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ickle-ronniekins · 4 years

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temptations

request from nonnie!! “Hi! I loveeee your writing, you’re absolutely amazing! I had a dream recently that i was hoping I could request?? A Georgexreader where they’re dating and the readers love language is touch & affection. Then one day she overhears George saying how irresistible she must find him or something obnoxious like that? So for revenge she completely stops touching him and showing any affection. Maybe a frustrated George in result??? Or something similar? :) Thank you!!”

pairing: george x gryffindor!reader

word count: 3.4k

A/N: this was such an adorable request and one i very much enjoyed writing; i don’t believe i've ever had a request like this one so i was very excited to write it! i didn’t mean for it to be so ~thirsty~ but shoutout to my discord babes -- the thirstiest chat of all has resulted in this story, so thank you! hope you guys enjoy, please leave feedback and reblog if you so please x

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @waschbiber @dreamer821 @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @parker-potters | message me to be added, loves

Being George Weasley’s girlfriend came with loads of things you couldn’t seem to get enough of -- endless laughter, playful teasing, witty banter, consistent hugging. Snogging. Cuddling. Mostly in private, of course, so as not to annoy those around you with your PDA. But there were always small, shared kisses in the corridors, tight embraces after Quidditch matches. Your fingers would interlock with his during feasts, or you’d place your head on his shoulder in the common room. But you tried to save most of this for just the two of you. So the second you were alone, it was pretty difficult to keep your hands off of one another.

Fred was always calling you an “old, married couple”.

But you wondered now, as George slipped his hands under your shirt, spread his hands out against your ribcage, and moaned against your mouth, if old married couples acted like this.

“Love?”

“Mhmm?” you mumbled, barely breaking from him, not even giving him a chance to speak. You locked your arms around his neck and tightened your embrace. He just laughed against you and ran his hands delicately against your skin. It was almost immediate that goosebumps had appeared.

It wasn’t always like this, though. Not in the beginning, at least. You hardly let yourself even hold his hand, worried that you wouldn’t be able to control yourself. You were embarrassed by just how much you craved his touch -- whether it was just his fingers intertwined with yours, or something a little more -- the intensity of your feelings terrified you. You found yourself jolting awake in the middle of the night and swinging your arms to the other side of your bed, only to be disappointed when you realized, in your groggy state, that he was across the common room and not in the bed next to you, with his limbs entangled with yours.

You restricted yourself from feeling too much. What would he say? You didn’t want to scare him. You didn’t want to come off as one of those people, give yourself a bad rep before even really having been able to create one. You also, if you were being honest, found yourself to be a bit worried that if you immediately handed yourself over to him, George would take it, and leave.

But even all this time later, George had proven himself to be a gentleman, and you scolded yourself for ever thinking he could’ve been anything different than exactly that.

He pulled away from you now, squeezing your hips and checking his watch. “We’re going to be late,” he said flatly.

You frowned. “You’re absolutely sure we’ve got to meet Lee in Hogsmeade? Now?”

He laughed at you and began to button the top of his shirt. “Unfortunately, and I mean that truly, darling -- yes, I’m sure we’ve got to meet Lee in Hogsmeade, considering I’ve canceled on him the last three times.”

You groaned. You and George hadn’t really had a ton of alone time the last few weeks, as your studying had increased and your homework piles began to resemble that of mountains -- plus, with excitement of their shop soon opening up, George was busy with Fred, putting the final touches on every single one of their products. It was sheer luck when you both were able to find even five minutes to spend together.

George noticed the change in your expression as you thought on this; he pressed another gentle kiss to your lips and then one to your temple. “Promise to make it up to you later tonight,”

“I’m holding you to that, you know.”

“And if I disobey?”

The words alone set you aflame, but you resisted the very strong urge to pull him back into you. A comment like that would normally send you into a complete and dizzying overdrive. He knew it, too -- the sensual smirk that appeared ever so slightly on his lips told you exactly what he was thinking.

You swatted him playfully with your hand. “Oh shut up, Weasley.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ugh,” you groaned again while he fell into a bit of laughter. He was always acting like a git. You supposed it was a good thing that he was so cute. You pushed him away from you and jumped off of your bed in the desolate girls’ dormitory. The tension was still hanging in the air; next to you, fixing his tie as if he were off to a business meeting, George just shrugged gently, playing off the entire exchange. You rolled your eyes, “If you’re going to be a prat, then you at least owe me a drink.”

-- -

“Mate, I’m telling you, I must be irresistible to her or something.”

His voice was relaxed, smooth. You stopped dead in your tracks right outside the empty Transfiguration classroom, where Fred and George were both fiddling with their inventions. You wanted to surprise George right after you finished your lesson -- you were dying to get some alone time with him, especially after having spent your disaster of an afternoon in those dreary dungeons with Professor Snape, who’d scolded you due to your potion, which he’d deemed ‘mediocre at best’. But instead, you stopped where you were, leaned closer to the door, and listened.

“Oh yeah?” You could practically hear the smirk that was, no doubt, growing on Fred’s face. He continued with a laugh, “How so? Y/N yanking you into broom cupboards more often than not?”

By the tone of George’s voice, you could imagine exactly how this exchange must have looked: Fred, eyebrows raised and lips formed in a thin smirk as he waited for more information; George, chest puffed and arms folded across it, his air of confidence engulfing the room entirely. “I’m not that much of a prat. Some things I’ve got to keep to myself, haven’t I?” At least he’s being smart, you thought. You appreciated that he at least wasn’t divulging the very intimate details of your relationship to his brother. “All I’ll say is that she can’t keep her hands off of me.”

Both boys ended up snickering like two young kids. You knew it was harmless; they were two of the most genuine blokes you knew -- they meant nothing of it. It was all innocent. But still, you found yourself feeling a bit embarrassed. Your entire body suddenly felt very hot, and not in the way it felt when you were alone with your boyfriend. Was George really going to be that self-righteous? Well, you’d show him, wouldn’t you?

Instead of turning inside the classroom to greet your best mates like you’d planned, you turned on your heel and headed quickly in the direction of your common room, hellbent on making the next few days of George’s life ones he’d certainly never forget.

-- -

You felt different. Strange. Exposed, even. But you reckoned it was worth it if it taught your silly boyfriend a lesson he desperately needed to learn.

You slid yourself next to him on the bench in the Great Hall, but he didn’t look up from his parchment right away, and you didn’t prompt him too. Instead, he finished scribbling something on a bit of parchment, smirked and said, “There’s my favorite girl. How’s your morning?”

You began to pour yourself a bit of tea and mumbled, “Just fine.”

When he looked up, his eyes immediately widened at the sight of you. It was rude of you to do what you were doing, you knew that, but he deserved it after what he said. He deserved it after acting like a git.

You didn’t meet his gaze, but you were quite certain he was eyeing you up and down, something you were used to since you began dating him. But this, you dressing this way -- this was blatant. This was done purposefully. So to feel his eyes wash over you in this moment felt sort of fraudulent. He immediately began to snake his fingers around your waist. “Well good morning to you, too.”

You shrugged him off and giggled slightly. You knew it would work. You knew it as soon as you’d looked at yourself in the mirror this morning -- the exposed strap of your bright red, lace bralette, the tight knot you’d tied at the bottom of your shirt to expose a bit of your skin at your hipline, just above the top of your skirt -- it was just enough to keep you from going too over-the-top and getting into any type of trouble, but enough to get his attention. Enough to make him sweat.

“George, we’re in public!”

“You’re the one who dressed like you want me to rip it all off of you right now.”

“Our professors are literally sat at the other end of the hall. You do know this, yes?”

After you’d wriggled free of his grasp, he figured he’d try something different -- he leant in, pushed a piece of hair behind your ear, and tried to press his lips to your neck, but stopped just before he did so.

“Bloody hell, woman, are you joking? What are you wearing?”

You shrugged casually, as if it didn’t really matter. “Angelina and Katie bought me this perfume for my birthday. Haven’t ever really worn it before. You like it?”

He scoffed a bit, and you knew you had him wrapped around your finger. It was clearly evident in the way he breathed so heavily into your ear. “Like it? Yeah, darling, you could say that,”

Of course he did. He was mad for it. You had worn it once before, actually, on your fourth date. Things had seemed to escalate a bit quickly that evening. You’d then pocketed this perfume for moments when you’d really need it. Today seemed as good a day as any.

“Anyway,” you breathed, grabbing a piece of toast to-go, “have got to run. Want to get there early for my Dark Arts lesson. Meet up with you later?”

You stood up from your spot and swung your bag across your shoulder; George grabbed your wrist gently and pulled you closer to him. “Mmm, think we can sneak away for a bit?”

“You’re sweet,” you replied, bringing a hand to his cheek and stroking his jawline swiftly with your thumb, “but I don’t think so. Have got loads of assignments I’ve to finish tonight -- plus, you and Freddie have to continue working on your products, yeah?”

You turned on your heel and marched out of the hall -- and just as you expected, he was right on your tail. Once you were out in the corridor, George grabbed your hand and twirled you around, a pained expression on his face. Bingo. “What d’you mean ‘I don’t think so’?” He brought his hands to your cheeks and gently caressed your jawline. He teased, “Aren’t getting sick of me, are you?”

Ugh. You were using every ounce of your willpower not to pull him into you; once again, the craving that overtook you felt incredibly intense. You forced yourself to slowly guide yourself away from him. “Sick of you? Of course not, love. I’ve just been thinking -- I’ve been so busy being all over you lately --” you smirked at how rigid his body went at these words, and you continued on sweetly, “--I’ve realized that I really do need to get a handle on some of my assignments, you know? Have got to get my hands off of you at some point, or another.”

You noticed his jaw clench. “Ah -- I see what this is. Heard me and Freddie chatting the other day, did you?” He threw his hands up in surrender, “Alright, I’m a right git, shouldn’t have said it -- I’m sorry, and I love you. Now can I please kiss my girlfriend?”

Just as he leant in, the bell rang out, signaling five minutes until the start of the first lesson. George groaned very audibly, earning himself looks from passersby. He threw his hands into his pockets and leant against the wall, looking grouchy. You giggled to yourself and pulled your cardigan tighter around your shoulders. “You don’t need to apologize.” You inched closer toward him, ran a hand through his bright red hair, and whispered, just barely grazing his lips, “I love you, too.”

And you swept yourself down the corridor and into your Dark Arts classroom without an embrace, without a snog, without anything, and you were most certain (and proud) that you’d left the most cheeky boy in the entire school completely and utterly breathless.

-- -

It had only been six hours since George was knocked off balance at the sight of you -- but without the hand holding, the embraces, the kisses against your skin -- to him, it felt like bloody weeks.

He supposed, as he watched you practice non-verbal spells and earn yourself tons of praise from Professor Flitwick, that he probably shouldn’t have said what he’d said to his brother. He was just teasing, anyway. He knew he didn’t hurt your feelings -- you had thick skin, thicker than him, even. But apparently he’d poked you enough that you now wanted to poke back, and he was paying the price for it.

When he tried on his own to work on some non-verbal spells and failed miserably, Fred began to laugh quite haughtily. “Not feeling frustrated, are we, George?”

George knew what he meant -- not frustrated about spells, of course. But about other things. He hadn’t realized how much he craved your touch, too, until he couldn’t have it. Until you began withholding it just this morning. He wondered how long he could really last. He found himself getting lost in his thoughts, and his mind almost always wandered to his dormitory, you pinned beneath him giggling like mad, him pressing kisses to your neck. The temptation circulating through his veins was strong. He really needed to snap the hell out of it.

Fred, still laughing, groaned in pain after earning himself a nice elbow jab to the ribs from George.

But it wasn’t just the snogging, or being alone with you with his hands wound tightly around your waist. He missed the small things, like being able to hold your hand in the corridors, gently placing his fingers on the small of your back to guide and steady you through the portrait hole, being able to run his hands through your hair when he was sat next to you during lessons. He missed all of that, and it hadn’t even been one bloody day!

You’d said something to him when you’d first started dating, something about love languages. He didn’t really know much about it, but he found himself becoming incredibly intrigued when you’d begun explaining it. You’d been perched against a tree near the Black Lake, practicing simple Charms as you’d studied for your upcoming exams.

“Sorry -- a what?”

“Your love language,” you’d said casually, adjusting yourself in his arms. You’d explained to him that each person’s love language was what they craved most in a relationship. George didn’t really know his, but he’d been excited to find out. You told him yours was touch and affirmation.

“Oh,” he’d laughed, beginning to tickle you near your stomach, “you mean like this?”

You’d both spent the rest of the afternoon on the grounds, discussing things and snuggling closer together. That was the very first time Fred had referred to you both as an old, married couple. George never let on to how very much he enjoyed that. It was then decided, after much conversation, that George’s top love language seemed to be words of affirmation. Or, so he thought.

But now, leaving Charms, as you wiggled your fingers at him and fled down the opposite end of the corridor to your next lesson, he reckoned he was probably wrong.

Maybe his love language was physical touch, too.

-- -

You were struggling to make it through the week, to say the least. Dramatic, yes, but true. You couldn’t believe this bloody plan of yours -- you should’ve just ignored the comment and carried on as usual, because you today’s lessons felt like an entire month’s worth.

Hopefully George would learn his lesson soon, so you could tug him away and snog him for hours again without him making some silly, childish comment.

Apparently, he was feeling the same way, because at the end of the day, you found him poring over a bit of parchment in the common room, looking positively woebegone.

You two hadn’t embraced, kissed, held hands or anything of the like in nearly seven days. To say you were both going mad was a severe understatement.

He pulled at his hair, looking incredibly frustrated. But his facial expression softened when he looked up and saw you -- his eyes lightened and his face flushed pink, and his smile was relatively bright for someone who looked absolutely exhausted.

“Hi,” he said, not getting up from the armchair.

“Hi,” you echoed him, taking a place on the couch across from him.

The whole layout of the scene was rather dramatic.

“How were the rest of your lessons?”

“Just fine. And yours?”

You were both making silly, stupid small talk, but it was obvious to you both (and the world) that all you wanted to do was kiss one another. Which was normal, wasn’t it? And what was more worth it, you thought -- that, or your bloody pride?

“This is killing me, you know.”

You crossed your arms and smirked at him. He flung his parchment onto the table and made his way toward you. He placed himself down next to you -- not close enough to touch, but closer than you’d both been all day. He let his head fall back dramatically onto the couch and grinned at you. “Glad you’re learning your lesson.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t miss it.”

“Dunno,” you said sarcastically, fiddling with the edge of your skirt, “maybe you’re not as irresistible as you think.”

He groaned and rolled his eyes. He inched closer to you, though. “That’s mean.”

“Maybe it’s what you deserve.”

An evil sort of smirk tugged at the edges of your lips, and he playfully went to poke you in your ribcage, but stopped himself. You both laughed a bit, and he took a deep breath, and started. “I was a git.”

“Yeah,” you replied flatly, “but, to make it up to me, you’ve now got to endure massive amounts of teasing in the foreseeable future.”

Slowly, trying to read your expression, he reached out and began running his pointer finger along the arm of your cardigan -- the most touch you two had seen in days. It sent a spark through your entire body. Again, dramatic, but truthful. He let his hand fall next to yours, both of your pinky fingers touching ever so slightly. “You know,” he began, tracing light circles on your hand, “you’re pretty irresistible, too. Even without all of this going on.” You knew what he meant. The bralette strap, the exposed skin, the lipstick you’d been putting on, the perfume you’d been wearing. The withholding of everything he so desired. “I love you just the way you are.”

His voice had never sounded genuine, and you allowed yourself to gently jab him in the stomach, earning yourself laughs from him. “Wow, Georgie, going soft on me? That was the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He frowned at you dramatically.

“Told you -- teasing in the foreseeable future. ‘m going to take what I can get, love.”

You guessed that he took your sweet smile as an opening, because he reached out and ran a hand through your hair. “Can I bloody kiss you now?”

A sigh of relief escaped the both of you. “Yes,” you said, leaning in. But before his lips touched yours, you pulled away, bit your bottom lip, and wiggled your eyebrows at him. “Irresistible, huh?”

“Never going to hear the end of that one, am I?”

“Nope.”

You felt revitalized when he pressed his lips to yours; sure, it had only been a week or so, but a week too bloody long. You loved the feeling of his hands wound around the back of your neck, the way your fingers danced delicately on his chest or in his hair. How you two had managed this long was beyond you, but you were glad this was over.

Just then, Fred and a few others hopped through the portrait hole and waved to the two of you. Fred noticed how close together you were, rolled his eyes teasingly, and called, “There’s the old, married couple. Things back to normal now, I reckon?”

George swiped his thumb across your cheek and pulled you into him. But you had other ideas. Cheekily, you winked at your boyfriend and called to your best mate, “Oi, Freddie! You’ll never guess what George just said about me.”

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