#georgexreader

[romanczukowsky]

Whispers in the Infirmary

Pairing: George Weasley x fem!reader

Summary: After colliding during the Quidditch match, Y/N and George end up in the infirmary. Spending time together, they get to know each other better, discovering shared interests and beginning to grow closer.

Warnings: Explicit content / Soft smut /Public-ish setting (Hospital Wings) / Slow burn, warmth & intimacy

The crowd was going wild. The stadium trembled with cheers as broomsticks whooshed through the air and the commentator's voice echoed across the pitch. The sun glinted off the golden hoops, and the wind tugged at the players’ robes as they soared around the field in full concentration.

I was flying fast, too fast maybe—but the Quaffle was just within reach. My fingers stretched toward it, my heart pounding in rhythm with the roar of the stands. I barely registered the blur of red coming at me from the side until it was too late.

CRACK.

The impact knocked the breath out of me. My shoulder slammed into something—someone—and then the world spun. A flash of red hair. A grunt. And then everything went black.

When I opened my eyes, the light was too bright. Everything felt heavy. My head throbbed, my body ached, and for a moment, I had no idea where I was.

The sterile scent of potion-soaked linens and the faint clink of glass told me before my eyes adjusted: the hospital wing.

I blinked, groaning softly. My limbs protested even the smallest movement. Turning my head just slightly, I caught sight of another bed—and then I saw him.

George Weasley. Lying flat on his back, leg in a cast, with a bruised temple and a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite it all.

“Hey,” he said, voice raspy but amused, “you’ve got a pretty solid shoulder.”

I blinked again, then gave a hoarse laugh.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I mumbled, voice rough.

He grinned. “Though next time, maybe we don’t try to tackle each other midair, yeah?”

Before I could reply, the infirmary door creaked open and in tumbled a group of Gryffindor boys, loud and laughing, still in their red robes, carrying bags of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, Chocolate Frogs, and other sweets.

“Oy, our hero!” Lee Jordan called out, heading straight to George’s bed. “You’re alive. Thank Merlin. Thought Madam Pomfrey might turn you into some kind of anatomy model.”

“Still breathing after that slam—unbelievable,” another added, giving George’s shoulder a pat.

They all started replaying the collision, laughing and mimicking the moment of impact like it was some grand prank.

“But the way you flew, George, it was like—WHAM!” Lee flung his arms dramatically. “And the other one—who even was that?”

No one looked at me. Not even a glance.

I was right there, barely a meter away, lying in the next bed. It was like I didn’t exist.

A tight knot formed in my chest.

George cleared his throat loudly. Deliberately.

“She’s right there,” he said flatly, tilting his head slightly toward me. “Still breathing too, in case you were wondering.”

The Gryffindors froze, as if just now remembering they weren’t alone.

They all turned toward me at once.

“Oh. Hey,” they said in near unison, a weird chorus of awkward realization.

“Glad you... made it,” one of them added, and just like that, they turned back to George, continuing their chatter as if I’d vanished again.

I just smiled faintly to myself. Honestly? I didn’t expect much else. Gryffindor had its own rhythm, its own bubble.

Eventually, they filtered out, leaving behind empty wrappers and a pile of sweets dumped at George’s side. The room quieted, shadows deepening as evening set in. Somewhere in the back, I heard the clink of potion bottles as Madam Pomfrey tidied up.

“You want one?” George asked, holding out a Chocolate Frog toward me.

I gave him a sideways look, then smirked, reaching for it.

“Only if it doesn’t try to hop out of my hand.”

He shifted upright a little, wincing as pain shot through his leg.

“Didn’t expect the match to end with me stuck in a hospital bed,” he said, exhaling. “Though I’ve had worse roommates.”

I laughed, biting off a corner of chocolate.

“I wasn’t planning to collide full-speed with a Weasley today, but here we are.”

George grinned, almost proudly.

“Well, at least you’re fast. Most people can’t keep up.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That a compliment or a challenge?”

“A bit of both.”

Silence settled for a moment — not awkward, just... easy. Warm.

“You following the World Cup?” he asked suddenly.

I perked up.

“Ireland. Always. Their Seeker is unreal.”

George’s grin widened.

“Knew you had good taste. Me too. And their Beaters? Brilliant. Especially the younger one—always goes in from the left. Genius.”

We started talking. About teams, strategies, unfair fouls, jaw-dropping plays, childhood favorites, unforgettable moments. Time slipped away unnoticed. The lights dimmed fully, but I didn’t care. George’s voice was alive and full of fire, and that was enough.

And I realized — maybe this hospital stay wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The days slipped by almost unnoticed.

Every evening, almost like clockwork, Fred would sneak into the hospital wing with a bag stuffed full of sweets. Biscuits, eclairs, sometimes even magically-warmed cocoa that never went cold. He always said it was for George, but his eyes would flick toward me with a silent grin.

He shared with me too. No words — just pushing the plate my way, then disappearing again with a cheeky remark tossed over his shoulder.

George and I talked. About everything. Quidditch, classes, professors, nonsense. Dreams. Annoyances. Things that made us laugh.

We laughed a lot. And sometimes we just sat in silence — and that was enough too.

My body healed quickly — bruises faded, muscle aches eased, and Madam Pomfrey's spells worked their magic. George looked better by the day as well. The swelling was gone, the cuts on his face were now faint lines. The only thing keeping him in bed was the cast still wrapped around his leg.

That afternoon, Madam Pomfrey came to my bed with her clipboard and a faint smile.

“You’ll be ready to return to your dorm tomorrow, dear. Everything’s looking good.” She turned to George. “But you, Mr. Weasley… you’re staying with us a bit longer.”

I nodded, but there was a weight in my chest — a strange tightness, a quiet ache. I wasn’t ready for this to be over.

That evening, it was just the two of us. For the first time.

"It’s a bit of a shame you’re getting released tomorrow," he said quietly, with that slight smile that always appeared when he tried to hide something more sincere. "You know, I’d probably feel a lot better if I got a kiss to help with all this pain," he joked, looking at me with a spark in his eye.

I stood up and leaned over him, kissing him on the lips. His hands immediately wrapped around me more firmly, pulling me closer. "If you’re uncomfortable" he murmured softly "you can sit on my bed."

I hesitated for a moment, wondering what exactly I was doing. But I did it… gently, sitting down right on him.

Our lips met again, and during the kiss, I felt myself move slightly. A soft moan escaped his lips, adding a little spice to the moment. "That seems to really help," George joked with a grin. "I’m glad you think so," I replied, smiling at him before we lost ourselves in the kiss once more.

With every closeness, I could feel his body more and more through the thin pajamas.

His hands settled gently on my hips, as if trying to make sure I was really there.

He kissed me. At first, softly, like he wanted to memorize every inch of my skin. Then more deeply, with growing intensity. His hands roamed over my back, fingers tangled in my hair. Soft sighs mixed with shallow breaths. His body trembled beneath mine, and mine responded to his touch.

He looked at me as if he couldn’t believe this was happening. We touched slowly, cautiously, but with an increasing need, until everything else ceased to exist. Just him and me. Skin, whispers, kisses.

There was no rush — only warmth, tenderness, and breath mingling in the darkness.

I sat down on him slowly, feeling his weight beneath me. His hands tightened around my waist, pulling me closer. Every movement was deliberate, gentle, yet charged with tension.

I closed my eyes as I felt him enter me—deeply, slowly, with anticipation. I let out a soft sigh, and his breath quickened against my neck.

My body tensed, craving more, gently gripping, molding to him. His hands roamed my back, holding me steady as I moved slowly, rhythmically.

I felt every movement, as if time slowed down and the world outside ceased to exist. With each motion, our bodies fit more closely together, and the tension grew. I let out a louder sigh, gripping his shoulders tightly as we approached the edge.

“Are you okay?” I asked, breathing lightly, not wanting to break the moment.

He looked at me through half-closed eyes, a slight sweat on his brow and a smile that said more than words.

“I feel amazing,” he replied, his voice slightly breaking, his eyes shining more intensely than ever.

His hand moved slowly against my skin, tracing a path between my thighs — right where my heart fluttered wildly. I clenched tightly around him, my body taut with longing and hunger. I tilted my head back, eyes closing as a soft sigh escaped his lips — I couldn’t tell if it was from the pain in his leg or the rising pleasure between us.

Every small movement sent a shiver through me — the brush of his fingers, the warmth radiating from his body.

Then together we reached the peak, lost in that moment as if nothing else mattered.

And as I lay on his chest, calm and happy, my fingers lazily tracing his shoulder, I spoke softly. "Tomorrow, I’ll bring you a bag full of sweets. I promise."

He laughed quietly, kissing my hair.

"If there are eclairs, I’m already in love."

[angelus-scripturae]

memeulous smut ? xx

Ugh!! I have been WAITING for an excuse to write for him. Gosh thank you so much. (i made it a drabble if that’s okay. if you want a full one i’m happy to write it)

George smut drabble

(no gender specified however female anatomy is mentioned)

WARNINGS: Oral (male receiving), Penetrative sex, dom george

This man is a rough dom. Argue with the wall it’s just fact. He’d also LOVE overstim <3

This man you’ll be pounding into you and I mean POUNDING (like god speeds) while you’re beneath him just screaming his name. Alex better be out when this is happening or imma feel so bad for him. Your moans would be echoing off every surface in that room. You’d be squirming under George from the overstimulation. He’d be having none of it. He’d have you bent over doggy style, one hand holding your hands behind your back and the other around your waist to keep you in place. He ain’t stopping until you say the safe word.

I also think you’d both establish a traffic light system. Like if you were asking him to stop, he’d slow down and ask “what colour” if you replied with red: he’d stop no questions asked, green: he’d keep going, yellow: he’d slow down. Or if you were trying something new he’s continuously ask what colour to see where your limits were with that thing in particular.

On that note i think he’d very much be up for trying ne things. Bondage? Hell yeah. Ice play? You got it. BDSM? If you want to. He strikes me as the type of person to do whatever his partner wants but will definitely tell you if it makes him uncomfy.

I’m conclusion: I’ve thought about fucking this man way to much.

Thank you so much for the request! home this was something along the lines of what you wanted! xx

MASTERPOST

[ickle-ronniekins]

clarity, george x reader

hey guys! happy new year! it’s 2020, which is crazy, ‘cause wasn’t it just 2009 like a second ago? anywho, i’m sick with a cold and am working on requests (i promise!) but i recently discovered the whole soulmate au thing and i really wanna try it soooo...here’s hoping this isn’t terrible! i posted about it yesterday about the idea but i did change some things (i rewrote the end five different times i shit you not) also ps sorry this is hella long

prompt: soulmate au; everyone has a journal that allows them to write back and forth with their soulmate

A/N: so as i’m writing this it kind of reminds me of when harry wrote to tom riddle in CoS haha. anywho—i still want the reader to be a ~magical being~ so i do still want them to go to hogwarts (does that count as an au, then? WHATEVER, lol) however even though they can write back and forth with their soulmate, there’s this lingering restriction on soulmates revealing their identities because of the impending war and voldy and stupid fucking umbridge and all this stuff so they’re sworn to secrecy, not even names, not even hints, until one of them breaks

warning(s): mentions of war, blood, bodies, anxiety, not proofread

So sorry my writing’s been sporadic. Potions is dragging, love.

The words appeared very lightly, you almost didn’t catch them at first. Grinning giddily to yourself, you pulled your journal close to you so only you could see the fragile script in front of you. Potions. With Snape. You were just in Potions with Professor Snape. Is it possible that your soulmate had passed you by on your way out of the dungeons?

Well, of course it was. The castle was only so large, after all. It was proving rather difficult to keep your identity a secret.

You wanted to know who he was the second he first wrote you and made you blush. But, there were rules. Rules you both didn’t want to follow.

Is it four o’clock yet? He asked you now.

You grinned with excitement. Each time his handwriting appeared, it filled you with an overwhelming sense of closeness to him—since this, of course, was as close as you’d gotten.

The impending war put so much worry on your heart—for you, for him.

Biting your lip, you wrote back, I reckon Snape’s class isn’t going terribly well?

A quick response appeared. It’d certainly be better—if you were here.

You wanted nothing more than to know his name, hear his voice, be there with him.

The feast anxiously awaits your arrival, you wrote back cheekily, taking a sip of your pumpkin juice and watching as a cackle of students filtered into the Great Hall. Desperately, you searched the crowd for an inkling of him. There was none, of course. You had no bloody idea. Sighing greatly, you slumped back into your seat, poking at the food on your plate. How long could you possibly keep this going? Your soulmate didn’t really feel like one, especially when you didn’t even know his name.

Are you here, in the Great Hall? he wrote. I just walked in. C’mon, any type of sign that you’re here—at least tell me the color of your hair so I can eliminate some people—that isn’t too daring, now, is it?

How you wanted to. You wanted more than anything to tell him. But the worry that pulled at your heart—it was too much.

With utmost regret, you scribbled, You know we can’t, darling.

His response wasn’t exactly what you’d wanted. What you wanted, truthfully, was maybe for him to break—for him to finally reveal himself to you in a fit of fury, because he was so irrevocably in love with you that he just couldn’t stand it anymore. You could practically feel his sadness when, after a few painful minutes, he just answered, I know...

You looked around you, anxiously searching for some type of answer, but there was none. Many around you were scribbling quickly in notebooks in front of them. It was useless, really, to search for someone you barely knew in a sea full of people.

These restrictions are bloody ridiculous, he wrote one cozy, autumnal afternoon. He was frustrated. You could tell. The pressure of his quill marks and his messy handwriting showed you just how frustrated he was. It’s not fair that they’re keeping us from one another. It drives me bloody mad.

He had already left Hogwarts. Any hope you had of maybe locking eyes with him in the Great Hall and just knowing, deep down, that he was the one...those feelings of hope we’re gone. He was even further away now than you could imagine. You were no longer under the same roof.

In the common room next to the fire, you gripped the pages of your journal tightly. You knew how he felt, of course you did. I’m sick of it too, love... Your heart ached for him.

It seemed silly, but it was the truth. How were you supposed to feel about the man you were to spend the rest of your life with when you barely knew anything at all?

An idea of sorts came to him. You could almost feel his excitement and adrenaline rush. He answered, softer now, What if, instead of in writing, we just plan to meet...

His writing trailed off. You knew he recognized the danger of this idea, with every single slip of parchment and message being watched and intercepted.

I don’t care, you know. I don’t care what they do to me. As long as I can finally meet you.

Slowly, you flipped through the many pages of your journal, reading some of your conversations with him from the past years. It had proven extremely difficult to not give any hints about your identities over the years, so of course, you reread, every single day, the hints that he had given you.

He was one of many children. He was an inventor. He inherited his mum’s love for cooking and was a damn good one, if he did say so himself. He loved Hogwarts in the wintertime. His dad was overly fascinated with Muggles and their way of living. And he was funny—really funny, but he didn’t need to tell you that. He was always making you laugh.

You fed off of these five and only things for years. Years, they had sustained you, but right now, it wasn’t feeling like enough. Nothing felt like enough.

I want you to be safe, you told him. You need to be.

And then, you wrote again. Promise me that you are. Safe, I mean.

Your answers had been more sporadic and choppy and less long and interesting. He’d told you after he’d left Hogwarts that he’d been working on something, something to ease the pain of the impending war, something that he was excited about. The glimmer of those feelings kept you afloat in what felt like a world in which you were drowning slowly.

An answer came when you were asleep. I’m safe, darling. We had a long night. Promise me you’ll focus on your classes and graduating and keeping yourself safe and sound and I promise everything will be worth it.

All these years of writing and waiting and hoping seemed to be taking it’s toll on you both. There had been days where you hadn’t talked with one another at all, days where you didn’t even have the energy to pick up you quill and write a single thing. You barely had enough energy to discuss the news of you finishing school.

He told you one stormy night that he’d gotten hurt, that he’d lost one of his ears. In a moment of panic and worry, you’d written back as quickly as you could with questions you knew he couldn’t answer. What happened? Where are you? I’ll find you, let me come and help you.

A stern “no”, and then a softer, “I’m okay, I promise,”, had not helped your nerves at all. Things were getting worse. Voldemort’s army were taking out witches, wizards and Muggles alike, one by one, as the world you knew and loved was crumbling in pieces around you.

It was an awful feeling, knowing your soulmate was out somewhere in the world, hurting—in pain—and you couldn’t do anything at all to help him.

As the war worsened, your family was tortured for information. Death Eaters had stormed your home, questioning you on the whereabouts of Harry Potter, a boy just a year younger than you, a boy whom you went to school with—but you didn’t know. It didn’t matter, though. You were left with stinging burns, open wounds, broken ribs and gashes along your arms and legs.

It’d been exactly four days since you’d written your soulmate.

Please, love, let me know that you’re okay, he pleaded. You swore you could see tear drops next to the words he’d written. You told him swiftly, with all of the energy you could muster, that you were.

It seemed as though the sky had turned permanently dark gray. Storm clouds had swallowed the world whole. There was an eerie, cool wind that sent chills down your spine, and it was quiet—too quiet—the kind of quiet it is when it’s snowing outside. But this wasn’t the good kind.

Word had gotten to you that Hogwarts was under attack. The school you grew up in was being pummeled to the ground with those that you loved inside of it. He was there, he had to be there. Maybe, just maybe, in a moment of clarity, you’d find him somehow. You hadn’t thought once—you apparated almost immediately, the pull behind your naval nearly knocking the wind right out of you, but before you’d left, you wrote him one last thing. I’m going to Hogwarts. If we don’t survive...know that I love you. Salty tears escaped your eyes and landed on the pages of your journal.

You did, of course, even though you hadn’t met yet. Love him. You knew it deep in your heart. He was your soulmate, after all, even if you didn’t survive.

But the second before you apparated, you saw scribbly, messy handwriting on the journal placed delicately on your desk. It was so quick that you almost missed it, but you know you couldn’t have dreamt it. It was all too real. My name’s George Weasley—find me as quickly as you can.

Of course you knew him. He was one of the most well known people at Hogwarts when you were in school there. Heart thumping as you landed on your feet in the middle of the Great Hall, you noticed the blood, the bodies, the debris all around you. You swallowed over a lump in your throat. What would happen now that he revealed himself?

You’d been waiting years to hear his name.

Where was he?

And you saw him, hoisting himself on top of rubble, firing spells in every which direction, with his brothers next to him. A piece of debris slid against your cheek and left a stinging burn in it’s place. You touched your fingers to it gently, only to see some blood appear. You winced and fumbled over bodies and bricks and rubble.

He knocked a Death Eater over the edge of the bridge.

“George?”

He whirled around immediately—his face tired and his eyes bloodshot and sad. There were cuts and bruises all over his head, his red hair matted down by dirt, a large gash in his arm glistening with bright blood.

“It’s you,” his voice was hoarse and dry. He brought a hand to your cheek and wrapped it around the back of your neck. His hands absentmindedly made their way through your long, messy hair. His eyes were glassy. You tried to choke back your tears.

You placed your hands against his chest. “Finally.”

A moment of clarity hit when you realized that you’d met the man you’d spend the rest of your life with.

“I love you, you know—” he said in a moment of panic, a small smile tugging at the edges of his lips.

Everything went black.

When you opened your eyes, you were in a hospital of sorts—St. Mungo’s. Everything was still hazy. You rubbed your temples, head throbbing, and swallowed. Your throat was extremely dry. You reached for the glass of water on your beside table.

There was a news clipping there. Once your eyes adjusted to the light, you read slowly. There’d been a war a few months prior. Lord Voldemort was dead—he had died at Hogwarts. Wasn’t that the school you’d attended? You furrowed your brow.

Your memory was very fuzzy.

A red haired man walked slowly into the room with some sort of book in his hands.

Why did he look so familiar?

He stopped in his tracks when your eyes met his. Careful, so as not to scare you, he grinned lightly and said softly, “You’re awake.” There was a hitch in his voice.

He tried to tell you many things about your life. Your name, your age, where you went to school. What had happened during the war. That he was your soulmate. He mentioned something about journals and how he and you had communicated only through them for years. You couldn’t seem to understand. You wanted too, but you just...couldn’t. He didn’t really tell you anything about his life—just yours. Perhaps you needed to remember yours first. Having him near you gave you a sense of warmth, though.

“The doctors say she may not remember for a while, mate,” another man who looked exactly like him had whispered one afternoon. He patted his brother on the shoulder. “Maybe try and start from the beginning.”

The beginning. Had you forgotten everything from the beginning?

Panic rose in your chest.

Through a very frustrating conversation, trying to get you to remember anything at all, he reintroduced himself, as if to start new. “I’m George,” he told you.

George, you thought. Familiar. You smiled at him.

Everyday, he stayed by your side and watched as your memory seemed to improve, even slightly—bits and pieces coming back to you. You’d attended Hogwarts. Your father was a wizard, but mum was a Muggle. Your favorite class at school was Charms. But him—he was still hazy.

You could tell it was hurting him, but he’d never let on. Your heart ached.

“When did we meet?” You asked him one day, sitting up in bed and blowing on your hot soup.

He loved it when you asked him questions. “During the war, actually,” he told you. “It was only for a moment, though. Very fleeting, but very wonderful.” He smiled at you.

You grinned back at him, feeling a surge of familiarity enter your body. You reached out and placed your hand on top of his, squeezing lightly. You saw him swallow over a lump in his throat, his eyes yearning for you to remember.

And now?

You asked him, “Can I...can I read your journal?” It was the book he brought with him every single day.

Tears welled up in his eyes, he gently placed the book into your hands. “Of course you can.” He stood up and placed a kiss onto your forehead. “I’ll have a word with the doctors—I’ll be right back,”

When you were sure he was out of the room, you opened the pages. Some were ripped and tattered, but you could still read the passages and differentiate between your writing and his. I just can’t wait to spend my life with you. You’d said that. Your heart skipped a beat.

I hope you that when we finally meet, he’d written, I am going to kiss you and never stop. I know it sounds silly because we haven’t met, but I love you...more than anything in this world.

Your cheeks flushed red at the thought.

As you sat there in bed, imagining what it’d be like to press your lips to his, slowly biting your bottom lip, he sauntered back into you room and snapped you back into reality. You hadn’t noticed how wide you were smiling until he startled you.

You placed the journal gently on your bedside table and took to cooling off your soup again. George was busy tidying up around the hospital room. When you took a slow sip, it was as if your taste buds had been reawakened. “Bloody hell, this is delicious—where did you get it?”

George smiled gratefully at you. “I made it this morning,” he told you. And just like that. Clarity. “I love cooking, actually, nobody really knows that but I got it—”

“—from your mum,” you cut him off.

He stood at the other end of the room, peering at you.

“Yes,” he said.

It was like everything came back to you at once—the writing, the moment he revealed himself, the war, seeing him for the first time—it was everything. Your soulmate.

Smiling greatly, you continued. “And your dad, he—he loves Muggle things, doesn’t he? He’s fascinated by them, everything about them—and you’ve a lot of siblings, don’t you?” He’d sat down next to you and pulled your hands into his. “And you absolutely hated Potions class—” at this, he laughed through a sob. A feeling of bravery entered your body. “And you promised me that when we finally met, you’d kiss me and you’d never stop.” You inched closer to him. “Guess we never really got a chance, did we?”

With tears in his eyes, he gently caressed your cheek and glanced longingly from your eyes to your lips. With a tiny nod from you, he laughed into the kiss that was years in the making. You felt like you were reentering your body. He kissed your forehead, your jawline, your neck, your shoulders, your hands— “You remember,” he said quietly.

You let out a soft hum as you pulled him close again. He gave you the most genuine and heartwarming smile when you told him, “I could never forget the man I love. I just can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

tag list: drop me a message if you’d like to be added: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane

other tags: @toranyx @wolfwistleweasley @t1nycak3 @hyuangel @iluvharrypotter172

reblogs + feedback are always appreciated! :)

[theyoungest-weasley]

i just got a request for a Fred Weasley fic with fluff at the end and a little angsty as well.

as you all know i am an idiot so in the process of responding to this ask i deleted it.

im going to go off what i remeber and start writing! but if the anon wants to send it again or add any specifications or whatever else just lmk!!!

[girlwsoftsound]

In The Mood || George Daniel Oneshot

Word Count: 1,792 Warning: Smut. Summary: “this is v smutty but could you possibly right something about (Y/N) playing with herself one afternoon when she thinks she's in the flat alone but George comes home early and well ~you know~ the rest” Author’s Note: Well this is certainly something lol! Very very smutty, but also very very fun to write. Hope you like it as much as I do. Be sure to throw in a like or comment if you liked it! I love seeing feedback from you all. Please feel free to read my other work here! Enjoy!

You swore no ulterior motive by it.

Girls have their urges, and they come at random times just like they do with men. Sure, they can hide them better, but sometimes action needs to be taken. Sometimes, they cannot wait for their boyfriend to come home from fucking around at a basketball game with his bandmates to satisfy their urges. Sometimes, a nice group of candles, soft music, and a hand is all a girl needs.

George said he would be gone for four hours. You could not wait that long, as much as it pained you to admit it. Your body feels on fire, and everything basically calls for you to do something about it. Your smell is heightened, your sense of touch has makes you feel sensitive - it is as if you have this itch that you have to scratch. You feel a bit silly, like a pitiful dog in heat, but it is the truth. You need to fix this, and fast.

Taking a few vanilla candles from your drawers intended for losses in power, you set them up around the bedroom. They find homes next to photographs of you and George, on bedside tables, in front of mirrors - anywhere they can possibly set the mood. Smooth jazz from some old record George owns, with no lyrics but beautiful music, plays softly throughout the room. He sometimes listens to it when he’s strung out, be it on work or stress, lying back and shutting his eyes to the world. You sometimes join him in his relaxation. Tonight however, it was soundtracking a much different type of relaxation.

Sitting on the bed, you forgo covering yourself up in blankets. You usually do that if you are worried about getting caught, though the only real person that could catch you is George. Sometimes, you want a night to yourself and not to edge George on. You do not want to be unfair to him. Tonight though, you are sure you will not be caught. He has spoken about this basketball night for a long while, so there is no way he will leave early unless there is some freak emergency. You pay no further mind to the covers other than to toss them further down the bed. Along with them go your pants and underwear. There is no use for them, either.

Your back hits the pillows, and a familiar pattern begins. You start up top, where you knew George likes to mess with you while making out. Your hands travel across your neck, down your chest to your breasts. You palm them through your shirt, imagining his larger hands doing the same. You imagine the breath from his lips hitting them, hitting your neck as he kisses you so. You shiver, and it brings a giggle to your lips. Oh, how he messes with you.

A few moments of fun teasing and feeling yourself up lead to curiosity. Your lower half, cold and yet burning for touch, takes priority. With a little help from some lube on your bedside dresser, you lower your fingers down and rub them ghostlike across your clit, just enough to elicit tension within you. Your eyes flutter shut, and one of your fingers enters you, testing you. You enjoy the feeling, all the while still knowing you are longing for more. George is more. He is much more, far more than any finger. On any other night, you’d long for a dildo or more, but this night does not have you feeling adventurous. It has you simply wanting to get off. You want past the games, right into the pleasure. Sighing, you enter in a second.

In and out you go, moaning slightly when you hit the right spot. It feels good, really good, but you find yourself not exactly getting off from it. More is needed, or rather, more is needed elsewhere. Your fingers switch from their place inside you, trained then on your clit. You begin with a slow pace, because slow paces for you always build up to much more, the type of more that left dents in your headboard and moans leaving your throat. Breathing in slow, you gradually work up from that pace. Imagining George’s tongue down there helps, because he always is so skilled and leaves you writhing. It cannot be denied that he is skilled on that front.

Another sigh leaves your lips as your fingers move in a quicker circular fashion. It’s that familiar heat, that dash to the finish that you crave every time either George’s or your fingers go at it. Your free hand grips at your breast, kneading it and gasping at the tender touch it brings. Without even realizing it, a soft and breathy ‘George’ slips past your faded-pink lips. Your face flushes because the noise embarrasses you, but your mind quickly flies onto a different subject, one that overwhelms you far more than the feelings below your waistline.

George is standing at the door. His lips are curved up in a salacious smirk, his hips are cocked to the side against the doorframe, and he is staring you down with hazy, hooded eyes that make your stomach twist into knots.

Fuck.

“Someone called my name?”

You open your mouth, but your desperation for speech goes unfulfilled. Mouth dry, all you can do is stare over yourself with your jaw slightly agape. He saunters forward, slow and steady, teasingly so, until his knees meet the end of the bed. You see his eyes flicker down to your exposed lower half, those knots twisting even further. George licks his lips.

“Impatient, were we?”

“Y-You weren’t supposed to be back,” you cower out. “I-I thought you would be gone all night.”

“Ross twisted his ankle so we called it a night early,” George explains, distracting you with his fingers just barely touching your shin in soft, back-and-forth movements. “Were you just about to cum?”

“George.”

“I already heard that, I need an answer,” he says, drawing impossibly more color to your face. Shifting, you bring your legs back into yourself and curl into a ball sitting up. George looks disapproving. He’s on the bed in front of you in moments.

“Are you shy, love?”

“I-I didn’t think you’d be home.”

“You don’t need to feel shy around me.” He punctuates his words with kisses to your skin, sending goosebumps across in ripples. “You’re wonderful. I love you. Walking in on you just now was one of the most incredible and sexy times I’ve ever experienced encountering you. If you want me to, I can help you finish.”

You smile bashfully. “Really?”

“It’d be rude of me not to,” he replies with a softer smile.

At your nod, George moves forward and crawls to meet his lips to yours. He’s soft and sweet, tasting like minty gum and going slow. He’s building you up just how you like, working from your lips to your jawline with his skilled ones, dotting your sensitive skin with love. He elicits a few more gasps of his name to his happiness. You melt into his firmer touch given in response.

As fast as his work began up top, George is quick to move to your more exposed bottom. Inching your legs apart and down where they were, he nestles in and presses a few delicate kisses to the inside of your thighs. Your hands find a home in his locks, slick with sweat from the game but still so beautiful to behold. He moans at the touch, and the feeling is wonderful against your skin. You take note to give them a few tugs before the night is over.

“Are you going to be loud for me, love?”

You smile, scratching his head for encouragement. “Depends. I was having a pretty good time before you came here. You’ve got to show me up.”

Something wicked flashes in George’s eye. “Challenge accepted.”

Barely a moment to breathe, George dives in on you, his tongue giving you one, grand lick that forces an involuntary moan out of you. Then, leaving you reeling, he sucks on your clit. The suction drives you wild. He is always so good at this. You wondered in the beginning of your relationship with him if he ever was taught how to properly give head because of his skill in doing so. You pictured Matty when they were young and naive teaching him on fruit while they both were high as hell, and even told Matty one time when he was high. It made him laugh so hard he nearly cried. When you told George about it, he laughed about as hard, but followed it up with a promise to show you next time he ate fruit. Needless to say, he went from eating fruit to eating you out faster than either of you expected.

In this moment, you are simply grateful he has these skills at all. You could not be happier to have him finish what you started, to take you to that ultimate high, because in the end, no amount of jazz or candles or skilled finger work can compare to the way he makes you feel. Nothing can beat the firm grasp he has on your thigh and waist, or the way he keeps you close even when the pleasure starts to build. Not even your favorite toy can beat out the way George’s tongue flicking and sucking your clit sends electricity through your body. He’s one of a kind. He could never be replaced.

“You gonna’ cum for me?” George asks, hearing your whines start to get more tense and high. His thumb rubs at your clit in his mouth’s absence, and you struggle to respond with the way it makes your head feel even more hazy.

“Cum for me, {Y/N}.”

Tensing up, your hips fighting against George’s other very firm hand at your waist, you cum with a drawn out moan, fierce at first and then tapering off as your high rippled through you. George’s mouth meets you as you come down, gently licking at your folds, bringing you down ever-so-tenderly. When your moans subside and your hips sink into the bed, George climbs up you to meet your lips. His kiss is salty, and you eagerly accept it.

“So, did I meet your challenge?”

Pulling away, you giggle and rub his back. “You fuckin’ crushed it. God, you are incredible.”

George smirks. “Better than your hand?”

“Of course you dumby,” you reply, pushing at his shoulder. “I’m glad you came home.”

Smiling, George nuzzles your face. “Yeah well, I’m glad I came home, too. Love you so much, {Y/N}.”

“I love you too, George. No matter where you are.”

[snatchmymira-blog]

fred weasley

reblog if u agree

[xharrypotterimagines]

GEORGE X READER (Yule ball struggles.)

There I stood. On the top of the stairs.. alone. Could my night get any worse? I think not. I still managed to clean up nicely, I mean.. who needs a man? Right? I can take care of myself, and dress up nicely just for me. I walked down the stairs looking for someone familiair. But sadly I couldn’t spot any of my friends. I didn’t want to spent my night mocking about some asshole of a boy, so I headed to the only place that was familiar to me. The only place in the room that felt save. The bar. I walked over there and sat down on the bar stool. “Two shots please.” Just to start the night ofcourse. “You are not old enough to drink yet.” The barman sneered. “Ethan, we all know that you have alcohol over there behind the bar. I know that for sure.” You looked at the group of teachers in the corner. Ethan raised his brow. “So let’s try it again. Ethan, can I have two shots please?” Ethan sighed. “Drink it fast, I can’t get caught.” You rolled your eyes. “Ofcourse I’m drinking it fast. It’s a fucking shot.” Ethan laughed. “You are quite sassy when your mocking over a boy.” You patted Ethan on his shoulder. “You know me to well, my drinking buddy.” He smiled at you and handed you the shots. You tilted the first shot, and the shot gave you a silly feeling. You drank the other shot very fast. “Brrr. How much alcohol is in here?” You whispered at Ethan. “Let’s just keep it on.. a lot.” You sighed. “Shit.” Ethan laughed. “Just give me a butter beer.” You sighed. “Aah, (y/n) I already thought I could find you at the bar.” George said behind you. You winked at him. “Where is your date? Before I steal you away ofcourse.” You said smirking. “You are dangerous for me (y/n). I’m with Angelina.” You sighed. “Damn.” George smirked at you. “Who is the lucky one who got to take you to the ball?” He said observing you very closely. “William was supposed to take me. But he fucking ditched me.” George gave you a thoughtful look. “He is an idiot to ditch you. I wish you went with me when I asked you.” He said with a bit of disappointment in his voice. “I really wanted to go with you, I wanted to go with you more that with William. But you didn’t ask me..” He held his hand out to you. You grabbed his hand and walked with him to the dance floor. “You look so beautiful.” His gaze at you made you blush. You brought your lips to his ear and whispered something in his ear. “You look very hot yourself.” Your voice made him shiffer a little. “That was hot.” He said, bringing his face closer to yours. You looked him deep in his eyes while laying both of your hands on his cheeks. George was the first one to give in. He kissed you passionately, he kissed you like you had never been kissed before. “George Jesus?!” George jumped up and turned around to face Angelina. “You slut! You are stealing my man!” Angelina screamed at you. “I’m so sorry Angelina, I don’t want to seem like an asshole.” Angelina slapped him across the face. “You certainly do! Fucking playboy!” George laughed a little while rubbing with his hand over his cheek where he just got slapped. “I love (Y/n) I just can’t hold my feelings back.” Angelina turned around crying.

“That was harsh..” you said whispering. “I feel like such an asshole.” He said sadly. “Do you really love me..?” George smiled. “Yes, since the first time YOU flirted with me.” You snorted. “You flirted with me!” George grabbed both of your hands. “Yes. I definitely flirted with you. Beautiful.”

[romanczukowsky]

Something Worth Remembering

Pairing: FGeorge Weasley x fem!reader

Summary: From quiet study sessions to stolen touches under the summer sun, Y/N and George discover that sometimes the best lessons happen far away from textbooks — and that love can bloom right alongside desire

Warning: Explicit content / Smut / Detailed sexual content / suggestive themes/ light public intimacy /One shot

The warm air on the meadow wrapped around us softly, and the wind gently swayed the branches of the old tree.

We sat on the grass, a book about herbs open in front of me, but my mind was wandering elsewhere. George sat beside me, wearing an impatient smile that promised nothing scientific.

“Repeat to me once more what you said about nettle,” he murmured, leaning closer until I felt his breath on my neck.

“It’s used for… treating inflammations,” I answered uncertainly, trying to focus.

“And then?” — his voice lowered into a quiet whisper, sliding over my ear. “Maybe it’s good for other, much more pleasant ailments?”

I shivered, trying to ignore how his fingers lightly touched my shoulder, slowly moving down until I felt their warmth under the sleeve of my dress.

“George!” I gasped, half-smiling, though my heart was pounding wildly.

He just grinned wider, like he’d just won some bet. His hand slid gently along my side as he leaned closer, weaving his fingers through the hair that fell over my shoulders.

“Come on, tell me more about it,” he whispered, his voice lower, filled with the promise of playful mischief. “How does it work? Is it as effective as the other herbs?”

I felt warmth spreading through my whole body, his breath caressing the skin of my ear as he spoke. I tried not to laugh, though I wanted to pull him into my arms and shout how much he annoyed me — and yet how much I wanted him.

“Maybe it would help you remember better?” he murmured, slowly moving his hand down until his fingers gently traced lines along my waist. “Or maybe… we could try it together? As a bonus?”

I looked him straight in the eyes, unsure if it was flirtation or an invitation to cross a line we’d never dared to cross before.

His fingers slid slowly beneath the fabric of my dress, tracing the curve of my waist with deliberate pressure. The warmth of his touch seeped through the thin material, igniting sparks along my skin. I swallowed hard, my breath hitching as his hand moved lower, grazing the sensitive spot just above my hip.

“Tell me, does the nettle’s sting teach you anything about pain... or pleasure?” His voice was low, teasing, his lips barely brushing the shell of my ear.

I shivered, trying to stay focused, but his fingers were relentless — slipping over the smooth skin beneath my dress, mapping every inch with confident, possessive strokes. The book forgotten, the world narrowing down to the heat between us and the whispered promises in his breath.

“George...” I breathed, half warning, half invitation.

He smiled against my skin, a slow, satisfied grin, before pressing closer, his hand daring to explore further, as if testing boundaries neither of us wanted to acknowledge out loud — but both were craving.

His fingers curved with more confidence, sliding higher under the fabric, teasing the sensitive skin just beneath. A slow, electric shiver ran through me, breath catching as his touch grew bolder. I pressed back instinctively, craving more even as my thoughts scrambled to keep control.

“Let go,” he murmured against my ear, voice thick with promise and something like a challenge. “Just trust me.”

I felt the heat pooling deep inside, the world shrinking until it was only the two of us—his hand, my skin, and the quiet rhythm of our breaths mingling in the warm air.

When my body finally tensed, the wave breaking free like a secret finally told, he held me steady, his touch grounding and sure.

“See?” he whispered softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. “You’re more than ready. You’ve got this.”

A slow smile spread across my lips, the nervous knot inside unwinding. With him, I wasn’t just studying herbs or memorizing facts—I was learning how to trust, how to surrender, and maybe, just maybe, how to let myself feel alive.

The day of the exam came faster than I expected. I was already sitting at my desk, in a room full of whispers and nervous glances from other test-takers. My heart was pounding in my chest, and my hands trembled slightly. Fear wrapped around me like an invisible rope, reminding me how much depended on this one day.

I closed my eyes for a moment and remembered his words: “You’re ready.” And then that warm touch — gentle fingers sliding over my skin, their calm, almost promising presence. That memory acted like a quiet balm, melting the fear away, warming me from within, and giving me strength.

I opened my eyes and looked at the exam paper in front of me. I took a deep breath, feeling like I could do this.

After the exam, I barely held back my excitement as I rushed out into the hallway. My heart was still racing, but now with pure joy.

And there he was — George, leaning against the wall, looking casual but somehow exactly what I needed.

I didn’t even think twice. I ran straight at him, throwing my arms around his waist and yelling, “I passed! I actually passed! We have to celebrate!”

His eyes lit up, and a slow grin spread across his face. “I knew you would,” he said softly, pulling me closer. “You’ve got this. You’re unstoppable.”

For a moment, everything else faded away — the stress, the doubt, the waiting. It was just us, caught in that perfect instant of victory and something more.

We decided to celebrate at the pub under the Three Brooms. The warm buzz of laughter and clinking glasses wrapped around us as we slid into a corner booth. George ordered two pints of beer — his eyes never leaving mine.

Around us, others who had struggled with the herbology exam gathered, some relieved, some still nervous about retakes. But George just leaned closer and said quietly, “You’re the best.”

His hand found its way to my thigh, resting there lightly, a quiet claim that made my pulse quicken. The hum of voices faded into the background as his fingers traced slow circles, steady and reassuring.

“Let’s forget about everything else tonight,” he whispered, his breath warm against my cheek. “You earned this.”

I felt the heat spread through me as his fingers stayed steady on my thigh, grounding me amid the buzz of the pub. I looked up at George, catching the spark in his eyes — that mix of pride and something more, something daring.

“Maybe we should make a habit of this,” I teased, my voice low. “Celebrating wins together.”

He grinned, leaning in closer so his lips brushed my ear. “Oh, I like the sound of that. Especially if it means I get to hold your hand — or more — a little longer each time.”

The music shifted to a slow tune, and for a moment, the world shrank to just us, the clatter of glasses and chatter fading behind the warmth between us. I felt bold, reckless even, and when his hand slid a bit higher, tracing teasing lines under my skirt, I didn’t pull away.

“George,” I breathed, half warning, half invitation.

He smiled, his fingers pausing as if asking permission, then nodded ever so slightly. “Tonight’s ours.”

We sank into that moment, a promise hanging in the air — from friends to something more, a quiet rebellion against the rules and worries of the world outside the pub’s doors.

Suddenly, one of our classmates nearby glanced over with a teasing smile. “Hey, are you alright? You’re looking a bit flushed—too much excitement or the heat?”

I glanced at George, who wore that mischievous grin that made my heart skip. Without missing a beat, he replied with a sly chuckle, “Definitely the beer’s doing its magic.”

His fingers, still resting gently beneath my skirt, slowly withdrew from under my underwear, leaving a warm, lingering touch that sent a shiver through me. Then, louder so everyone could hear, he added, “Maybe it’s time for some fresh air?”

I nodded silently, my cheeks still warm from the attention. George laughed softly, stood up, and offered me his hand. Together, we slipped out of the pub, leaving behind the buzz of conversation and curious glances.

The cool evening breeze welcomed us as we stepped outside, and I felt a thrilling mix of relief and anticipation. This was just the beginning.

Outside, the night air was cool and crisp, a welcome contrast to the warmth inside. George kept hold of my hand, his fingers interlaced with mine, grounding me in the moment. We walked slowly, the sound of our footsteps mingling with distant laughter from the pub.

He glanced down at me with that familiar spark in his eyes and whispered, “You really were incredible today. I knew you’d pass—no one studies like you do.” His thumb traced small circles on the back of my hand, sending a thrill through me.

I smiled, feeling the weight of all the stress and hours of studying melt away. “Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without your… ‘help’,” I teased, nudging him gently.

He laughed, pulling me a little closer. “Anytime.”

George led me down a narrow alley just off the main street, shadows wrapping around us like a velvet curtain. He pressed me gently against the cool brick wall, his body close enough that I could feel every heartbeat.

“It’s thrilling,” he whispered, his lips brushing my ear, “when someone might catch us… when the risk makes everything sharper.”

I swallowed hard, my breath hitching, and nodded without hesitation. His hands slid under my dress, warm and insistent, tracing every curve as he leaned in closer.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he entered me, his eyes locking with mine—dark, hungry, and full of promise—while my hands found their way to his shoulders, holding on tight as the world around us blurred into a distant hum.

The tension between us thickened with every shallow breath. His hands roamed, gripping my waist firmly as he moved with a quiet urgency, the danger of being seen fueling a fire inside me.

His whispered words traced down my neck, “You’re incredible… just like I knew you’d be.”

I bit my lip, a mix of nerves and desire flooding through me. The thought that someone might stumble upon us only made the moment more electric.

He pressed deeper, slow and sure, his touch both demanding and tender, sending waves of heat rippling through my body. My fingers tangled in his hair as I clung to him, losing myself in the thrill of the hidden, the stolen.

Then, barely audible over the pounding of my heart, he promised, “You’ll pass every test… not just today.”

His pace slowed, more controlled now, drawing out every sensation until I was trembling against the wall, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan. His lips brushed my ear as he whispered, low and hoarse, “Let go for me.”

And I did — everything inside me unraveling, the world blurring into heat and quiet bliss. My fingers dug into his shoulders, my head tipping back as the waves crashed through me, leaving me breathless and barely standing.

“You love it,” he said smugly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear as we straightened up.

I fixed my skirt, heart still thudding, cheeks flushed. “You’re lucky I did pass. Or I’d be hexing you into next week.”

He wrapped an arm around my waist as we stepped out of the alley, the sun already dipping low.

“Then I guess we’ll have to celebrate again tonight,” he murmured, his grin wicked but soft at the same time.

I nudged him with my hip, half-laughing, still flushed. “This wasn’t celebrating?”

His wink made my stomach flip. “Just the warm-up.”

And somehow, I knew he meant it.