Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.
A/N: Extremely, very loosely based on Clíodhna (Klee-uh-na) the Queen of the Banshees.
Part Two - Samhain : One More Soul
The Last Kingdom Master List
There she was singing as she went, he could see her through the crowd, wandering down the street, around the corner, and into the – past the Ale House? Finan huffed, clutching the cross that hung around his neck, fighting the urge to place the smithed pendant in his mouth as he stood wondering what she could be up to. Pulling the dark cloak hood over his head, he slipped through the shadows to find out.
He'd been following her for the better part of the evening, since she'd left her quarters. When they had parted ways earlier, before the sun had set, he'd told her to meet him at the ale house, if her lady would allow it. His Lord, Uhtred, didn't care much what sort of endeavors the Irishman got up to, so long as he was present when his lord needed him. Careful to stay in the shadows, wishing not to be seen, Finan moved like a ghost. They did not refer to him as Finan the Agile for naught.
Chuckling to himself, he slipped past the ale house, not before stealing a glance inside. At their usual spot he took note of Uhtred, Sihtric, and Osferth. Sihtric was too busy with his face glued to his wife's to pay the other two men much attention. Why if Finan had a wife like that, she'd be lucky if he ever let her leave his bed. Peeking in the small window, he heard a group of guardsmen coming, not wanting to be spotted he ducked back into the night and followed her path.
Stalking his prey through the darkness, Finan couldn't help but feel the rush that coursed through his body. Tonight, of all nights, he should know better than to play around. Samhain was the night of mischief, magic, and things beyond a man's wildest imagination. If Finan were to get caught out here by a ghost or an angry spirit, there was no telling what they would do to him. A soft laugh into the dark, he continued to watch, trying to find her in the dimming light as they got further away from the village.
He should have known that she'd try to get one over on him, as he was constantly teasing her. Ah, she took it in great stride. He was Lord Uhtred's right hand man, she would be foolish not to give in to his advances. The way she would twirl her hair and bat her eyes at him, as Finan shamelessly chatted with her day after day, often distracting her from her duties. Since she had arrived in town a little over a fortnight, Finan had been taken with her. Those stunning blue eyes, her hair like coal, and that intoxicating smile. She had been far too gorgeous to be a maid, but what had he known? She was like nothing he'd ever laid eyes upon. As striking as Clíodhna herself.
Around the bend, Finan stopped, the road dark and vanishing before him. If he continued, then he followed straight to the river. It was a wee bit cold for that tonight. Huffing in the dark, he stood looking around. Nothing but the far off sound of an owl, perhaps a Samhain demon coming to grab his soul? Finan laughed nervously. Since being forced out of Ireland, he hadn't given much thought to the night. Superstitious as he was.
Pulling the hideous mask from his face, Finan lowered the cloak, turning to head back to the ale house. Some how he had lost sight of her in pursuit. Kicking at a stone with his boot, he grumbled and scratched his bearded cheek, the mask he'd carved had caused a rather unpleasant feeling. Eh, he'd tuck it away when he returned to his home, use it another time to torment Baby Monk or something, just for the hell of it.
Finan walked back along the road, not another person in sight, no doubt they were all in the ale house celebrating the end of the harvest and the coming of winter. Tomorrow, Lord Uhtred would hold a feast in honour of a plentiful harvest. Finan couldn't wait, there would be music, dancing, ale, and loads of gorgeous women who would no doubt want a man for the cold months.
Darkness giving way to the light of the town, Finan strode into the ale house, a bit confused and a little annoyed that he hadn't found her. She was good, wherever she was hiding. Tomorrow when she went to fetch water for the wash, he could find her then and congratulate her on her hiding skills. Sitting with a heavy thud on the bench next to Uhtred; Finan caught the eye of the red headed bar maid. A single nod and the gorgeous lady was at his side with a cup and a pitcher of ale.
“You look like you needed this.” She teased before placing the pitcher in front of the sulking Irishman.
“Aye, I thank ya.” He gently placed a small coin in her hand and gave a nod.
“You're late, where were you off to?” Osferth looked at his friend across the table, moving ever so slightly not to be caught in the middle of Sihtric and his wife as they all but made another child in front of the entire ale house.
“I was off to find a friend.” Finan lifted the wooden cup, taking a long drink.
Uhtred laughed at the admission. “A friend? We are your only friends, Finan.”
“Bah.” Finan scowled before breaking into a smile. Wiping his hand across his mouth, the foam from the ale trapped in his beard. “You lot are far too hairy and do not possess the correct parts, to be the sort of friend that I was looking for.”
“Ah a woman.” Rolling his eyes, Osferth gave his head a shake. “And did you find one?”
“I did, although she disappeared. Perhaps I will seek her out tomorrow.”
“Perhaps she is hiding because you look like a fool in that mask you carved.” Uhtred teased his friend. Slapping him on the back.
“I happen to know she appreciates my work. She told me so yesterday.” Finan boasted pouring more ale for Osferth. “Do you not remember me speaking to her, when we were watching the young guardsmen?”
“I do not recall a woman.” frowning, Uhtred huffed, pouring his own ale, since Finan had seemed to forget he was there.
“You do not?” Finan found that hard to believe. How could a man, such as Uhtred, not see a woman as gorgeous as that? Describing the very maid who had captured his attention, Finan sat eager for one of his friends to say something. Surely Osferth would remember her. Shaking his head, the warrior monk pursed his lips.
“Have you hit your head, Finan?”
“I have not.” Finan insisted, leaning across the table he smacked Sihtric as hard as he could to gain his attention.
“Ouch!” Sihtric cried, his grip on Ealhswith loosening.
“Ah, you've come up for air.” Finan grunted with a gleam in his eyes. “Sihtric, I need you to tell them about the woman from the river, the one who works for the baker's wife.”
“Do you mean Gudrun?” Sihtric's mismatched eyes focused on the fresh cup of ale before him. As if magic, the ale had refilled.
“No, the younger woman. The woman with the dark hair and rosy cheeks.” Finan insisted, they were clearly trying to torment him.
“The only young woman who works for the Baker's wife is Astrid. She is a child and has light hair.” Taking the cup from her husband, Ealhswith confirmed.
Ignoring Finan and his delusions, Uhtred shrugged and went back to his drinking. Sihtric placed the cup down and whispered something in Ealhswith's ear causing her to giggle, ignoring Finan. Sitting hunched over the table, staring into the fire at the end of the room, Finan lifted his gaze to Osferth who was watching him intently.
“Perhaps you've mistaken her for another?”
“I know what I have saw.” Finan grunted.
“I do not doubt you.” Osferth shrugged and lifted his cup of ale.
Raising his cup of ale, Finan glanced around the room. If she had managed to slip in here, surely he would have spotted her by now. Another cup, followed by another, then another, until he'd lost count Finan stood – barely. Stumbling over his own feet, Uhtred had gone long ago, shortly followed by Sihtric and Ealhswith. No doubt come Yule they would be announcing another child on the way. Osferth sat in the half empty ale house, slumped over the table. Jerking upright when Finan slapped him on the back.
“Time to leave.”
“Uh.” Osferth grunted, pushing himself to his feet. Collecting his satchel and slinging over across his body, he picked up Finan's mask – a rather grotesque piece with large carved eyes, an angry brow and mouth, with an impossibly large nose. Giggling, Osferth took the leather lace placing it over his head.
Following Finan into the dark, he stayed quiet. In the dark of the night, the streets nearly desolate, Finan laid his eyes upon her. Standing in the middle of the square, she wore the same dress that he'd seen her in earlier. Raven hair tied neatly in a braid and her glowing ocean eyes...Finan gulped and felt the forced of the ale he'd consumed returning.
Stumbling backwards, he knocked into someone or rather something. Turning to see the hideous wooden face jeering at him, Finan screamed and lurched to the side, the ale catching up to him as it landed across his boots. Grabbing his cross, he muttered whatever prayers he could think of to deliver him from such evil beings.
“Finan.” the beast with the wild face called his name.
“Leave me be.” Finan cowered, wanting to curl into a ball. “Leave me...” He paused as the beast spoke his name once more.
Lifting the mask, Osferth stared at him blankly. “Are you quite alright?”
“She was there! Did you not...” He pointed to where she'd stood. “Her face turned into...”
“I do not see a woman, Finan.” Osferth confirmed, dropping the mask and helping Finan to his feet. “Perhaps we should get you in to rest. Sleep off some of the ale.”
Rubbing his head, Finan nodded and groaned. “Aye. But I know what I saw.”
“I believe you.” Osferth clapped him on the shoulder. Guiding him across the square to his quarters.
“But...if you did not see her then. Is she? Have I? Am I still alive?”
“You are very much alive. I am very much real. Come now, we shall discuss this another day.” Osferth steering Finan toward his door. “Sleep and tomorrow, the woman and all of this will be but a bad dream.”
“A dream? That's it! It's a...” Finan paused, suddenly unable to speak. In the distance a wailing scream caused his blood to run cold and the warmth drain from his body. “D-did you hear that?” He stammered.
“I hear nothing but a muttering fool.” Osferth answered shoving Finan into his quarters. “Sleep.”
“Sleep.” Finan repeated as he stumbled across the hut, his bed a few inches away he dropped onto the furs, legs dangling over the side as he fell face first into the soft furs and warm body.
Warm body?
Soaked in a cold sweat, Finan shouted and rose straight up as if he were a man shooting up from the grave. His chest heaving and his breath short. Clutching the fur around his naked body, he shivered in the air. A crackling of a fire in the next room caught his attention. The body beside him turned, a hand reaching for his arm. Finan watched in terror as the hand grasped his forearm. Shouting and jumping, he pulled away.
“Finan?” A soft voice spoke his name, floating around the dark room. “Are you okay my love?”
“I-I don't....know?”
“Was it another terror? The boat? Conall?” The voice spoke to him of things he had so rarely spoke of.
“A woman and a disfigured face.” He muttered, clutching the furs between his fingers.
“It's okay. You're safe my love.” Sitting up, she gently rubbed his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to his bare skin. “I am here.”
Glancing over his right shoulder to the woman speaking, Finan's heart began to thump wildly in his chest. There she was, the hair dark as night, the shining ocean blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and...he reached out touching her face with this battle hardened hands. Her skin soft as silk, as she leaned into his touch with a smile. Furs shifting, Finan took in her naked form, as if by some miracle she were in his bed.
“You're not real.”
“What is that?” A sharp smack landed against his chest. Rubbing the spot where her hand had connected, she glared at him. “I do happen to think I am very real. I will have you know that...”
“By god you are real.” Finan began to laugh. Pulling his skin between his thumb and forefinger he muttered under his breath. “I am real. You are real. How?”
“Finan.” Her tone scolding, she glowered at him and crossed her arms over her bare chest. “What have I told you about eating too much boar before going to bed? It will rot your brain.”
“Mo shíorghra, forgive me.” Finan's laugh rang through the hut. “From now on, I will do what my gorgeous wife demands.”
Settled back into the furs, Finan reached his arm out, pulling her body into his. Relaxed and less of a mess than when he'd woke shouting, Finan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The next time he woke, he would be quick to find his bed void of a warm body and nothing but a faded memory left behind.
Mo shíorghra – my eternal love
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You Will Have Me Boneless in Your Arms in Mere Seconds
summary: plotless sex, everyone
trigger warning: sexual activity, swearing, name calling, incest
word count: 1.3k
note: this is very basic… but i honestly enjoyed writing it. anyway, promise you the next one’s gonna have a plot. Enjoy while it lasts cause honestly it’s gonna be 5 mins
-💎
“‘Tis not proper of a princess, dear niece…” Aemond taunted in your ear as his fingers slid in and out of you with ease. He was referring to the moan he had just caused, which threatened to awake Joffrey from his bed beside yours- beside the one on which Aemond’s fingers were making your legs shake like never before.
You covered your mouth with a hand, but the whine you let out as his thumb’s pressure on your centre increased made you realise just how futile your efforts were against the effect he had on you. Aemond let out a little laugh, completely mocking your reaction, and brushed his lips against your earlobe.
“Too much for you, little girl?”
You wished to protest, you tried with all your might, but as you attempted to remove your hand from your mouth, another whine escaped- pathetic, even on your own judgement. Letting yourself fall onto the cushions of the bed, you pressed both hands against your lips.
His laugh reached you again as he followed your movements, his breath was hot on the flushed skin of your cheeks when he pressed his lips to it.
“What will you do once I push my cock inside of you, hm?”
His words alone made your eyes roll back. What would you do? Press the cushion against your face? Waking up Joffrey and telling him to go sleep elsewhere became an incredibly appealing idea.
Aemond’s hand left your throbbing cunt, and you pressed your lips together at the empty sensation he left behind. He then moved your leg so it lay on the mattress opposite of him, and raised your nightgown to expose the lower part of your body. His mouth moved to your shoulder, still covered by the thin, white fabric, and he sank his teeth into it, making you hiss and clench a fist in the sheets.
You heard him fumbling with the laces of his trousers, before he freed himself from the straining confines of his breeches. Then you felt his tip against your drenched folds, teasing you mercilessly, as if he hadn’t been toying with you for the past fifteen minutes.
“Beg.” he breathed the order roughly against the skin of your neck, making goosebumps rise over your body. “Tell me how badly you crave my cock inside you.”
Even if you were sure your previous whines had convinced him far enough, you obeyed. “I… Please, Aemond… I need your cock inside me.” you whispered, feeling his tip nudge further between your folds, almost entering you.
“Not enough, Princess.”
“Aemond, I need you, please.” you breathed out, desperation leaking into your voice, hopefully enough for him to comply. “Fuck me, I… I feel so empty without you.”
He grabbed your hip, molding the soft flesh under his palm as he let out a grunt. Finally, he pushed forward, entering your tight channel with an ease provided by your wetness. “Isn’t this my good princess?” he whispered, moving his hand to grab the inside of your thigh from behind, raising your leg to thrust deeper. The sensation of his cock stretching you out, made your vision blur. “Letting me fuck her with her little brother in the room.”
You whined something incomprehensible even for you as he began to move inside of your cunt, hitting deeper each time. The preparation he gave you with his fingers before entering you- and also the fact that it was him inside of you, thrusting, using, and persuading you to do as he pleased- had you already on the brink of orgasm.
His free arm, the one propping him above you, slid closer to your back and slidered its hand under your hair and around your face, holding it so your eyes fell inevitably on your brother- still asleep, thank the Gods. “Is the Princess not ashamed? I know she should be.” he murmured teasingly, his hand on your thigh making its way between them, rubbing your clitoris in delightfully teasing motions. “Is she?”
You shook your head in disagreement. Your mouth was parted by his hold on your jaw, soft whimpers from it in time with his thrusts, which he kept slightly calmer than usual merely because of Joffrey, yet your eyes threatened to fall closed at the pleasure they were still providing. A sharp shake of your head was enough for them to be wide open again. “No.” you breathed out, “I’m not ashamed.”
“Fuck.” he hissed, moving faster now- a sign he was losing control, while still careful not to make too much noise. “You’d deserve far less than this… Less than being fucked on a royal bedding. Your behaviour would be better suited for a brothel.”
You whined again at his words, and moved his hand from from your jaw onto your mouth, pressing it there with both of yours to muffle yourself. Your hands barely covered his. His rough breath skimmed your neck once again, and his lips travelled down to your shoulder, biting once more where his teeth had sunk before.
You felt your drenched walls starting to flutter around his cock, and you knew he felt it too, when the bite got tighter and the thrusts erratic. “You’re so tight… It’s driving me wild.” he whispered ruggedly, moving his lips across your nightgown and up to your neck, biting on your pulse point while pressing his hand tighter on your mouth, knowing of the scream you’d let out.
“You want me to spill inside of you?” he asked into your ear, making you nod fervently and clench around him, hoping that answer to be enough. Yet, Aemond’s hand turned your face towards him, his silver hair brushing against your face as his fresh and sharp scent of thyme. “Beg for it, then.”
You would have rolled your eyes, hadn’t the pleasure of his cock pounding into your quivering cunt been that overwhelming. “Please…” you whined into his ear, “You will have me boneless into your arms in mere seconds…I want your cock inside of me until you cannot move any longer.”
Aemond released your face with a grunt, only to press his hand against your lips once again, this time making you arch your back against him. His other hand delivered a slap to your pussy- the sound wet, incredibly arousing, before it moved to your waist, bending it further. “Spoilt little princess.” he growled into your ear, picking up the speed of his thrusts.
Your hands found his once again, one wrapping around his index finger. Your eyes closed shut as you tried to remember that your brother was still asleep at mere feet from you two. “You’re unbelievably pretty like this…” he whispered, his thrusts starting to fall erratic once again.
The angle with which his thrusts hit your insides, the depth of them, made you feel as if your insides were bursting, and eventually, you came, trembling around Aemond’s cock with need, until his grip on your waist slipped, the palm landing onto the mattress as he released himself inside of you.
His breath fanned across the skin of your cheek as he tried to regain his composure. His hand released your mouth and found your shoulder, rubbing the thumb against the thin material. “Please… Tell your father I will marry you.” he whispered, brushing his lips against your jaw. “I cannot stand pretending to be partial to you.”
You closed your eyes, taking his hand into yours and wrapping his arm around your waist, “He will be against it.”
“Then tell him I’ve ruined his precious daughter.” he said, his grip tightening, “Tell him I have marked you with my cum more than once, that I count every time, and that I will do it again.”
── .✦ George Weasley is a night owl, always staying up late, working on new products until you pull him to bed, whispering sweet words in his ears.
── .✦ On nights sleep seems to just be an arm's length away, George will simply watch you sleep, but not in a creepy way. Simply watching the way your chest rises and falls, the way your eyes flutter, the way your lips part, the way your nose twitches as you try to reach out for him.
── .✦ On nights sleep evades you, George will read to you. Whichever book you were currently reading or even one that started collecting dust on your bookshelves, all while running his hands through your hair.
── .✦ George Weasley is a extremely touchy sleeper. Always in some way touching you, arm thrown over your waist, legs twisted between yours, arm under your head
── .✦ George talks in his sleep, soft words mumbling. Talks about products, the store, family, you, even murmurs of a future family with you
── .✦ George will jokingly claim that you snore, bringing it up anytime you talk about him talking in his sleep. If you ever get upset or annoyed, he will place a kiss to the side of your head, whisper how much he loves your cute snores.
── .✦ George sleeps either in just his sleep pants, his favorite are the muggle ones you bought for him when you first started dating or if he's feeling cold, he'll throw on a shirt but only if you pick it out for him.
── .✦ George sleeps in most mornings, only pulling himself out of bed at the smell a fresh pot of coffee and breakfast. He'll wrap his arms around your waist, tucking his face into the crook of your neck, lips brushing against your neck as he wishes you good morning.
Draco this Cedric that oh Fred is my favourite where is the George weasley stuff bro I love the characters but I fear George is criminally underrated when he is objectively the better and more alive twin (laugh through the pain) anyway this is my formal request for more George weasley edits and fan fiction please!
Summary: What will happen when it's time for the father daughter dance, yet your father refuses to be at your wedding?
Tags: established relationship, wedding day, reader has a shitty family, Arthur is the best dad ever, mainly centered around Arthur + reader dance
A/n: This came to me one day randomly and I just had to write it. Also, on a completely unrelated note, we are almost to 300 followers and my mind is simply blown to think about that. I have a fun event planned for it!!
Father Daughter Dance
“Now may I bring everyone’s attention to the dance floor for the father daughter dance.” The smile on your face fades as George’s arm tightens around your waist. “Shit, love. I am so sorry. I could have sworn Mum told him to skip this part.” You shake your head. “It’s alright George. I’m sure we can invite others to dance.”
And that is what exactly happened, father and daughter all over joined the dance floor. Your chest tightens as the tears blur your vision. A small smile forms at the sight of Bill twirling around little Victoire. She is so lucky to be loved so loud and so fierce.
Before you could go down a path of grief no one should on their wedding day, a hand appears in front of you. Your eyes widen as Mr Weasley smiles warmly, waiting for you to take his hand. “Mr Weasley? W-what are you doing?’ He reaches out, taking my arm. “What does it look like I am doing?” He asks, guiding you back to the dance floor. “But Ginny?” He shakes his head. “Ginny will have her time to dance at her wedding. But right now, I am dancing with my other daughter.”
Tears flow down the your cheeks, like the small river down the hill behind the Burrow. “You are my daughter, officially now but you always have been. Molly and I are so very proud of you. The house you grew up in,” His voice hardens before he shakes his head. “You, my beautiful girl, are a survivor and the best choice for George. I don’t think my son would have survived the war without you.” You nod, knowing how difficult it was to talk about Fred even years later. “Thank you dear, for everything. For loving our son. For being the perfect daughter any parent could ever ask for.” Mr Weasley presses a kiss to your forehead as the song ends.
“Mr-” He shakes his head. “No need for that. Call me Arthur or dad, which ever makes you more comfortable. Now I should go find Molly. Thank you for the dance.” You nod, wiping the tears running down your cheeks.
“Love you alright?” George asks, wrapping his arms around your waist. You nod, smiling up at your husband.
summary: With his ego inflated after Rook’s Rest, Aemond makes another move against the blacks — taking you.
pairing: Aemond x Niece!Reader
word count: 1.8k+
warnings: Explicit smut, dark!Aemond, incest, oral sex (f recieving), p in v sex, heavy dubcon, loss of virginity, mention of blood, knife play, angst!!! 18+ MDNI
Destiny was a fickle thing but Aemond Targaryen knew three things for certain: he was destined to lose an eye, destined to claim the largest dragon of the known world and destined to be with you.
For as long as Aemond could remember, he wanted you, dreamed of you. The mere thought of you made his cock ache at any moment.
It was not as if Aemond had no other options. There were plenty of Lord’s willing to send their daughters to King’s Landing to be married off to a prince.
As lovely as those girls might have been, they all shared the same detrimental flaw: they simply were not you. You were a member of House Targaryen — bastard born or not, the blood of Old Valyria ran deep within your veins. You were a skilled dragon rider, you carried yourself with grace, held a quick wit, spoke your mother tongue. Above all else, you had been there for Aemond when no one else was. You were perfect.
Aemond had no interest in being betrothed to a Baratheon or a Lannister, nor an Arryn or a Stark; even the most beautiful girl the Tyrell’s had to offer would simply never compare. After a denied proposal for a betrothal and you being taken away to Dragonstone Aemond felt powerless — until now.
Your entire body aches as you make out your surroundings. You had been taken in the middle of the night, forced onto dragon back with your hands and feet tied.
“Listen to me,” your uncle says as he crouches in front of you, “if you scream the guards will come and you’ll be thrown in the dungeons. You have no friends here except me. Do you understand?”
You nod your head in agreement, desperate to be free of the makeshift gag he had made for you.
As if he could read your mind, Aemond pulls down the rag that covers your mouth.
“Aemond, this is treason,” you state plainly.
“Treason, would be betraying the crown, sweet niece,” he responds, “I am the crown.”
“Fuck you!” you grumble at him.
“Iksos bona skoros ao jaelagon?” Is that what you want?
Against your better judgment, you spit right in his face, observing him nervously as he wipes it away.
“Fiesty little thing you are.”
“What do you want with me, Aemond? Will you force me to kneel before you? Carve out my eye? Perhaps I’ll suffer the same fate as my brother?”
Ah, Lucerys. He was waiting for you to bring that up.
“While I’m sure that seeing you on your knees is a glorious sight, I have other plans for you.”
“I have no desire to bed you, Aemond. I am betrothed.”
The smirk on his face slightly drops at that. Betrothed.
“And where is Lord Stark now?” He questions casually.
“Preparing his army for war.”
“I wonder how it must feel?” he goes on, “to be whored out? Practically sold like a broodmare so that your pretender of a mother can build herself an army?”
“Better to be his whore than your war prize.”
The mask of cruelty on Aemond's face fades for a moment, and for a second, he almost looks hurt at your words.
“Is that what you think? That you’re merely a ‘prize’? You wound me, dear niece. Do you not remember that I love you?”
Ice fills your veins at his confession and your heart drops into your stomach. Things could’ve been different, they should’ve been.
“I don’t understand why things had to escalate in this way, Aemond,” you say as you start to cry, “you could’ve —“ you choke back a sob, “you could’ve had me.”
Aemond takes your chin in his hands as he lets out a laugh.
“I do have you, baby.”
Fear courses through you at his words. Aemond unsheathes a knife from his jacket pocket and holds it to your chest for a brief moment before pulling away.
“Hold still,” he demands as he cuts the rope that holds your ankles together.
You wince as Aemond forcefully spreads your legs apart, violently cutting a hole into your undergarments, exposing your cunt to him.
“Tell me, has Stark fucked this pretty little pussy yet?”
He knows he hasn’t, he knows you and Cregan still have yet to meet. He wants to hear you say it.
“N-no,” you stutter as you continue to cry. Gods, you look so pretty when you cry, Aemond thinks to himself. He only smirks in response.
“You are still a maiden, right, sweet one? You haven’t let little Lord Strong defile you, have you?”
“Gods, Aemond. No.”
“Hm,” Aemond frowns, “a shame for him, really. Now he’ll never have the chance being that you will never see him again.”
“They’ll come for you,” you tell him.
“If they wish to keep me away from you and your perfect cunt they’ll have to kill you,” he muses, “But even then…”
A darkness takes over your uncles face and you soon realize the Aemond you once knew is gone. You are dealing with a whole new monster. He is an animal, a beast — and you are merely prey.
“Do you touch yourself?” he asks, pulling you from your thoughts.
“S-sometimes,” you whisper, feeling ashamed, but finding it difficult to lie to him.
“What do you think about when you do?”
“Not you,” you retort.
He runs two fingers through your soft folds, causing you to gasp, before bringing his fingers up to the light.
“Liar,” he states as his fingers glisten, coated in your slick. “You know you don’t have to lie to me, baby. I think about you, too…”
You can’t help but notice the evident bulge in your uncle's pants, his cock strains against the delicate fabric. You can tell how big he is. You try your best to divert your gaze elsewhere.
“Now, I’m going to untie your wrists. Might I remind you of what I said earlier: You are far better off in here, with me, than out there,” he says, pointing to the door with his dagger.
You’re not sure if you believe him. At this point, you might prefer to be thrown in the dungeon with the rats, left to starve. Instead of arguing, you simply nod your head as Aemond cuts you free.
You feel wobbly as you stand on your feet, Aemond holds your hands as you gain your composure. Your ankles and wrists feel sore, but Aemond rubs his thumb against your wrist soothingly.
Your heart is practically beating out of your chest as that familiar ache between your legs begins to grow. You know you shouldn't be aroused by this behavior, but your body is betraying you.
Aemond picks you up swiftly and places you onto his bed. There was a time where you dreamed of this. If only your younger self could see you now.
Your thoughts are interrupted once again as Aemond’s large hand wraps around your throat. He squeezes lightly, trying to keep you in your place. You make a feeble attempt to push him away, but he is too strong and you can’t break free.
“Please, don’t be afraid of me,” he pleads, “I need you,” the timbre of his voice is so low that you aren’t sure if he meant for you to hear. His free hand moves to your breast, massaging it roughly through your chemise.
"You are so beautiful," he says, leaning over you. You feel him press himself against you, his cock rubbing against your leg, pre-cum leaks out of the tip and smears onto your thigh.
He pushes back and nestles himself comfortably between your thighs. His dexterous fingers part your folds ever so gently, exposing you to him completely.
“Gods, you’re perfect. The most perfect girl in the entire realm,” he groans before his face is buried between your thighs. His plump lips suck at your clit as he prods at it with his tongue before moving up and down your slit. You feel yourself getting wetter, arousal leaks from your core and Aemond laps it up eagerly. On instinct, you spread your legs even further apart, your body betraying you once again.
Aemond licks harder, and you feel the soft muscle of his tongue slip inside you. A loud moan erupts from your chest as a tight knot forms in the pit of your stomach. Your hand shoots down to to tug at Aemond’s silver tresses.
You’re so close, you’ve never been touched like this before and one final glide of his tongue pushes you over the edge. You cry out loudly as you cum, your vision going blurry as your cunt contracts around him.
Aemond pulls himself from your core and stands up, grabbing your hips. He harshly pulls you to the edge of the bed and you feel his cock pressing against you. You eagerly push towards him this time. There is no point in fighting him. You gasp as he enters you fully, filling you completely. The stretch is overwhelming, a tight burning sensation. The fullness begins to feel good as your silky walls flutter around him.
“Just relax,” he coos, “I know you want me.”
You feel his cock twitch inside you slightly as he groans, leaning down to bite your shoulder.
“Fuuuck,” he drawls, “you’re so tight and wet, baby, so perfect; just like I dreamed you would be.”
Your cheeks bloom crimson at his praise and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tightly as he fucks into you. The sharp pain soon fades into pleasure. The fat tip of his cock relentlessly bullies that sweet spot inside you that you were never able to reach on your own.
Aemond reaches up to paw at your breast, pinching at your nipple roughly, and a wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your spine tingles and your toes curl, causing you to moan in response.
"You think Stark could fuck you like this? Make you feel the way I do? That anyone could?" He rasps as his thrusts become relentless. He slaps your face when you fail to give him an answer. A shameful whimper escapes you.
"Answer. Me." he demands between thrusts, his teeth gritted together, his thumb swiping over the rosy, delicate flesh where he hit you.
“N-no, Aemond! Only you, just you! I'm sorry!” you all but choke out to him.
“That’s right, my sweet. You were fuckin’ made for me,” he grunts before pausing his thrusts, his hips stuttering before he pulls his cock out of you almost entirely. Making note of the blood that coats his shaft, hoping you don’t notice.
“You know it, I know it, your mother knows it,” he grits out, “you’re mine.”
“Yes, Aemond, I’m — fuck! I’m yours,” you mewl.
“Do you love me?" he asks, your mind is hazy, and stars blur your vision as he continues to drill into you. Even while he is taking control, his insecurity still has a way of shining through his cruel demeanor.
You loved him once, long ago. Maybe you could love him again? You know the answer he is looking for is not ‘maybe.’
"Kessa, Avy jorrāelan." Yes, I love you.
Aemond grins at this, impressed with your knowledge of your shared mother tongue.
He slams his cock into you full force, stilling as he presses hard against your cervix, making you cry out again. His hand tangles in your hair as he places his forehead against yours.
“I’m not gonna last much longer,” he tells you.
You grip at his hips, pulling him into you.
“C-cum inside me,” you moan through bated breaths, “claim me as your own, once and for all.”
“You’ve always been mine,” he says as he complies, pushing into you deeply as he shoots his hot cum inside of you, warmth blooming in your chest as he does so; before collapsing on top of you.
“What happens now?” you ask, as he gently pulls himself out of your heat, allowing his seed to seep onto the bed sheets.
George and y/nn broke up after the war because they both wanted to concentrate on their careers. The two see each other again years later at Ginny's and Harry's wedding because y/n and Ginny were very good friends even though she was in Fred and George's year. She was always like a big sister to ginny. George and y/n have never stopped loving each other and getting closer to each other again at the wedding. Then they disappear into the burrow and have hot sex. George is Dom as always. When the two come back Fred and Ginny already look suspiciously at them, because both of them always had to hear from the two how much they miss each other.
as fate promised | george weasley x reader
a/n: happy birthday to the most impactful and long-lasting book crush i've ever had. george weasley will always be the character i could never live without. thank you for all 5 requests i have in my inbox for him, but specifically this one. i took some creative liberties, but i hope i've at least given you a hint of what you were hoping for.
warnings: SMUT 18+, alcohol mention, war mention, pregnancy mention, au in which fred is alive (it's his birthday and i'm not cruel) and harry and ginny have a happy wedding, this isn't exactly accurate but... it's fun, i actually wrote a happy ending for once! yay, hastily proofread
The sunlight in Ginny’s bedroom streamed in slow, golden ribbons, casting a soft spell over everything it touched—the lace veil folded carefully on the dresser, the half-drunk flute of champagne on the windowsill, and the back of your neck, where a loose strand of hair clung to the curve of your skin. You laughed, breathless and fond, as Ginny spun in front of the mirror, the satin of her gown whispering against the wooden floor.
"You look like a painting," you murmured, reaching forward to adjust the fall of Ginny’s hairpins, fingers trembling ever so slightly. "Something out of a dream."
Ginny rolled her eyes with affection. "Don't go getting sentimental on me now. I need you composed, remember? One of us has to be."
But you weren’t listening anymore. Not really. Because the second you lifted your gaze out the crooked-pane window, your heart snagged on the sight of him.
George.
He was standing in the garden in a navy-blue jacket that clung to his shoulders like memory. His hair—still a riot of that unmistakable Weasley red—glowed brighter than the sun itself. He was laughing at something Charlie had said, tossing his head back. He laughed the way he always had, but it sat different now. Like something had broken beneath it. Something quieter rested behind his eyes.
Time.
It sat on both of you.
And just like that, the years folded in on themselves. Hogwarts corridors. Sneaked kisses behind greenhouses. Midnight swims in the Black Lake. Fred yelling, "Oi, get a room, you two!" as you and George tumbled into the Gryffindor common room hand-in-hand. Ginny’s endless teasing, how she would groan every time George sent an enchanted origami bird fluttering into your textbooks.
You remembered the day they fled Hogwarts. He had told you beforehand, of course. It was a painful night. Tears streaming, whispered "I love you"s, promises about the future you two had planned. You watched, soon after, the way the fireworks bloomed across the Great Hall ceiling, the way your chest cracked open watching him disappear through the clouds of rebellion. You had known. Even then. That something had ended.
You stayed. Finished what you started. Buried your heart in textbooks and late-night patrols, every breath a battle not to sneak out of Hogwarts and into the joke shop to throw your arms around him.
You kept your chin up. You trained. You earned your Auror badge like it meant something. Like it could stitch up the gaping space he left behind.
The letters faded. The visits stopped. And in their place—emptiness. Weeks turned to months turned to years, and you both just… let it happen.
It hadn’t been an ugly ending, just an agonizing one. A slow unraveling. A missed goodbye. No fights. Just silence where laughter used to live. Tear-streaked cheeks and clutched hands and whispered promises you were both too proud—and too young—to keep.
You’d never stopped loving him. That was the worst part. The love had never left. It had only settled somewhere quieter. Heavier. Waiting.
You blinked, and he was still there.
He hadn’t seen you yet.
But he would.
And when he did, the whole bloody world would stop. It may as well have, already.
You didn’t know if it was hope or fear blooming in your chest—only that it was alive again.
-----
The wedding was soft and golden, like everything that had come before it.
The garden behind the Burrow had been transformed—lanterns floating overhead like tiny stars, wildflowers blooming in mason jars along each aisle, chairs arranged in a perfect, charmingly crooked arc. It smelled like rosemary and lemon tart, like old wood and fresh beginnings. Someone had enchanted the breeze to stay warm and gentle. You could almost pretend it was magic itself.
You stood with the other bridesmaids, bouquet tight in your hands, your dress the same shade of blush Ginny had insisted on months ago with a wicked grin—“George will faint when he sees you in this.”
You hadn’t thought she meant it literally. But now, you weren’t so sure.
Because he was there.
Groomsman. Just across the aisle. Tense, freckled hands clasped in front of him, boutonnière slightly crooked, smile tight at the corners like he couldn’t quite catch his breath. And then—
His eyes found yours.
Everything else faded.
He stared at you like it hurt. Like it healed. Like you were everything he'd buried and didn’t dare dig up again until this moment. He looked at you like you were the only real thing in a world built from dreams. Like he'd spent every day since the war pretending not to search for you in every crowded street, every silent room.
And there was something else too—grief tucked behind the edges of his smile. As if the war hadn’t just taken his ear and a piece of Hogwarts, but pieces of all of you. The laughter was still there, but it sat deeper in his chest now. Older. Earned.
And you? You stared right back.
Because how could you not?
That was your George. Still him. Still yours. Except not. Not really.
Fred elbowed him sharply, grinning like a devil, and George blinked—smiling back with something startled and sheepish and boyish in a way that gutted you.
You looked away before you could drown in it.
But you would’ve given anything to drown in it.
You had imagined weddings before. Countless nights holed up in the Gryffindor Dormitory with Ginny, Hermione, and all of the other girls you grew up with. Some nights it was their dream wedding. Other nights it was yours. A beautiful venue, a devilishly handsome court-jester of a ginger across from you at the altar. A sting in your eyes, a warmth in your chest, the vows you had planned out hidden deep in your diary.
It wasn’t just a conversation with your friends. It was late nights and early mornings, the Gryffindor common room fire crackling beneath whispers between you and your lover. Your head would rest on his chest, the two of you staring off as you planned every little detail of your life together. The color scheme of your wedding, the names of your future children, who would be on dinner-duty each night. You were convinced it was fated. Prophesied. Y/N Y/L/N and George Weasley were written in the stars.
Today, though, this ceremony blurred around the edges, dipped in candlelight and vows and Molly’s occasional sniffles. You caught flashes—Harry trying not to cry, Ginny radiant like sunlight incarnate, Arthur clutching a handkerchief in both fists. There were enchanted doves, there was a harpist whose strings shivered like glass, there was magic in the air and it wasn’t all from the spells.
But mostly, there was him.
Watching you.
And you, pretending you didn’t keep looking back.
Your pulse raced, hot beneath your collarbone. Your knees trembled inside your heels.
Because you knew it, deep in your bones. The moment the last toast was made, the first chance he got—he was going to come to you.
And when he did, you wouldn’t run.
You weren’t seventeen anymore.
You were still his. Even if you hadn’t said it out loud in years.
---
The sun had dipped behind the trees by the time the reception hit its stride. Candles floated over tables dressed in mismatched linen. Music played low and rich beneath the hum of voices and laughter. Plates clinked. Wine glasses glittered in the fairy light. You danced with Neville, with Luna, with Bill, all with a smile stretched too tight across your face.
Because you could feel him watching.
Every time you turned, George was somewhere near—laughing with Charlie, talking with Lee Jordan, charming someone’s grandmother, standing in his brother’s personal bubble as he whispered something that made Fred choke on his drink from laughter.
But he hadn’t come to you.
Not yet.
Your skin buzzed like a live wire. Every inch of you attuned to the way he moved, the weight of his gaze when he thought you wouldn’t notice. You were burning with it. Trembling with it.
And then you were gone.
You slipped away from the crowd, quiet as a spell. Past the string lights, past the garden’s edge, past the kitchen window glowing warm with laughter. You found your way to the porch—the one that creaked beneath your heels and smelled like pine and old summers.
You kicked off your shoes. Wrapped your arms around yourself. Breathed.
The door behind you creaked open, then closed.
You didn’t need to turn.
"You always did disappear at parties," he said softly.
You smiled to yourself. "You always did find me."
His footsteps creaked across the boards.
Then he was beside you.
Close enough to touch, but not touching. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of him through the air. You stared ahead, out at the setting sun. Fireflies began to buzz over the garden, and someone—Hermione, probably—had enchanted the pond to shimmer gold.
"Hi," he said.
You looked at him. Slowly. Let your eyes take him in, like your memory had starved for him.
"Hi," you whispered.
He breathed out a laugh. "Didn’t know if you’d actually come."
"I wouldn’t have missed it for the world."
He tilted his head. "Fred was bouncing off the walls. Told me if I didn’t clean up and act right, I’d regret it when you walked through the door."
You smiled. "He’s usually right."
George went quiet. His gaze dropped to the floorboards, then rose again to meet yours.
"You look beautiful," he said, voice low. "I mean—you always do. But tonight…"
Your chest ached. "Don’t."
"Don’t what?"
"Don’t say things like that unless you mean them."
He stepped forward. Close. Close enough that your arms brushed.
"I’ve meant every word I’ve ever said to you," he murmured.
You couldn’t breathe.
He was looking at you like he did in the greenhouses. In the library when you snuck him in after curfew. On the Astronomy Tower with your tie in his hand and the stars in your eyes.
Like he was falling through every single galaxy to end up in your arms once again.
"I missed you," he said.
You didn’t speak. Just stood there, blinking hard, willing the tears to stay where they were.
George shifted closer, voice unsteady. "I didn’t know how to let go of you. I thought I could pour everything into the shop, into laughing until it didn’t hurt anymore—but you never really left."
Your breath caught. "I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought if I kept moving forward, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. But it did. It does."
His eyes searched yours, but he didn’t flinch. "Then let’s stop pretending."
You opened your mouth to respond—but he kissed you instead.
It was not polite. Not soft.
It was filth and fire, all teeth and tongue, years of frustration and longing colliding behind lips that had forgotten how to be gentle. Your back hit the porch rail with a thud as he gripped your hips and ground against you like he could make up for everything in one breathless second.
You moaned into his mouth, clawed at his jacket, dragging him impossibly closer. His hands were under your dress, fists bunching the fabric as he palmed your ass with a growl.
"Come with me," he rasped, biting your lower lip just hard enough to make you gasp. "Now."
You didn’t need to be asked twice.
He took your hand and hauled you upstairs like a man starved, the tittering portraits lining the walls hardly audible as your hearts pounded in your ears, barely making it through his bedroom door before he shoved it closed with his foot and pinned you against it. His mouth was on your neck, hot and open and frantic.
"Missed this," he groaned. "Missed you."
You pushed his jacket off his shoulders, yanked his shirt open, buttons pinging off the walls. He didn’t even flinch. Just lifted you, carried you across the room, and dropped you onto the bed like he owned you.
And maybe he did.
You pulled him down with you, mouth on his, legs wrapped tight around his hips. He kissed you like he was trying to brand himself into your bones.
Your dress hit the floor. His trousers followed.
He didn’t wait.
He dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed and dragged your panties off with his teeth, eyes locked on yours. Then he was on you, tongue lapping between your legs, filthy and unrelenting.
You cried out, hips bucking against his face, and he groaned like he was addicted to it. He licked you through it, through your shaking thighs and gasping sobs, until you were trembling and pleading and yanking at his hair.
He rose over you, lips slick, pupils blown wide.
"You taste just as incredible as you used to," he said hoarsely, stroking himself as he crawled back over you. "I’m gonna ruin you."
You grabbed his face, pulled him close, lips clashing. "Please."
And he did.
He slammed into you in one deep, devastating thrust that made your eyes roll back.
You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders. He set a brutal pace, fucking you into his mattress like a man possessed, like every second without you had been agony.
"You’ve always been mine," he growled, hips snapping hard against yours. "Tell me you never stopped."
"Yours," you gasped. "Yours, George, fuck—don’t stop—"
He flipped you onto your stomach, dragged your hips up, and drove into you again from behind, one hand tangled in your hair, the other splayed over your lower back to hold you still.
The sounds—your moans, the slap of skin, the creak of the bed—filled the room, obscene and perfect.
You were gone. Wrecked. Nothing but sensation and him.
He reached around, fingers circling your clit, and you shattered with a scream, clenching around him so tight he cursed loudly, bucked once more, and spilled into you with a groan that sounded like your name and a prayer.
You collapsed into the sheets, limp and breathless. He followed, covering your body with his, panting into your neck.
"Still with me?" he asked, voice wrecked.
You turned your head, kissed the corner of his mouth. "Always."
He chuckled darkly, still catching his breath. "Hope you're not done. I’m not finished with you."
You grinned at him, panting, glowing. “We’ve got a few years to catch up on, you know. Our plans from 6th year said that I was supposed to have a ring and a pregnancy by now,” you tease.
And from the way he was already hardening again against your thigh—you knew he’d make up for lost time.
He didn’t give you a moment to rest, not until the moon was casting over the backyard, encasing the party still roaring outside in a cool, whispered glow.
-----
Later, when you finally emerged, flushed and radiant with something more than just exertion, Fred’s eyes caught yours. Ginny’s followed. They didn’t say a word—just exchanged a look, one that spoke of too many shared conversations and the soft satisfaction of being right.
You didn’t let go of George’s hand.
He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice low enough only for you.
notes: hiii lovelies! i don’t have much to say except reqs are open & appreciated💘.
pairing: george weasley x fem!reader
genre: smut, porn w/ plot, angst?? but not really
summary: Draco has the audacity to tell your boyfriend that he isn’t a “real man” after a gryffindor victory. George makes sure to vocalise how funny he finds this as he is pleasuring you later that same evening.
tw’s: Muggleborn Ravenclaw reader (for the plot), cursing, unprotected sex, praise kink, George in general, nicknames (love, sweet baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, lovebug), a little dry humping🤔??, anddd aftercare ofc!
Another crushing victory for Gryffindor against Slytherin. You noticed that every game you attended, George tried his hardest to impress you so you didn’t wander off back to whichever book you were reading at the time. You find it cute but it seems Malfoy did not. Quickly you fought your way through the crowd to get on the field where the pair were arguing. When you finally managed to get there, you caught the ending segment of the argument.
“I think you’re right Freddie! I think little Malfoy’s upset that he had the ‘hots’ for my girl and she chose me!” George laughed out mockingly, causing the other surrounding players and students to laugh as well. Malfoy clenched his fist by his sides as his jaw tightened when Fred continued. “Well it was a bloody obvious choice George, truly.” Fred joined back, causing the twins to snicker together as Draco finally managed to bark back a reply.
“Oh yeah Weasley? Clearly your father never taught you how to be a real man. I bet you can’t even pleasure that sorry little mudblood of yours!” Malfoy cackled. George didn’t say another word, that deranged look on his face as he walked closer to Draco is what caused most of his teammates to begin to hold him back for everyone’s sake. Even you interjected at this point. “C’mon George let the stupid git talk.” You tried. Placing a hand on his surprisingly muscular forearm that you simply adored as you tried to persuade him.
He noticed how Malfoy tensed when you were around, and he smirked devilishly at the new upperhand.
“You’re so right love, ‘m think I just need a kiss and i’ll be good as new again.” He remarked playfully to you. His teammates finally releasing him as he stood there awaiting his kiss. You giggled and rolled your eyes, getting up on your tippy-toes due to the height difference that George relished in to plant a kiss to his cheek. His dopey grin grew wider but he was still very determined to ‘rub it in’ Malfoys face. “A real kiss, yeah?” He inquired, pulling you in by your waist and bending down slightly so you could give him a ‘real kiss’ directly in front of Draco.
He hummed obnoxiously as he finally pulled away from you, Malfoy beginning to turn on his heels with a loud huff as he and the rest of the Slytherins retreated in a hurry.
George chuckled mischievously as he finally gave you his undivided attention, his adrenaline still obviously coursing through him as the two of you began to walk back to the Gryffindor dorms together. (usually the two of you go back to the ravenclaw dorms but you don’t force him to walk up all those stairs on quidditch nights) George didn’t typically act like that. It was more Fred’s thing to be rude and crack a laugh from everybody around simultaneously. Clearly, your boyfriend’s twin had been rubbing off on him.
—————————————————————
George had you straddled on his lap on the edge of his bed as you cleaned up some of his minor wounds. At first, George despised this because he felt ‘weak’ having you clean him up but eventually he learned to adapt it as a “post game ritual.” On more calmer quidditch nights, you would have him read you a book or his latest assignment while you tended to him, but right now he was rambling on about Malfoy.
“I mean bloody hell! You can’t play like shit the whole game and then be mad when we win!” He complained, in which you hummed in agreement. “Stupid git, should’a seen the look on his face when Harry stole that snitch.” You giggled at his expression that was supposed to be imitating Malfoys face. The sound of your laughter fizzling all of his anger away as you finished tending to all of his little bruises.
You always ended this little ritual by kissing every mark you fixed, and he stared down at you lovingly as you began. “But you were amazing tonight love, I could hear ya’ cheering from all the way on the pitch.” George complimented. You smiled against his skin before placing another peck down his arms. You knew how much he adored hearing you scream for him. on and off the pitch. “‘m tried my best Georgie, y’know I don’t condone violence but you sure did look good yelling at Malfoy.” You mumbled against his skin, your ‘muggle accent’ under-toning your sentence as he smiled and pulled you closer on his lap. You could feel his hard-on begin to press into you as you mimicked your boyfriend’s grin back to him.
“think you missed a spot, sweetheart.” He remarked cockily as he pointed at an imaginary bruise on his lips. You giggled, causing him to laugh as well. “Oh how could I!” You exaggerated playfully in which he shrugged with a smug smirk.
You pulled him in by the back of his head. Your fingers intertwining in his ginger locks as he immediately began to desperately search your mouth. He resembled a starved man as he kept your lips connected to his. You barely had a moment to breathe before he was pulling you back in, loving how your warm mouth invited him so willingly to paradise each time.
Subconsciously, you bucked your hips against his clothed erection. You only realised that you were practically grinding on him when he groaned into your lips. “fuck pretty girl…” He murmured under his breath and your face flushed as you came to realisation on what you were doing. This wasn’t uncommon for you, you and George had been dating for the better half of a year and although you were insanely comfortable with him… you still managed to get flustered in moments like this. Although George didn’t mind it, in fact, he quite enjoyed the little noises you made whenever he whispered lewd little things in your ears at the worst of all times.
“aww, is someone getting shy? C’mon sweetheart, I can smell you.” He rasped, his voice a little breathless and you whimpered at his filthy words. He gently but firmly grabbed your hips and began to grind you against him. Chuckling as you whined and buried your face into his neck. “‘m need more, Georgie.” You whispered against his skin, planting gentle wet kisses to persuade him further. You could practically hear the grin in his voice. “Guess you deserve it, yeah? You were such a good girl f’ me today.” He murmured as he nipped playfully at your earlobe. You simply whimpered and nodded in response, not entirely trusting your voice not to croak.
His fingers began to fiddle with the waistband of your skirt, teasing you mercilessly. You desperately wanted to tell him to get on with it and stop being a tease… but you also wanted to be his good girl, his sweet little thing who takes what he gives her, his precious ravenclaw who lets him run wild. So all you did was whine. His grin only grew at your self control. “oh? Well this is quite new…” He murmured knowingly. You were about to retort something back, but then you felt his fingers dip under your skirt to rub your cunt through your panties. Immediately, he felt the wet patch on your undergarments and grinned up at you knowingly.
“Naughty little Ravenclaw…” He remarked playfully. Before you could process what was happening, he had you on your back with your hair splayed along his pillow in mere seconds. His bed reeked of his scent, and you simply adored it. He didn’t miss the skip of your heartbeat or the way you had a newfound hunger in your eyes as he effortlessly manhandled you, deciding to tuck that information into his back pocket for now.
George had simple plans for you tonight, but then he recalled Malfoys little ‘pleasure’ comment. Instead of teasing, he slithered his body up your own to press wet kisses along your jawline and neck instead. “What do you need, love?” He asked straightforwardly. This was odd, George normally drew this type of thing out of you until you were a whining mess. “Want you inside, George.” You hummed back, your voice wavering a little but remained true. He groaned against your warm skin before his usual grin returned.
“whatever you like, pretty baby.” He granted as he planted a final kiss. That was one of those nicknames George used whenever he was being sweet, but you could tell his mind was a little aloof. You watched in adoration as he began to strip himself. Hastily tugging away his clothes and discarding them carelessly. You began to do the same, but George’s hand quickly caught yours and gave you a devilish smirk.
“Trying to rid me of all the fun are we? Let me take care of you, yeah?” He teased and you rolled your eyes in response. “Well get on with it!” You insisted, your patience from earlier dwindling thin. This granted you a look of defiance and a remarkably slow George peeling off your clothing one-by-one. Eventually, he couldn’t take the slow reveal and ripped the rest of your black skirt off, causing you to huff in annoyance.
“George! That was my favorite black skirt!” You scolded. You were quickly knocked off of your fit of anger when you felt a long finger slip into your sopping wet cunt. You whimpered almost instantly at the connection. “Doesn’t seem like you mind that much.” He confirmed with a grin, causing you to scoff and whine as he retreated his finger. He was eager tonight, always taking time to savor the taste of your juices as he sucked on his previously inserted digit. “Tasting perfect, love.” He complimented. To say George loved your taste, was an understatement. He relished in it, but tonight, tonight he had a primal urge to claim you.
You both groaned as he began to rub his tip up and down your soaking folds. Both of your eyes glued on the display before he fully slipped inside of you. Your head quickly retreated back to his pillow, eyes screwed shut as he gave you a moment to accommodate to his size. You had taken George many times before, and yet he still gave you this little moment to calm yourself. And yet, you still needed it.
You moaned as he began to move, starting with slow deep thrusts that made you head spin deliciously. He groaned as you clenched around him, his hands gripping your hips as he watched his cock disappear and reappear with each thrust. “Fuck love… you’re squeezing the life out of me down here.” He informed, followed by a sharp hiss when your legs wrapped around his waist and provided a new angle. With this new angle, he sped up his pace, his mesmerizing cock now drilling into you.
Your moans and other little noises were beginning to grow much louder. This seemed to motivate George as he abused the spot that elicited the prettiest noises from deep within you. “Doing so good love, so fuckin’ good for me.” He praised, his words slurring as his head rolled back to reveal his adam’s apple to you. The sight reminded you of sweet torture and it was simply maddening. “J-jus’ like that, feels so good Georgie please don’t stop!” You pleaded with him, no amount of money could pay George to stop as his grip on you grew brutal. He was sure to leave bruises whilst he pounded into you, his erect and long cock hitting the perfect spot within you as he overrode your senses.
You could feel that familiar knot beginning to grow unbearable at his intense pace. Your legs squeezing around his waist as you tried to keep yourself bounded to this world. Every time George fucked you like this it always left you in a floaty headspace. It was one of the few times your brilliant brain wasn’t hard at work, because it was much too occupied and overwhelmed with pleasure.
“You’re so close love I can feel it. So pretty like this baby, so fuckin’ beautiful.” He groaned, your hands flying from the clenched bedsheet to his shoulders as your fingernails dug into his muscular blades. This resulted in a new noise of pleasure from him that made you whimper in return. “Come for me sweetheart, c’mon sweet baby I need to feel you.” George rasped. His voice pulling an utterly filthy noise from you as the coil within you snapped and you came all over his large cock. He let out a guttural moan while he fucked you through your high, making sure to fulfill you whole as he felt himself begin to drawl close.
“Mmm, I-I’m getting their love. Where can I-…” His words trailed off as he couldn’t get enough of your pussy. You fit like a fucking glove around his erection and it was glorious to him. “Inside George please. Want it inside s’ bad.” You whimpered out breathlessly. Your pleas is what caused George to snap as he bottomed out inside of you. Groaning as he began to spill his seed. “Fuck…” He cursed, his cock painting your insides just as you had requested.
He lowered himself on you once he finished. He knew how much you loved his weight on you as the both of you collected your breaths while panting. George was the first to move, planting kisses all over your heated skin while he gently pulled out. “Did so good love, always so good for me.” He complimented. He quickly retrieved a warm washcloth and cleaned the two of you up. He could easily do it with magic, but George loved the intimacy this brought as he peppered kisses all over your body. You were astonished on how he complimented you like that even if you didn’t really do a thing that whole time, but he didn’t mind it. This was a day for you and your pleasure, (as well as his pride)
“I love you so much, love bug. Such a brilliant, bloody perfect, little witch.” He murmured as he finally finished cleaning you up. Joining you in the bed as he cuddled up behind you skin to skin, spooning your bare form. You smiled at the cheesy little nickname, it was corny, but something he always called you when you were overcome by sleep.
“‘m love you too, George. thank you…” you murmured back, sleep already evident in your voice as he chuckled softly and traced comforting patterns along your skin. “Night, pretty girl.” He hummed back, but you had already drifted off as he planted a final kiss to your shoulder and buried his face in your hair. The smell of your- no his vanilla shampoo lulling him to sleep.
————————————————————
Thank you for reading!!! please drop a Weasley twins request or a Loki request for me😇
SUMMARY: You get stood up by your boyfriend on Valentine's Day. Thankfully, your best friend George is ready to give you the Valentine's you deserve.
CW: MDNI 18+, smut, hurt/comfort, cheating on shitty boyfriends, idiots to lovers, petty!George, dirty talk, oral, piv, dom!George, all the Valentine's fluff
AN: happy valentines day!!!! you all have my heart 🫶
masterlist
Your hurried footsteps echoed along the empty corridor, dampened by the screaming rain pouring from the thick blanket of clouds over the castle.
Fucking perfect, you thought, bitterly wiping tears and splattered rain from your cheeks. It was like the universe was taunting you.
Stood up by your boyfriend on Valentine's Day? Forced to walk back to Hogwarts in shame? Here, have some torrential downpour to really set the mood.
You still couldn't believe Jack stood you up. Left you looking like an idiot in the Three Broomsticks, alone and glowering into your fruity red drink, surrounded by pink streamers and heart balloons larger than your head. Completely humiliating.
Of all the shitty things he'd done to you over the last six months, this took the cake. And bizarrely, you felt like you deserved it for putting up with his bullshit for so long. You should have seen this coming from a mile away.
But you were too native, too stupid to see the red flags right under your nose. Well, that wasn't true. You saw them. You were just too scared to do anything about it.
Too scared to be alone. Too proud to admit you were wrong about him.
Merlin, George was going to be so fucking smug.
Your best friend, George Weasley, hated Jack. He hated Jack more than you'd ever seen him hate anyone. George had never had a problem with your past partners, albeit there was only two. But something about Jack brought out a side of George you’d never seen: vindictive, petty, mean.
Never directed towards you, of course, Jack and his friends bore the brunt of his wrath. It was enough that Jack steered clear of both George and his twin, who always matched his energy.
You knew George was just looking out for you, trying to protect you from, well, this. What you were feeling now. But you'd be damned if you gave him the satisfaction of being right.
Finally, the Fat Lady greeted you with a warm smile as you reached the top of the stairs. “Not out celebrating, lovey? Look at you, you're soaked!”
You sighed, looking down at your new dress, a babydoll in your favorite shade of pink, the fabric mottled with water and clinging to your skin. “Men suck*,*” you said.
The Fat Lady laughed. “They certainly do! What's the password, dear?”
You have it to her, and she swung open, a wadt of thumping music and the week of alcohol washed over you.
Shit. You'd completely forgotten about the Valentine's party tonight. While a drink sounded lovely, a drunken grind-fest was the last thing you wanted to participate in.
You pushed your way through the crowd, trying to make a beeline towards the girls dormitory. The crowd was thick, pushing and shoving, while music thumped loudly in your brain. Red hearts and cupids and streamers, were everywhere, a sheen of pink glitter starting to collect on your still-damp skin. Everywhere you looked, couples were all over each other, making out of dancing to the music, cuddled up on every available surface.
Tears burned behind your eyes again, and you tried pushing through with a little more force.
You popped out into a quieter area by the roaring fire, a circle of chairs occupied by the Quidditch team and a few others, which meant—
“Y/n?”
You looked up from your feet and locked eyes with George, who was hurriedly shifting a girl off his lap, ignoring her whine of protest while she grabbed at his white shirt.
The knife of hurt inexplicably twisted deeper in your gut, and you turned your back to him, pushing the other way through the crowd.
“Hey—wait!”
You made it to the stairs, but there was no outrunning those long legs—a lesson you'd learned countless times.
George snagged your wrist, turning you back towards him. “What happened?” The furrow between his brows deepened when he took in your tearful, soaked form. “Why are you wet? And where's the bilge-rat you call a boyfriend?”
You yanked your hand out of his hold. “Fuck if I know,” you snapped, trudging up the stairs, George on your heels.
“What do you mean? Didn't you have a date?” He asked, his tone getting angrier by the second.
You didn't respond, opening the door to your dorm and trying to slam it in George's face, but he caught it and pushed in behind you.
“Fuck, will you just tell me what happened? Are you okay?” He made an effort to soften his voice, catching your purse when you flung it at him.
“No, I'm not okay!” You cried, finally facing him, tears rolling down your cheeks. “Jack stood me up. He left me at the bar and—” emotion pinched your throat, cutting off your words.
You watched George cycle through the five stages of grief, frozen in the middle of the room. Then—
“Do you want me to find him?” He asked, voice a carefully measured calm.
“And do what?” You wiped at your cheeks, beyond frustrated. You couldn't decide if you wanted him to fuck off, or give you one of those big bears hugs he was so good at.
“Break his teeth in? Throw him in the lake? Set his hair on fire—”
“Stop it, George,” you muttered, sounding more defeated than angry.
He crossed the room to you, taking your trembling hands. “How can I fix it, love?” he asked, peering down at your pitiful, makeup smudged face.
You shook your head, avoiding his perceptive gaze. “Unless you have a time-turner to make me less of an idiot—”
“Hey.” George squeezed your hands, shaking you. “Don't talk about my girl that way. You did nothing wrong.”
You jerked your hands away, pushing past him and stalking over towards you vanity. “Please. You wanted me to leave him before we even got together. You made it abundantly clear how much you hated him.”
“Of course I did. He’s a prick—”
“So, clearly, you think I did something wrong by staying with him.” You angrily tugged your hair out of its style, wet strands tangled and getting frizzy, and started scrubbing off your makeup with a towelette. “Congratu-fucking-lations, you were right. You got what you wanted. Are you happy now?”
George looked like you'd struck him, hovering behind you in the mirror. You hated that he looked so handsome tonight in his white button down and dark wash jeans, his copper hair messy and flecked with glitter and heart-shaped confetti. It made it so much harder to be angry with him.
“You think this is what I wanted?” He asked. “The last thing I want is to see you hurting. Of course I'm not fucking happy that you're heartbroken. Even if it is over some limp-dick weasel.”
You scoffed, though you knew that was true, but it was easier to be angry right now. Easier to push him away than let him in.
George pressed on. “I'd like to hang him by the bollocks from the Whomping Willow for leaving you out in that storm, for all the shit he's done to you—”
“Just—go back to your party, George. I'm sure that doe-eyed girl is still waiting for you,” you hissed. It was a low blow, but you just wanted him gone so you could wallow in self-pity alone.
Suddenly, he was moving. His hands griped your waist, spinning your around and pressing you back into the vanity. His expression was severe. “Don't fucking do that,” he bit. “Don't act like I'm the bad guy when all I've wanted—” his voice caught in his throat, and he turned his head away, like he couldn't look at you.
His hands were burning through the thin fabric of your dress, his grip tight enough to ache, and you felt a long-suppressed heat kindle in your belly. George had manhandled you plenty of times: throwing you over his shoulder, dragging you by the hand through the halls, lifting you to retrieve a book from a high shelf. But this felt…different. Charged in a way you'd spent years trying to ignore for the sake of your friendship.
“What, George?” You asked, gripping the edge of the vanity so you didn't reach out to touch him.
He sighed. “When all I've wanted is to make you happy.” He looked at you again, his dark eyes filled with hurt and something warm, honeyed, that you refused to acknowledge.
Your anger crumbled into guilt. “I-I should have listened,” you croaked, tears rising once again. “I'm sorry, I—”
“No, no. None of that,” he shushed, bundling you into his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I just feel so…so stupid,” you whimpered, crying into the safety of his chest, enveloped in the spiced, slightly sweet smell of his cologne.
“You aren't stupid, love. Far from it,” he soothed, hand smoothing up and down your spine. “This is on him, not you. You don't deserve to be treated like this.” He rocked you gently while you cried, cooing softly in your ear and keeping you grounded with his touch, until finally, your sobs ebbed to sniffles, and you drew a full, shaky breath. “There you go,” he said. “Take another one—that’s it. I've got you.”
“Thanks, Georgie,” you sniffled into his shirt.
“No need to thank me. I'm sorry that your Valentine's was ruined,” he murmured into your hair.
“I'm sorry yours was ruined too,” you mumbled, your fists tightening in the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him a fraction closer, unwilling to part just yet.
“Ruined?” He chuckled. “Got my Valentine right here.” He squeezed you a little tighter, the air wheezing for your lungs until you laughed.
“Since when am I your Valentine?” You asked, pulling back to look up at him, a traitorous stab of affection making your heart skip. Shit, you should not be feeling these things for your best friend. It was just your hurt feelings, the holiday—nothing more.
“Since second year when I gave you that heart-shaped box of chocolates,” he said, pretending to be offended that you didn't remember.
“The one that exploded pink powder all over my face?”
George grimaced. “I forgot it did that…sorry, by the way.”
You smiled, pinching his freckled cheek. “You're forgiven.”
He grinned back, glancing down at your wet dress. “C’mon, get out of this wet cupcake and meet me in my dorm, I have something for you.”
“Cupcake?” You rolled your eyes, finally stepping out of his arms, though his hand lingered on your waist until you were fully out of arms reach. “It's a dress!”
“If you say so,” he teased, perusing your legs as you walked away. “I prefer your bunny pajamas, but—”
You chucked your shoe at him. “Fuck off, I'll see you in a second.”
He held his hands up in surrender and slipped out the door, closing it softly behind him.
What on earth could have have for you? Probably his usual box of chocolates, you mused as you peeled off the soggy fabric. Hopefully the non-explosive variety.
You riffled through your trunk, searching for something oversized and comfortable. But to your dismay, nearly everything large enough was your boyfriends, and you absolutely refused to wear something of him.
But at the very bottom of your trunk, something familiar caught your eye. You pulled it out, unveiling an old Quidditch hoodie, the letters faded and fabric soft from countless washes. George had lent it to you before a particularly cold match, and Gryffindor won in a landslide. It became a good luck charm of sorts, one you wore to every game there after.
But when you started dating Jack, he'd gotten pissed at you for wearing it, and you'd hidden it at the bottom of your trunk, never quite ready to give it back to George.
It smelled of green grass and open sky, and you tugged it over your head, letting it's warmth envelop you. Then, you put on a pair of sleep shorts and fuzzy socks, and padded out of the room towards George's, knocking twice before letting yourself in.
Fred and George were standing by the window, arguing in hushed voices, and straightened abruptly when you walked in.
“Hey, gorgeous!” Fred said, crossing the room and pulling you into a back-breaking hug. He reeked of beer. “How are we?”
“Peachy,” you replied tightly, glancing at George over Fred’s shoulder. He was scratching the back of his head, looking sheepish.
“Naughty girl, lying to me.” Fred winked, and you swatted his shoulder. “But don't worry, love. The boys are on it!”
“The boys? Wait—Fred!” But he was already gone, the door swinging shut behind him. You glared at George, and he held his hands up.
“They were worried about you!” He said defensively. “We care about you, y’know…” his voice trailed off when his eyes landed on your hoodie. “You still have that?”
Heat creeped up your neck. “’Course I do.”
“I thought shit-for-brains made you—”
“He tried,” you replied, tension coiling around the two of you once again.
A smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. “My good luck charm,” he chuckled, and your heart leapt into your throat.
“So, what do you have for me?” You asked, sitting on the edge of his bed like you always did. But something in his eyes flashed, making your lower belly heat.
What was going on with him?
He pushed himself from the wall and walked towards his trunk, just to the left of you. He rummaged around, withdrawing a pink gift bag with heart-covered tissue paper sticking out from the top.
“Oh, George…you didn't have to do this,” you said when he sat beside you.
“I wanted to.” He shrugged, setting the bag on your lap.
Heart pounding in your chest, you carefully removed the tissue paper, finding a pile of candy: chocolates and gummy lips and heart-shaped lollipops. There were also a few sachets of your favorite tea, pilfered from the kitchen, you imagined, and a copy of the book you'd been eyeballing your last trip to Hogsmeade with him and Fred.
Your heart was so full you feared it may burst. “Georgie, this is so sweet, thank you—”
“There's one more thing,” he said, gently taking the bag from you. He stuck his hand all the way to the bottom, and withdrew a small, pink-wrapped box with a ribbon tied around it.
The air was sucked from your lungs, ears ringing with shock as you gingerly took the box from him. He fidgeted beside you as you slowly unwrapped the paper, fingers trembling. The energy was taught around you, practically humming with tension.
A velvet box fell into your palm, the most gorgeous shade of burgundy with a delicate golden latch.
You almost didn't want to open it, terrified of what this meant, but so giddy you could sing. George, the poor guy, looked ready to burst out of his skin with impatience.
Carefully, you opened the lid. Inside was a gorgeous chain bracelet, the metal polished to perfection, with two charms resting against the velvet pillow. A tiny heart with your initial etched onto it, and a small fox, George's favorite mischievous, red-haired critter.
You pressed a hand to your mouth, tears pooling on your lower lashes. It was the most thoughtful gift you'd ever received. “George, I—”
“And you can get more charms, there's a shop in Hogsmeade with loads, books and birds and stars--”
You flung your arms around his neck, cutting off his nervous rambling. “I love it, Georgie, thank you,” you murmured into the crook of his neck.
He relaxed, his arms looping around your waist. “Of course,” he replied.
You pulled back, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand, inspecting the little fox. It crossed your mind that if Jack saw this, he'd be livid, probably go so far as to threaten George, break off the precious little fox, and your smile fell.
“Hey, what happened?” George asked, shifting to kneel in front of you as you curled inward. “You don't like the fox?”
“No, no—” you tried to suppress the tears forcing their way up. “I love the fox. I just—”
George's expression hardened. “Jack won't like it,” he said, an edge to his voice. “You're not going to stay with him, are you?”
You shook your head. “No, I'm not. But we're technically still together—”
“That's bullshit,” George snarled, pushing to his feet and stalking away from you. “He fucking forfeited his right when he left you alone like that. You could have gotten hurt. He just fucking abandoned you and is probably off with some other bird—”
A sob broke free from your chest, and he halted his tirade, shoulders sagging.
“Do you want him?” George asked, crouching in front of you again.
You shook your head. “No, I don’t,” you admitted.
George reached out to cradle your face, catching your tears with his thumbs. His eyes were so sweet, so sincere, it made your teeth ache. “Do you want me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, but the words still felt like a punch through your chest.
Your mind was reeling. Of course, a part of you always wanted more with him, but… “I do, of course I do…but what if that ruins everything?” Your fingers curled into his shirt. “I don't want to lose you—”
“Never,” he said, shaking you so you met his eyes. “Never.”
“Relationships are different, though. What if we don't work like…that?”
His hands moved down to hold your neck, his touch gentle but insistent, your pulse thundering under his fingertips. “I’m still me, and you're still you. Are you going to look me in the eyes and tell me you haven't thought about it? That you haven't felt the pull?”
You don't reply, averting your eyes from his face.
“Not even when you're all alone, and Jack’s left you half-loved, tangled in your sheets…you don't think about me coming in there and taking care of you?”
Heat scorched your cheeks, your thighs clenching at the low purr of his voice, a pitch you hadn't heard before.
“Because I think about it all the time.”
You pussy throbbed and you gasped, shocked by the way your body was reacting to his words alone, your mind scrambling to keep up with this new reality you've stumbled into.
“Knowing I could treat you better, love you better—it keeps me up at night, baby. Imagining all the ways I could take care of you, make you happy, make you mine—”
Unable to stand it any longer, you yanked him forward and connected your mouth with his, cutting him off. He groaned, surging up to tackle you back onto his mattress, his lips hungry and rough against yours. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, his lips, his touch, his heat, burning you from the inside out.
No one has ever kissed you like that before, desperate, ravenous. With an eagerness that was palpable, his heart thundering against yours as he pressed impossibly closer to you.
He pried open your lips with his, his tongue plunging into your mouth with fervid strokes. One of his hands slid under your hoodie, caressing the bare skin of your hip and up your side, leaving tingles in the wake of his calloused palm. His other hand found the crook of your knee, lifting it up to hug his waist, opening your legs so he could press closer, harder…
“George!” You gasped when he rolled his hips against yours, the hard ridge of his cock straining against his jeans, your tiny shorts offering next to no barrier.
“Fuck, I've wanted to hear that for so long,” he panted, burying his face into your neck to kiss and lick at the sensitive skin. “Sound so pretty, baby.” He rolled his hips again, and your whole body arched closer to him, desperate for more as a weak whine spilled from your lips. The seam of his jeans caught your swelling clit just right, making your entire body hum with desire.
“Merlin’s fuck—what are you doing to me?” You keened, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, starving for the feel of his skin against yours.
“The bare minimum,” he teased, nipping at your earlobe. “You make it so easy to love you.” His hands squeezed at your flesh, his breath hot against your neck as he continued rocking your hips together. “So fucking sexy, so responsive. I knew you'd be perfect—” he grunted when you thrust your hips back up against him.
You finally managed to get his shirt off, pushing it over his shoulders and he tossed it onto the floor. The pale stretch of freckled skin on his chest made your mouth water, but you didn't get to admire him for long. He tugged your hoodie over your head, casting it across the room, and revealing the near see-through lacy red thing you'd selected for the evening and didn't bother changing out of.
A broken sound hissed through his teeth. Jealousy bloomed in his eyes, his jaw feathering with irritation.
You reached up to caress his cheek, drawing his eyes to your face. “He never got to see it,” you cooed, petting the hard line of his jaw and coaxing him to relax. “All yours now, yeah? No one else's.”
His eyes searched your face, anger melting into scalding desire. “Say it again,” he rasped.
“All yours,” you hummed, pecking his lips.
His hand spread across your collarbones, long fingers stretching nearly shoulder to shoulder, and he shoved you roughly back onto the bed. The next moment, his mouth was on your chest, hot and warm through the thin lace as he smeared open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His tongue lashed one peaked nipple, drawing a cry from your lips as he sucked the bud and fabric between his teeth.
Your hands flew into his hair, tugging and guiding his mouth where you wanted him, and he went willingly, eager for any and all contact, quick to repeat the tricks that made your breath hitch.
His hand slid down your stomach, beneath he waist band of your shorts, and he dragged his middle finger through your dripping slit, a high-pitched moaning making him smile against your chest.
“Merlin, you're soaked,” he purred, kissing up your neck and capturing your lips in a messy, top-lip kiss. His finger swirled around your puffy clit, applying just enough pressure to have pleasure radiating through your body. “You get this wet for him, baby?” He whispered, dipping his fingertips into your entrance, once, twice, before sinking down to the knuckle. “Little cunt sucking me right in. She was ready for me, hm?”
“G-George,” his name was a fractured whimper on your tongue, your mind going fuzzy when he curled his finger up, hitting a spot that you'd never felt before.
“Oh, you poor thing,” George cooed, adding a second finger and stroking the same spot again, your whole body hitching up the bed at the intensity of it. But his body weight held you down, his mouth painting gentle kisses along your skin to try and soothe you. “He never touch you like this? Never found that spot—fuck, right there, baby? That's it?”
You bobbled your head like an idiot, grinding your hips back into his hand as he started fucking his fingers into you more deliberately, the lewd, gooey smack of your pussy filling the dorm.
“Good girl,” he praised, propping himself up to peer down at you, eyes blown wide with lust as he took in your trembling, sweat-kissed skin. “How did I get so fucking lucky?” He asked, leaning down to kiss you again, all softness and affection, so different than the relentless way he was dominating your cunt.
You pawed at his jeans, tugging at his belt. “Mmph, please—need you,” you whined against his mouth, and he groaned.
“Fuck, you're killing me, love,” he grated, his hips bucking into your hand. “You want my cock that bad?”
You nodded, still struggling with his belt.
He pushed off of you and undid his belt, removing his jeans and shoes in record time, his flushed cock slapping up against his stomach. He grabbed you by the ankle and tugged you to the edge of the bed.
“You've got a slutty little thong under here, don't you?” He asked, toying with the waistband of your shorts.
“Maybe,” you said, half-distracted by his cock jumping at the sound of your voice, the tip slick with precum.
He glanced down, following your gaze, and chuckled. “My eyes are up here, pretty girl,” he chastised with a light slap to your inner thigh. He pushed your shorts down your legs, followed by the red thong your wore underneath. He tossed the thong onto his bedside table, instead of the floor with the rest of the clothes.
You raised an eyebrow at him, about to make some teasing remark, when he dragged his cockhead through your messy slit, and all thoughts tumbled right out of your brain, dripping from between your legs.
“For later, yeah?” He said, smirking when your eyes rolled back when he tapped your clit with the head. “So next time I see that fucker, I can show him exactly what he lost.”
“George—” you started to chastise him for being cruel when he notched at your entrance, sinking halfway into your willing pussy, and you both cried out. The fullness, the stretch, was mind-melting. Better than anything you'd felt in your life.
George braced his hand beside your head, sagging forward as he hissed a curse under his breath. “Fucking shit, love,” he panted, his muscles locked up so tight he was practically vibrating. “M'done for if you keep squeezin’ me like that.”
You moaned, lifting your hips to take him a little deeper, needing more even though you felt like he was ripping you apart at the seams. “Please, Georgie,” you whimpered, clawing at his skin. “Want all of you.”
“I know, honey. I know. Just give me a second.” He leaned further down, peppering kisses across your cheeks and jaw. “Don't wanna hurt you, gotta relax f’me.”
You took a few breaths, trying to get your muscles to relax as his lips moved over your fevered skin. You felt him slide a bit deeper, the stretch not quite as intense.
“Good girl, that's it. Just a little further,” he praised, his hand gripping the flesh of your hip as he started rocking into you, slow, rolling thrusts that got incrementally longer each time, until his pelvis met yours and you were a moaning mess, writhing beneath him, desperate for more.
George straightened, his hand on the bed shifting to your shoulder, and he snapped his hips forward, forcing a cry from your lips as pleasure struck you like lightning. He set a rough pace, fucking you deep and hard, his grip on your body keeping you locked in place.
You were lost in it, helpless to the pitch and roll of his ocean, completely adrift in the pleasure he was pulling from your body. You tried to fuck back against him, but your body refused to cooperate, dumb and boneless and cockdrunk.
“So fucking pretty like this. Tell me how pretty you are, baby,” he said, his hand leaving your hip to rub tight circles over your clit.
“Mmph—fuck, so pretty,” you managed, voice throttled with lust and desperation.
“Yeah, you are.” He grinned. “My pretty girl takin’ this cock so well. He fuck you like this? Have you a drooling mess for him?”
You shook your head, nails biting into his thighs as your release prowled closer, coiling tight in your belly. “No, never,” you keened, when ratcheted up the pace sensing your looming orgasm.
“That's right, all mine. Who does this pussy belong to? Who has your heart?”
“You, you! Fuck, George, I’m—”
“Go on, love. Come for me, I'm right there with you. Come on.” His thrusts grew rougher and sloppier as his own release approached, and with a final, punishing snap of his hips, you both went flying over the edge and into white hot bliss.
You screamed and he caught the sound with a kiss, fucked you through it as your pussy clamped around him. Wringing every bit of pleasure from you both until he sagged forward, his head falling into the crook of your neck as you both gasped for breath.
He kissed along the damp column of your throat, making his way to your lips, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your trembling thighs. “Did so good,” he murmured between lazy pecks. “I'm proud of you.”
You giggled, feeling almost giddy to have George in your arms, kissing you and praising you so sweetly. “That was amazing,” you breathed, and he smiled, giving one last thrust before withdrawing and using magic to clean you both up.
“You were amazing,” he corrected. “Like I said, you're easy to love.”
Butterflies rioted in your stomach. “So are you.”
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead before handing you your hoodie and shorts. You both got semi-dressed and snuggled into his bed, his bare chest under your ear, heart thumping steadily.
You grabbed the gift bag and took out the bracelet. “Will you put it on me?”
“Of course,” he beamed, carefully taking the the jewelry and clasping it around your wrist, kissing the tender skin of your pulse before releasing you. “Looks perfect on you,” he said, looking down at your smiling face as you turned your wrist this way and that.
“I love it, Georgie. Thank you.” You snuggled closer into his side.
“Always.” He dropped a kiss on top of your head, then grabbed the gift back from you, pulling out a handful of candy and popping one of the lollipops into his mouth. “Not as sweet as your pussy, but…”
You rolled your eyes and placed a chocolate truffle on your tongue, letting the deliciousness fill your mouth.
Bang! There was a fumbling outside of the door and George quickly yanked the curtain shut, just before what sounded like several people came tumbling into the room.
“Get the fuck off of me, Weasley—” Jack.
“Absolutely not, you're going to apologize,” Fred replied, his voice a little too chipper for the current situation.
George was up in a blink, his chest littered with the marks you gave you him, and pushed through the curtain. “Well, well. Seems you aren't dead, or maimed…so what exactly is your excuse for standing up my girl on Valentine's Day?” George asked.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you, I—your girl?” Jack hissed. “She's mine.”
George chuckled. “Love, would you like to come out here and set the record straight?”
“What?” Jack barked. “She's not here—”
You slipped out of bed and tried to right yourself before stepping out of the curtain and into the room. Fred and Lee had Jack by arms, dressed only in his boxers. Harry and Ron stood off to the side, watching everything unfold with mild amusement.
George was leaning against the bed frame, lollipop in his cheek, a triumphant smirk on his face.
“We're done, Jack,” you said, getting it over with. But strangely, you didn't feel any of the guilt from before. And you shouldn't. Jack was a prick, and didn't deserve your tears or empathy.
“I miss one date and you shack up with fucking Weasley?” Jack spit, and George's eyes darkened. “Fucking whore—”
Fred and Lee shook him roughly, yelling at him to watch his mouth, and you recoiled a bit. George seemed to stay surprisingly calm, until you saw him reach from his Beater bat beside the bed.
“George, wait—”
George jabbed the tip of the bat into Jack's sternum, and the boy went pale. “If I hear you running your fucking mouth about her again, I will smash your jaw to splinters. Clear?”
Your heart lost its rhythm. You'd never seen George like this, and you loved it. Loved being his.
Jack bobbed his head yes, trembling in Fred and Lee's hold.
Lee snickered. “Prick looks like he might piss himself.”
“Now get the fuck out,” George ordered.
“Wait, one more thing,” you said, and the boys all turned their attention to you. You sauntered up to Jack, and you saw a flicker of hope in his eyes.
Fucking idiot.
You thrust your knee up, nailing him right in the bollocks, and he howled so loud the other boys dropped him into a heap on the floor.
“Fuck you,” you spit, turning on your heel and stepping into George's open arms.
“That's my girl,” George cooed, taking the lollipop of his mouth to kiss you properly, the strawberry flavor sweet on his tongue. He waved at the others over your head as he deepened the kiss, and you heard them all file out, laughing and jeering as they dragged Jack behind them, the door swinging shut and locking.
“He deserved it,” you mumbled between kisses, giggling when George lifted you into the air, your legs wrapping around his waist.
“And now it's time you get what you deserve,” he smirked, laying you back down on the mattress and shifting down between your legs. “And I get my reward for absolutely crushing Valentine's Day.”
You burst out laughing, the sound shifting to moan as he licked a stripe through your slit. “You're right, best Valentine's Day ever.”
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