in just his left palm. Also helps when he's able to fill your cunt with just a finger or two.

★. Honestly a fan of you trying to drag him around and/or manhandle him despite it being a bit hard to. It's cute, in a sort of sexy type of way that lets him know he's allowed to have fun in bed.

☆. Oh, and those blowjob fantasies? He has an outrageous amount. In fact, he found it a bit hard to focus his last few months at Hogwarts because he wouldn't stop daydreaming about having you on your knees under his desk. He just loves the idea of being able to feel you swallow around his cock, tongue soft and wet on him.

★. Another humiliating fantasy of his: any form of post-game Quidditch roleplay. George has, on numerous occasions, invisioned himself sneaking you into a sports storage closet just to fuck you while high on his winning adrenaline. This type of image might have grown too potent in his head, however, as he had to stop looking over at you during games so he wouldn't be uncomfortable on his broom.

☆. Although never wanting too big an ego, he loves compliments. He turns into a big puddle whenever you start saying anything positive about his cock, especially when he's already inside you. Even hearing your little moans is enough to tell him he's doing a good job, and it makes him dizzy.

★. He's really into you wearing shirts where the collar dips a bit further than what's allowed at Granda's house. George has a thing for cleavage, like any man, but just seeing it in a nice blouse drives him mad. Seeing your tits so perfect and round inside such nice fabric makes it hard for him to look at anything else. Or keep his hands to himself.

☆. George loves it when you get a bit timid in bed. His heart swells with a type of protectiveness that he just wants to pour into you, seeing you so vunerable under his gaze. Being able to see you in such a state makes him feel like the luckiest wizard in the world, the sort of pride that shoots straight to his groin.

— 𝓕red :

☆. He likes to hear you. Adores it when you whine and yelp for him, especially in places where you should absolutely not be overthrown with pleasurable noises. Hearing how badly you need him makes him go ten times as faster.

★. Admittedly, a bit of a voyeur. Has definitely touched himself to the memories of you in the water, changing in his room when you thought he wasn't looking, or even the silhouette of your body in the shower. Any form of you practically naked in front of him and yet untouchable will always make him hard as a rock.

☆. This goes for both you and him, but Fred likes biting. Whether that's you digging your teeth into his neck while he rails you or him gnawing at your thighs, he can't get enough of the sting and taste. He'll trace his bitemark along your skin to feel how thoroughly he ravaged you, kissing it back to health once you two have finished. But he favors the bruising ache the following day on his shoulder, with your own teeth indents clawing at his skin.

★. Enjoys getting pulled by his tie. Doesn't matter if you're taking him somewhere or just yanking him for his attention, he's at focus like a soldier whenever he feels the pull around his neck. Perhaps it's the pressure on his airways that he likes so much…

☆. Absolutely loves being your practice run for certain spells. Weirdly enough, the thrill of you potentially messing up and sending him across the room arouses him. He likes knowing that you could always be as unpredictable as him, and he likes someone who he can match speeds with.

★. In addition to this, he's absolutely exhilarated whenever he sees you acting out or biting back at him. His heart races whenever the flame he's been trying to light for so long finally flares, and regardless of what he says, his eyes do light up when you yell at him.

☆. Unlike his brother's blowjob and boob affection, Fred's quite a thigh guy. Very much into pumping himself in between your thighs, squeezing them, kissing them, whatever he can get. Yes, this also means he'll drool at the sight of you in stockings.

★. An incredibly physical lover. Maybe a bit of a rough fuck, but still cares for your wellbeing as any goodhearted Weasley would. The sight of you disheveled after a night together is enough to stir him back up, with your tired eyes and messied hair. And seeing you enthusiastically respond to his quick rebound just works him up even more.

[summ6rbummer]

Could you write a George Weasley x slytherin fem? She was going though it and got drunk at a party. George noticed she was about to play spin the bottle and dragged her out. They absolutely hated each other. Bridgette was wasted and said way too much.

drunk confession is fuuucking peak- thank you ugh you Slytherin bitches are my favorite. drarry if you squint...a lot.

CRUSH

G. Weasely x F! Slytherin! character insert

the Slytherin common room has hosted many a party. Normally the parties consist of just Slytherin students, maybe a select few Ravenclaws that got on Draco or Blaise's good side. But this weekend, Draco must have felt especially generous, because he had involved all the houses- on one condition: Hufflepuffs bring the drugs, Ravenclaws provide cover for all the students that sneak out, and Gryffindors supply alcohol.

Bridgette couldn't believe Draco had invited everyone. all of the houses? why couldn't he just invite one?

probably because daddy cut off his drinking and drugging fund.

She didn't particularly enjoy Draco, as she was much closer with Pansy and her boyfriend Blaise. and unfortunately for Bridgette, they loved to party. now, this doesn't mean she didn't like partying- she just had a bad track record of saying things she didn't mean to- after getting completely shitfaced.. and then having zero memory of anything that happened.

the party was electric. Bridgette had to admit, Draco did his big one. Hufflepuffs certainly do grow the best Weed, and Gryffindors are particularly good at finding a way to make the alcohol endless. Bridgette had spent most of the party dancing and drinking, but she wasn't really 'drunk' yet. everyone seemed to be having a lovely time.

Fred had somehow convinced George to come along. he must have promised a month's worth of laundry duties to get George to come to a party hosted by Draco. George hated him. he had always been one to hold a grudge, especially when it involved Draco talking out of his dirty mouth about George's family. so by proxy, he made it his soul's duty to never give any Slytherin a moment's peace.

Bridgette in particular had always had George's attention. He wasn't sure why- something about her was simply less.. malicious. so he was always less targeting towards her during he and Fred's pranks, until she was accidentally caught in the middle of a dragon's breath firework that was terrorizing the dining hall- turning her hair bright orange.

she had hexed George into next week and cursed him with vocabulary words he didn't even know existed. from that moment on, he made it his mission to keep her attention: throwing her notes during potions class and taking the same routes as her in hopes that they’d run into eachother. Any conversation between them was nothing more than Bridgette calling him dim and then walking away, leaving George to sit in the smell of her shampoo and perfume like a chained bike.

Bridgette was glad to be partying. She had been stressed about the O.W.L.S. and about her home life. But nothing a pint and a joint couldn’t fix.

Unbeknownst to her, George wasn’t the only one that was smitten by her. Cormac McLaggen, a substitute chaser for the Gryffindor team had taken a liking to her. George didn’t like it one bit. cormac was aggressive. In a bad way. George hated the way he spoke about Bridgette- gross and crass, all about her looks and not about the way she likes coffee but never tea, the books she enjoys reading when shape isn’t paying attention.

but what could George do? Bridgette hated him, and he was aware of it, no matter how much he liked to pretend she enjoyed him deep down. Cormac came from a good family- a rich one with a big house- and he had a job lined up with the ministry of magic already. How could George even begin to believe he could be part of that equation?

and so he stood against the wall all night- watching Bridgette dance and laugh. The sound carried over any music that played and twisted in his brain. he nursed one spiked butter beer all night.

he almost crushed the glass in his hand when he saw Cormac slink up next to her. He said something funny- must have- because you laughed. Politely. George was funnier.

it stayed like that for another hour. And then she handed Cormac her drink- went to the bathroom with Pansy- and he watched Cormac drop a little white pill in the cup. And then he refilled it.

George was on his feet just as Bridgette got back and downed the entire thing. He wasn’t fast enough, not that it was his fault. Suddenly nobody knew how to make way.

and imagine sweet Georgie’s defeat when Cormac immediately suggested a game of spin the bottle. The common room erupted in cheers and sudden rushing to find a spot. He started to protest as he watched Cormac guide her to sit next to him. George’s blood boiled. He rushed over, stampeding through the circle formed on the floor.

he grabbed Bridgette’s hand and pulled her up, leading her quickly out of the common room, through the portrait hole, and into the hallway.

Bridgette looked shocked. More than shocked. Offended. “What the hell is your problem Weasel? Can’t stand to see me have fun?” she snarled as she shoved him in the chest.

“I swear that was for your own good! Cormac-“

“oh so that’s what this is about! You just hate when I give my attention elsewhere! So true to you George Weasely- a right daft boy!”

George was panicking. Maybe this wasn’t the best course of action. He desperately wanted to explain and have her understand that he was just looking out for her.

he watched it happen. The intoxication hit Bridgette like a truck- and surely the drug Cormac had slipped in her drink was swimming around her system. Her eyes got droopy and he watched her lose her footing a bit.

before she could stumble- he reached out and grabbed her waist. Holding her still.

she scoffed- hands lazily coming up to hold onto his arms. “Playing the hero are you? You sure look the part.”

George furrowed his brow at the remark. “Look. I don’t know what you think I’m doing right now- but I can assure you that I’m just protecting you. Cormac slipped something in your drink- I saw it.”

her stomach felt sick at George’s explanation. What a sick bastard, Cormac was. Bridgette looked at George with an uneasy expression. maybe it was just the drug, but she had never realized how nice his eyes were. “what?” oh. So she had said that bit out loud. And then she watched as a grin started growing on George’s face.

“you think I’ve got nice eyes do you?” “and nice hair.” oh god. Can she say anything other than her inside thoughts. “I think you’ve got nice hair too- real bouncy and shiny.”

Bridgette giggled. George felt his heart squeeze. “you know, I quite enjoy you, George Weasely. Even if you are a pain in my ass.”

what was happening? Was she confessing? At the very least she was being nice to him- and that was more than enough to make George pink in the face. he was about to say something in return, but Bridgette had started rubbing his bicep. Suddenly he couldn’t speak anymore. But she could.

“you’re so fit. Quidditch is such a wonderful sport. Makes you all strong- big and tall.” “look- you’re drunk- just uh, let me help you to lay down somewhere okay?”

Without another word, George reached down and lifted her- carrying her in his arms and down the stairs, through a corridor silently and into a hidden passageway that held a tiny common room. Hidden behind a portrait of McGonnogal.

as he set Bridgette down on the couch, he immediately missed the feeling of her soft hand on his chest. And while he stood over her, she looked up at him with big, gentle eyes. “you know, you aren’t like I thought. You’re sweet George.”

“you aren’t going to yell at me?” “George please. I’m in love with you, why would I yell?”

She said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. And then she rolled over and closed her eyes. George’s world was spinning. The girl he had been pining over for years had just told him that she was in love with him. He flopped into an arm chair. Watching her breathe. And then he moved closer, tucking a Stray strand of hair behind her ear.

she sighed and lifted her hand to rest on top of his. Her eyes sleepily opened and she looked at him- really looked. And then she shot up. “how did I get in here? Weasel what the hell have you done??”

George shushed her, backing away quickly. “Shush please please- I haven’t done anything I swear. You don’t remember?” “remember what?”

‘Cormac drugged you, Bridgette. I saw and I got you away from him and- well..”

her face dropped. “Well what?” “you said a lot..”

it came rushing back. She had called him pretty- inadvertently. She had groped his biceps. She had said.. that she was in love with him. George watched her go through seventeen stages of grief. “oh my gods.” “I’m in love with you too.”

George was fiddling with his hands, something Brigette had noticed he does a lot. When he presents in class and when Fred is doing all the talking. She stood. walked over to where he stood and grabbed his hands. she took a deep breath and looked him right in his face.

“I like you George Weasely. Or I suppose I love you. I like your hair. I like your eyes quite a bit- and I like your freckles. You have 433 on your face. Don’t ask, I’m still drunk- but I’ve been counting for five months. I know we’re very different, but I’d like to get to know you- really know you and please don’t shoot me down, I know I’ve been nothing but rude to you-“

George cut her off. Kissed her. Quickly and softly, not making a commitment out of it. She was infact still drunk, and he would never take advantage of it. But she was just so pretty, rambling on and trying not to scare him off. “I like you plenty, Bridgette. I’ve liked you for quite some time. I don’t care that we’re so different- I never did.”

“when im sober do you think i can take you to hogesmeade?”

“you’re going to take me?” “I’d like to take you anywhere.”

“god you’re pretty.” Bridgette giggled and leaned up to peck his cheek. “Yes you can take me out. But right now I think I’ll get you back to your dorm and I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Mmm yeah. Good idea Georgie. Carry me again?” Bridgette lazily reached up and George smiled while he obliged. Lifting her and carrying her through the same dark corridors, back to the slytherin common room. The party had cleared out, leaving only a few passed out students on the floor and couches.

George set Bridgette on her feet, watching her slowly make her way up the stairs to her dorm.

he smiled real big, a shit eating grin when he heard her call over her shoulder. “Goodnight Handsome! See you in the morning!”

George has never gone to bed happier. Knowing he would be taking the girl of his dreams, or rather, she would be taking him, to hogsmeade in the morning. he didn’t care if she hated him any longer. He loved her. And apparently she loved him too.

holy fuck this is absolutely buns I’m so sorry- the spirit of good writing left me for this one for some reason. Didn’t even proofread so if it accidentally switches to second person i apologize. I hope this is at least okay and I didn’t mischaracterize your girl 💔

[beafraidbeveryafraid]

thank you for noticing, wood

[marshallowpuff]

Don't Fall For It

Pairing: Fred Weasley x gryffindor!reader

Summary: Forced onto a blind date by your mum, you decide the easiest way out is to make him hate you. However, fate seems to have other plans.

Warnings: no use of y/n

Cw: a little angst

Wc: 4k+

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10 (Last part)

A few days after the incident, you were walking down the corridor outside the classroom when you heard his voice around the corner. He was talking to Lee and George about something, laughing, and the sound of it moved through you in a way that you were not prepared for. Warm and familiar and a little too much all at once.

You turned around and took the longer route.

You told yourself it was because you had time to spare. You told yourself it was nothing, just a small detour that did not mean anything. But you walked the whole way with your hand tight around your bag strap and your heart doing something uncomfortable in your chest, and when you finally sat down in class ; staring at the board you thought, very quietly and very clearly.

This is a problem.

Not the feelings. You had stopped pretending the feelings were not there a while ago. They had come in so slowly, so carefully, one small thing at a time, that by the time you noticed them they had already made themselves at home somewhere in your chest and were not interested in leaving. The problem was something else. The problem was that you had started to think maybe it was not completely one sided, and then you had overheard a conversation.

He was like this with everyone.

He was warm with everyone. He noticed things about everyone. He saved seats and made tea, did small thoughtful things not because of you specifically but because that was simply the kind of person he was. You knew that. You had always known that. Somewhere between the Burrow and the walk back from Ottery St Catchpole and the back step under the stars, you had just quietly let yourself forget it.

So you started taking different corridors.

You ate breakfast a little earlier so the timing would not line up. You stopped going to the library at the hours you knew he went. You were not cold about it, you were not rude, you just made yourself a little harder to find and told yourself that was the sensible thing to do. That it was better this way. That you were getting ahead of something before it could get ahead of you.

And you told yourself, firmly and repeatedly, that he had probably not even noticed.

----

He had noticed on the second morning.

Fred arrived at Charms early the way he usually did and dropped into his seat and without thinking about it at all, without making any kind of decision, he left the chair beside him empty. He just did not put his bag on it the way he sometimes did. He just left it.

George sat down on his other side and looked at the empty chair. Then he looked at Fred. "You saving that?"

Fred looked at the chair. Then he looked back at the front of the classroom. "No," he said.

"Then why does it look like you are saving it."

"It does not look like anything."

George raised an eyebrow and said nothing, which was somehow worse than if he had said something. Fred picked up his quill and put it back down. He looked at the door. Someone came through it and it was not you. He looked back at his desk.

"You have been watching the door since we sat down," George said.

"I have not."

"You stopped talking halfway through a sentence when that third year walked in."

"I thought it was someone else."

"Who?"

Fred did not answer. He turned the quill over in his fingers. The classroom was filling up around them, people dropping into seats and pulling out parchment and talking over each other, and you were not there.

"She was not in the common room this morning either," Fred said. He was not really talking to George. He was just saying it out loud because it had been sitting in his head and needed somewhere to go.

George's expression changed. The teasing dropped out of it entirely. "Did something happen?"

Fred looked at the empty chair beside him. "I do not know," he said honestly. "I genuinely do not know."

----

You did not mean for it to go on as long as it did.

You told yourself it was just a few days. Just enough time to get your head straight and put things back where they belonged and stop letting yourself get carried away with things that were not real. A few days of distance and then everything would settle and you would stop feeling like this and it would all be fine.

But three days became four and four became five and every time you saw him at the end of a corridor something in you went tight and you found a reason to go another way. Not because you disliked him. The exact and complete opposite of that, which was the whole problem. It was just that looking at him had started to feel like pressing on something bruised, and it was easier not to.

You told yourself he was fine. That he was busy and surrounded by people and laughing about something with George and absolutely not noticing that you were no longer walking past him in the corridors or showing up at the usual times.

Nadia watched you take a different staircase on the third day without saying anything. On the fourth day she put a cup of tea in front of you and sat down across the table and waited.

You looked at the tea. "Do not say it."

"I was not going to say anything," she said.

"You were."

"I was going to ask if you were alright."

"I am fine."

"You have dark circles."

"I always have dark circles."

"You have been going to bed at nine and waking up at six and you still have dark circles," Nadia said. "Which means you are not sleeping. Which means something is bothering you." She wrapped both hands around her own mug. "And I notice you have stopped going to the library."

You looked at the table.

"And you took the east corridor this morning," she said. "Which you said was inefficient."

"It is not that inefficient."

"You walked fifteen minutes out of your way."

You picked up the tea and said nothing.

Nadia looked at you with the patient expression of someone who was very good at waiting. "You do not have to tell me," she said. "But you do not have to pretend either. Not with me."

You held the mug with both hands and looked at the steam coming off it and thought about the back step and the stars and the warm solid weight of his hands over yours and how none of it had meant what you had let yourself think it meant.

"I just need a few more days," you said quietly. "And then I will be fine."

Nadia looked at you for a long moment. "Okay," she said. And she did not push, because she was Nadia and she knew when to leave things alone, and you were grateful for that more than you could say.

----

Fred had stopped making sense of it by day four.

He had gone back through every conversation, every moment, every small thing he could remember from the last few weeks, and he could not find the place where it had gone wrong. He had replayed the Burrow in his head more times than he wanted to admit, looking for the thing he had said or done or not done, and he could not find it.

George had stopped making jokes about it after the second day, which told Fred more than any joke would have.

On the fifth morning, Fred was walking to Charms and thinking about nothing in particular when he turned a corner and saw Lee up ahead talking to someone about the next Quidditch match. Lee said something and laughed and then said, loud enough for Fred to hear, "Remember that blind date disaster you told us about? That girl who complained about everything?"

Fred stopped walking.

"She was unbelievable," Lee said, still laughing. "Sending back the butter and the dramatic hair twirling and then trying to proposition you over the chips."

Fred thought about it for a second, about the conversation, about exactly what had been said and who had been there and who might have been close enough to hear.

And then, slowly, he understood.

Then he found you.

Not on purpose. You came around the corner near the library and he was already there, walking from the other end of the corridor, and there was no side passage and no time to think and nowhere else to go.

You both stopped at the same moment.

The corridor was quiet. Just the two of you and the grey afternoon light coming through the windows and the distant sound of people somewhere else in the castle.

For a second neither of you said anything at all.

Then Fred smiled.

Not the wide grin. Not the teasing one that meant he was about to say something. Just a quiet, real, relieved smile, the kind that happened before you had time to arrange your face into something more controlled. Like something that had been sitting heavy on him for days had shifted just a little just from seeing you standing there.

"There you are," he said.

Three words. That was all. And yet they landed somewhere so specific and so soft that you felt them before you fully processed them. Like he had been looking. Like he had actually, genuinely been looking.

Before you could think about it you gave him a small smile back. "Hi."

He looked at you carefully for a moment, the way he looked at things when he was making sure of them. Then something in his expression shifted and he said, quietly and without any accusation in it at all, "You have been avoiding me."

You laughed. It came out too quick and too light and it did not sound convincing even to you. "I have not."

"You have."

"I have just been busy. It is nearly the end of term and there is a lot of—"

"You took three different corridors to get around me yesterday," he said. "I watched you do it."

You went completely still.

He was not angry. That was the thing that made it harder rather than easier. He was not raising his voice or accusing you of anything. He just looked tired. A little bit lost. Like someone who had been carrying something around for several days and had not been able to put it down.

His hair was a little messier than usual. His tie was loose around his neck. There were shadows under his eyes that had not been there before the holidays.

"I have been looking for you," he said, and his voice was so straightforward and simple about it that your chest hurt.

"I have just been—"

"You leave before I get to breakfast," he said. Not rushing, not listing it like a complaint, just saying it. "You stopped coming to the library. You take different corridors. And every time I think I have finally caught up to you." He let out a small breath. "You are already gone."

You tightened your hand around the strap of your bag.

He looked at you for a long moment and then he said, very quietly, "Did I do something?". There was something achingly soft in his eyes, like the thought of upsetting you genuinely hurt him.

The question landed like something dropped from a height.

----

There was no grin waiting. No joke ready to soften the edges of it. He was just standing there in the corridor looking at you and he looked completely and honestly lost, and his eyes were searching yours with the kind of desperation that only came from someone who had been turning a question over for days without finding the answer.

"I keep thinking about it," he said, and his voice was careful and low. "Going back through everything trying to find the moment I got it wrong. If I said something that upset you. If I did something without realising." He shook his head slightly. "And I cannot figure it out. But something changed and I know it did and I just." He stopped. Then he said, "If I did something, I am really sorry."

Something broke open quietly in your chest.

Because he looked tired. He looked genuinely, actually tired. Like someone who had not slept properly because he was too busy blaming himself for something that was not his fault at all. And the thing that made it so much worse was that he had done nothing wrong. He had been kind and patient and good and he had held your hands over a mug on a dark step under the stars and he had found you in a corridor and smiled like he was relieved and none of that was his fault. None of it was anything except him just being him.

"I heard something," you said, and your voice came out quieter than you intended. "A conversation. You and Lee."

Fred frowned. "What conversation?"

"About me." You looked at the floor. "You said I complained about everything. That the whole thing was a disaster." You swallowed. "You were laughing about it."

There was a pause.

Then Fred said, very slowly, "You thought I was talking about you."

You looked up. "Were you not?"

He stared at you for a second. Then he let out a breath and put his hand through his hair and said, "No." He shook his head. "I was talking about the girl you pretended to be from the blind date. The one who complained about the butter and the lighting and the chips that were not crispy enough. The one who spent the whole evening performing and then panicked when the performance stopped working." He looked at you and his voice was very steady. "I was not talking about you."

You blinked.

The corridor was completely silent.

You stood there and turned it over in your head. The conversation. Lee laughing. Fred talking about the hair twirling and the proposition and the restaurant. And you realising, with a slow and sinking and then strangely lightening feeling, that he had been talking about a performance you had put on months ago. A plan that had not worked. A version of you that you had both moved well past without either of you marking the exact moment it happened.

"Oh," you said.

"Yeah," Fred said.

You looked at your shoes. "Oh no."

A quiet laugh escaped him. "It is a little late for oh no."

For a few moments, neither of you said anything.

The heavy feeling that had been sitting between you for days had finally started to disappear. You knew now that Fred hadn't been talking about you. He'd been talking about the girl from the blind date—the version of you that had never really existed. It should have made you feel completely better.

Somehow, it didn't.

You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly before giving him a small smile.

"So..." you said quietly. "I'm glad we managed to clear up the misunderstanding."

Fred smiled back.

"Yeah. Me too."

You nodded once, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder.

"Right... I should probably go."

"You don't have to."

"It's okay." You laughed softly, trying to ignore the strange feeling still sitting in your chest. "Everything's sorted now."

"It is."

"Good."

Another awkward silence settled between you.

You smiled politely before taking a small step backwards.

"Okay then... bye, Fred."

You turned and walked past him, already telling yourself not to think about how embarrassing the whole thing had been. It was over now. Everything was back to normal.

At least, that's what you thought.

You had barely taken a few steps before you heard quick footsteps behind you.

Then, without warning, someone gently caught your hand.

The sudden warmth around your fingers made you stop.

You turned around in surprise.

Fred was standing there, still holding your hand. He looked almost as surprised as you did, as though he hadn't really thought about what he was doing until he'd already done it.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

His eyes dropped to your joined hands before meeting yours again.

"I..." He let out a small breath and laughed quietly at himself. "I don't want this to end like that."

You blinked.

"...Like what?"

"With you saying 'bye' and walking away."

You looked at him, confused.

"I thought that's what people usually do."

"Maybe." He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "But I've spent the last few days thinking I'd done something that made you disappear."

He paused for a moment.

"I don't really want the first proper conversation we've had since then to end after two minutes."

Your heart softened a little.

"Oh."

You didn't know what else to say.

Fred rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand before looking back at you.

----

"I am so sorry."

"You really do apologise too much," he said, and the way he said it, soft and familiar, made something ease in your chest that had been wound tight for days.

You kept your hand over half your face. You could not quite make yourself look at him fully yet. "I thought you had finally decided I was too much," you said, and you tried to say it lightly and it did not come out light at all. "That you had been patient about it and were too kind to say anything but that you had reached your limit with me."

Fred was quiet for a second.

"Too much," he repeated, like he was trying to understand the shape of it. "You thought you were too much."

"I thought I had overstayed whatever goodwill I had," you said. "Been around too long. Taken up too much space."

"That again," he said softly.

You looked up at him.

His expression was not what you expected. Not pity, not frustration. Just something open and honest and a little undone. Like the idea of you thinking that had genuinely bothered him somewhere real.

"I told you," he said. "At the Burrow. You do not have to justify taking up space. Not with us." He held your gaze. "I meant that."

You did not know what to say to that. The words just sat in you and made themselves at home next to everything else he had given you without meaning to.

"I keep saving the seat next to me in Charms," he said, and his voice had gone quieter. "Every morning I get there and I leave it empty and then I remember you are not coming. And I sit there for the whole lesson next to an empty chair that I keep accidentally saving for someone who is not there anymore." He looked at you steadily. "Do you have any idea what that is like?"

----

Your heart was doing something completely unreasonable.

"Fred," you said.

"I checked the library four times," he said. "Four separate times I walked past looking through the window. George watched me do it on the third time and did not say a single word which is how I knew it was bad."

"I did not know," you said quietly. "I did not think you would even notice."

He looked at you with an expression like that was possibly the most baffling thing you had ever said. "How could I not notice," he said simply.

The corridor was very quiet.

You looked at him and he looked at you and there was a long moment where neither of you said anything and it was not uncomfortable, it was just full. Full of five days of distance and everything that had built up behind it and the relief of standing here now without any of that between you anymore.

Then you said, very quietly, "I cannot believe I convinced myself you could not stand me."

"A bit hard to do," he said, "when I have been walking all over this castle trying to find you."

Your face went warm.

"I cannot look at you, right now," you said, and covered part of your face with your hand again.

You heard him laugh softly. And then you heard him take a step closer, and then another, and then he was very close, close enough that when he reached out and touched just under your chin with two fingers it was gentle enough that you barely felt it before your face was tipping up and you had no choice but to look at him.

He was right there.

Close enough that you could see exactly how tired his eyes were, the shadows under them, the fact that his hair was a genuine disaster today in a way that suggested he had not been thinking about it at all. And he was looking at you with an expression that was so unguarded and so careful at the same time that it made your breath catch somewhere in the middle of your chest.

----

"There they are. I was beginning to miss those eyes.," he murmured.

You could not speak.

"You have been hiding from me for days," he said softly. His thumb stayed for just a moment against your jaw before he let his hand drop, but he did not step back. He stayed where he was, close, looking at you like there was nowhere else he particularly needed to be right now.

"You know," he said, very quietly, "I would much rather look at you than watch you disappear around corners."

Your face went completely, thoroughly warm. You could feel it happening and could not do a single thing about it. "You cannot just say things like that," you managed.

"Apparently I can," he said. "I just did."

"Fred."

"You have gone all quiet," he observed.

"I have not."

"You have. You always go quiet when you are embarrassed."

"I do not always"

"You have said about seven words since I tilted your face up."

----

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. He watched this happen with a slow and very soft smile that was making everything significantly worse in the best possible way.

"Cute," he said quietly.

Your brain stopped working entirely. Like someone had reached in and unplugged it from the wall.

You covered your face with both hands so quickly you nearly stumbled backwards. "You cannot just say that," you said, from behind your palms.

"I just did," he said, and you could hear the smile in it.

"You are the worst."

"I have been called worse."

"Fred, I cannot."

A proper laugh came out of him then, warm and real, and even from behind your hands you could picture exactly what his face looked like when he laughed like that, which was the problem, which had always been the problem.

"I think," you said, still behind your hands, "I liked it better when I thought you could not stand me."

"No you did not," he said.

"I really think I did."

"You absolutely did not," he said. "You were miserable."

You lowered your hands just enough to look at him over the tops of your fingers. He was still smiling. Still close. Still looking at you like he had found something he had been looking for and was not in any hurry to look away.

"Stop doing that," you said.

"Doing what?"

"Saying things like that. In that voice. While looking at me like that."

He tilted his head slightly. "Like what?"

"Like." You stopped. You did not have a word for it that you were willing to say out loud. "Like that," you finished, uselessly.

His smile did something quiet and warm. "Okay," he said, and he did not stop.

----

You looked at him for a moment. He looked back. The corridor was empty and quiet and everything felt like standing at the very edge of something, like the moment just before you decided to step.

Then Fred said, "Meet me after dinner."

You blinked. "What?"

"Tonight. Seven o'clock."

"Fred, what are you"

"Do not ask questions."

"I am absolutely asking questions."

"I am taking you somewhere," he said simply.

"Where?"

"If I tell you it ruins it."

You studied him for a moment, trying to read his expression, but he had put the calm settled look on that meant he had made up his mind and was waiting for you to catch up with him. "Should I be worried?" you asked.

"Probably," he said.

"That is not reassuring."

"It was not meant to be reassuring," he said. "It was meant to be honest." And then, softer, "Just trust me."

He said it so simply. Just trust me. Like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like it was not the exact thing you had been doing without meaning to for months.

"I have a feeling I am going to regret this," you said.

The corner of his mouth moved. "You said yes before I even finished asking."

----

You stared at him. Then you replayed the last thirty seconds in your head and realised with complete humiliation that he was right. You had not even hesitated. "I do not like that you noticed that," you said.

"I notice a lot of things," he said, quietly and directly, and the way he said it while looking right at you made the warmth come back to your face all over again.

"Seven o'clock," he said, and stepped back.

"Seven o'clock," you said.

He gave you one last look, that quiet warm look that you were never going to be able to stop recognising, and then he turned and walked away down the corridor. Unhurried. Like he had all the time in the world. Like he knew you were watching him go.

You stood there and did not move until he turned the corner and disappeared.

Then you exhaled, slow and long, and pressed your hand flat against your chest where your heart was doing something completely unreasonable and showed absolutely no signs of stopping.

---

The corridor was just a corridor. Ordinary stone and afternoon light and the distant sound of the castle going about its business. But standing in it felt different from how it had felt five minutes ago. The weight that had been sitting on you for five days was not completely gone but it was lighter, much lighter, and underneath it was something warm that had no intention of going anywhere.

You were in trouble.

But you were smiling about it, which was new.

Seven o'clock, you thought.

You were already looking forward to it.

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[summ6rbummer]

i’d hate to be a bother, but could you do something where f!reader tell one or both twins (one of or both twins x reader) that reader’s acesexual? like reader doesn’t like s3x or the idea of having any children and is nervous that she ruined their relationship?

please and thank you (and if you’re uncomfortable doing this then you don’t have to)! :)

this is so sweet I love this! YES!

Does it change anything Fred Weasley x F! Ace! Reader

You and Fred Had been together for a couple years now. You had gotten close over the year leading up to the battle of Hogwarts- where you were injured and Fred nearly died, when you both decided you couldn’t pretend anymore. He had told you ‘it’s you or nothing for me. I want to be with you.” that’s always stuck with you, throughout the ups and downs of your relationship.

When you got deathly sick over Christmas, Fred stayed home with you instead of going to the Burrow for the holiday. When the twin’s magic shop was under property ownership issues, you stayed up late with him, going over paperwork and bringing him tea. Your wedding was beautiful. In the big open field behind the burrow, lit up with twinkly lights and you two surrounded with your closest friends and family.

it’s been two years since then. And suddenly, you’ve lost your confidence in “it’s you or nothing.” Fleur and Bill were expecting their first child. Molly was ecstatic- primping and preening over Fleur her whole pregnancy up until the Baby was delivered. And at that point you’d think Molly was the mother the way she worshipped that child like it was her own.

you didn’t mind kids, the baby was plenty cute and quiet, a perfect child. But you saw the way Fred was with the baby. He was soft and gentle, cradling this tiny creature in his big hands and whispering sweetly to it. You had known him for such a long time and you had never seen him like this.

something ached deep inside of you. You and Fred had never had sex, you had kissed and touched of course but he never pushed to take it further. And you were grateful. But part of you wondered if he ever wished for more. you didn’t want kids. Not really- nothing about it was appealing to you. Not the process not the labor not the Intimacy of it.

now you laid awake in your bed, Fred gently snoring against your shoulder where he had fallen asleep, mid peck to your skin. The pit that had been deepening inside your gut finally snapped hearing his soft breathing. He deserved more than this.

a whimper escaped you. Then a shudder. Then a sob. It raked through your body and sent you sitting upwards violently. There was no air in your lungs, none in the room. Your sobs echoed through the room. Fred was hurriedly sitting up, rubbing your shoulder as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. “my sunshine- what- what’s happened?” you cried out, reaching to hold his hand where it rested on your arm. “Fred this isn’t fair!” You shuddered in between sobs. He had anxiety written on his face as he pulled you back into his chest and held you tight.

he shushed you, rocking back and forth. “What’s going on love? What’s not fair?”

“us Fred! This isn’t fair to you!”

your tears had slowed but you were still shaking, breathing shallowly. “I don’t want Kids, Fred! I don’t want sex! I’m asexual- I never will. I don’t want kids and I know you do and I just- I can’t keep you from a dream- I won’t. And I don’t blame you if you’ve been out finding it somewhere else..” you choked out the words inbetween cries.

it was silent for a while. Fred kept rocking you, rubbing the sides of your arms up and down. You had stopped crying. Just sniffles filled the room. You were waiting for him to say something, anything. To admit that he had been out, with other women or that he had been harboring feelings of doubt for a long time.

instead he kissed the top of your head. You felt him inhale the scent of your hair and breathe out slowly.

‘I don’t want kids.” his voice rumbled in his chest.

you turned to face him. Tears stained your cheeks and his heart tore a little bit at the seams when he saw the hope glimmering in your eyes. “You don’t?” “no Sunshine. Or I don’t Need them.” “but- but what about Fleur’s baby? You looked so happy.”

“love, anyone would look happy to be holding a baby that cute. It’s a shock she looks like Bill- the ugly bloke.” “so.. you aren’t harboring a secret family ?” he laughed. His laugh was always genuine and light. It made your heart flutter. “if I was Harboring a secret family you would know. I’d need your help.”

you smiled. He was sweet. The sweetest. and as if he could see the sliver of doubt you were holding onto, he kissed your forehead. And then your cheeks. Then your nose. and then he kissed you gently. When Fred pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours.

“it is you or nothing for me. I told you that six years ago and I meant it just as much then as I do now. I don’t care about kids.” he pulled back and looked you in the eyes.

“I love you Fred Weasely.” “I love you sunshine.”

“so nothing changes?” “nothing changes. We’ll just be the best aunt and uncle- we’ve got to beat George and Angelina anyways. What do you say?” you laughed and raised your hand to cup his face. “do you have to make everything a competition love?”

“you’d know that better than anyone wouldn’t you?”

and you two laughed. You laid awake together, talking for another hour about birthday gifts for a baby and ways to help out around Bill and Fleur’s house. You could stay like this forever with him.

and when you both fell asleep, Fred stayed. His arms locked around your waist and holding you close to his chest. he didn’t need more than that.

hi I hope this was good for you. ILY for this ask- as someone who is not Asexual but has absolutely no want for children at any point in my life, I think people need to be more aware that ‘not having children’ is never end of the world. It should also not be expected of anyone, romantic partner or otherwise. Anyways bye! I didn’t proofread this!!