sorry if this is too much!!

Reflexes and Surprises

Tags: Blade x Reader, Phainon x Reader, Mydei x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Platonic, Humor, Slice of Life, Light Romance (?), Teasing, Mild Injury, Protective Moments.

Warnings: Brief Physical Contact, Accidental Hitting, Startle Scenes, Minor Pain, Slight Frustration, Character Flinching.

It started as a game you never won.

Pairing: George Weasley x fem!reader

Summary: Sometimes, the biggest magic happens in the quiet moments you don’t see coming. When Y/N steps into the wild world of dates and distractions, George finds himself less prankster and more… jealous sidekick. Between awkward Shield Charms and stolen glances, old feelings bubble up with a hint of tension—and maybe a bit of friendly competition. Because who said love can’t be complicated and hilarious?

Warnings: Slow Burn / Romance / Mild Sexual Content / Emotional Angst /Implied Romantic Tension / One shot

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with the kind of noise only a return to Hogwarts could bring — excited chatter, clattering dishes, and the occasional shout of a prank gone wrong somewhere down the hall.

Fred and George sat on the armrest of the worn leather couch, already holding court like the kings of chaos.

“So this summer,” George started, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, “Fred got this brilliant idea to start selling self-inflating cauldrons. Perfect for lazy potion makers, he said.”

Fred rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his smile. “They were going to be a hit—until the first batch exploded and flooded the entire shed.”

George laughed. “Yeah, flooded the shed, drowned Percy’s toads, and nearly wiped out the garden gnome army. You could say it was a splash hit.”

Fred threw up his hands. “Very funny. Mum made me clean it all up for three days.”

“And don’t forget Mum’s face when she found your ‘experimental fireworks’ under the kitchen table,” George added, still chuckling.

“That was a minor miscalculation,” Fred said, grinning. “The fireworks weren’t supposed to launch indoors!”

“Minor, right. Maybe next time test them outside the Burrow, yeah?”

The whole common room chuckled, drawn in by their easy banter.

Then George caught sight of me walking past and waved me over with that crooked grin — the one that made me forget how much younger I was compared to him.

“Y/N!” he called in a warm and familiar voice. “Come here, don’t lurk!”

I rolled my eyes, but smiled. “Lurking isn’t my style.”

He laughed, “Good. That’s what we like.”

“Missed you this summer,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the way my heart jumped.

George’s smile softened just a bit. “Yeah, well, don’t get too sappy on me now.”

Fred grinned from his spot. “Speak for yourself, Georgie.”

We all laughed, and for a moment, I was just part of their world — younger, maybe, but definitely not invisible.

Autumn melted into winter faster than I liked, and with each passing week, I told myself I'd give up trying — and each week I didn’t.

Every opportunity I had, I slid closer to George — always with a reason, of course.

“Could you show me that Shield Charm again?” I asked one evening in the common room, sliding my books onto the table where George was lounging with a bag of Every Flavour Beans.

He looked up with that same warm, unreadable smile. “Sure. You still can’t get the wand movement right?”

“I can, actually,” I said quickly. “I just thought… a refresher couldn’t hurt.”

He shrugged and moved over to give me space. “Alright then. Let’s see it.”

I tried. I always tried. Not just with the spell — with my hair, with my laugh, with how casually I leaned against the back of the couch while he corrected my grip on the wand.

George, as always, was patient. Helpful. Charming. And utterly, entirely… Oblivious.

He never flirted. Never lingered. Never once looked at me the way I sometimes caught myself looking at him.

Another time, right before Christmas break, I “accidentally” left my Charms notes in the common room, just to circle back and find George still there, sorting through a box of Zonko's leftovers.

“Oh — hey,” I said, feigning surprise. “Didn’t expect anyone else to be up.”

He looked up, startled, then grinned. “I’m basically nocturnal at this point. Want a chocolate frog?”

I nodded, heart skipping. “Thanks. Um… also, I left my notes… do you think you could help me go over Switching Spells again?”

“Sure thing,” he said, already shifting to make space for me on the couch. “You have a test or something?”

“Not really,” I lied.

Fred would’ve winked. Lee would’ve teased. Even Ron would’ve caught on by now. But George? George just smiled that same smile and explained the theory like I was his best mate’s little sister.

By the time February rolled around and hearts were floating in windows, my own was somewhere between frustrated and still hopelessly devoted.

Valentine’s Day at Hogwarts was always an explosion of glitter, pink confetti, and enchanted paper hearts that fluttered through the corridors like butterflies with no sense of personal space.

And every year, I sent George a Valentine. Always unsigned. Always the same: a red card, sealed with a tiny heart and the letter Y.

I used to think he’d figure it out. That maybe one year, he’d smile in that knowing way and say something clever. He never did.

This year, I’d told myself: Enough. No Valentine. No initials. No more trying.

The Gryffindor common room was packed after dinner, buzzing with energy. Enchanted envelopes zoomed from student to student, trailing glitter or heart-shaped bubbles. Girls squealed. Boys groaned. Someone in the corner was already halfway through their fifth chocolate frog.

I was curled in the armchair by the fire, trying very hard not to care. I still got a few cards — sweet, safe ones from my friends. Lavender, Parvati, even a pink scribble from Neville that looked suspiciously like he had panicked halfway through.

Then it happened.

A deep red and violet envelope floated straight to me, glowing faintly, shaped like a heart — and singing.

“Oh Merlin,” I muttered, just as it landed on my lap and burst into a dramatically off-key serenade:

🎵 “Y/N, Y/N, with eyes so bright, You shine like stars on a snowy night. Brave and kind and full of grace, With you, my world’s a better place!” 🎵

The entire room turned.

Fred cackled so hard he nearly fell off the armrest. I sat frozen, cheeks on fire.

When the song finally sputtered to a halt, the heart unfolded into a card. In elegant handwriting, just two words: — Cedric Diggory

The silence lasted a beat too long. Then:

“Wow,” Seamus whispered. “That was… dramatic.”

“Mate has pipes,” Lee added, nodding solemnly.

I risked a glance across the room. George wasn’t laughing. In fact, he looked… Confused? No — caught off guard.

His gaze flicked to the card. Then to me.

No joke. No wink. Just that flash of something — something new.

And for once… he hadn’t gotten a Valentine from me.

The next afternoon, the buzz about The Valentine still hadn’t died down.

Apparently, when a singing, glowing, violet-red heart explodes in the middle of the Gryffindor common room — and it’s from Cedric Diggory — people don’t forget.

I tried to ignore the way heads still turned when I entered the Great Hall for lunch. I balanced my tray, pretended not to care, and slipped quietly toward the Gryffindor table… until I saw him.

Cedric. Smiling. Walking toward me like he did it every day.

I swallowed, half-wishing the floor would swallow me first. Too late.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, stopping just at the end of our table. I knew Fred and George were sitting nearby. “Did you, uh… get my card?”

Every sound seemed to blur except for my own heartbeat.

“Um… yeah,” I managed, trying not to sound breathless. “I did. It was… very impressive.”

Cedric chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Bit over the top, maybe.”

“A bit?” I heard Fred mutter, not even trying to be subtle.

I smiled, even though my face was definitely turning pink again. “I thought it was sweet. Unexpected, but sweet.”

Cedric grinned. “Glad you liked it. See you around, Y/N.”

And just like that, he was gone.

But the table wasn’t silent.

George lifted his goblet, taking a slow, deliberate sip of pumpkin juice — like he hadn’t just heard every word.

“Next year,” he said dryly, “I might send a singing troll in a tutu. That seems to be the new standard.”

Fred choked on his drink. “Bit jealous of Diggory’s flair, are we?”

I looked down at my plate, pretending I hadn’t heard — but my ears were burning.

George rolled his eyes but smirked. “Please. He’s good, but not that good.”

Ever since Valentine’s Day, Cedric had been… everywhere.

In the corridors between classes — “You know, your smile could disarm anyone.”

Outside the library — “Do you always read with your head tilted like that? It’s adorable.”

Even in the Great Hall — “You have the neatest way of arranging your quill and parchment. Very elegant.”

I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to laugh or swoon. Usually I just blinked and muttered something like “Um, thanks?” while stuffing parchment into my bag and mentally screaming.

Fred, naturally, found it hilarious. “Oh, here comes your stationery admirer again,” he said one morning, elbowing me as I sat down. “Better sharpen your quill properly or he’ll write you a sonnet.”

George, who sat across from us, didn’t laugh. He just shoved another spoonful of eggs into his mouth and said, flatly, “It’s pathetic.”

I looked up, surprised. “What is?”

He didn’t meet my eyes. “That he thinks a few cheesy lines make him interesting.”

Fred raised an eyebrow at him, and I caught the exchange. But George just gave a faint smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

And I… well, I didn’t know what to think. Cedric was nice. He was kind. And, okay, objectively very good-looking. And if George couldn’t be bothered to actually say anything — then maybe I should give Cedric a chance. At least he made his interest obvious.

So when Cedric asked if I wanted to sit with him in the courtyard after Herbology — “just for some air,” he said, though the flowers weren’t the only thing he seemed interested in — I nodded. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

And I swear, the second we sat down on that stone bench, laughing at a Puffapod that had exploded on my robes earlier, Fred and George walked straight past. Fred winked. George didn’t even look at me.

But I looked at him. And I felt something strange twist in my chest — like I’d dropped the wrong potion ingredient and wasn’t sure whether it was about to explode… or change everything.

It started with a walk.

Nothing dramatic. No candlelit dinner in the Room of Requirement. Just Cedric asking if I wanted to walk with him after Transfiguration.

“Bit of a breeze today,” he’d said, smiling that unfairly perfect smile. “But I figured, if you’re wrapped up warm, we could do a few laps around the courtyard. I won’t recite poetry. Promise.”

I laughed, tucking a curl behind my ear. “Tempting offer.”

So I said yes.

It felt nice, actually. Easy. He wasn’t pushy, just… attentive. He asked about my favorite subjects, about how I’d learned that shield charm so quickly in Defense, about whether I’d ever tried honeydukes’ cinnamon snaps with cocoa. (I hadn’t. He promised to bring some back next Hogsmeade weekend.)

And yet—somehow—our peaceful walk turned into a thing.

Because two minutes later, we passed Fred and George sitting on the low wall near the greenhouses, casually tossing a Quaffle between them.

“Oh, what a coincidence,” Fred said loudly, catching the ball one-handed. “Y/N! Look who I found loitering near the ivy!”

George didn’t say anything, but his eyes flicked straight to Cedric. Then to me. Then back to the Quaffle.

“Hey,” I said, pretending this wasn’t the most awkward moment in the history of my social life.

Cedric nodded politely. “Fred. George.”

George gave a single nod. No grin. No joke. Just that unreadable look he sometimes wore when someone beat him at Exploding Snap.

“Well,” Fred chirped. “We were just discussing how the weather’s perfect for a walk. Right, George?”

George shrugged. “Guess so. If you’re into walking in circles.”

Cedric raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a race.”

George finally grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Good. Wouldn’t want you to lose at everything, mate.”

My heart skipped a beat.

Fred caught my eye with a little smirk that said he knows. Knows what, exactly, I wasn’t ready to admit — but I felt it.

I felt it everywhere George went quiet.

I didn’t mean to snap at him.

Okay—maybe I did.

But after days — weeks, really — of George doing nothing but tossing snide remarks and making faces like Cedric was a dementor in human form, something in me finally snapped.

“I just don’t get why you’re being like this,” I’d said, arms crossed, standing halfway up the common room stairs as he leaned against the wall, expression unreadable. “You don’t like Cedric. Fine. But why do you care who I spend time with?”

He didn’t answer.

“Is it so awful that I want to try something? Feel something?” My voice shook, and not because I was cold. “Not everything has to be a joke or a prank. Sometimes it’s just... real. And I want something real.”

George had exhaled hard, jaw clenched.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, voice low. “You’re right. I’m being a prat.”

And that was it.

So I went to Hogsmeade with Cedric.

We drank warm butterbeer. He told me I looked beautiful when I laughed. He offered to carry my scarf when the wind nearly took it away. It should’ve been lovely.

But the whole time, George’s voice echoed somewhere in the back of my mind — the way it got quiet when something actually mattered.

And it mattered.

Which is probably why I found myself back in the common room that evening, cheeks flushed from the cold and maybe from the drinks, heart pounding faster than it should’ve.

When I stepped into the common room, the fire was crackling lazily, casting soft golden light across the space. A group of younger boys were huddled near the window playing Exploding Snap, arguing over the rules. Fred was half-sprawled on the rug, flipping through a deck of enchanted cards that occasionally belched glitter.

George was in the armchair by the fireplace, legs over the side, reading a comic that floated slightly above his lap — "The Practical Jokers’ Guide to Defensive Hexes," from the looks of it.

I brushed snow from my coat and offered a small wave. “Hey.”

Fred looked up — and immediately grinned.

“Well, well,” he said, drawing out the words as he stood and stretched like a cat. “Look who’s back from her dreamy date in frosty Hogsmeade.”

He elbowed one of the fifth-year boys, then added, “Alright, lads, looks like it’s bedtime for us common folk.”

There were a few groans, a snort, but Fred merely wagged his brows at me before winking and heading upstairs. The others trickled after him, clearly in on… whatever joke he was making.

George didn’t move.

He just looked at me over the edge of his comic, his expression unreadable — but his eyes a little too focused for someone just casually curious.

“How was it?” he asked finally, folding the comic closed and setting it on the armrest. “Didn’t freeze your nose off, did you?”

I smiled, shrugging out of my coat. “Not quite. I think I’ve still got most of my fingers.”

He smirked softly, then motioned toward the fire. “You want the warm seat?”

I shook my head. “No. You look too comfortable. I’ll take this one.”

I dropped into the couch opposite him, tucking my legs beneath me, heart still racing in a way that had nothing to do with the cold anymore.

The room was quiet now — the kind of quiet that settles in when you’re the only two left awake, with the firelight dancing between you, and too many things unsaid.

George tilted his head just slightly, studying me like he was trying to figure out if I was different now.

“So…” he said slowly, “Did he make you laugh?”

I blinked. That wasn’t what I’d expected.

“He tried,” I said honestly.

George nodded, his mouth twitching — not quite a smile. “That sounds about right.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You sound like you’ve got a scoring system.”

“Maybe I do,” he said with a shrug, voice smooth and teasing. “And let’s just say... he’s not exactly climbing the ranks.”

I laughed. “Well, he did say I have very graceful quill posture.”

George dropped his head back against the couch with an exaggerated groan, clutching his chest like he’d been personally wounded. “Quill posture? Merlin help us.”

I grinned, curling further into the cushions. “You’re just jealous.”

George didn’t answer right away. He just looked at me, for a moment too long, the firelight catching the shift in his expression.

Then he said, quietly — but without looking away, “I am.”

That made me pause. “…What?”

He exhaled through his nose, stood slowly, and crossed the small space between our couches. My heart was pounding before he even sat down beside me.

“I’m jealous,” he repeated, voice lower now. “I’m jealous you haven’t asked me for help with Shield Charms in ages.”

I blinked at him, thrown. “That’s what you’re—?”

“You used to ask me all the time,” he said, resting his arm along the back of the sofa, close but not touching. “Now suddenly you’re laughing at someone else’s jokes, and I’ve been replaced by a bloke who thinks parchment organization is flirting.”

I tried to smother a smile, even as my heart flipped. “You miss tutoring me?”

“I miss you, Y/N.”

He didn’t say it like a confession. He said it like a quiet fact — like it had been true for a while now, and he was just finally done pretending otherwise.

I don’t know what I’d expected him to say — a joke, maybe. A snarky quip. But not that.

Not I miss you.

Something in my chest fluttered, then dropped like a stone.

The fire crackled softly beside us, painting the room in warm gold and flickering shadows. George’s arm was still resting behind me, fingers barely brushing the edge of my shoulder — close enough that I could feel the heat of his skin, but not quite touching.

I swallowed. “I didn’t mean to replace you.”

He tilted his head, eyes still fixed on mine. “Didn’t say you did.”

“I just…” I faltered. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

“It mattered.”

Those two words landed like a weight between us.

Neither of us looked away.

I became hyper-aware of everything — the warmth of the fire, the steady thrum in my chest, the way his knee just barely bumped mine. His expression had shifted into something softer, something careful.

And then, slowly, he reached out — one hand lifting to gently brush a piece of hair behind my ear. His touch was light. Reverent.

My breath hitched.

His voice, when it came, was softer than I’d ever heard it. “You’ve got time, Y/N. You don’t have to rush into anything.”

I searched his eyes, heartbeat thudding in my throat. “What if I don’t want to wait?”

George didn’t move — not yet. But something flickered in his gaze, and I could feel the shift in the air between us. Like if either of us so much as leaned in an inch, everything would change.

His hand lingered at the side of my face, thumb brushing just barely along my cheek. “You’re dangerous when you say things like that,” he murmured.

“Why?”

He pulled back, clearing his throat with a smirk.

“Well, that’s enough serious talk for one night,” he said, rising from the couch. “Don’t want to give the others the wrong idea.”

I laughed softly, but my heart was still racing.

As he walked away, I realized one thing was clear:

Nothing would ever be the same between us again.

The next morning, sunlight spilled softly through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the room. I woke up feeling oddly light—like the weight of the world had shifted overnight.

I stretched, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. The crisp air turning warmer, the faint scent of blooming flowers drifting down the corridors. It was impossible not to feel a little electric inside.

I found myself humming quietly, the urge to dance rising like a secret fire. Spinning around my dorm room, careful not to wake the others, I felt the pulse of something new, something hopeful.

Even though George had joked about helping me with my Shield Charms — half teasing, half serious — I knew, deep down, he saw me differently. Maybe not saying it out loud, but the way his eyes lingered, the small things he did… He cared.

After Herbology, Cedric caught up with me just outside the greenhouse.

“Hey,” he said with that easy smile. “So… how was Hogsmeade yesterday? Did you have fun? Think we’ll do it again?”

I shrugged, keeping my tone light. “Thanks for the invitation. It was… nice.” I didn’t say whether there’d be a next time.

We started walking toward the castle, the sun warming the early spring air. The path was lined with budding trees, birds chirping overhead — everything felt alive, but my mind was tangled in thoughts of George.

We talked about everything and nothing, jokes slipping between us like sunlight through the leaves. When we reached the edge of the grounds, Cedric stopped and sat on a low stone wall. I hesitated a moment, then joined him.

He looked at me with a calm smile. “You know, I really like how you laugh.”

He leaned in slowly, eyes closing, and the world seemed to slow down around me.

My heart hammered as I started to lean back, unsure, trying to keep some distance — but before I could catch myself, I lost my balance and tumbled backward off the wall, landing on the soft grass with a surprised gasp.

Cedric blinked, clearly startled but amused. “Guess I’ll have to watch my step around you.”

Lying on the soft grass, laughing at my own clumsiness, I realized that I should be with George. With someone who made me forget everything else — without even trying.

Deep down, I already knew it: Cedric was kind, sweet even, but he wasn’t the one who made me feel truly seen. It was George who lingered in my thoughts — even when I tried not to think about him. George, who was always there in the quiet, fleeting moments that said more than a thousand words.

I wanted something more between us. Something deeper. I wanted to spend time with him again — just the two of us, away from the noise and the jokes, no masks, no pretending. Just us, with that slow-burning tension that builds until it finally breaks.

And that’s why, one evening, I asked him for help.

“George, could you help me with that Shield Charm?” I asked, trying not to sound too eager, though I wanted nothing more than for him to say yes.

He looked at me, surprised — but with that same warmth I knew so well.

“I’ll make some time for you,” — he said with a playful wink.

The Room of Requirement formed itself just the way I needed — soft candlelight flickered against the stone walls, casting long, golden shadows. Thick cushions were scattered near the center of the room, and the faint hum of quiet magic lingered in the air, like the room itself knew this wasn’t just about spellwork.

George stepped inside a moment after me, raising an eyebrow as he took it all in.

„Cozy,” he said, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. „Is this what it takes to get proper tutoring these days?”

I rolled my eyes, cheeks warm. „It’s just comfortable. In case the Shield Charm throws me across the room.”

„Good thinking,” he said, brushing past me with that familiar ease. „Wouldn’t want you flying into the wall. I’m quite fond of your bones being in one piece.”

I tried to laugh, but my heart was already thudding in my chest. He dropped onto one of the cushions, casually stretching his legs out in front of him. The flicker of candlelight danced across his hair, turning it to molten copper, and when he looked up at me — really looked — I had to remind myself to breathe.

„Alright, Y/N,” he said, patting the spot in front of him. „Show me what you’ve got.”

I tried the charm. Twice. It fizzled both times.

George tilted his head, watching me closely.

„You’re overthinking it,” he said gently, leaning forward. „Your wrist is too tense. Here…”

And then he reached out, his hand closing lightly around mine.

The touch was soft — almost hesitant — but his skin was warm against mine, and suddenly the air between us changed. His fingers adjusted the angle of my wrist, just barely brushing along the inside of my palm, and for a second, the wand slipped from my grip entirely.

I laughed nervously. „Sorry,” I murmured. „Guess I’m a bit… distracted.”

George looked up at me, his eyes searching mine. „Yeah. Me too.”

Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned in, just enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath when he spoke again.

„You’ve been in my head for weeks, Y/N.”

His voice was low, rough around the edges, like it cost him something to admit it. His gaze dropped for half a second—to my lips, then back up to my eyes. Not demanding. Not pushing. Just aching.

"And it’s been driving me mad," he added, barely above a whisper. "Watching you with him. Trying to pretend I didn’t care. Trying not to care."

I swallowed hard, heart hammering in my chest. "You were jealous," I murmured.

A breath of a laugh left his lips. "Completely. I hated how he looked at you. Like he thought he had a chance."

He paused.

"But it wasn't even about him, really. It was the idea that you could want someone else. That maybe… maybe I was just the funny one. The friend. The background noise."

"George," I breathed, shaking my head. "No. It was never like that."

"I know that now," he said quietly. "But watching you smile at someone else while I was trying not to feel anything… it tore me up."

His hand brushed against mine—fingertips first, then slowly, purposefully, his palm slid against my skin until our fingers tangled.

"You drive me absolutely crazy," he said, his voice soft but full of restraint. "And I’ve tried to be patient. Tried to let you figure things out. But Merlin, Y/N…"

He leaned in closer, lips just grazing the edge of my cheek, his breath hot against my skin.

"I want you so badly it’s killing me."

A slow shiver rolled down my spine. I could feel the air shift — heavy with tension, but intimate, close. Like the world had shrunk to just us.

"And the worst part?" he whispered. "I don’t just want to kiss you. I want more. I want everything—the late nights, the stolen glances, your laugh in my bed, your legs tangled with mine."

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

My voice was barely there when I spoke. "Then take it. Slowly."

His eyes darkened—intense, reverent. He didn’t lunge. He didn’t rush.

Instead, his fingers slid up my arm with agonizing care, brushing the side of my neck. His other hand settled on my waist, grounding, possessive—but gentle.

When his lips finally met mine, it was soft. Testing. Like a question and a promise in one.

And then deeper.

Hotter.

Hungrier.

He tasted like heat and hesitation and finally letting go. His kiss wasn’t perfect. It was real—messy, desperate, slow and burning.

And it said everything he hadn’t.

That he’d waited. That he wanted. And that now, finally, he was done waiting.

His lips moved against mine like he was learning me—slow at first, reverent, then deeper, hungrier, as though weeks of restraint had finally cracked. His hand slipped beneath the hem of my shirt, fingers grazing warm skin, not rushing—just exploring, savoring.

I gasped softly into his mouth, and that sound seemed to undo him.

He groaned, low and quiet, pressing me back gently onto the cushions, his mouth trailing down to my jaw, then my neck, slow, open kisses against my skin that made my spine arch.

"God, Y/N…" he breathed against my throat. "You have no idea how many times I imagined this."

His hand found my waist again, holding me like he couldn’t believe I was real. Like if he let go, I might vanish.

"And it was always like this?" I asked, voice thick, teasing—but trembling too.

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, his thumb brushing under my lip.

"No," he said hoarsely. "It was never this—never this good. Never you."

His lips crashed into mine again, this time more desperate, less careful. Our bodies pressed together, warmth building, friction electric. Every touch sparked something deeper—his hand tangling in my hair, my fingers tugging at the edge of his shirt, nails scraping lightly over skin.

And still, even in the heat of it all, he kept whispering things against my mouth, against my collarbone, like he couldn’t stop:

"You’re driving me insane…"

"You feel so fucking good…"

"I’ve wanted this for so long…"

Every word stoked the fire, each breath tangled with mine. There was no room left between us. No doubt. No going back.

Only want. And him.

George.

Burning against me.

YOU HAD ME AT WRONG WINDOW — Peter Parker x Reader

Spider-Man shows up at your dorm room window, hurt and bleeding, while you’re trying to study for finals. You have no choice but to help him and a night of comfort and fluff ensues.

Also available on AO3: HERE

College Peter Parker | No Smut | One Shot | Second Person POV | Any Spider-Man | Fluff | Comfort

pairing: Ateez x reader

warnings: tension, jealousy, competition for readers attention

disclaimer: not my pic!

This was really Fun! I thought about something realistic since they always like to interact with everyone they meet. So in this case, Reader is a climbing instructor (I used to climb myself so I still know a lot of stuff)

The gym lights flickered on early as you checked ropes and mats, your usual pre-class ritual. Today wasn’t just any group booking—your manager had warned you the guests were “a little famous.” You’d laughed at the understatement, because Ateez was on the schedule.

When they arrived, the air shifted. Cameras followed them like satellites while staff hurried to clip mics and check lighting. They greeted you with practiced warmth—professional, polite, every smile camera-ready.

“Hi! We’re Ateez,” Hongjoong said with a wave to the camera. “Today, we’re trying indoor climbing for the first time, with the help of our amazing instructor—” he glanced at your name tag, “—y/n!”

You returned the smile, keeping your tone calm and instructional. “Welcome, everyone. We’ll start with a warm-up and a quick safety briefing before you touch the wall.”

Professional mode: on.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── Synopsis :

That summer will stay engraved in your memory forever. A house by the sea, an endless beach, and laughter that still echoes in your mind.

That’s all your summer was… at first glance.

Because you never would have guessed that, that boy distant, almost unreachable, the one you had loved in silence for so long would, for a few short weeks, become your sweetest secret… and your biggest weakness.

Tags :

(English isn’t my first language, and this is my very first story so please be gentle with me. ) Lee Heeseung x reader slight mention of blood , light angst , light fluff , slow burn romance . ( . )

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Nonexistent. It was the only word that could describe the “relationship” between you and Heeseung. Even though you had known him for years. You could even say you had grown up together, yet nothing ever changed he always stayed the same: distant and cold.

At seventeen, you hadn’t experienced much in life. No romantic encounters, no supernatural experiences, no love at first sight… nothing.

But if there was one thing you could call extraordinary, it was meeting your best friend, Sunoo.

You had met when you were seven years old, back in elementary school. You were in his class, and at that age, you were shy, unsociable, and most importantly… silent. You didn’t talk to anyone.

Whenever the teacher asked you to speak in front of the class, it felt like she was sending you straight to hell.

Sunoo, on the other hand, was social and bright. The complete opposite of you. And that year, you ended up in the same class.

To your greatest misfortune, you were seated right next to him. And he talked all the time. Truly all the time.

He told you about his vacations, his arguments with his brothers, all while knowing perfectly well that you weren’t listening. But he didn’t care. He kept going and going… until you somehow knew everything about his life without even realizing it.

And then one day, during an arts and crafts activity, you cut yourself.You didn’t even understand how your hand had ended up covered in blood within seconds.You should have raised your hand to tell the teacher, but the pain and your shyness stopped you.

Sunoo, who had been quietly humming beside you, turned toward you and immediately noticed your discomfort.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

Then his eyes dropped to your hand.

Blood.

Without hesitating, he raised his hand.

“Miss! Y/N is bleeding from her hand!”

On one hand, you were grateful that he had spoken for you. On the other, you wanted to strangle him for drawing attention to you.The teacher quickly came over and took you to the nurse’s office.

At recess, you gathered all your courage and went to find him.He was racing around with his friends.You approached shyly and tapped his shoulder.

He turned around immediately.

“Oh, hi! Is your hand better now?” he asked in his usual cheerful tone.

“Yes… thank you. Sunoo, I wanted to thank you for telling the teacher for me.”

He smiled at you.

“It’s normal. You’re my friend.”

Friend? He considered you his friend? You had only spoken three times since the beginning of the school year ! It didn’t matter. You were still happy that he saw you that way. Your first friend.

Then, without warning, he threw an arm around your shoulders and dragged you along with him.

“Come on! I’ll introduce you to my other friends. You’ll see, they’re nice.”

Sunoo dragged you over to a group of six boys who seemed to be his friends.They were all adorable, loud, and full of energy… but one of them caught your attention immediately.

He looked taller than the others. Calmer, too. And without a doubt, far more handsome.

Sunoo started pointing at each of them enthusiastically.

“So, this is Jungwon, Sunghoon, Jake, Jay, and Riki…”

Then he pointed at the last boy, the one who had barely spoken since you arrived.

“And him the tall one that’s my brother. You know, the one I talk about all the time. Heeseung.”

You greeted everyone shyly, trying to memorize their names.But when your eyes met Heeseung’s, everything else around you disappeared. Sunoo kept talking, proudly telling everyone that you were his new friend.But you… you were already somewhere else.

Heeseung had captured all of your attention in only a few seconds.

Then, before you could even understand what was happening, you were appointed the official judge of a race between Sunoo and Jake. And Heeseung stood right beside you. That was how it all began.

From that day on, you and Sunoo became inseparable.

You were like day and night. Him, the day: bright, loud, impossible to ignore. You, the night: quiet, discreet, almost invisible. And somehow, it worked perfectly. You spent all your days together.

At the end of every school year, you begged the teachers and sometimes even the principal to place you in the same class again, for the sake of your mental health, as Sunoo loved to say.

In middle school, then high school, you always found a way to stay together. And like any real friendship, you had already shared everything: your secrets, your arguments, your snacks… and even nights sleeping over at each other’s houses.

Which meant one thing: you saw Heeseung often. Too often. He was always there.

In the kitchen, in the living room, in the hallway, in the car, sometimes just leaning against a wall while looking at his phone. Everywhere. And without truly realizing it, you had started developing feelings for him from the very first moment you saw him.

Sunoo had figured it out almost immediately. He swore to keep your secret… while constantly trying to bring the two of you closer together.

He had already locked you in the same room once.

Yes. Literally.

And he had tried many other suspicious little schemes, hoping his brother would finally notice you. But nothing ever worked. Heeseung remained true to himself: cold, distant… and terribly unreachable.

The years passed, and unfortunately, your feelings for Heeseung never disappeared. At eleven, Sunoo and you entered middle school. By luck or by curse it was the same school Heeseung attended. Except he was two grades above you. Older, taller… and even more unreachable than before.

Then one day, while walking through the hallways with Sunoo, you spotted him in the distance.

Heeseung.

Leaning against a locker, smiling at a girl.

And it was very clearly not a friendly smile.

You froze in place.

The world around you kept moving normally, but you stayed stuck on that ridiculous scene. Ridiculous, because you had no right to be jealous.

You were nothing to him.

That day, you ran to Sunoo and declared with all the seriousness in the world that you were going to stop loving his brother once and for all.

You swore it.

You tried to convince yourself.

You really tried.

But it never worked.

Because no matter how many promises you made, Heeseung always found a way to haunt your thoughts again.

Description: He asked for a mix. You never thought a playlist could make your heart race… until now.

Warnings: fluff | light romance | tennis au | fanfic

Music was your passion, aside from hitting aces on the court. Or should we say attempting to hit aces, you were a DJ. Your tour besties, Naomi and Taylor, had hyped you up so much that during the off-season you did your first gig whilst on your friend’s vacation. The video went viral, but you didn’t think too much of it when you got back to training.

You were even approached by the Australian Open to DJ at one of the opening-week exhibitions as a fan event. You kindly declined, not wanting to draw too much attention to yourself, but it was already too late. Walking the halls to the locker rooms, players were stopping you, asking for custom mixes. It was insane. You had no idea they even knew who you were, especially him.

He approached you out of nowhere in the dining hall. The conversation was smooth, and he almost seemed nervous. Then came the request.

“Can you make me a mix?”

It took you back. You had listened to his Spotify match-day playlist before. It was epic, just enough hype to get you in the winning mood. Why did he want a mix from you? It puzzled you, but you nodded, smiling, and you saw him beam with excitement.

You took your time crafting this mix like no other, a lot of your inspiration coming from TikTok. You felt like a guy in a ’90s movie making a mixtape for their crush, which this wasn’t, but oddly felt so similar. Even though you didn’t realize it at the time, crafting music for someone else was deeply personal. You saved the file and made sure to pack it into your purse to take to practice the next day.

You were nervous. Even though both Taylor and Naomi said the mix was exceptional, you were still terrified. You spotted him sitting alone and plucked up the courage to tap his shoulder. He turned defensively at first, then softened, a broad smile spreading beneath hazel eyes as he removed his AirPods. Handing over the USB, you explained that since you didn’t have his number, you decided to be old-school and hoped he had a laptop or something to play it on. You rambled out of nerves, and he thanked you.

You didn’t realize it, but he pulled his bag from the other side of the seat, grabbed his laptop, and inserted the device.

“Sit, please, Y/N.”

You did as he said, taking the free seat opposite him. He was sitting in a booth, so he slid closer once the laptop was set up. He handed you an earbud, and you accepted. The butterflies in your stomach were about to burst. As the smooth tunes of Latina music graced both of your ears, you tried not to look over at him. You felt his knee tap yours as it bounced to the rhythm. He paused the track, and you were suddenly too nervous to look.

“Es increíble, Y/N. Gracias.”

“Gracias, Carlos. La música lo es todo para mí.”

A smile spread across your face. You couldn’t believe he liked it. He looked at you, intrigued by how you knew so many classic Spanish songs. He asked, and rightfully so, and that’s when he discovered your love for Latino music, and so much more. Music was your love language, and he saw that instantly. Conversing in Spanish, you shared stories, laughing together, only to be interrupted by your alarm for practice.

Numbers were exchanged before you left, and as you walked away, the happiness rising inside you was almost unbearable. It didn’t last long before you were interrogated by your friends at practice. Naomi and Taylor didn’t let up, asking a million questions, all of which left you blushing and flustered. You’d never had a crush on tour.

And now it was the world No. 1.