imagine that | harry potter imagines

I'm in Love With You | George Weasley x Fem!Reader

I'm in Love With You

Request: Okay idk if you'd be up to it but I'm currently obsessed w the song by Christian Leave and so I was thinking a George weasley x reader fic inspired by/based off of/same kinda vibe imagine. Do you understand that lol I feel like I said it in a confusing way, crossing my fingers that you're pickin up what I'm putting down. Lol ily bye. ~ anon

Warning: angsty (but fluff I promise this time), self-doubt etc...

Authors note: this is a cliché, but it's one you can pry from my cold dead hands

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George has never been a huge fan of silence, it's not something he's ever been used to, growing up in a house full of the constant noise of familial ruckus, and so weekends without Fred such as this are something that's always made him feel ever so slightly uneasy, listening only to the repetitive patter of rain on the windows and static whirring of a record he's gotten too distracted to flip spinning idly in the corner.

The creak of his bedroom door opening is a welcome sound, followed by the gentle shuffle of light footsteps along the corridor before she appears before him, a much healthier and warmer version of herself, nothing like the teary-eyed (Y/N) (Y/L/N) he pulled from his doorstep and out of the rain only ten minutes previous.

"Hey." She gives a sheepish wave.

Years as best friends should prepare him for the sight of her in his clothes, borrowed jumpers and stolen socks such a pivotal part of their friendship back in Hogwarts that he shouldn't be startled by how gorgeous she looks in them, but he always is.

"Hey." He manages a kind smile. "Any warmer?"

The subtle drop of her gaze to the floor warns him that she's about to tell him a white-lie and his eyes cling to the way her hands still tremble with the cold. Then, just as he's predicted, she gives him an unconvincing 'yep'.

It wasn't how he was expecting his evening to go, he'd already surrender himself to an evening spent on the couch listening to his favourite songs when there was a knock on his door. The time and weather instantly led him to the assumption of bad news, and for all the outlandish theories and anxious assumptions he concocted on his way to the door, none involved his rain-soaked best friend shivering on his door step.

A sputtered apology was all she managed before he pulled her into his flat in a protective panic, fetching her a towel instantly and setting out a change of clothes with no request of an explanation for her visit, promising himself only to ask once he's sure she doesn't have hypothermia.

He's still not one hundred percent on that part, giving her a knowing look as he crosses the space between them to push a cup of warm tea between her frozen fingers. Her shoulders slump in relief at the heat finding her hands, giving him a sheepish, but grateful smile.

"Now I'm warmer." She assures honestly. "Thank you, Georgie."

"Figured that might help." He smiles gently. "Livingroom?"

She nods, mimicking his steps subconsciously as he follows him to from the kitchen to the sofa in the living room, pulling her knees up to her chest and cradling the mug on top of them as he takes a seat on the opposite end of the worn sofa with his legs stretched out across the cushions

She twiddles with the handle of her mug atop her knees, deep in thought as the room falls into silence. Silence with her is the only type George has ever found comforting, the reminder of afternoons spent in the Gryffindor common room, listening only the sound her flipping pages of her book and the crackling of the fire.