silly idea that I had here but George x reader who is the opposite of him? Like, he's spiritual and all and she's atheist, he likes gardening and she likes.... eletronic stuff idk, he's quiet and she's extrovert etc
George with a s/o who’s the opposite of him.
«pairings» george harrison x gn!reader
«note» Hi! Thank you for the request! I’ll be honest, I’m not truly happy with how this came out but I hope you enjoy. (And sorry it took so long 👀) I also think I leaned a little too heavy into the “quiet Beatle” stereotype on this….
Realistically nothing about the two of you should work, but it does. People say opposites attract, and well… they weren’t wrong.
He fiddles around in the garden, dirt under his nails, and you’re at the table inside, a broken apart record player screwdriver in hand.
He comes inside at sunset, you can see it on his face, he’s so confused.
“Table wasn’t spinning right, needed a new belt and some grease and while I’m in here I’m re-soldering some stuff to be safe.”
You spent 5 minutes explaining what you’re doing, pointing to parts on the table, he’s lost.
“Is that all you’ve got to say?”
“I don’t understand a bloody word of what you were explaining love.”
But he looks at the pieces and your project the same way he stares at his own garden, quiet, interested, he’s standing behind you with his hands resting on your shoulders.
The same way you’ll accompany him out to the garden sometimes, you don’t understand his hobby or how he enjoys it as endlessly as he does, but you still try to learn.
The two of you argue endlessly about beliefs constantly. Not any serious arguments but debates.In the end, none of it’s super serious, you both are just glad each other has something they believe and find comfort in.
Despite all your differences, it balances out well.
George worries too much sometimes, you don’t worry enough.
You move too fast, he’s usually the one slowing you down, and he’s surprisingly good at getting you to without it feeling like he’s telling you what to do.
You’ll have been working on something for hours, forgot to eat, forgot to take a break, forgot that other people exist. Then there’s a hand on your shoulder, “Come outside with me.”
You always tell him you're busy, you’re almost done, or you’re in the middle of something.
Somehow you always end up outside with him in the garden.
You know about half the plants, you probably never will, but still he’ll point at something, “Look.”
“It’s a Himalayan blue poppy, but it just opened today.”
You stare at him, then the flower, then back at him, it was still just a flower.
But standing there with him, feeling the sun, listening to him talk quietly about whatever’s growing this week, you can feel your brain starting to slow down.
George doesn’t want to change anything about you. He loves your energy, your excitement, your speed, your passion, but he also knows that you’ll burn out if somebody doesn’t occasionally pull your brakes. He’s somebody.
George likes listening to you and you like talking to George. It’s probably the most compatible part of the whole relationship.
But he’s sarcastic with you.
“God, this lady, she was awful George!”
You probably sat there and complained for about 10 minutes, “And then she had the nerve to tell me I talk too much.”
George hums, sipping his tea, “Terrible,”
“Couldn’t possibly imagine where they got that idea.”
You stare at him, and he smiles into his tea.
He doesn’t mean it, he never does, you know that.
None of it should work, but it does.
