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writesowhatnext · 3 years

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submerse myself in brie // fred weasley

Summary: Bill & Fleur’s wedding is quite the event… too bad about those wedding crashers. Anyway, what wedding is complete without awkwardness at the buffet table?

Request: Are you taking requests? If you are could I ask for another Fred Weasley? Maybe something where they’re fighting together (bills wedding or battle of Hogwarts maybe?) and the reader rescues him in some way but gets injured herself but not fatally because I can’t deal with too much angst 🙈 hope that’s not too specific... also just wanted to say I love your writing it’s amazing 💕💕

A/N: thank you!!!! Terribly sorry for how long this took holy cow but I hope this is alright love I loved the request and that is why this is so long also I wasn’t quite sure how to split up the flashbacks so like we’ll see how this goes

Reader: female

Warnings: injury, battle, suggestive, couple stuff, alcohol, suggestive, implied sex

A groan peeled open your lips before you could even think about opening your eyes. You couldn’t really focus on anything, though, not when everything just ached, not with your head pounding and your ears ringing. People’s feet blurred past you, rushing and falling with flashes of light. You frowned. Blades of wet grass pressed against your cheek. The smell invaded your senses.

Fred groaned like a child at Molly’s pestering, the vibrations echoing down your spine. You rolled your eyes, pressing your back further into his chest in response.

“When I get married,” he said, turning to face George with a grimace. “I won’t be bothering with any of this nonsense. You can all wear what you like, and I’ll put a full-body-bind curse on Mum until it’s all over.”

Molly tutted at her son, ignoring him for the most part as she scurried away to fix something else that didn’t really need fixing.

“Oh, really, mate?” George said, drinking his tea.

You were happy to see him up and around; you remembered how scared Fred had been after the incident on the broomsticks. The bandage around George’s head still looked particularly grizzly, but you were glad he was feeling better.

“Does Y/N have anything to say about that?” he said cheekily, hiding his face in his mug as he watched you with playful eyes.

“Why would I?” you asked, pulling away from Fred to grab a piece of toast off the table. “It’s not like my standards are low enough to marry this git.”

“Oi!” Fred huffed.

You tried to move out of his reach before he grabbed you, or worse, tickled you, but you weren’t fast enough and you squealed as he clapped his hand on your arse.

“Cheeky,” Fred said, pointing at your accusatorily as you glared back, pulling your dress straight with your toast balanced in your mouth.

“Might have to teach my wife a lesson,” he teased, shooting you a wink. As you moved to sit by George on the kitchen counter, you mimicked Fred, ignoring the backflips of your stomach at his words.

Your stomach flopped again as you rolled over, the wet grass splaying over your face, no doubt covering your cheeks in mud. There was a sharp pain at your side and a nagging in your head as you tried to remember what exactly was happening. Where you were. Where the bloody hell Fred was. Pushing yourself up onto your elbows, every breath felt like daggers in your side, your ribs bruised horribly. Whatever happened had certainly left you winded. It could have been worse, though, you thought as your vision cleared up.

Standing up was almost impossible and each breath was wheezy as you fought the fog clouding your mind, your knees sinking into the mud as you did. Your dress was ruined, that much was obvious. The fabric and your skin were both covered in dirt and dust and black marks as you reached your feet. You tried to smooth it down, but it didn’t seem worth it, especially not as your eyes trailed up to see the wedding tent.

Well, what was left of it.

The golden marquee was in tatters, torn here and scorched there. Guests were running under the archways and disappearing into thin air like there was no tomorrow, no doubt encouraged by the black figures shooting brightly coloured spells at their feet. You almost wished the ringing in your ears hadn’t stopped as the sounds of shouting and carnage began to fill your senses.

“Y/N, you look lovely, dear,” Molly said, the pride in her voice obvious.

“Thanks,” you said, shooting her a wink. “I’ll be sure to pass the message on to my stylist.”

She laughed at the joke, patting your hand softly and leaving to tell someone off, no doubt. You remembered fondly her insistence earlier that no, she was never too busy to do her favourite soon-to-be-daughter-in-law’s hair. It was a good job though, you thought, that Fleur was too busy getting dressed up herself to hear that one.

You finished your champagne, more than grateful that the flute was enchanted as you watched it refill. As you stared, you became suddenly aware of someone’s eyes on you and turned to see Fred sat beside you, a strange look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” you asked lightly, sipping your drink.

“Nothing,” he said, a decidedly un-Fred-like smile playing on his lips. It was far too angelic to be recognisable in his features.

“Is there something on my face?”

You all but slammed your glass on the table, using the shiny napkin holders to try and get a better look at your reflection.

“No,” he chuckled, his laughter only growing as you made faces, looking for some stray crumbs or Aunt Mildred’s lipstick. “There’s nothing wrong with your face.”

He placed his hand on top of yours, stopping your borderline-neurotic inspection. You looked up at him with a pout and a fond smile spread across his lips.

“There is,” he said, cupping your face in his hand and running his thumb along your cheekbone. “Nothing wrong with your face.”

Struggling to hide your pleased grin at his compliment, you leant into his touch.

“Sounds like someone has a crush, Weasley.”

“Oh, really?” he said, his hand leaving your face with a pout in its wake. You smirked though, when he scooted his chair closer to yours, like a child, leaning on the back of yours with his elbow instead.

“I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Mhm,” you nodded, his smile contagious. “Is that so?”

“Actually,” he said conversationally, leaning the side of his head on his hand. “I think you might be the one with the crush.”

“How did you know?” you said dully, slowly placing a hand on your chest in mock surprise. “How can I ever cope with the knowledge that you will never feel the same?”

He barked a laugh at your dry, monotonous tone, his head dropping to the side as he watched you for a moment, an unreadable look in his eyes. That was before, however, a sly smile lifted his lips – a look you were very familiar with when it came to Fred. You fixed him with a suspicious stare.

“How about we get out of here?” he said, shifting in his seat.

“What?”

Your eyes followed him as he stood up, brushing down his suit briefly before offering his hand.

“Come on,” he insisted impatiently. He made a face at your unwillingness.

“Fred,” you said incredulously, shaking your head at his gall. “This is your brother’s wedding.”

“I have other brothers,” he shrugged before rolling his eyes and leaning down to grab your hand. “And we’ll be back in 20 minutes, half an hour, maximum.”

You stood up, enjoying the way his hand twisted to thread your fingers together.

“We will, will we?” you said, raising your eyebrows with an amused grin.

“Yes.”

He moved to wrap his hand around your waist, pulling you closer so he could whisper in your ear.

“With you looking like that, I doubt we’ll need any longer, sweetheart.”

You choked out a laugh at his words and looked around you as you escaped through the side of the tent.

“If we get caught-“ you threatened, cutting yourself off when he shot you a smirk.

“Live a little, sweetheart.”

“Fred,” you said quietly, your voice coming out hoarse. You blinked, swallowing and letting yourself adjust to the frantic rush of your surroundings.

“Fred,” you repeated, slightly louder this time as your heartbeat began to race.

People were apparating in and out like wildfire and there were already a few bodies collecting on the ground. Only injured, from the looks of it, but your mind thought the worst. Spotting your wand on the ground, you bent down to pick it up, your whole body singing in pain at the stretching of your muscles.

“Merlin,” you muttered, a grimace contorting your features. That was going to hurt tomorrow.

You searched for someone you knew in the crowds, a recognisable face in a sea of sparks and mist and gold wedding decorations. Your reactions weren’t the best, though, and your head was swimming. Albeit, though, you were grateful to be getting your land-legs back with each shaky step. Every flash of red hair you saw had your heartbeat jumping, but none of them were Fred, all most likely some distant Weasley cousin and none of them anybody you wanted to see right now.

What had even happened? One minute you and Fred were watching Fleur and Bill dance – she did look ever so lovely in that dress – and the next you woke up on a bed of damp grass with a killer headache and a distinct lack of memories. You didn’t have to be a genius, though, to put two and two together. The dark figures slowly herding people inside the tent and shooting spells every which way were Death Eaters; you could only hope that Harry had gotten out safely. Despite your hopes, though, your thoughts were preoccupied with Fred and you found yourself praying that he was okay.

“Fred!”

You hoped you weren’t giggling too loudly, and that your dress wasn’t too creased, and that it wasn’t too obvious what you’d just spent the last 23 minutes doing. As you snuck back into the tent, you separated from Fred, shushing him and moving to interest yourself in the buffet as to avert suspicion. Necessary, you figured, with Fred being so very suspicious. Typically, he ignored your plans and followed you to the buffet table, a cheeky grin slapped across his face

You glared at him, distracting yourself with the mini sausage rolls and putting as much distance between you both as possible. Harry, unlucky as ever, was caught in the crossfire.

“You alright there, Harry?” Fred said, looking over the display. “Any of the classically beautiful Weasley cousins taking your fancy?”

“I’ve got other things on my mind, actually, Fred,” Harry said tightly. You felt your stomach drop slightly; he was far too young to be carrying so much weight on his shoulders.

“Ah, no mind,” Fred replied, as unaffected and blasé as ever. “I’m sure you’ve got your eye on someone else anyway, eh?”

You watched Harry’s face heat up and rolled your eyes affectionately: Fred had a knack for turning even the darkest of issues to humour.

“I’ve got my eye on someone here actually,” Fred said, piling cocktail sausages onto his plate with a mischievous smirk.

“Oh, really?” Harry asked, turning to face Fred. He clearly didn’t care but you did notice his double-take and frowned, your brows drawing together. “Who’s that?”

“Well, if I told you then I’d have to kill you,” Fred nodded solemnly, shoving three mini sandwiches in his mouth at once and shooting you a surprisingly subtle wink.

“Sorry, uh,” Harry stuttered, pointing at Fred and then gesturing to his own face. “You have, uh, something on your-“

“What?”

Fred frowned, his mouth stretching as he swallowed the food and began to rub at his cheek.

“Lipstick, I think,” Harry said, decidedly awkward.

Your eyes widened and you gulped, not daring to look at Fred

“Ah, cheers for that Harry.”

“Not a problem, Fred.”

With that, Harry turned to leave, surprised to see you behind him. You watched his eyes flicker down to your lips and you prayed to Merlin, Godric and even Salazar that he wouldn’t be able to tell.

“Alright, Y/N?” Harry said softly, his mouth set in an embarrassed smile.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice a couple of octaves too high. “Thanks. Enjoy your…”

You looked down at his plate, swallowing uncomfortably as you felt your face heat up.

“Chocolate frogs.”

“Ah,” Harry nodded. “Thanks.”

You clenched your teeth as Harry walked past you, cursing Fred under your breath. Chuckling, he slid next to you, his plate once again overflowing with food.

“Brilliantly eloquent there, love. I don’t doubt that Harry’ll enjoy those chocolate frogs, but I’m sure your well wishes are appreciated.”

“You’re the worst person alive,” you snapped, not looking at him.

“That is not what you said earlier,” he said smugly. You turned to shoot him a dry look as he pushed a block of cheese into his mouth.

“I hate you so much,” you insisted, your smile giving you away.

“Me?” Fred pressed a hand to his chest defensively, spewing crumbs everywhere as he spoke.

“Yes, you-“

Your bickering was cut off by the clinking of a spoon against a champagne class. You both turned to face Molly, who was looking particularly happy with herself as she announced Fleur & Bill’s first dance.

“Come on, you pig,” you huffed, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the crowd forming around the happy couple. Despite his grumbling, he put down his plate and followed you. Ever the gentleman, he brushed off crumbs onto his trousers before grabbing for your hand.

As you watched them dance, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. It was hard not to imagine you and Fred in their shoes in a couple years. Molly always told you that you argued like an old married couple as it was, surely it wouldn’t do any harm to make it official. You couldn’t think like that now though, not with the constant threat of war looming. It never seemed more real, though, than when Kingsley Shacklebolt’s patronus appeared, his deep voice ringing through the tent, announcing the incoming storm, creating a frenzy.

Fred’s hand tightened around your own and when the Death Eaters started appearing, you were grateful for the contact. You looked between the faces you recognised, somewhere between heartbroken and horrified to see Ginny and Molly already firing out spells; Harry, Ron and Hermione rushing outside, hopefully apparating to safety. Distracted by the others, you barely noticed a Death Eater appearing next to Fred. Fred, in his panic, didn’t seem to either. Just as he readied his wand, you found yourself pushing Fred to the side and out of the crossfire. The force of the hit ripped your hand from his and the last thing you remembered before you were knocked out cold was your body flying through the side of the tent.

“Y/N!”

You spun around, the new memories and very familiar headache making you wince as you all but collided with Fred, suffocated instantly in his tight grasp.

“Merlin,” he sighed, his breath fanning against your cheek as you struggled to form a sentence. “Am I glad to see you.”

He pulled away, cupping your cheek with one hand whilst the other still held your waist gently. “You had me so worried.”

He didn’t need to tell you that; you could see it for yourself. His relief was slowly ironing out the deep crease between his brows and his eyes were shining with tears in the light of the moon.

“Pushing me out the way like that, what were you even thinking? Could’ve been killed. Merlin, you flew right through that tent, George had to hold me back, he did. If I wasn’t so bloody worried, I would’ve ripped that bastard to-“

“Fred, we really need to go,“ George insisted, his eyes drifting to you for a moment as he anxiously fiddled with the wand in his grip.

“Hang on a minute,” Fred said distractedly, turning to his brother for a moment as his fingers slotted behind your ears, cradling your face.

“Are you okay, love?”

You breathed for a second, only vaguely aware of the commotion still going on around you. Without another moment’s hesitation, you threw your arms around Fred’s neck, holding him close and revelling in the familiar scent of his shampoo. You smiled as he relaxed in your hold, his chin digging into your shoulder.

“Guys-“ George said, the urgency in his voice unmistakable. Fred pulled away abruptly, his worried eyes scanning your face.

“Are you alright to apparate?” he asked, wetting his lips with his tongue.

You nodded.

“Let’s get the hell out of here then.”

harry potter tag list:

@creator-appreciator @decadentwastelandtrash @loveisblindness @xinyourdreamsx @brainlesspasta @hariosborn @staringmoony @rexorangecouny @alittletoomanyobsessions @peachesandpinks @yuptha-tsme @obsessedwithrandomthings-blog @dreamer821 @iprobablyshipit91 @in-slytherin-we-trust @haphazardhufflepuff @princesof-theuniverse @whovianayesha @msmimimerton @extra-trash77 @potterverseimagine @my-own-mindpalace @sxrensxngwrites @damonwhitlock @susceptible-but-siriusexual @answer-the-sirens @thisismysketchbook @zhangixingxing1 @cedricscoffin @ccabian @amourtentiaa @ickle-ronniekins @harrysweasleys

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #Harry Potter #harry potter imagine #imagine #writing

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writesowhatnext · 3 years

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my love, my life // george weasley

Summary: George thinks it’s finally time to bring the reader home to his family; he is, after all, the one

Request: The reader and George gave been dating for a few months now, and he wants to bring him home to meet the rest of his family. The reader arrives, worried he'll make a bad impression, but finds the meeting successful and enjoys the next few days in the Weasley's company.

A/N: I edited the request to make it shorter but I did use all of it bc it was wonderful so gracias, sorry it took so so long but I had inspo today so we move. I have not written in so so so sos so long I am so nervous

Reader: Male

Warnings: none really? Kissing?

“Georgie,” you said, your feet glued to the gravel that flooded the driveway of the Burrow. You felt light-headed. It was because of the apparating, of course. Definitely not because you were meeting your boyfriend’s family. Definitely not.

You gulped.

“Y/N,” George deadpanned, turning his back to the house, facing you. His hands reached out to grab yours, swinging them side to side and rubbing his thumb against your skin, a single eyebrow raised. Anyone could see you were nervous, there you were, shaking from head to toe like a little chihuahua. Though he found it undeniably adorable, he hated to see you so anxious.

“Do you want to tell me why you look like a mandrake right now?” he asked, one of his hands abandoning yours to cup your cheek.

You glared at him, a pout pulling at your lips as you leant in to his touch despite yourself.

“Hmm?” he smirked, using your joined hands to prod you in the side.

Your frowned deepened.

“Y/N,” he pressed, tilting his head to the side and letting his thumb graze your cheek. “They’re going to love you.”

“You don’t know that,” you swallowed.

“In fact, I do.” He said triumphantly, abruptly turning and dragging you towards the house. “Because you are the only boy I have ever brought home, and you are the only one I ever want to bring home again.”

“They don’t have a choice,” he grinned, wetting his lips with his tongue. “They have to love you.”

You stared at him, only vaguely registering the fact that you’d stopped outside the front door. Your thrumming nerves had been somewhat replaced by a fluttering sensation in your stomach. Did he really mean that?

“You really mean-“

Before you could ask him, the front door swung open and you were met with the scrutinising gaze of a short lady with red hair and the dirtiest apron you’d ever seen. You tried your best to avoid her eyes but you couldn’t, her stare gave you the feeling that one wrong move would get you a one-way ticket to Azkaban.

“Hey, Mum,” George beamed, squeezing your hand lightly. “This is Y/N.”

You offered a weak smile as she ignored him, focused entirely on you.

“Blimey, George,” she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. “He is a handsome one, isn’t he?”

You blinked. You opened your mouth to speak, not at all sure of what you would say, really. Luckily, you didn’t have to. It took Molly Weasley all of three seconds to pull you into the warmest, nicest, most bone-crushing hug you’d ever had. That, combined with the scent of bread and flowers and honey wafting outside from behind her, made the overwhelming feeling of home bloom in your chest.

“Oh, dear,” she said, pulling away from the tight embrace. “Come in, come in.”

Her hand on your back was firm but sweet as she ushered you inside, leaving George behind in her haste. Whilst you were still certainly freaking out, her warm welcome had you barely noticing George’s hand slipping from your own. She bombarded you with question after question as she brought you inside, shrugging your coat off your shoulders and pushing you by the fireplace.

“How are you, dear? Are you hungry? Did you apparate safely? Gosh, you must be exhausted-“

“I’ll just get the door, shall I?” George asked sarcastically as he shuffled in. You grinned over your shoulder, flushing slightly when you met his eyes, pleased beyond belief at how well this was going. When you turned back, Mrs Weasley’s eyes were on you, softer this time, with a fond smile gracing her lips.

“You alright, Y/N?” Fred asked from the corner, waving distractedly as he stood on an armchair, messing with something on the wall.

“Grand, yeah,” you smiled, a familiar face easing your nerves. “You?”

“Wicked,” he said, finally looking down at you with the same cheeky grin you’d gotten so used to.

“Oh, get down, Fred,” Mrs Weasley huffed, rolling her eyes as she turned back to face you, her hands brushing up and down your arms. “Now, dear, can I get you a cup of tea?”

“Oh,” you said, somewhat grateful to feel George’s presence behind you. “No, thank you, Mrs Weasley.”

“Molly,” she insisted, beaming as she walked over to the coat rack, brushing the dust off your coat as she went. “Arthur! Come meet Y/N!”

“See,” George said, his breath hot on your ear as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “They love you already.”

You scoffed, ready to retort before an older man appeared from one of the rooms by the stairs.

“Who’s Y/N?” he said, scratching his head as he fiddled with something in his hands. You straightened up, pulling your jumper down as his eyes settled on you. For the first time ever, you wished George would let go of his grip around your waist.

“Dad, this is Y/N,” he said, finally letting go, but only long enough to throw an arm around your back, his grip settling around your neck. “My boyfriend.”

“Ah,” Mr Weasley nodded, his steely eyes flicking to yours for the briefest moment before a smile lifted his expression. “Arthur Weasley, nice to meet you.”

You stared at his outstretched hand for a few seconds, the twisting feeling in your gut preventing any semblance of normal human interaction. Somehow, though, you managed to meet his grip and he pulled you in closer, leaning in secretively.

“Now, son, do you know anything about radios?”

You didn’t know what caught you more off guard, the question or the word ‘son’.

“No,” you said, shaking your head far too fervently. “Sorry, sir.”

He shook his head in disappointment.

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t. That’s alright,” he said, though he looked so glum you felt it was anything but. With only a sympathetic nod, he turned and walked to the living room, all the while messing with the little contraption in his hand.

“Ignore him,” George whispered, squeezing the back of your neck lightly and knocking his head into yours. “Off his rocker, sometimes.”

You shot him a dry look, earning a grin in response.

“Anyway,” he said, pointing towards the stairs as three older men, his older brothers you assumed, appeared. “That’s Bill and that’s Charlie.”

The first two waved, Bill shooting you a characteristic Weasley grin and Charlie nodding his head with a small smile.

“I’m sure you remember Percy.”

Percy’s face was stoic but he nodded rather stiffly in your direction nonetheless. You’d have been offended if you didn’t already know what he was like.

“Ron and Ginny are out with Harry, but they’ll be back later,” George explained, letting his hand trail down your back as his other hand reached out to clasp yours.

“I’m sure he’s loving that,” you said lightly, pleasantly surprised when it earnt a chorus of laughter from the Weasleys.

Meeting George’s family had gone a lot better than anticipated.

You hadn’t expected to even get through the door, let alone sail through dinner. Somehow, you managed to talk to each of the Weasley’s in turn, striking up conversation with Ginny about quidditch and listening ardently to Charlie’s stories of Romania. You even managed to get Percy to crack a smile, even if it was at George’s expense.

“That was a wonderful meal, Molly,” you said, wiping your mouth with a napkin as she stood up, balancing a stack of plates in her grasp. “Let me help you with washing up.”

“Of course not, dear,” she all but gasped. “You’re my guest, you shall not be doing anything of the sort.”

“I insist,” you grinned, taking the plates off of her. “Me and George will do them.”

She tilted her head to the side and sighed, ignoring George’s groans of protest next to you.

“Come on, you oaf,” you said, rolling your eyes fondly.

George followed you to the kitchen, a comfortable silence falling as you got into a rhythm: you washed, he dried. If you could call it that. You were so absorbed by the gravy stain on one of the plates, you didn’t even realise he was staring at you.

“They like you a lot,” he said, knocking your hips together.

You smiled, passing him the plate as satisfaction flooded through you. They actually did like you, you thought, pleased with the way the night had gone.

“And you?” you asked, raising your eyebrow playfully. He smirked.

“Hmm,”

“Hmm?”

“I think I could take you or leave you, myself.”

You huffed in indignation, pushing at his chest with your hand.

“You cheeky bastard!” you said, pursing your lips to contain your laughter.

“Hey!” he admonished, shoving your shoulder lightly. “Language.”

You snorted, dipping your hands into the washing up water and spraying him, enjoying the shock on his features.

“Oh, you little-“

Before you knew it, you were laughing loudly, running away from him as he twisted the tea towel in his hand, ready to strike at any moment. He hit you once and you grabbed the cloth, a triumphant smile on your face before he pulling you in with it and you found yourself colliding with his chest.

Your breathing was heavy from laughter as he stole a kiss, resting his forehead on yours.

“Bloody hell, you two,” Ron exclaimed from the table, making you suddenly aware of all eyes on you.

“Yeah, get a room,” Fred said, making a face and pretending to gag. You were almost nervous, your face heating up before Ginny hit Fred upside the head.

“Shut up, you knob.”

“Mum!” Fred whined theatrically, ruffling Ginny’s hair in return. “Ginny just called me a knob!”

Molly, it seemed, was avoiding the conversation entirely.

“You two,” she gushed, clasping her hands together and standing up.

You moved to step back from George, but his iron grip on your hips stopped you.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest?” Molly said, pinching George’s cheek, earning a groan. “Oh, my.”

She grabbed your face between her hands and reached up to press a kiss to your cheek, an action you weren’t wholly prepared for but didn’t at all dislike.

“I absolutely cannot wait for the wedding.”

Before you could even form a thought about her words, let alone a whole sentence, the ruckus that had formed at the table grew louder and Molly snapped around, a murderous mum-glare painting her face.

“Ginerva Weasley, you get off your brother right now!”

As you brushed your teeth in the bathroom, surrounded by what seemed like millions of toothbrushes and shampoo bottles, you thought about how positively insane your day had been. You were chuffed. Beyond chuffed, really. Not in your wildest dreams did you expect to be accepted so easily, let alone to have as much fun as you did. You were so lost in thought, you spent well over two minutes with the brush balanced between your teeth, vaguely staring out of the window, into the night.

“You alright there, love?” George said, wandering into the bathroom behind you, threading his arms around your waist. “You’ve been flossing for years.”

You shot him a dull look through the mirror, rolling your eyes as he tightened his grip, pressing his lips against your shoulder.

“You’re the love of my life, you know,” he whispered, digging his chin into your back.

“I thought you could take me or leave me?” you asked drily, spitting your toothpaste into the sink and ignoring the way his words messed with your insides.

“Ah, well, that too.”

You turned around in his arms, letting him pull you closer as he pressed a gentle kiss on your lips. Your hand trailed up to brush his cheekbone as you tilted your head to the side.

“I love your family.”

“They love you,” he said with a small, almost smug smile.

“So, I’ve heard,” you said, pulling away and pulling George into his childhood room. You couldn’t help but smile at how Fred and George-like it was. You also couldn’t thank Fred enough for rooming with Ron for the night.

“I know that I personally, absolutely cannot wait for the wedding.”

You smirked as you lifted up the covers, sliding into bed and laughing at George’s mortified expression. He dropped down next to you like a boulder, his arm warm as it fell across your waist.

“You think you’re so funny,” he huffed, prodding your side, relishing in your grunts and laughter. “Don’t you?”

“Occasionally,” you managed to say, breathing heavily as he pulled you closer, calling off his attack. You could feel his breath on the side of your face as he lay there, draped over you. Interlocking your fingers, you stared up and the ceiling, a blanket of quiet falling over you both. You could almost feel George holding his breath.

“Do you ever think about it, though?” he asked, his arm curling around you. “Getting married?”

You turned your head to the side so your noses were touching, a frown pulling at your brow.

“Me and you?”

The nervous tug of his lips as he frowned pulled at your heartstrings and you leant over, straining your neck slightly, to kiss it better. His forehead rested silently on your own.

“Of course, I do, George,” you whispered. “I think about you in a tux very regularly.”

You expected him to laugh, but he didn’t, taking your words, instead, very seriously.

“Good,” he nodded, talking more to himself than you. “That’s good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, pecking at your lips gently and pulling the covers tightly around you both.

harry potter tag list: just ask me about tag lists!!! i.e. to be added/ taken off

#george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #george weasley #harry potter imagine #Harry Potter #writing #imagine

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