#fleur sofa

[blutedesign]

#space age #20th century #fleur sofa #1960s #furniture #archizoom

[krinskrans]

changer l'eau des fleurs/fresh water for flowers

#book #Changer l'eau des fleurs #french #reading #stockholm #sweden #analog #35mm #kodak moment #analog photography #analog film #analog color #filmisnotdead #kodak gold 200 #analogue #35mm film #self portrait #sofa #popular #fresh water for flowers

[vesperthemes]

Patio (Sacramento)

#Huge mountain style side yard tile patio kitchen photo with a gazebo covered patio #stone bar front #outdoor sofas #outdoor pizza ovens #iron chandelier #fleur de lis chandelier #outdoor bar furniture

[luveline]

Omg Jade, I’ve been LOVING the asf resurgence ☺️☺️ It hits my heart in all the right ways!!

I was wondering if would please write something showing more of the burrow from asf? Would love to see Molly (alongside Fred ofc!) doting on the reader. Maybe she feels poorly during a gathering? Just an idea - no pressure ofc to respond or to go in this direction. Thank you either way!!! 😊

tysm for ur request!! sorry this took me a whole month ♡ fem!reader, 1.5k

cw mental health issues/ poor eating habits

The popcorn is greasy between your fingers. You look down at a slightly burned kernel without much feeling, giving it a squeeze to listen to the styro-foamy groan as it breaks. 

The crumbs fall down the front of your hoodie. The mess is enough to make you feel something other than tired, blinking to attention while you pick tiny bits from your tummy. 

Fred's hand reaches over to help. "Whoops," he says, flicking them off of the sofa onto the rug. 

"Don't do that," you chastise without any heat, nudging his knee with yours. "Your poor mum will have to clean it up." 

"No she won't." 

"Are you going to hoover before we go?" you ask. 

Fred puts his hand on your thigh for an unapologetic feel. "No. She'd be offended." 

It's hard to describe how something as simple and as normal as Fred's hand on your leg can make you feel. Suddenly, you aren't alone in your head, feeling all sorts of awful. There's someone with you. 

Fred often laments (with sympathy) that you live in the past. He's not wrong. There are things that haunt you without pulling punches, stuff that makes you feel sick even though you can't remember how it all went anymore. It's like your body has caught hold of the way you felt at the time and is now throwing you into the deep end, no warnings. 

George takes the popcorn bowl from your lap, a lazy heist from his positioning on the floor. He, Ron, and Harry play a game of exploding snap that smells like no one's winning by your shoes. 

Bill and Fleur sit on bean bags by the fire, their legs interlocked, and the baby (who isn't a baby anymore, actually, a brand new toddler) waddles around the room in footie pyjamas. Every time you see Victoire, you wonder if she's an easy baby, and if you'd be a good mom. If you're even capable. 

Things tend to twist from there. Capable in any capacity? You're sure there are a hundred different things that Fred wants from you that he will never be able to have. A girlfriend who doesn't shut down when she's worried. A partner who pulls their weight. You let him down pretty much every day though he doesn't say, in your uselessness. You're awful. He deserves better than someone who's clinging to the bad things that happened to her (though you don't want to cling, you can't seem to make yourself stop). 

Fred's hand abandons your thigh. He sits up in his seat on the sofa to wrap his arm behind your neck instead, encouraging your head under his. With the side of his chin pressed to your temple, he doesn't say a word. 

Molly appears from the garden with a handful of fresh lemon balm. "Who wants a cup of tea?" she asks. 

Her eyes flicker straight for you. Fred told you once that Harry used to be her favourite child. It confused you —family is much more than blood, but still, there's so many to choose from and they're all brilliant, so why Harry? 

He was the one who needed the favouritism most, Fred says. Mum has a built-in pain detector. She knows when people need love. 

"We'll have a cup of tea," Fred says, rubbing your shoulder. 

"Obviously," Molly says, though what's obvious about it escapes you. "Anyone else?" 

There's a chorus of requests, most of which you can't keep straight. Molly's brilliant, she doesn't miss a beat. "Lovely," she says with a smile. 

"I'll come help you, mum," George says, using your legs as a brace to get up. 

You kick him without force in the leg. He turns to you, shooting you an adoring, saccharine smile with hands at his chest curved into a heart shape. 

"He's in a mood today," Fred says. 

Your sleeves bunch under his hands with every upward swipe. You sit there for a while feeling off. Something is wrong, some pit sucking you in, but nothing's happened. It's been a while since you felt this suddenly sick —you're better than you were, but you aren't better. 

"It's okay," Fred says, like he can read your mind. His reassurance kisses warm over your cheek. "Do you want to go home?" 

He doesn't seem upset with you. If anything, he's chipper, like he'd love to go home with you. It's a charade for your benefit to erase the guilt that comes with yanking him out of family time, and you don't fall for it. 

Yet you can't make yourself smile. You aren't as good of an actor as he is. "No," you mumble, pulling away from his loving embrace to meet his eyes. 

He inches closer, hand sliding down your arm. 

"I love you," he says very quietly. He's at risk of being heard by three different brothers, each of which might rip him to shreds for being as whipped as he sounds. 

You don't not want to say it back. Sometimes it's hard. Fred isn't telling you for a parroting, anyhow, and he doesn't care when you fail to answer. 

"Let's go help make tea," he says, standing up. You don't want to move, but you'd rather not stay by yourself. You've no choice but to follow him through the living room and into the kitchen. 

"Hi, dearie," Molly says. You realise she's talking to you, not Fred. "You look like you need something to eat. I'll make you something sweet, how does that sound?" 

It sounds like a bad idea. "That sounds great." 

She nudges George off with his tray of tea to stand in front of you. "There's a good girl," she says, squeezing your elbow. "Fred says you're not eating, but you were fine at breakfast. Feeling better?"

"Mum," Fred says, sending you an apologetic look. "Sorry, I don't mean to gossip about you–" 

"No, it's okay. It's nice, it's… a privilege to be worried about," you say, though you wish he wouldn't. 

Molly shakes her head, ginger kinks swishing over her shoulders. "It's not a privilege, lovely. That's just what family does, mm? You worry about Freddie, he worries about you, and I'll worry about both of you." 

"You don't have to worry about us, mum." 

"I know. It's a privilege, though, to be the one worrying," Molly says, offering you a gentle smile. 

"Right," you say. 

"So stop pretending you're okay and have a seat. Freddie, you better go and get her one of your blankets, I think." 

Fred grins and exits the kitchen quickly to avoid giving you time to protest. Ever a people pleaser, you sit down at the table in one of the chairs with a tall back. Molly puts down a cup of tea in front of you, swiftly followed by a plate of biscuits, a toasted, buttered currant scone, and a blueberry muffin sliced down the middle. 

That's what gets you. The muffin cut in half, paper peeled away. Molly has no reason to like you; you make Fred happy, but you know you've made him so, so sad, sometimes. You've weighed him down. You're not the best he could've had, but his family don't care. He doesn't care. He loves you enough to breeze into the kitchen with a throw blanket, wrap it around your shoulders, and nestle a kiss behind your ear. 

You scramble to grab his arms rather than let him stand again. He startles at first, but he recovers, and his arms curl around your front with enthusiasm that can't be faked. 

"I love you," he murmurs. Words slid together like he's tipped them out, impossible to deny. "Try not to wind yourself up, alright? It's a normal day. The only people who matter are you and me, yeah?"

"Yeah," you say through a lump. 

"I'll be just in the living room if you need me," Molly says. 

"Thanks, mum," Fred says, perching his chin atop your head. 

He waits for her to leave and plants a kiss on the highest point of your cheek. When you smile, he tracks them all over. Kiss to your head, your ear, the soft line of your jaw.

"Do you want to talk about something? Or should we think about other things?" he asks. 

It's a strange, coddling way to ask if there's something in particular that's upset you, but it's nice to be coddled. Truthfully, there's nothing concrete that hurts. A little bit of everything. The world is busy and life is hard and people aren't always kind, and you'll always be unbalanced by that. Luckily, Fred's there to hold you up, together, whatever you need. 

"Do you want half of my muffin?" you ask. 

"I'm eyeing up your scone, honestly." 

"You can have it if you want it." 

Fred hugs you tightly. "And deprive you? No way. I'll settle for the muffin if you feed it to me," he says hopefully. 

You twist in your chair, holding a bit of the muffin up for him to eat.

"I love you," you say. In a horror story, a nightmare, your nearly constant thoughts, he scoffs in your face. 

Fred swallows roughly. "I know. S'why you're gonna let me have half the scone, too." 

It's awfully cheesy, but you'd give him much more than a scone. You'd give him anything he asked you to give.

"Greedy," you say. 

"I resent that, ghost."

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #a special friend universe

[starlingflight]

Ginniversary Drabble 12

Prompt: I16 - Why had no-one ever mentioned Mum's twin?

AO3 or below:

She'd spent the morning at Shell Cottage, having accepted Fleur's invitation to help decorate the Christmas tree with what Ginny considered to be a generous supply of seasonal altruism. However, as the hours wore on, and Fleur's criticisms of Ginny's bauble placement became increasingly frequent, she could feel her benevolence swiftly waning. 

“You have bunched too many of the gold together,” Fleur declared, snatching Ginny's most recently placed bauble from the branch and relocating two inches to the left where it looked… exactly the same. 

Ginny swallowed the angry retort that rose in her throat in response to Fleur's behaviour. Harry's words from earlier that morning echoed through her mind. ‘Be nice’. Easier said than done where Fleur was concerned, but Ginny was trying. 

“Sorry,” Fleur muttered in the silence that had fallen between them, turning her perfect sapphire eyes on Ginny. “I just want it to be perfect. This year…” She trailed off. 

Ginny nodded in understanding, swallowing thickly against the lump that had risen in her throat. 

Even Fleur, who was annoyingly competent at everything she attempted, could do nothing to make this Christmas perfect. This year was proving to be a strange mix of festive cheer, and chest-crushing grief that lurked in the shadows, ready to jump out at them at any moment. Two opposite ends of the spectrum, that only served to intensify each other. The tree, at least, they could control. 

“Where do you want this one?” Ginny asked, selecting a delicate glass bauble from the box on the sofa. 

Fleur's smile was radiant, not that that was any indication of her feelings towards Ginny; Fleur's smile was always radiant. She pointed at a branch to Ginny's right. “Here would be good.” 

They managed the rest of the tree in relative peace. Ginny pretended not to see Fleur wince dramatically when she placed a bauble somewhere that wasn't to her liking, and Fleur waited for Ginny's back to be turned before moving it, keeping her comments mercifully to herself. 

They'd just placed the final bauble when the front door of the cottage opened, ushering in Bill, and a frigid blast of icy wind. Fleur hurried to him, removing his cloak and marshalling him to stand before the roaring fireplace. 

“The turkey is secured,” he pronounced, rubbing his hands in front of the fire. “The queue in Diagon Alley was ridiculous, but Mum's pleased – when I left she was telling Harry her plans for preparing it.” 

Ginny laughed as she crossed the room to stand beside Bill, unable to stop herself imagining the utterly serious look that she knew would overtake Harry's face as he listened carefully to Mum's instructions for proper turkey preparation. 

“You're freezing,” Fleur shook her head, pressing the back of her hand to Bill's ruddy cheek. “I will make hot chocolate… these English winters are so inhospitable…” 

She bustled off to the kitchen, still muttering about the weather. Ginny grinned wider as she watched her go.

“Thank you for doing this with her,” Bill said, quietly enough for only Ginny to hear. “She really wants to make an effort with you.” 

Fleur placed a pot on the stove, filled it with milk, and began to heat it. “I remember you like your hot chocolate with the little marshmallows, Ginny?” She called over her shoulder, and then as though she was unable to resist, “they are too sickly for my taste.” 

“Yes, I like loads of them,” Ginny called back, still smiling. 

“You should both sit down,” Fleur instructed. “I will bring your drinks.” 

Bill and Ginny did as they were bid, taking opposite sides of the sofa. Fleur sent a plate of iced gingerbread soaring to the coffee table in front of them. 

Ginny laughed lightly as she picked a piece up. 

“What?” Bill asked cautiously, following Ginny's eyes to where she was watching Fleur still bustle around the kitchen. 

“Oh nothing,” Ginny chewed thoughtfully on her gingerbread. “I was just wondering why no-one had ever mentioned Mum's twin.” 

“Shut up,” Bill shoved her playfully. Ginny's smirk grew. “That's the most disturbing thing you've ever said.” 

Ginny hummed, swallowing her mouthful of biscuit. “It's true though, isn't it?” 

“No,” Bill replied stubbornly. The two steaming mugs of hot chocolate that floated across the room to them suggested otherwise. “Anyway, you're one to talk – your boyfriend is currently in the kitchen at home taking cooking lessons from Mum.” 

“Yeah,” Ginny agreed, certain from the knowing way Bill was looking at her that her smile had turned agonisingly enamoured and finding it impossible to care. “But at least I know where my boyfriend is this year.” 

#drabble #ginniversary bingo #hinny #sort of #bleur #bill x fleur

[lupine-trees]

tidings of comfort & joy

[ the boys spend a cozy christmas morning with the weasleys. something light & homey for the season— wishing you all a merry drarry christmas & happy holidays. ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆ ]

word count: ~350, rating: g

On Christmas morning, Molly opens the newspaper-wrapped gift last. As the fabric unfolds with a soft swish in her hands, her eyes well. “A tea towel?” George snickers, and Angelina shoves an elbow into his side.

Molly raises it to her cheek, a deep cream against the rosy, freckled flush of her face. “A scarf. It’s a cashmere scarf.”

Then she’s crying in earnest and Bill is resting a steady hand on her shoulder as Percy pulls a handkerchief from the interior of his cigar jacket. Angelina’s giving George an earful, and in spite of the glint in his eye he looks a bit like he wants to sink into the sofa. Fleur’s rocking the baby, who snoozes on unbothered, and Charlie’s laughing, delayed over the patchy Floo connection, and Hermione’s leaning into Ron’s side, trying to stay awake in spite of the circles under her eyes. Harry’s hand settles at the base of Draco’s spine.

Suddenly the room feels so full, full to bursting, and Draco’s not sure he can breathe, feels his face going blotchy, throat tight, that old tickle persistent behind his eyes. He exhales.

“Alright,” Ginny says, “who made Mam cry on Christmas?“ And Molly laughs, but it’s a warbly sound.

She looks up and finds Draco’s eyes, a smile easy on her lips. “Thank you, dear,” she says. “Look at me, blithering like an old biddy. I’ll ruin the thing before I even get to wear it.” She swipes at her eyes, laughing. “Who’s next?!” she demands, suddenly ready to be done with it, the tears and the watching. “It’s Christmas, for Merlin’s sake!”

Harry’s arm wraps around Draco’s side, tugging him closer. “You did good,” Harry murmurs into his neck, and Draco hums, turning to press a quick kiss to his mouth.

As the morning goes on, the family opening gifts and laughing and bantering and filling the room with pure Weasley-ness, Draco’s eyes drift back to Molly’s hands, folded in her lap, stroking the cashmere. The scarf had been his mother’s once. His heart quivers. Maybe, in some way, it is, here, now, too.

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry drabble #i hope the end of the year treats you all kindly <3 #& may this humble offering bring some comfort & joy #fic tag #lup writes #mine #draco x harry #drarry fanfic #(i’ve had this one in the notes app for ages) #(it makes me smile— glad to share it <3)

[romione-trope-fest]

Finish

Fic Title: Finish

Author Name: voldemorts-tap-shoes/smjl

Selected Trope: Weasley Weddings

Brief Summary: Ron and Hermione find time on the horcrux hunt to finish what they started at Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

Word Count: 1859

Rating: T

Any Trigger Warnings: none

***

It feels like she has packed and repacked this bag a hundred times since the start of the summer. Even with magically infinite space to bring whatever they need, Hermione has second and third and fourth guessed this book and that potion and everything in between. Sometimes she worries that the beaded bag and its contents are all she’s contributing on this mission, and she wants to get it right.

As she reaches in again, her fingers snatch onto floaty fabric that she recognizes by touch alone and after a moment’s hesitation, Hermione pulls out her dress from Bill and Fleur’s wedding, letting the chiffon unfurl toward the dark and dingy floorboards. What a perfect day that might have been if not for—well, everything. Spending the reception dancing with Ron was a bright spot in an otherwise mostly dreary day, from the Minister’s visit that morning to the uninvited guests that crashed the post-wedding party. But even that…

She thought she knew how Ron felt about her, thought that they were making strides toward something more than friendship. But even though he had snagged her away from Viktor to dance, showcasing a jealousy that reminded her of fourth year and the only other time he had seen her so dressed up, there had been nothing more. He hadn’t kissed her, he hadn’t told her how he felt. Of course, she hadn’t done those things either. There’s a war coming—it’s here, really—and what the hell are they waiting for?

Hermione tosses the dress over the back of the sofa and reaches back in for Ron’s dress robes. She’s not sure why they’re still in the bag anyway, why she hasn’t hung them up in a closet somewhere under a preservation charm to keep the dust off. Of all the things that they might or might not need hunting horcruxes, she thinks it’s fairly safe to assume that her dress and his dress robes are a do not need. But they’re also the only things they have with them that remind her of a happier time. Everything else in the bag is so…tactical.

“Hey.” Ron’s voice jolts her out of her thoughts, and he raises a quizzical eyebrow at her as he enters the room. “What are you doing?”

“Packing. Unpacking. I don’t know.” She motions to the pile of clothing draped over the sofa she’s been sleeping on every night, her fingers entwined with Ron’s. That means something, doesn’t it? “I don’t suppose we have any need for these anymore.”

“Probably not.” Ron trails his fingers down the sleeve of his robes. “It’s a shame that we didn’t really get to finish the wedding.”

Hermione shrugs. “It was a lovely ceremony. Fleur looked beautiful, and at least we made it past the cake and everything before the Death Eaters showed up.”

“Oh, er…I meant us,” Ron says, and Hermione’s breath catches in her throat. “We didn’t really get to finish the wedding.”

What is he saying? Did he have plans for them that evening? Was that going to be the night, before everything fell to pieces and they were running for their lives?

He smiles at her, that lopsided grin that’s been melting her heart since she was fourteen, and suggests with a laugh, “We could always get dressed up again, and have our own little celebration here.”

Hermione chuckles too. As much as she would love to do that—to know what exactly they didn’t finish the night of his brother’s wedding—they have more important things to focus on. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh. Yeah, alright.”

“I just meant with the mission—”

“No, no, you’re right.” Ron gives her a tight-lipped smile. “I’m gonna go see what I can round up for dinner.”

He leaves her alone in the drawing room without another word, and Hermione sighs, wondering how she always manages to say the wrong thing to him.

She gathers up the clothing, but rather than put the pieces in a closet, she folds them carefully and places them back into her beaded bag.

Maybe one day we can finish what we started.

***

Ron’s feet are heavy as he trades places with Harry, who’s about to finish out the night watch. The winter air outside is nothing compared to the frostiness inside the tent. Not that he’s surprised. Not that he doesn’t deserve it. But he and Hermione are both as stubborn as they come, and her resolve is stronger than his.

She’s barely said five words to him since he returned to the hunt, so the sight that greets him behind the tent flap hits him harder than a stunning spell: Hermione, wearing that tantalizing lilac dress from Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

Obviously, she’s gone completely round the twist.

Ron takes a step forward into what he now realizes is a suffocating heating charm on the tent, mimicking that same stuffy August evening. Before he can raise any questions, Hermione thrusts a bundle of fabric into his arms. “Put these on,” she instructs, her tone clipped as her lips set into a thin line.

“My dress robes?” Ron asks as he examines them. “Hermione, are you feeling alright?”

“Peachy,” she snaps, the only response he’s apparently going to get. After a loaded moment without further instructions, Ron takes a step toward the loo.

“Uh…okay. Be right back.”

Hermione’s request makes absolutely no sense, but he’s not really in a position right now to deny anything she asks of him. If putting on his dress robes will get her to talk to him, it seems a very minor sacrifice to make.

He puts the robes on as quickly as he can and then heads back out to the main area of the tent, where Hermione is waiting. They’re a pale echo now of themselves from that night—clothes hanging loose from months without proper nutrition, both a bit scraggly and in need of a haircut, and a shave in Ron’s case—but she’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Her expression is one of grim determination, but her brown eyes are wide and bright as she looks up at him.

“You said we never got to finish the wedding,” Hermione says softly.

“You want to now?” Ron asks incredulously, shock winning the battle against common sense. He had suggested this, only sort of joking, back at Grimmauld Place and she had shut him down. The conditions now are even less ideal, and he’s flabbergasted that she’s bringing it up.

“I need to know if I’m crazy,” she answers, and though Ron has some thoughts on that at the moment, he wisely keeps them to himself, “or imagining things. I need to know what we didn’t finish that night.”

“Hermione—” She holds a hand up, silencing him instantly.

“Show me.”

Stubbornness grips them both again as they stand frozen, eyeing each other across the room, neither willing to look away. She doesn’t know what she’s asking. She doesn’t know that he had every intent of pulling her out to the back garden to tell her how he felt, to maybe finally steal a kiss, but a combination of having fun dancing and debilitating nerves at the idea of taking that step had kept him putting it off for one more song. One more glass of champagne. Until there was no more music and no more champagne, only fear and chaos, and their focus had been forcibly shifted to other things.

She doesn’t know any of that, so what does Hermione think they’re finishing?

Sod it. She’s the brightest witch of their age. Maybe she does know.

Ron crosses the room to the wireless and gives it a couple of taps with his wand until it’s playing the soft, slow song that had been the last one they heard at the wedding. He turns back to Hermione, who holds her hand out in invitation. “Come and dance?” she whispers his own words back at him, her voice shaky as her eyes glisten with unshed tears.

He takes her hand and wraps his other arm around her waist, pulling her in close, and Hermione’s head settles against his chest as they barely sway to the music. Even before he left, they haven’t been this close since the wedding, and Ron never wants to let go again.

“Do you really want to finish this the way I wanted to at the wedding?” Ron asks softly as the song ends and then starts over. “You’re hardly even speaking to me, let alone—” He cuts himself off with a sigh. Despite Hermione being the one to initiate this, kissing her feels like a boundary he shouldn’t cross. 

Hermione pulls away to look up at him, but holds onto his hand. “When you left, it made me question everything I thought I knew about you. About—us.” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “So yes, I want to know. I need to know. Unless—”

She stops, and Ron braces for her rejection. Maybe he should’ve just kissed her and not second-guessed himself. Hermione bites her lip anxiously and drops his hand, and his fingers dangle uselessly between them, still half-reaching for her. “Unless what you want has changed since the wedding because in that case there’s no point in pretending that—”

Whatever else she’d intended to say gets swallowed up by Ron’s lips. What he wants hasn’t changed at all, only gotten stronger, and he doesn’t want to wait any longer to show her.

Hermione melts against him, her hands finding their way into his hair, and kissing her feels like coming home. Every brush of her lips against his is a taste of forgiveness, and he drinks it in like he’s dying of thirst.

He doesn’t stop kissing her until he tastes salt, and he pulls away to find tears streaming down Hermione’s cheeks. She leaves her hands tangled in his hair to keep him close, though, and presses her forehead to his to whisper in anguish, “Why did you leave, then? If that’s what you wanted, Ron, why did you leave?”

Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. He never expected it to be. Ron sighs. “That’s a story for a different night, I think,” he replies, and at that Hermione does let him go with a hollow laugh.

“Of course you’re not going to tell me,” she scoffs. “Why would this change a damn thing between us?”

Ron reaches for her again, tugging at the chiffon that hugged her body like a glove four months ago but is now loose enough for him to grab an entire handful. “I just meant—not this night.” He motions to their outfits, to the purple dress and the navy robes that aren’t yet tainted with thoughts of the locket. “Let’s get changed, and I’ll tell you everything.”

Hermione trails her fingers down his lapel as she looks up at him. “Promise?”

“Yeah,” he agrees easily. All he’s wanted to do since he got back is tell her the truth; he’s just been waiting for her to want to hear it. “I promise.”

#submission #weasley weddings #romione trope fest

[unwoundcorridors]

prompt #26: bunny

pairing: fleur/hermione word count: 856

❈ written for @sapphicmicrofics ❈

—

“Ginny is so bloody crass,” Hermione muttered under her breath after shutting the front door to Fleur’s cottage. Shrugging off her travelling cloak, she didn’t notice her girlfriend until she'd set the garment on their coat and cloak rack.

Fleur stood leaning against the doorframe that led into the sitting room, and Hermione startled because she swore that she hadn’t been there when she’d opened the door. Yet, it was clear that either Fleur had excellent hearing or had, in fact, been right there when Hermione had entered, when she was asked how exactly Ginny was so bloody crass.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione brushed past Fleur and took a seat near the hearth, fireplace devoid of any natural usage during this time of year. Glancing toward Fleur, who now stood in front of the adjacent sofa, resting her forearms on the back of it and fixing her with a genuinely curious look, Hermione pressed her lips together before saying, “She accused us of fucking like rabbits, considering I skipped my weekly lunch with her once.” She threw her hands up into the air. “Once!”

An amused grin spread slowly across Fleur’s lips, and Hermione had half a mind to pout about how in the world Fleur could find this at all funny, yet she waited to hear what her girlfriend had to say about it.

Shrugging, then raising a hand and turning it palm side up, Fleur was the picture of someone unperturbed. Hermione eyed Fleur’s tongue as it ran along the length of her lower lip, an image of the same tongue swirling around her breast the previous night flashing to the forefront of her mind. She clenched her jaw, shoving the memory aside.

“You are known for your impeccable punctuality, non?”

Hermione frowned. “I am, but…”

“Therefore, is it not… apt, to conclude that you were otherwise occupied?”

Shifting in her seat, Hermione ducked her head for a moment, took a steadying breath, then looked Fleur square in the eye. “Of course, but she didn’t immediately have to conclude that we’re… we’re fucking like rabbits!”

She hated the heat that flooded her face, betraying her emotions even more so, but not as much as she absolutely abhorred how smug Fleur appeared as she came around the side of the sofa and sat down on the armrest of the chair Hermione still sat in.

Fleur’s fingers took light hold of Hermione’s curls, idly playing with them, while her other hand cupped Hermione’s chin and drew her face toward her so their eyes met again. “And yet, she wasn’t wrong, Hermione.” Fleur’s fingertips caressing the underside of her chin was going to undo her remaining self-control. “Ginny is observant, is she not?”

Glancing out of the corner of her eyes and grumbling under her breath, Hermione finally admitted, “She is. But, it’s only, her choice of words—”

“Would you have felt better if she said we were fucking like bunnies?” Fleur offered, as if it fixed everything. It didn’t fix Ginny’s knowing smirk as Hermione didn’t deign to answer her accusation, didn’t fix the heat that had begun to flare in her lower abdomen at the flurry of memories Ginny’s words had brought up and certainly did not fix the burning heat that now licked at her, reducing her to a woman who truly wanted to fuck the other woman beside her as if they were rabbits. Or bunnies.

She knew she was an entire open book at this point, her breathing grown shallow, her legs crossed and thighs squeezing together every few seconds. Yet Fleur, her thrall not even properly reaching out, continued to simply play with her hair and flex her fingertips that still cupped Hermione’s chin. At least until Hermione met her gaze again.

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Hermione finally uttered, “You’re teasing me.”

Her girlfriend’s amused grin transformed into a genuine, tender smile. “I tease with a purpose, mon trésor. Ginny has wound you up so tightly, and I would rather enjoy fucking like bunnies so I can relieve you. Unless you would rather unwind in a different fashion, of course…” she trailed off, releasing her fingers from Hermione’s chin and hair.

Jaw gone slack, Hermione stood up from the seat and grabbed hold of one of Fleur’s wrists. “No, I—fuck.” She scuffed the heel of her boots against the floor, torn for only a second before she decided. “Ginny and whatever she thinks, whatever anyone thinks… they can all sod off; we can fuck however much we want to here, whenever we want to.”

“There’s the woman I love,” Fleur said, and Hermione’s heart swelled at the words. “Now, when you say whenever…”

Her eyes blatantly teased Hermione, and she could only roll her eyes good-naturedly before responding, “Yes, that includes now. Especially right now.”

As Fleur led the way, Hermione wondered where she was taking them this time. She doubted she would mind anywhere they’d already pleasured each other in this cottage, or for that matter, anywhere new as well. Though she wondered how many new spots were left now, because… Ginny had had a point.

#fleurmione #fleur delacour #hermione granger #fleur x hermione #sapphicmicrofics

[george-weasleys-girl]

North Star Series

Chapter 49 - Two April Fools

Start here:

Summary: The twins celebrate their birthday.

Warnings: a couple mentions of sex

~•~

Two cakes for two brothers. Orange and chocolate for Fred and strawberry for George. Y/N insisted on baking George's herself, causing a minor fuss with Molly, who considered it her motherly duty to bake all her children's birthday cakes.

In the end, they compromised by using fresh strawberries from Molly's garden, which Y/N planned on using in the first place and baking it at the Burrow under Molly's close supervision.

"You know, you could've just made me one at home and not told mum. Then I'd have two cakes," George whispered to her as they relaxed on the sofa after cake and presents.

"Oh," Y/N's eyes went wide for a moment. "I didn't think of that." Then she shrugged. "Well, it's the first time I've been able to properly help you celebrate. If you remember correctly, our first year together, you were down with the flu. And, the second year, I was in the States. It was important to me to do this for you."

George's eyes softened at that, and he pulled her closer.

"And besides," Y/N continued, settling into his warmth. "Molly's gonna have to pass the torch at some point."

"Hey, it's your head on the chopping block, not mine," her husband shrugged and chuckled.

"Oh gee, thanks, dear. Your support is overwhelming," she said with mock sarcasm and playfully elbowed him in the ribs.

"Hey now, no need to get violent!" George joked, tickling her and making her squeal much louder than either of them expected.

"What's going on in there?" Molly's voice bellowed from the kitchen.

"Y/N's giving George a special birthday gift," Ginny hollered back, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

"WHAT?" Molly thundered around the corner.

Arthur, who'd dozed off in his chair, snapped awake, looking around in confusion.

George and Y/N froze and stared at Ginny before pulling her into their melee.

Fred burst out laughing. "Bravo, Ginny, bravo!" He exclaimed with pride.

Hermione's face turned a bright red, and pointedly turned away to hide her embarrased giggle.

And, Ron nearly choked on his second slice of cake, prompting Harry to slap him hard on the back several times.

~•~

"Ah damn, wish I could've been there. Sounds like our little sister isn't so little anymore," Bill laughed, taking a swig of whiskey. "Shame Fleur couldn't make it either. I'm sure she would've gotten a good laugh out of it, too."

Ginny beamed and Y/N smiled at her sister-in-law's happy expression. She was glad that Ginny had finally accepted Fleur into the family. It'd irked Y/N that both Ginny and Molly had spent the past couple of months treating Fleur like a pariah. Y/N knew exactly what that was like, having once been on the receiving end of Molly's discontent, but at least she'd had Ginny on her side.

Poor Fleur didn't even have that. Y/N did her best to make the french girl feel welcome when Bill brought her around, but it had been hard with both of the Weasley women punching down on her.

"...well, we're happy you got to come to the after-party," her husband spoke, pulling Y/N from her thoughts.

"Me too," Bill raised his glass. "And it's a lovely evening for it."

After the official birthday party, all the siblings headed over to George and Fred's apartment, where they all relaxed on the rooftop, enjoying the warm night with bottles of firewhiskey and butterbeer.

"I love this seating area you put up here," Hermione said, sinking into the pillowy sofa. "So comfy and cozy. You must spend a lot of time up here."

"Used to," George said. "Not so much anymore, what with the cold winter winds and now Deatheaters flying about all over the damn place."

"But this is a special occasion," Fred said cheerfully. "And we put some extra wards up earlier to make it safer, including one that will render us invisible temporarily," he added, hoping to ease the sudden worried expression on Harry's face.

"For how long?" Harry asked.

"Couple hours," George answered. "Don't worry, mate, we're keeping an eye on the clock."

"Yeah, Harry," Ron patted his best friend on the shoulder. "Fred and George won't let anything happen to you. Hell, they won't even prank you - "

"Oh! That reminds me!" Fred interrupted, jumping up. "It's almost time for the grand finale."

"Grand finale?" A confused look passed across Y/N's face, eyes darting from one twin to the other.

"We were up to more than just warding the place while you baking with mum this morning," George winked.

Y/N's expression shifted from confusion to apprehension. "What did you do?" She asked slowly.

"Oh, nothing much," Fred shrugged. "It's just that we were a bit disappointed that we couldn't prank Filch this year. So we decided to do the next best thing. Prank a few Deatheaters!"

"WHAT?" Ginny stared at Fred.

"Hey, you sound just like mum did earlier today!" Fred teased.

Ginny stood and pointed her finger at her brother. "Don't try to change the subject!" She said, stepping toward him.

Y/N continued to glare from her husband to her brother-in-law. "Spill it, you two."

George moved to stand beside Fred, both of them grinning like fools. "Well, you see, Freddie got this last minute idea," he began. "So, we gathered up all the muggle fireworks we had in stock."

"And then disguised ourselves as Deatheaters," Fred continued. "It wasn't hard. We just mussed up our hair and made ourselves look like we haven't bathed in a year."

George grinned and nodded. "And we charmed the fireworks to go off..." the younger twin paused to check the time. "In about ten minutes. Then we snuck down to Knockturn Alley and tossed 'em around in random places."

"YOU WHAT??" Six voices shouted in perfect synchronization.

The two pranksters' eyes widened in surprise for the briefest of moments before their grins returned even bigger than before.

"C'mon, we can see the action best from over here," Fred waved them over to the right side of the roof.

George hung back and wrapped his arm around Y/N, who was still giving him the stink eye.

"I can’t believe you did that," she hissed. "After all that talk about me walking alone at night when I got back, and then you go and do this. This was like ten times more dangerous."

"But I wasn't alone. I had Fred," he explained.

"Yes, but you went into their territory," Y/N pointed out. "That was just asking for it."

"Nothing bad happened, love," he pled.

"But it could have," his wife countered, looking away. "You could've been captured or killed," she added with a trembling voice.

George stopped and stepped in front of her. "We were really careful. No one saw what we were doing or recognized us. We took every precaution." He lifted her chin with his fingers, meeting her gaze eye-to-eye. "And it won't happen again. Promise. It was only for our birthday."

Y/N looked at him for a long moment. "Good," she said finally. "Because you're really damn close to not getting laid tonight." Then she stepped around him quickly, hoping he didn't notice the smirk playing on her lips.

"Hey! Now wait minute, baby!" George hurried after her. "That's not fair!"

~•~

Y/N couldn't help the giggles that overtook her, watching panicked Deatheaters running around, aiming their wands in every direction, trying to stop the never-ending barrage of firecrackers. If it had it been anyone else, Y/N would've been deeply concerned for their welfare and very upset with George and Fred. But these were Deatheaters. They kidnapped, tortured, and killed people for fun. And they had a bounty on one of her dearest friend's head.

Of all the things the twins could've done to them, she figured they'd got off pretty light.

"Well, that was quite the explosive ending to a great day," Ron said as they descended the stairs to the apartment.

Harry nodded. "I can't remember the last time I laughed that hard."

"Glad you enjoyed it, mate," Fred clapped him on the back. "You deserve a good laugh."

"We all do," Hermione chimed in, a sly grin spread across her face.

"Hey, you know you did good when Hermione's praising you," Ginny joked, slipping beside Harry. Fred cocked an eyebrow at the move but said nothing.

"When are you all headed back to Hogwarts," Bill asked, addressing the younger crowd.

"Tonight," Ron sighed. "Gotta be back for classes in the morning. You know how it - "

Ron's voice faded into the distance as George once again pulled Y/N away.

"I know you enjoyed it," he said, grinning. "You were giggling like crazy."

"I did enjoy it," she responded, keeping her gaze straight ahead.

"So..." George probed. "Does that mean I'm forgiven?"

"Of course you're forgiven," she replied, still not looking at him.

"Cool. Cool," he said, nodding. "And does that mean - "

"I'll consider it," Y/N teased, turning to look at him with a wide smirk.

George's mouth fell open. "But I'm the birthday boy..."

~•~

"Indeed you are," she kissed his cheek. "Happy Birthday, my love." Then, without another word, she turned and hurried to catch up with the rest of the group, leaving her poor, confused husband in the dust.

@milivanili99 @slytherclaw1978 @quackitysdrugdealer @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @fancy-pantaloons @samberriejams @totalwitch2 @aslanvez @mrsgweasley @morally-grey-obsessed @asuperconfusedgirl @hmisa11 @superduckmilkshake @junerprsh @wolfkill16 @kaysau2510 @planetkt @thankyouforanonymity @thatonepersonwhocantwrite

@Smallsweetvanillabean @hanne-montana @greenapplegrass @yoursarahg @marvelgirlstories @ceehance @whotfskai @sierraluvzz @now-that-we-dontalk @moonatician @lillisummers @niktwazny303

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley x fem!reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x you #hp fandom #hp universe #weasley twins

[shadowbriar]

Cherry - Fred Weasley

Pairing : (F/M) || Fred Weasley x Reader Word Count : 1.8k Notes : This story was posted first on my Ao3 account.  Inspired by Cherry by Harry Styles. Fred thought that by distancing himself, he could do more protection than damage. What he didn't know is that from this separation, she might have found another man to lean in to. Gif credit to staywithmeforevr.

Fleur and Bill’s wedding was exquisite to say the least. Everything was aesthetically beautiful, complimenting the handsome couple who are now taking their first dance as man and wife. With everything happening to the world lately, such an intimate wedding is surely a sweet antidote.

She was approaching the younger Weasley brother who was standing on the side, his hands folded to his chest. She slid her hand in between those folds, locking their arms before planting a soft kiss on his cheek. He smiles softly, returning a small kiss to her temple.

“They’re beautiful.” she says, watching the bride and groom “Your family surely knows how to host a wedding.”

The boy remains quiet, taking her hand and planting a small kiss on her knuckles.

“What happened to George’s ear?” she asks, watching the other twin curiously “Did you both get entangled in a nasty mischief again?”

He smiles lightly, eyes looking sorrowful, “You can say that.”

“Well, perhaps I could heal him. I’m learning a lot of healing spells and methods right now. Perhaps I could grow his ear back.”

“That won’t be necessary, Love.” he says fast, trying to calm the topic down “I suppose George likes it that way. Mum could finally differentiate us now. The lost ear has got its own charm, don’t worry about it.”

Fred hates lying to her but keeping her further from the truth seems like his best option right now. The less information she knows, the less she would be of a target. Although, with the fact that they are still together, she is prone to be aimed by the Death Eaters.

That, he’s working to fix too.

He has been trying to find a way, a lie, to tell her so that they could break up. He loves her dearly, there’s no question in that. But if being far from her means that she would be better protected, he would go as furthest as he could and keep his broken heart to himself. Watching George bleed on the sofa that night from the ambush they had after transporting Harry was a more than enough nightmare for one life. He wouldn’t be able to survive watching her anyway near such danger.

Fred’s thought was interrupted when a bright silver orb came falling from the canopy. Its beauty was met with worry and fear from the people. Murmurs and disquiet shuffling of the guests were building more tension. Fred protectively stood in front of her, bracing whatever it is that may come.

“The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”

Fred takes out his wand, his other hand keeping her behind him. Dark shadows were flying around, casting jinx to people as they went. Everything turns fuzzy and cold. Fred could feel the girl behind her pushing his hand away, wanting to fight too, but he couldn’t risk her. If he has to cast a petrifying spell on her to make her stay where she is, he would.

He would do anything to make sure she was safe. Anything.

____

Fred stood at the side of Diagon Alley. The drizzling rain and light fog made his heart even more gloomy. He watches the couple laugh and walk down the alley before entering a jewellery shop. He could see from the window outside that they were ring shopping. A happy smile never leaves her face.

It has been a few months since their abrupt break up. Fred never told her this, but after everything that has happened to him and his family, he couldn’t postpone any other day to break up with her. He knew that each day passed would mean greater danger approaching and he couldn’t risk having her by his side when the war happens.

And so he had to lie. He had to lie to her, saying how he’d been seeing someone else because of her busy schedule with the healing training. He needed to make her hate him so that she could continue her life, continue her dream to become a healer, and move on. Live a life without him. At least, until the war is over.

But right now, watching her being happy with another man makes him sick. He wanted her to be safe, but not like this. He hates seeing her giggling at another man’s joke because that was what they had, that was what he did.

He is indeed a selfish man.

____

St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was completely filled with new patients. Injured wizards and witches from the war arrive like a tidal wave. Junior healers like her were deployed to help, when on normal occasions, such a junior shouldn’t be allowed to treat seriously injured patients. But the hospital was short in hands. Any extra pair of wands are welcome to help.

She was helping a wailing patient before spotting a familiar redhead, running in the hospital with his family as they pushed the bed. Their faces covered in blood and tears, mouth praying for the safety of their family member she has yet to see. So she calls for another healer and mediwizard to substitute before running to the direction of the red headed family.

An unprofessional act on her part, but this family is as close as her own. She has to go.

“George!” she calls as she reaches the family, pushing the bed with them “What happened?”

“Fred. Please help him.”

That was all she could hear before the bed was pushed to a room where only healers and mediwizard are allowed. She was shaking, hands covered in his blood. Fred’s body was covered in deep cuts, his body having light spasm from all the blood he’s losing.

She didn’t know what to do. Her fingers were trembling as the mediwizard started to cut his clothes, giving better sight of his wounds. She was never one to freeze from a gravely injured patient, but to see someone you love laying on the bed, fighting for their life is a completely different scenario.

“Don’t worry, Fred,” she whispers softly to him, trying to convince herself too “I’ll fix you.”

____

Fred couldn’t tell how long he has been hospitalised but the growing stubbles on his face signalled to him that it has been more than a week. His body was sore, but a lot lighter than how he would have expected from the serious injury he suffered. It was painful but a lot more bearable than how he imagined it would be. Perhaps he should thank his healer for doing such a wonderful job rectifying his body.

Not long after he was conscious, a familiar person came in. Her green healer robe was all crumpled. Her hair was tied in a messy ponytail, her eyebags more visible than he could ever remember. She looks evidently exhausted but once she locked eyes with him, her burden seems to evaporate.

“Morning,” she greets with a smile.

Fred couldn’t return her greetings. He watches her intently, trying to figure out if she was real or was it just his head playing games with him. Or perhaps he died and now sees her as he’s entering the gates of heaven. Either way, he’s glad to see her.

“Your chart is looking good,” she says as she looks at the clipboard placed on his bed side “Your vitals are stable, your wounds are no longer bleeding.”

Fred couldn’t care less about her examination. All he wants to do is to touch her, no matter how painful it is for him to move his body. He needs her close after everything that’s happened. He needs to be sure that she’s there, with him.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Weasley?” she asks softly, a smile plastered on her face “I had to patch you up good, I hope you don’t mind some scars later when they’re healed. I’ll find a way to make them less visible, I promise.”

“Are you real?”

The girl smiles, taking his left hand and giving it a light squeeze, “I’m here, Mr. Weasley.”

“Why are you calling me, ‘Mr. Weasley’?”

“Well, because you’re my patient and I’m your healer. I have to be professional, hence.”

“Couldn’t you just call me how you used to?”

Her smile fades for a little while before returning as a pained one, “You know I can’t do that.”

“Right,” Fred nods, dejected “You’re with someone else now.”

She was torn. George has told her everything as they wait for Fred to wake up. She now knows why Fred’s demeanour changed drastically in the past month before their breakup. She knew something was amiss, but she couldn’t find the word to ask him. He’s always seemed so out of reach then, and now she knows why.

Perhaps a little bit too late for that.

“Are you happy?” Fred asks, looking worried and hopeful “Does he make you happy?”

“Fred-”

“Do you call him what you used to call me?”

She lets go of his hand, now fidgeting with her own fingers as she tries to find the words. This isn’t a conversation you have with your patient who’d just been comatose for a week and nearly died from severe wounds. But it’s not everyday either that you had to save the life of someone you loved.

Someone you love.

“We’ll discuss this later when you’re better.” she says with a smile.

“I just want to know if you’re happy.” Fred says fast, taking a hold of her hand again before she leaves her seat “Tell me you are and I’ll be content.”

Her inside was falling apart. She loves him terribly and it kills her to know that she’s now tied to someone else. She thought she’d moved on but after watching him on the brink of his life that night, she knew that her love never changed.

“Fred,” she calls softly, a sad smile still apparent on her face “I know why you did what you did. George had told me everything about it and I can’t- I can’t think of a greater love than what you’ve done, though it hurt me in the process.”

The boy remains silent, an apologetic smile evident on his face.

“But I can’t- I can’t call my engagement off just like that. I need time to process this. I need time to process us.” she explains sorrowfully “And right now, I can’t think of anything else but to heal you. So can we please discuss this once you’ve recuperated?”

“If I remain in pain, will you tend to me?”

She smiles, caressing his hand, “You are my most special patient, I will tend you as long as you need me to.”

With one last squeeze, she stood from her seat and excused herself. Fred watches her walk away from his room, heart wrenched in pain greater than the one he feels physically. As she walks away, he knows that he has lost her for good. He has successfully protected her, yet fails to protect his own heart.

A cost he doesn’t think he could ever pay for.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley scenario #fred weasley oneshot #fred weasley angst #fred weasley x oc #fred weasley x y/n

[once-upon-an-imagine]

You ask for more Charlie? Here I am.

What do you think about decorating a gingerbread house with Charlie?😈

I wanted to send some headcanon instead of always asking for a dialogue, but I have never done a gingerbread house so... you can use this as a theme to ask people for headcanon... that makes sense? 😂

All I can say is that I feel he would be VERY playful doing it. But that applies to basically everything he does😂

omg I love this! 😂😂  and don't worry, love I LOVE your dialogue requests! And I see Charlie and the Weasleys making building a gingerbread house into a full-on competition so, that's what I did Warnings: Bill and Charlie acting like children 😂 Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter 😁 gif isn’t mine 😊

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Gingerbread Man

"HOLD THE WALLS!" Charlie said as he tried to put the frosting on the sides.

"I am holding the walls!" you snapped at him.

"Then why is it falling?"

"Maybe because you're putting so much frosting on it, that it's actually melting!"

"Ladies and gentlemen, you have five minutes remaining" Fred announced as he circled the enormous table set up at the Weasley Burrow for the gingerbread house contest.

The twins thought it was a splendid idea to turn the gingerbread house decoration into a competition. As they did every year. The problem was that the parents always got more intense than the children. So, Bill was building his with Victoire and Dominique, Percy and Oliver were helping Molly and Lucy, Harry was struggling to build his with little James on one lap and Albus on the other one as was Ron with Rose. And George was trying his best with little Roxanne and Fred II.

"Come on, love! We're almost done! We have to win this!"

"Give it up, Charlie! You'll never win" Bill smirked at him as Charlie glared at his older brother.

You could tell they were the most competitive. George was eating half of his gingerbread house, and Ron was trying his best but he was really frustrated. Harry and James just kept spilling frosting everywhere. And Percy and Oliver were too careful to make the perfect gingerbread house so they weren't even halfway done.

"Would you two just calm down? It's just a gingerbread house! You're not even letting the kids make their houses at this point!" you rolled your eyes.

"Enough chatting, love! Help me with the ceiling! You need to concentrate!"

"Stop yelling at me! You don't see Percy yelling at Oliver!"

"Yes, but you're on my team! And my team always wins!" Charlie complained.

"At this?" you asked, powdering the sugar on top of the ceiling to make it look like snow.

"One minute, everyone!" Fred shouted.

"Daddy! Uncle Charlie's gonna win!" Dominique said, pulling her dad's sleeve.

"No, he's not!" Bill complained, finishing his gingerbread house.

But without meaning to, he bumped his elbow against Charlie's house, knocking it over. Everyone stopped what they were doing as you gasped, looking at your husband, waiting for his reaction.

"Time's up!" Fred yelled at that exact moment.

"L-love" you said, placing your hand on his arm. Charlie's eyes hadn't moved from the destroyed house.

"Charlie-" Bill started.

"You did that on purpose!" Charlie snapped, grabbing the bag of sugar from you and tossing it at Bill.

"Oh no" you muttered.

"I did not!" Bill complained, grabbing the frosting and smearing it across Charlie's beard just as Fleur, Ginny, Angelina, and Hermione came in. "If I wanted to destroy your house on purpose, I should have done this" he said, grabbing one of the little gingerbread men and eating its head.

"Hey! I worked hard on that!" you argued. You saw Charlie's hand about to go for Bill's house but you quickly grabbed it. "Charles Septimus Weasley if you touch the house that your little nieces worked so hard on, you will be sleeping on the sofa for two weeks!"

Charlie glared at you but he knew you were right, so instead, he grabbed the leftover cookie dough and threw it at Bill.

"Charlie and Bill got stupidly competitive again?" Fleur asked, walking over to you.

"Yes" you replied.

"Did my husband destroy your husband's gingerbread house?"

"Yep" you repeated.

"I swear, every year with these two" she rolled her eyes and you laughed.

"I know" you said as the two grown men kept throwing food at each other and the kids enjoyed every second of it.

"WILLIAM AND CHARLES WEASLEY!"

Everything quiet down when Molly entered the room and the two brothers dropped whatever they had in their hands.

"He started it!" they said at the same time pointing at each other.

"I don't care who started it. It's the same story since you two were kids!" Molly complained. "Go to your room!"

"What?"

"You can't send us to our rooms, we don't even live here anymore!" Charlie complained.

"Oh, yes I can! You go to your room" she said pointing at him. "And you go to Percy's room!" she pointed at Bill.

The two oldest Weasleys glared at each other before they begrudgingly went up the stairs and everyone heard two doors slamming.

"We have got to learn how to do that" you muttered and Fleur nodded.

A couple of minutes later, you opened the door to Charlie's room and saw him sitting on the bed already cleaned up.

"Hello, love" you smiled walking over to sit next to him and showing him the re-built gingerbread house.

"How did you do that?"

"You do remember we can use magic, right?" you smiled at him and he chuckled.

"Who won?"

"Percy and Oliver" you informed him. "Honestly their house was so pretty I would move in" you smiled as he sighed, disappointed. "Want to tell me what happened?" you asked, brushing your hand through his hair.

"I don't know" he sighed. "Bill and I have always been weirdly competitive about this. I'm sorry I dragged you into it and made today so crazy" he said, kissing your forehead.

"It's not crazier than any other day with your family" you smiled at him. "Did you like the house? It's not as good as the one you made" you told him.

"It's perfect, love" he said, giving you a peck on the lips. "Except for this smudge right here" he told you.

"Smudge? What smudge?" you asked, looking at the house before his finger grabbed a little bit of frosting and smeared it across your nose. "Charlie!"

"Sorry, love. But in my defense, you look adorable" he laughed before you did the same and placed a smudge of frosting on his lip.

"So do you" you smirked, placing your free hand on the back of his neck and pulling him to kiss him and making you drop the house to the floor. "Oh, I'm sorry, love-"

"It's fine" he said, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing you again. "It's just a bloody gingerbread house" he said, between kisses. "I love you!"

"I love you too, my gingerbread man" you smiled.

The End

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

A/N: hope you liked it :)

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #charlie weasley #charlie weasley imagine #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley dialogue

[btsbabe7]

November Prompt 25: Thanksgiving

Words: 1K | Pairing: Harry Potter x reader

For a holiday centered around thankfulness, you’re so grateful to be able to spend it with your dearest friends from school. Knowing your parents were away on official business, Harry had taken it upon himself to invite you to The Burrow to celebrate the holidays with The Weasleys.

The Burrow is as cluttered as you remember it from housing the entire Weasley family and the color brown had always been prominent in your memories of the place. In comparison to your family’s white, clutter free, magazine excerpt of a home, the Weasleys home felt much cozier and lived in. Your family strived for protection, and the Weasleys, for comfort, which was something you could appreciate. During times like this, it makes you feel less alone, welcome even, when you’re used to having no one.

Sitting across the table from Harry and with Fred and George on either side of you, you can’t help but feel a bit trapped. The shared glances between you and Harry hadn’t gone unnoticed by them and the twins had no problem teasing in your ear about it.

“Can’t seem to get enough of that stuffing, eh?” Fred chirped quickly in your ear, making you almost choke.

In the excitement of the house, you’re glad no one else has noticed aside from his twin and Harry himself. You poke Fred’s thigh softly under the table and he chuckles before stuffing his mouth with a dinner bun.

“Think Fred and I can manage the sofa if you and Harry want to share the bunk tonight,” George whispers behind his hand with a mouth snuffed full of turkey.

Heat quickly rises to your cheeks, turning them crimson before a loud snort squeaks out of you, sending Fred and George into a laughing fit.

“Are you alright, dear?” Molly asks.

“Yes, of course,” you giggle, gaining the laughter of Hermione and Ginny and the curiosity of Fleur across the table. “I just need to excuse myself for a moment.

Twelve pairs of eyes fall on you as you wander up the stairs, but the loudness of conversion quickly picks back up again. Once you’re in the clear of Ron’s bedroom, you let out a sharp giggle. You aren’t sure how you’re going to survive the rest of dinner sitting between your two favorite pranksters, but you’ll have to gather yourself and make do.

As you turn to return downstairs, there’s a soft knock on the open door. You spot Harry almost immediately, putting a stopper in all motion, including your breathing too apparently. His deep brown hair is uncut, the back hitting the tips of his shoulders and the front, straight and swept to the side just enough to cover his forehead, except the bottom of his scar. He’s wearing jeans and a simple gray hoodie, but seeing him outside of your usual school robes has always made him more attractive. He quickly adjusts his rounded glasses before meeting you near the vanity right inside the door.

“I wasn’t sure if you were okay, it seemed as if Fred and George were um… bothering you? Well, I’m not really sure exactly.”

“I’m just fine,” you state softly. “Just a bit overwhelmed I guess. I’m not used to jokes or being around family much during the holidays.”

You lean against the old, wooden vanity and Harry joins by your side immediately.

“Neither am I, but you do get used to it. It just takes time like most things and they seem to enjoy your company.” Harry’s eyes meet yours in the dimly lit room, but your eyes fall to your fuzzy socks nervously as your cheeks begin to redden again. “Are you sure you’re alright? We can stay up here for a while if you’d like.”

You shake your head, not wanting to alarm anyone with the both of you disappearing from dinner for too long. After all, that would only gain more suspicion from Fred and George, though you know they’d persuade everyone to stay at the table while they investigate the situation themselves in hopes of proving right.

“I’m fine, Harry. I promise.”

His gaze falls to the floor as well, but his hand boldly curls over yours, which rests against the broken wooden drawer between you two. Your nose scrunches as you fight back a smile, but you can’t help but look at him, drinking him in even closer now that there’s no table in between the two of you.

His eyes finally meet yours and a smirk curls at the edge of his mouth. He takes a step forward, keeping his hand in yours while he makes his way in front of you. He rests his free hand under your chin and lifts it slightly, sending a heavy pounding throughout your chest that ripples down through your stomach.

“Y/n, I want to k—“

You go for it, before he gets a chance to fully ask, before your brain has a chance to process it all, you kiss him. Your best friend in the open doorway of your other best friend’s bedroom.

Harry’s lips are chapped, but impressively still soft, and his mouth smells of mashed potatoes and garlic, but you press in further when his unskilled hands find your bare hips under the cover of your golden t-shirt. Your mouths move together for a while, but the creaking of the stairs below quickly sends you two apart. Both of you sport red cheeks, warm smiles, and a bit of nervous laughter before his hand drops fall from your body.

“Maybe we should head downstairs. I don’t want the search party intruding on our lip-locking,” you joke and poke his side nervously.

Harry laughs, but takes your hand in his again.

“Let them look,” he says proudly and guides you towards the stairs. “As long as you know I’ll be by your side the entire time.”

You nod, smiling before letting out your last thought before returning to the party downstairs.“I’m just really thankful you invited me, Harry.”

“Of course,” he breathes before quickly pressing his lips against yours one last time, leaving you hot in the cheeks just before he leads the way downstairs, something you’re sure the twins will be more than thankful to investigate.

Please be sure to check out my other latest fics:

⚡︎ November Prompt Challenge (days 1-30)

⚡︎ For You Always - reader x Snape

~ Navi: masterlist (all fandoms) & (bts imagines/drabbles)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, but please don’t copy! Written purely for fun :) Please only repost to other socials w/my permission and credit! Reblogging w/credit is fine. Thank you! ♡

#fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #fanfiction #harry potter drabble #hogwarts imagine #hogwarts #the weasleys #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #george weasley #george weasley x reader #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x you #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter fluff #harry x reader #harry x y/n #ron weasley x reader #hermione granger x reader #ginny weasley #ginny weasley x reader #bill weasley #percy weasley #molly weasley #arthur weasley #the burrow #the burrow imagine #harry potter smut

[befuddled-calico-whump]

The Soiree (part five)

@whumptober No. 5: “It's broken.”

cw: noncon touch

previous ///// masterlist

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

The night refused to end.

After enduring another several rounds with the shock baton, Lex's body had all-but given out. He doubted he could stand if he wanted to. When he came to for the third—fourth?—time, the brunette man from earlier had his head in his lap and was idly stroking his hair. Lex hated how it almost felt good, how his battered body was desperately trying to lean into the action as if it were a comfort.

His head was still spinning; nausea swirling inside him like a hurricane. His shoulders shook as he feebly tried to push himself up, not even clearing an inch before his body went slack from the effort.

"Shhh, poor thing," the brunette man murmured, moving his hand from Lex's hair to his face, cupping his cheek. When the assassin didn't even attempt to pull away, the man clicked his tongue.

"I think we broke your plaything, Fox."

Lex barely caught Uriah's reply.

"He's taken worse. I'm sure he'll be alright."

"Glad to hear it."

Another wave of nausea hit Lex as the man slipped out from under him, letting his head fall onto the sofa beneath.

"There are still so many games I'd like to play."

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Tag list:

@whumpacabra @enteredin2eternity @kixngiggles @whumpsday @kiichu @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @shywhumpauthor @distinctlywhumpthing , @bloodinkandashes , @fleur-alise , @whumpy-daydreams

#whumptober2023 #no.5 #it's broken #oc #fic #noncon touching tw #assassin whump #this may be the last soiree installment im literally going day by day for whumptober #wildefire

[tealeafgrimm]

Hi I was wondering if you could do a Fred weasley imagine or blurb where the reader is pregnant and is like 8 months and he holds her stomach for a little while and takes the weight off of her for a little while. It’s okay I’d you can’t

A Helping Hand

Fred Weasley x Pregnant!Reader Words: 500 Summary: Just Fred helping you out with relieving some back pain during pregnancy. A/N: Thank you for the request! I loved the idea and it was perfect for this week, since I finally caught Covid and did not feel very well. This was the perfect size to squeeze in between my naps. I hope you like this blurb.

"How long do you think it will be before you are the perfect mother?", you laughed at your husband as you started to unpack the groceries you had just bought. Fred gave you an annoyed look from his place on the sofa and continued reading the book entitled "Tips and Tricks for the New Mother". The book had been a gift from Molly to you to help you prepare for your first child. However, you didn't have much interest in reading it as you much preferred to talk to other people who already had a baby. Like Tonks or Fleur, for example. So since you hadn't picked it up, Fred had decided that one of you should read it. And he did. For the last week he hadn't put the book down, constantly reciting some passage or trying to lecture you.

“You just keep laughing! I’m going to know everything there is about becoming a first-time parent, while you talk and laugh with the girls.” “Yeah, the girls who already have children of their own and are perfectly capable of giving me advice if I want it. And it would be much appreciated if you could help me unpack this stuff”, you gestured to the full bags on the kitchen counter. Sighing, Fred put the book down and came to join you in the kitchen. While he was putting everything that needed to be refrigerated in the fridge, you started to put stuff away inside your kitchen cupboard.

Even though you would never admit it, putting away cans and jars was exhausting when you were eight months pregnant. The extra weight of your baby bump was getting to your back. After the last item was stowed away, you groaned, put both hands behind your back and tried to relieve the tension by kneading the spot. “Are you alright? Do you need to sit down?” Fred came over to were you stood, a worried expression on his face. You smiled at him but shook your head. “No, sitting will just make it worse. My back is killing me today.”

Determined to help you, Fred moved behind you, trapping you in between the kitchen counter and himself. Carefully he put his hands around your belly and lifted the bottom a few centimeters. Instantly you felt the weight of the baby leave your back. Sighing in relief you let your head fall back onto Fred’s shoulder. For the first time in a long while you did not feel your back scream in agony. “How do you know this? Why haven’t you done this before”, you sighed, closing your eyes. “Well, maybe you should pick up that book my mom bought for you. It says in there, that it can help with back pain. But instead, you just keep mocking me…” “Yeah, yeah, I’ll pick it up, okay? Now shush, I’m trying to relax.”

Grinning, Fred kissed the side of your head, but he kept quiet, you had earned a few moments of peace.

#requested #reader insert #one shot #harry potter oneshot #harry potter series #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x pregnant!reader #pregnant!reader #fred weasley fluff

[ticklishraspberries]

It’s the Sweetest Thing, Remembering (Hermione/Ron)

Summary: Being married to your childhood best friend comes with some interesting consequences, like how he remembers all your embarrassing crushes, as well as all of your ticklish spots. (Happy holidays!! This is my Squealing Santa fic for...drumroll...@misssassyrox!! Thank you to our lovely host, @hypahticklish as well!! I hope the holiday season is lovely for you all, no matter what you celebrate!!)

Being married to her childhood best friend had its pros and cons, Hermione had realized. Of course, eleven-year-old Hermione had no way of knowing that the redhead boy sitting across from her on the Hogwarts Express would one day be her husband, and would probably have turned up her nose at the idea of it.

The pros of it included the familiarity, the existing bond between them, as well as the bonds with one another’s families, the mutual friends, the inside jokes, and having someone to understand the nightmares. The biggest con in her opinion was that Ron seemed to remember every embarrassing thing she had ever done, and loved to bring up those moments.

The teasing moments included Ron mentioning her past crushes on the likes of Viktor Krum and Professor Lockhart, or her know-it-all attitude (which had only faded slightly as she’d aged) or how terrible she’d been in flying lessons.

She teased back, of course. She’d shoot back with mentions of Fleur (who had since become his sister-in-law, only adding humor to the situation) or the arachnophobia he still carried.

Although Hermione was normally a no-nonsense type of person, Rob brought out the joking, playful manner within her. She still liked to pretend that she was above it all, but he always got her smiling in the end.

Which was precisely how they’d ended up with Hermione gently pinned to their sofa, giggling like mad. She had shot back to one of Ron’s quips with the memory of Fred and George tickling him to tears on more than one occasion. Her final comment had been something along the lines of: “At least I’m not as ridiculously ticklish as you are.”

Ron’s eyebrows had raised, although his freckled cheeks had turned a soft shade of pink. “Oh, you’re not ticklish? I remember differently…”

“I never said that,” she replied, voice wavering ever-so-slightly at the dangerous glint in his eyes. “I just said I’m not as bad as you.”

“I suppose there’s only one way to find out,” he said.

She took off down the hallway, but it was impossible to escape his long arms and quick strides. Soon, he grabbed her around the waist and wrestled her to the cushions of their sitting room couch and, well, the rest was history.

Long fingers danced from her hip to her armpit and back down, playing her sensitive spots like a harp, making undignified giggles pour from her lips.

“This is silly!” she managed to cry out between those aforementioned giggles.

Ron gasped in mock offense. “I thought you of all people, my little nerd, would find testing a theory silly. Who are you and what have you done with my wife?” he asked, bending his head to press a quick kiss to her neck. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and his stubble against her skin only made her laugh more, scrunching up her shoulder to protect herself.

But his hold on her was too generous, giving her enough room to gain full use of her hands and strike back, going for his belly, short nails scrabbling over the fabric of his thin t-shirt. His shocked gasp of laughter was music to her ears.

“It would be a faulty test if we didn’t consider the other alternative,” she said, grinning like a cat that had caught the canary.

Ron was still hovering over her, careful to not go crashing down on top of her, though the ticklish sensation was slowly turning his limbs to jelly. One arm kept himself upright by grasping the back of the couch, while the other moved to pinch at the horribly ticklish spot on her inner thigh, drawing a shriek from her.

When Ron had first found out that Hermione was ticklish, he was thrilled. It was the summer before their third year when he’d been pulling a stray leaf out of her hair and brushed against her neck, making her giggle. And while he usually went after Harry more often, Hermione often found herself giggling at his hand quite a bit. She, of course, had known he was ticklish almost from the beginning, not that it was something she would have considered if she hadn’t witnessed it first hand. Tickling was a common event in the Weasley household, whereas Hermione’s parents had stopped tickling her by the time she was ten-years-old.

Their tickle fights hadn’t been extremely common, but a few stuck out: The first time, after the leaf incident, which Hermione had lost without much of a winning chance; the battle over the last of Mrs. Weasley’s oatmeal cookies that had left Ron with a bloody nose when he went for her feet; the first time Hermione ever won, when she discovered how he crumpled when his ribs were tickled.

And, of course, the most recent one, the experiment that they were conducting as a newly-wed couple. No mercy was shown; Hermione went for his ribs while he squeezed at her thighs, and their laughter mixed like elements to a beautiful song until Ron cried out for a truce.

There was a small part of Hermione that didn’t want to settle for a truce, but her throat was growing dry and her belly ached from all the giggling, so she nodded her head vigorously and both of them slowed their tickling hands to a stop.

“I guess we are pretty even when it comes to ticklishness,” Ron said, still slightly breathless.

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head fondly. “I guess so,” she replied. “What an important discovery.”

Ron grinned, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips. “Of course it is! Absolutely vital information.”

“Just some more blackmail that we have on one another,” Hermione added.

“Oh, definitely. My beautiful wife, with her ticklish thighs and big, fat crush on Gilderoy Lock—”

A quick attack to his neck had Ron stuttering an apology through a fit of giggles. Perhaps the pros of marrying her childhood best friend far outweighed the cons.

#squealing santa 2k22 #ss2k22 #misssassyrox #romione #romione ticklefic #romione tickle fic #hp ticklefic #hp tickle fic #harry potter ticklefic #harry potter tickle fic #tickle fic #ticklefic #hp #harry potter #ron weasley #hermione granger #ticklish!ron weasley #ticklish!hermione granger #raspberry writes #hp fic #romione fic

[reilliane]

Epilogue ; Withering ✤ 4NEMO

✤ The memoirs of a past yet to be buried shall eventually come to light

"This format indicates a dialogue in flashback."

Related Readings : Fleur

Loud is the silence that has fallen in the room. Not once is there an utterance save for the constant beeping of a machine. It is suffocating, as if you're in a prison cell.

The white walls grow in like a silhouette, heralding a threat to come and haunt each elapsing second.

`For years, this shall be a penitentiary´, it seems to mock, `Escape is but a dream.´

Not desiring to be besmirched by the negativity your inner demons had to offer, you shake your head, attempting to get rid of it as well as the exhaustion that drags your eyelids low.

There's a continuous squeeze in your chest, twisting and hurting as though to keep you awake. Perhaps it's trying to wake you from this nightmare—oh, how you wish to be awaken.

The world is so unfair.

You've run out of tears to cry and you're still hurting, but you're in no way experiencing the amount of pain the other person in the room is going through.

It hasn't even been two days, but Venti has already become the nonpareil personification of misery.

The fellow thirteen-year-old is seated beside the stark white bed, slumped over in deafening silence. His eyes are ridden of the luster you've been accustomed into seeing- it feels like a sin to witness him with a dull sheen.

Blanketed over with a boring, achromatic shade of grey, he looks as if he's but a mere shell of the effervescent boy he once was.

The tragedy begets pain to blossom in your chest, but seeing your other friend be so low in spirits is just as painful.

Coldness wafting in around the room, you shiver, standing from the sofa to approach him.

“Venti, it's going to be fine-”

“No! You don't understand, I-” the sudden rise of his voice in the deadly quietude of the environment makes you jump. “It should've been me.”

He has stood from his seat, fists squeezing along with an oscillating pitch to his words. It's scary- no, terrifying, to be an audience to this side of him you never knew existed.

Not once has his sturdy sangfroid ever crumbled, even for a young preteen.

It's always Ze-... you stiffen, unable to think of the name without curling your fingers and avoiding the sight of another in the room—one who is motionless.

Head down, you murmur, “I'm sorry.”

It's understandable that he'd lash out... the time isn't the best for either of you, much more to him, who has lost more in a span of a mere afternoon.

With a whisper of a curse under his breath, he slouches back down on his seat beside yours, head buried in his hands.

“Why bother?” his voice remains small and wavering, “It isn't like you have a fault in this, I don't need your sorry.”

It's innocuous, you know that, but still, his uncharacteristic temerity and brusque manner of phrasing prompts you to gnaw on your lip, feeling the additional twist your heart does.

He doesn't mean to sound rude, you assure yourself through the reforming tears. He's just hurting...

The hand you previously rose to touch his arm falls to your lap. You feel plenty of things at once; unwanted, in pain, in desperation...

So, in the end, you shut your eyes, lips trembling in a herculean effort to restrain the whimpers that threaten to spill.

It's fine.

You are roused awake by the gentle squeeze on your shoulder, followed by a concerned shake.

Forced to entertain the newcomer, you pry your eyes open, feeling the telltale signs of an incoming headache and a stiff neck. The blur begins to assume clarity, revealing the sight of worried turquoise optics.

“[Name]? Did you sleep here the whole night?” it's Venti.

Slow to process things because of the fog in your head, you yawn, massaging the space between your brows.

“Oh, yeah.” the peering sunlight is almost blinding as you made the mistake to glance at the unveiled window. It's dawn. “I lost track of time, and the nurse permitted me, so,”

“Are you okay?” he cuts you off, the concern in his voice palpable.

His hand on your shoulder turns you toward him, gentle yet swift. He has a frown on his face. You are just about to question him why- when you feel a cold sensation dribbling down your cheek.

Ah... a tear. You wipe it away with a strained laugh.

“Yeah- just remembering things, is all..”

He doesn't appear to be content with your answer, but questions things no further. Instead, he turns to the vase on the bedside table at your side—you just realized he has brought something—and slips in a cecilia that he has with him.

The silence that ensues reminds you of the vivid dream that played a memory of long ago. Even more so when he sits beside you, facing the side of the white bed.

Still ensnared by drowsiness, you lean onto his shoulder, hands clenching upon your lap. He doesn't move an inch.

“Do you... think he'll wake up?” your words are hushed as the sunlight begins to pore through the glass. “It's been so long.”

It's been seven years.

He must've seen the faintest tremors your hands have done, for he reaches his own to cover yours. He's warm, but the teeter of his pitch insinuates the distant coldness of tears in his eyes.

With a voice as quiet as yours, he answers.

“He will.”

a/n: this concludes the first story act for Fleur! ahhh we've gone so far and all the LIs (save for one bonus/coughheizou) have been introduced. we're going to move on to the second act!

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#m-fleur #venti x reader #venti angst #genshin x reader #genshin angst #female reader