harry potter imagines

george weasley x reader: sweet and salty

george weasley x reader

requested by my urge to have a george weasley in my life: "soft george pls and with fluffy vibes that you want for yourself."

words: 1551

warnings: so much fluff- like suffocating fluffy in the best way

author's note: i think i am starting to writing slightly longer fics, which is both confusing and exciting. i wrote this when i was listening to wallflower by mxmtoon, so i guess it's inspired by that? she has so many good bops, though, so can you blame me? anyway, as always, let me know how you felt about this one... i feel like their was more prose than normal. idk it felt different writing this, so let me know what you think - gracie ♡♡

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You were always on the outside as a kid, looking in and watching the world go on around you. At first, it frustrated you- after all, you were just a kid, and you couldn't explain the strange occurrences that seemed to follow you like a lost puppy. Then, one day, you found the art in being the only person who could stand in a room, and no one would notice.

Your grandma, who raised you with a careful eye and love, said that you were simply the prettiest wallflower in a garden of plastic peonies. You never understood what she meant, but it always made you laugh and feel better. She had that sort of magic to her, and when you turned eleven, you found out you had that same magic.

Hogwarts, honestly, wasn't much of a difference from your small muggle town outside of Reading. A part of you wanted to feel disappointed, but you were mostly overcome with relief. Perhaps it was your grandma's words that had finally gotten to you or your fear of suddenly having to be like the kids you watched for so long, but you were glad you could still be in the background unnoticed.

Then, as if someone flipped a switch, you were noticed by a lanky ginger boy with a knack for trouble.

"Hello, and how is my favorite introvert today? Look what I brought you," George greeted, dropping an inactivated dung bomb in your lap. "Figured it's about time we do something I like to do."

You shook her head, partially amused and disconcerted. "I don't know what you mean- we always do something you like to do. I can't think of a single time you've hung around me and just sat in silence."

"Please, y/n, you've got to drop the act. We both know that you love talking with me," George grinned, joining you in a small alcove off of the main corridor. "Not that you do much of that talking anyway- I think you know everything about me, and all I know about you is your house and your name."

You shrugged, hoping it was enough of a response to his statement. It had been a year since George Weasley seemed to have randomly stumbled upon you, and what he said was true. You were always the listener and never the storyteller. You had told him you preferred it that way because he was such an animated talker, which wasn't wrong, but there was also the hesitation that kept you from telling him too much.

"Come on, love, tell me about your family, about your hopes for the future, and well, about everything else," George urged, casually tossing his arm over your shoulder. Despite the heart-warming and butterfly-inducing gesture, you instead just offered the ginger a smile.

"Or," you started, softly, " you could tell me about Fred again- you know I like hearing about your childhood."

George grinned lopsidedly, something that made your face flush and your heart race. "You can't change the subject on me," George teased, bringing his hand to your head and brushing a loose lock of hair. "If you aren't going to tell me about yourself, then can you at least tell me a story?"