Harry Potter Imagines

Quiet Sundays G.W

Sundays were always slow at the Burrow. Molly and Arthur Weasley would make it a point to spend as much time away from home on the weekend, either window shopping at Diagon Alley or spending time outdoors. Ron and Ginny would occupy their time with their friends, going on new adventure to satisfy their boredom.

You would usually spend time with the Weasleys twins, having a laugh or playing aimless Muggle board games. However, this weekend was different. Everyone, except George and yourself, was out of the house.

You appreciated the quietness, taking advantage of the peaceful home. You lazily propped your legs over George's lap, watching him as he delved himself into a book. Although he would tease Hermione about her reading habits, he oftentimes enjoyed a good novel.

George seemed to notice your staring, glancing over at your figure with a soft smile. He tried to concentrate on his book before he closed it, placing it on the coffee table in front of him.

"Come here," he said quietly, motioning you to sit on his lap.

You gladly obliged, your arms going around his neck, your lips planting on his. He kissed you sweetly, his fingers twisting and twirling the tips of your hair, giggling slightly under his breath.

You continued to make out for what seemed like ages before George took hold of your waist, laying you gently down on the couch. He began to tickle and poke at your sides, making you giggle wildly, begging for him to stop.

"I love that sound," George said, kissing you neck. "Your laugh is my favorite noises in the world."

Your cheeks rose at his compliment, smiling up at your lover. "It's usually never this quiet," You whispered, his fingers stroking your cheek.

He nodded, smiling. "Well, I think we should fill up that eerie silence then, shouldn't we?"

George's large hands began to tug your shirt over your head, slowly undressing you. He left a trail of kisses and exposed skin, calling you beautiful and stunning. He always made sure that you were comfortable before advancing further on, believing that your consent was the most valuable thing.

George wasted no time in undressing himself, eager as your soft skin tempted his lust. Though the plush couch whit its tattered pillows and torn cloth was small and cramped, George made sure it was suitable enough for your liking. His actions were gentle as he stroked your pussy. whispering into your ear in a low, husky voice.

He devoured you in pet names as he pushed himself into you, a slow and sensual pace. He hiked you legs around his hips as he rocked into you, grunting into your neck. His body heat radiated off yours, the silence filling with soft moans and terms of endearment.

George knew how to please you, knowing how to make sex romantic far beyond belief. He tenderly caressed your breasts and lips, kissing each part he touched. He muttered under his breath that you were created from the finest things in Heaven, a gift bestowed upon him.

He was gentle yet dominate in his way of fucking you, always having to be on top to get the sight of your beauty underneath him. He only would pick up the pace when he knew he was going to cum, becoming dirtier with his words.

The quiet living room was now filled with shrieks and screams of pleasure, the both of you releasing yourselves to one another. George always took the liberty to lap up your mess, his ginger hair sticking up wildly as his head was was buried in between your thighs. His hot tongue soothed against your pulsing cunt, kissing your inner thighs, telling you that you were darling.

George always cleaned up the mess and would make you a cup of tea afterward, making sure your body wasn't sore or cramped from your position. He held you tight, kissing your fore head, telling you that he was in love with you.