#I DECIDED I LIKED. DIAGONAL ANGEL BETTER !!!
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Take My Time - Spencer Reid
CW: SMUT 18+ ,,,,,, mentions of drugs/addiction struggles, canon adjacent violence, angry spencer, oral (fem+male receiving), fingering, pet names (sunshine), degrading name-calling (whore, slut etc.), rough sex, semi public sex, unprotected sex (piv), slight choking, spencer does aftercare<3
word count: 2514
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You and Spencer never really got along. You were aware of what Spencer had been through, his struggles with Dilaudid, but that never excused his shitty behaviour towards you. You were a sweet individual, forever smiling and ensuring your team were okay. Whether it was small check ins or leaving pick me ups at their desks, you were their sunshine. Spencer on the other hand, hated that about you. He couldn't stop hating how you could still smile like nothing happened and how you could forget so easily. Why couldn't he stop hurting for one moment and just forget?
"Hey Sunshine, you okay?" Derek asked, slouching in his chair at his desk that was right next to yours. You turned around with a smile on your face, despite the obvious exhaustion.
"I'd be a lot better if I wasn't woken up at 4am for a case, but y'know.... shit happens." You chuckled. Derek laughed, scooting his chair closer. Emily joined your duo, rubbing her eyes.
"I hate early mornings." She grumbled .
"Yeah, we know. You're a woman of the night." You joked, narrowly escaping the smack Emily aimed for your head. Spencer scoffed as he walked past. Your eyes followed the man for a moment before you turned back to the other two. "Guess we better get up there and see what our case is." She grabbed her go back, heading up into the conference room where JJ and Hotch were waiting.
**
"Three victims, two male, one female. All three died due to asphyxiation, hands and feet tied." JJ said, flicking through her slideshow of photos. You stifled a yawn, rubbing your eyes as you listened to her talk. At some point you could feel a pair of eyes on you. When you turned your head, Spencer was staring at you with a scowl on his face. You stared back at him, your eyes boring into his, the tension thick between you two. You could cut it with a knife.
"Wheels up in thirty." Hotch said and stood up. It took you a moment to register what Hotch had said and to draw your gaze from Spencer, but when you did, you grabbed your bag and left the room, desperate to get away from the man who had stared you down for the majority of the meeting.
**
The plane was silent when you got on it. Everyone decided to take a power nap before hand, exhausted from being woken up so early. You sat up, flicking through the case file, Spencer sat in the seat diagonal to you. Once again, you could feel his stare but you were too focused on the case. You could see him squirming in your peripheral vision, eyes locked on you. You sighed deeply, closing the case file and putting it on the table in front of you. "What is you issue, Reid?"
Spencer scoffed out a quiet laugh, not wanting to wake the rest of the team. "My issue? What is yours?" You rolled your eyes. Of course he would try turning this back on you.
"You're the one that's been staring me down like I'm some sort of prey. So either you have some sort of weird obsessive crush on me or you just have a staring problem." You spat out quietly. You were sick of being on the receiving end of Spencer's hostility. His face contorted into one of disgust.
"You're not right in the head. You have this fake facade that everyone falls for. You're the not smiley, happy, angel everyone thinks you are." He said. "You just hide behind a smile because you think it'll help you progress in this industry."
"It's flattering that you think I'm gonna get promoted on just my smile alone, but I am actually smart, Spencer, believe it or not. Just because you have a 187 IQ doesn't mean you're the only person with brains." You stood up, walking away. He boiled you blood sometimes. You opened the door to the plane bathroom, planning on hiding out in there for a bit. A body was suddenly pressed up against yours, a hand pressing to your mouth that immediately muffled the squeal that escaped your lips. The bathroom door was shut as you were pushed into the bathroom, the body still pressed up against yours.
"If you really had brains, Sunshine, you would stop running that pretty little mouth of yours." Spencer spoke lowly in your ear, manhandling you to turn you to face him. You didn't get a moment to register anything; Spencer pressed his lips roughly to yours. You wish you were able to say that your first kiss with Spencer was a pleasant, romantic experience, but this kiss was angry, hateful and the entire thing was full of clashing teeth and invasive tongue. Spencer pressed your body against the wall, hands gripping your waist hard enough to leave a bruise. Your hands travelled up to his head, tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat and hear it drumming in your ears. You pull away for a second, heavy breathing filling the small bathroom. You looked up at Spencer through your eyelashes and he looked back down at yours, nothing but rage and lust clouding them.
"Who knew the innocent ray of Sunshine could be such a whore, hm?" Spencer chuckled, looking down at the you as you deeply inhaled and exhaled. You face scrunched up and you coughed up a scoff.
"Fuck you." The words were like venom on your tongue but was almost a plead.
"Get on your fucking knees and open your filthy mouth." He shoved you down. You obliged, sinking to your knees, becoming eye level with the bulge that was constricted by his work pants. His nimble fingers work to undo his belt, shoving his trousers down to his ankles, his boxers following quickly after. His cock was considerably larger than you expected, veins running from the base up his shaft to the angry, red tip that was already leaking pre-cum. Spencer looked down at you, one hand tangling in your hair, the other guiding his cock to your lips. He rubbed the tip against your lips, smearing the salty liquid on you. "Open up." He tapped his tip against your lips again before you parting your lips and wrapped them around him, letting Spencer push himself further into your mouth. A small groan escaped his lips as he pushed his dick into your mouth, trying to keep quiet. You breathed through your nose, relaxing to try not to gag and choke on his length. "That's it, dirty girl." He slowly thrust his hips, letting the you hollow out you cheeks for him. Despite your current burning dislike for the man, you didn't hate the way he tasted, you could suck him off until he's begging for you to stop.
He pulled his dick from your mouth, grabbing your arm and yanking you up. He sunk to his knees, pushing you up against the wall, grabbing your exposed thighs, uncovered by the skirt you wore. You shuddered as he pushed the fabric up your legs, trailing sloppy kissed on the exposed skin, pushing your legs further apart. "Spencer..." You gasped. He looked up at you, smirking.
"You gotta keep quiet, otherwise you'll wake everyone." He said before his attention turned back to you. He lifted one of your legs, putting it on his shoulder to give him better access to your dripping cunt. He chuckled, running his fingertip along the edge of your soaked panties, teasing. "God, do you hate me? Are you sure you're mad at me? Because your pretty little pussy is telling me otherwise." He pressed his thumb to your clothed clit, eliciting a quiet moan from your parted lips. "You are just a slut, aren't you Sunshine... you're a desperate little slut." He moved his thumb ever so slightly to create the smallest bit of friction. Your hips jerked slightly, biting down on your finger, small whimpers escaping your lips to try and coax the man into doing more. He pushed the soaked fabric aside and groaned as he admired your slick covered folds. "Y'know, this has got to be the prettiest pussy I've ever seen... I wonder what you taste like," He mused, lifting his head closer to your sex.
"Please-" You begged and almost instantly a moan was drawn from you lips as he pressed his mouth to you. His tongue dragged right up your slit, all the way to your clit, moaning into you at your taste, flicking his tongue over your clit. "Spencer!" You gasped, leaning your head back on the wall. Your hands gripped his hair, rolling your hips against his mouth, moans slipping past your lips. He brought a finger up pulling his mouth away momentarily, teasing you with his finger before pressing it inside of you, curling it to hit your sweet spot. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan as he drew back his finger and pumped it back in with a second doing the exact same thing, curling his fingers inside of you, the pads of his fingers hitting the spongey insides of your cunt that made you squirm. Heat pooled in your stomach and the walls of your pussy contracted around his fingers which made him move them faster. His lips pressed to your clit, sucking on it and flicking his tongue over it. Your legs shook with pleasure and you chanted his name over and over again as the heat in your stomach grew larger. "Spencer, Spencer, Spencer, Spencer!"
Spencer chuckled, pulling his mouth away once more. "You gonna cum pretty girl? You gonna cum because you're a filthy slut who gets off to being treated like shit?" He cooed teasingly. You nod desperate for your release. "Go on, cum for me Sunshine." Once again, he suctioned his lips back to your clit, drawing you nearer and nearer to your orgasm. Your legs felt like jelly as your orgasm came crashing down on you in white hot waves. Stars dotted your vision as your eyes roll back into your head, legs threatening to give out on you. Spencer held your body to the wall to keep you upright, fingering you through your orgasm, eyes trained on your blissed out face, lips parted, heavy pants filling the room as you tried to keep your moans to a minimum. You hadn't even gotten a chance to recovering from the earth shattering orgasm Spencer had just given you before her was turning you around on your wobbly feet and pushing you against the sink in the small room. He bent you over, his cock still an angry, red and leaking, rubbing it up and down your slit. "I wish I could take my time with you sweetheart, but someone's gotta show you that acting like a brat won't get you anywhere." He grabbed your leg, holding it just under the knee, guiding his cock to your dripping hole.
"Fuck you Reid,,,, fuck you." You gasped, knuckles white from how hard you were gripping the sink. Spencer chuckled, his tip prodding your entrance.
"You are-" He couldn't take it any longer and pushed inside of you right until his hips connected with your bare ass. Both of you let out a moan, mouths open as Spencer bottomed out inside of you. "Oh fuck, baby, your pussy's fucking choking me," His hand slid round to your throat, pulling you up so your back was pressed to his chest. You turned your head to look at him and he pressed his lips to yours, swallowing your moans as he pistoned in and out of you. You brought one hand up and wrapped it around his neck, tangling it in his hair, the other bracing yourself on the wall. The lewd sounds of him fucking you filled the room alongside the harmonised of both of your quiet moans. His cock was stretching you out, hitting you in places no man has ever hit before. Your walls clenched around him and Spencer buried his face in your neck. "Shit sweetheart, holy shit, I'm gonna fucking cum." He groaned against your skin, biting down on the flesh of your neck. You could feel the coil in your stomach tightening again at his voice. You'd never realised how sexy it was before. Rough and low. His breath on your skin sent shivers down your spine, tugging at his hair.
"Gonna cum too-" You mumbled, his brown locks twisted in your fingers as you lightly tugged. He ripped your hand from his hair, bending you over the sink again with his hand over your mouth, relentlessly fucking into you. You cried out into his hand, eyes wide. His other hand trailed around your waist and between your legs, harshly rubbing at your clit. Your head clouded as he fucked you dumb, the only thing you could think about was how good his dick felt, scraping at your walls. With one particularly hard thrust, Spencer hit just the right spot that has your crumbling. Your body convulsed as you came hard around his dick, moaning out into the hand that was pressed to your mouth, your cunt squeezing the life out of his cock. It took a couple more thrusts inside your pulsating pussy before his dick was spurting thick, white ropes of hot cum inside you, filling you. He moaned into your neck, the arm that was reaching down to you clit wrapping around your waist to pull you right against him. You booth stood there, leaning against the sink, heavy breathing, brains fogged with post-orgasm haze. You didn't feel Spencer pull out of you or quickly dress himself. You didn't really register him wiping your legs and throbbing sex until he was fixing your underwear and skirt. His hands fell to your waist, thumbs rubbing circles into you.
"Are you okay?" His voice was different. No longer rough and low, it was soft and gentle. You leaned back into him, letting out a shaky breath.
"Yeah, I'm okay... are you?" You asked, eyes closed. He pressed his forehead to your temple, leaving a soft kiss to your cheek.
"I'm okay love... don't you worry about me." You were both silent for a moment, processing what had happened. It was almost overwhelming. "I'm sorry." He mumbled quietly, his arms wrapping around your waist. "I'm sorry I've been such a dick to you."
"It's okay Spencer." You breathed out, bringing a hand up to gently caress his face, turning so your foreheads were pressed together. "It's okay." One of his hands came up and gently took your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He tilted your head back slightly before pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. Your stomach swarmed with butterflies. This kiss was significantly different to the previous ones. It was loving, caring.
You didn't quite know what this meant for you and Spencer, but you knew one thing for definite.
You wanted to do this again.
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid smut#smut#criminal minds#doctor reid#criminal minds fandom#derek morgan#dr spencer reid#sex with spencer reid#hate sex#plane sex
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Suptober Day 6: Full Spread
Dean can't share a bed like a normal person, which Cas carefully documents throughout the night while they are supposed to be sleeping together.
On AO3 or below the cut
Dean was thrilled to be in possession of a large bed at the bunker. While it sometimes got a little lonely, or a little cold since the place was particularly drafty, he had spent so much of his life without things that he could call his own that he savored having a bed which was just for him. However, after a few weeks of Cas sneaking in and out of his room at night in partial states of undress, he figured that he should start letting Cas come sleep with him. Although he still associated sharing a bed more with getting the short end of the stick and not having one to yourself than with anything romantic or otherwise, he had decided not to be a little bitch about it and buck up. After all, he did have the bigger bed, and sharing was better than giving up his sweet sweet memory foam entirely to go sleep in the bare bones room that Cas occupied when he was at the bunker.
So here he was, scooting his pillow over to the right side of the bed, mentally preparing himself for his first night of co-sleeping with his angel.
"Dean, I don't even sleep. I would be perfectly happy to sit at the desk and watch you while you rest. My presence on the bed is not necessary for you to sleep." Cas eyed him warily as Dean shuffled around the room, doing a poor job of hiding his stupid feelings on the matter.
"No Cas, that's stupid. I don't care if you don't sleep, if you want to be in here with me while I'm sleeping, you'll get in bed with me cause you're my boyfriend and that's what boyfriends do." Dean plopped himself down onto the bed with a huff and pointed at the spot next to him. "Strip or be stripped, sweetheart, it's time for bed."
Cas rolled his eyes and began the tedious process of pulling off layer after layer of clothes until he was left only with his undershirt and boxers. Climbing into bed under the blanket, Cas placed a gentle kiss on Dean's cheek before snuggling close to him. Dean sighed contentedly and relaxed his body into Cas's, letting the rhythm of his breathing slowly lull him into sleep.
--
When Dean awoke, everything seemed normal. His jaw gaped in a big yawn, and his arm was stretched most of the way across the bed to grab his phone from his night stand when he remembered. Why was he alone and in the middle of the bed again? He went to sleep with Cas! He bolted upright, panicked, only to discover Cas, now partially reclothed with his dress pants on once more, sitting in the desk chair across from him looking at his phone.
At the sound of motion, Cas's eyes lifted. "Oh, good morning, Dean."
"What the fuck, Cas?" Dean suddenly felt more hurt than he had anticipated. "I told you to stay in bed with me, what happened?"
The corners of Cas's mouth slowly curled upwards, causing Dean's racing heart to slow ever so slightly. Without saying a word, Cas returned his eyes to his phone and started swiping through something. A few moments passed this way, with Dean staring at Cas wide-eyed while Cas swiped away, and just as Dean was about to voice his frustrations at not being answered, Cas pulled himself from the chair and came to sit on the side of Dean's bed.
Cas handed the phone to Dean, saying simply, "Swipe."
Dean's jaw slowly loosened as he stared at the picture on the screen. With a time stamp of 1:44 am, a dim and grainy photo showed him laying diagonally across the bed, head exactly where it had started, but his legs and feet almost to the opposite corner in the space where Cas was supposed to have been. With a creeping sense of shame, Dean swiped to the next photo, finding another dim and grainy image of him from 2:07 am, this time with his right leg and right arm sprawled out to form some sort of janky 'K' shape, his body taking up at least three quarters of the bed. Hesitantly, he swiped again, finding yet another dim and grainy photo, this time from 2:56 am, where he had rolled over and assumed a large right angle, leaving only his ass on his designated side of the bed.
He felt his cheeks and neck begin to redden and he looked over at Cas with big eyes, "I'm so sorry Cas I didn't--"
"Oh, there's more." Cas's face was smug. "You haven't even gotten to my favorite yet."
"Fuck me..." Dean muttered, returning his eyes to the phone.
The next photo was from 3:22 and featured Dean in some sort of corrupted yoga pose, with one arm above his head, one leg directly underneath him, and the other bent in under him, a stretch he wasn't even sure he could purposefully achieve.
When Dean swiped to the next photo, he heard Cas stifle a giggle. "This is my favorite. You look like you're praying."
Sure enough, when Dean inspected the photo, this one from 4:13am, he had somehow ended up on hands and knees with his face at the foot of the bed, hugging his pillow to his face and chest, his ass pointed into the air.
"How did I even..." Dean trailed off, defeated.
Cas took his phone back from Dean, smiling a little too hard. "You're a very animated sleeper. I'd be excited to see if you can do some of those while you're awake though. Watching you gave me some ideas about how I'd like to see you spread out for me."
Dean shoved Cas's shoulder lightly, "You horny bastard. Maybe I'd get better sleep if you just laid on top of me instead of next to me."
Cas raised an eyebrow suggestively and then shook his head. "Perhaps... Now I want to confirm that you are not a direct descendant of the starfish, though, as you seem to be very good at imitating them."
#suptober23#humor fic#spn#supernatural#dean is a goofball#destiel#castiel#dean winchester#deancas#casdean#destiel fic#Cas is a cocky asshole (affectionate)
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The Crown of the Morally Grey
Pt 3.
This part is kinda short but some fluff and shows a bit of y/n and Draco’s relationship a bit better. Honestly I love them but I don’t like writing fluff. Enjoy! Swearing per usual
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Y/n had hardly seen Severus in days. Sometimes, her and Draco could hear him come home in the early hours of the morning, but he'd be gone again by lunch. He still wasn't speaking to her, but it wasn't entirely out of the ordinary. Y/n had spent a lot of her life not speaking to her father.
Neither she nor Draco had slept much the week leading up to their Diagon Alley trip. They spent their time walking around Spinners End and searching through the Snape home library. While looking through her collection of items from Borgin and Burkes, Y/n had remembered a necklace she'd bought the year before. It was probably the deadliest item in her collection, killing anyone who touched it. She kept it in a box with enough charms on it that it was impossible to open unless she herself wanted it to. Not sure exactly if it could be useful, she packed it in the bottom of her trunk anyway.
The thought of killing Albus Dumbledore didn't feel quite as heavy at the moment, she'd place it in the same part of her brain she'd put homework; has to be done, but will finish it later.
Draco had been adamant that he wouldn't need Y/N's help as much as she'd been preparing for, but she didn't believe him. Draco was a lot of things, but he wasn't a murderer.
Does that mean I am?
It was a question she thought of often whenever a silence fell over the two of them. Surely she didn't see herself as a murderer, she'd never even thought of killing someone before now, but for some reason, it wasn't the most disgusting thought. She'd be doing it to help Draco, to get herself into the death eaters so she could get as much information as she could and help those who were fighting against them. It was for the greater good.
She wondered if she had inherited this way of thinking from her father. Was he also an angry person on the inside? Was his nonchalant exterior just a mask? Had her father ever killed anyone? Had he ever risked everything just for someone else?
They were questions she couldn't answer. Truthfully, she didn't know much about her father, he kept to himself besides the rare occasion where he'd stare out at nothing with glassy eyes or say something nasty to a student.
She saw herself in him in those moments.
Draco had been staring at the ceiling for some time now, platinum hair creating a halo against the black pillow cases. Y/n hasn’t asked what he was thinking about, too wrapped up in her own thoughts and figuring they were thinking about similar things. She had already decided Draco wouldn’t die, she’d make sure of it. If it meant sacrificing her soul, she’d sign her name in blood to save his. She should be focusing on the fact that it meant Dumbledore would die. A fantastic wizard, one so many looked up to, would die by her wand. But Draco wouldn’t, and that mattered more. She’d sit for a moment on why it mattered so much that Draco lived, but she couldn’t come up with an excuse which only concerned her more.
Draco was still laying down, looking like the most exhausted angel she’d ever seen. Alexandre Cabanel’s painting ‘The Fallen Angel’ popped into her mind whenever she looked at him.
Her Lucifer.
“You can stop staring at me now.”
“I don’t think I will.”
“I know I’m the best part of your life but it’s getting creepy.”
“Prepare to be horrified then.”
Y/n jumped on the bed and grabbed the closest pillow before slamming in in to Draco’s face. He froze for a moment, before grabbing her and flipping her under him, his legs trapping hers as he grabbed another pillow to smack her with.
“You’ll pay for that Malfoy.”
“I can afford it.”
“Oh shut up!”
Y/n had shoved Draco back but he didn’t move and gave her an irritating smirk.
“Can’t move?”
“What’s your game plan here? Hold me hostage til you fall asleep?”
“I was thinking more like forever.”
He had said it so nonchalantly, even shrugged, but Y/n had to blink a few times in an attempt to get rid of the haze that had overcome her thoughts. It wasn’t fair. Being Draco’s best friend wasn’t fair. His stupid hair wasn’t fair. The position he had put them in wasn’t fair.
Get your shit together Snape.
She felt she had two decisions; change the subject or win.
“I’d be fine with that, as long as it’s only you.”
Draco didn’t say anything for a moment and just stared at her. It wasn’t the first time the two had found eachother smothered in whatever this energy was, but it was typically in a crowed classroom or right before a quidditch game. The awareness of exactly how alone they were in this moment had begun to close in on him. How alone they would be this upcoming year had suddenly become apparent. Y/n looked at him, an ever growing smirk on her face as she watched his brows furrow softly. His entire body had tensed, and his eyes kept searching hers.
“You can stop staring at me now.” She whispered, the smallest bit of mocking laced in her words.
Draco relaxed and gave a small smile.
“I don’t think I will.”
“I know I’m the best part of your life but it’s getting creepy.” Y/n had deepened her voice in an attempt to mimic his, but it was lost by the last word as it turned into a giggle.
“Then be prepared to be horrified.” And he smacked her with a pillow.
Y/n grabbed him and pulled him to the side, making him land beside her, to which she then laid her head on his chest and wrapped and arm around him. Draco welcomed it, having grown accustomed to falling asleep like this the past few days. It was the only way either of them seemed to be able to get any sleep anymore. His hand in her hair and her every once in a while moving as if trying to get even closer to him.
He often wondered if they could fuse into one person, that way she’d be with him always. This closeness had quickly become an addiction to him that he wouldn’t admit. Y/n had always been around. They’d known eachother for years and she managed to pop up whenever he found himself alone. It was rare to find one without the other. She had even snuck into the boys common room early on Saturday mornings just to sleep beside him for a few hours the previous year. Draco hadn’t questioned it. He couldn’t help but pull her impossibly closer to him once he knew she’d fallen asleep. Her father being absent lately was a blessing and a curse. Draco quickly fell asleep soon after Y/n, both of them dreaming of what ifs and what’s to come.
#fanfic#fanfiction#severus snape#y/n#harry potter#draco malfoy#draco fanfiction#draco x y/n#Malfoy#half blood prince#fluff
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Rules For A Gunfight by Drill Instructor Joe B. Fricks, USMC
gunsngear
Forget about knives, bats and fists. Bring a gun. Preferably, bring at least two guns. Bring all of your friends who have guns. Bring four times the ammunition you think you could ever need.
Anything worth shooting is worth shooting twice. Ammunition is cheap – life is expensive. If you shoot inside, buckshot is your friend. A new wall is cheap – funerals are expensive.
Only hits count. The only thing worse than a miss is a slow miss.
If your shooting stance is good, you’re probably not moving fast enough or using cover correctly.
Move away from your attacker and go to cover. Distance is your friend. (Bulletproof cover and diagonal or lateral movement are preferred.)
If you can choose what to bring to a gunfight, bring a semi or full-automatic long gun and a friend with a long gun.
In ten years nobody will remember the details of caliber, stance, or tactics. They will only remember who lived.
If you are not shooting, you should be communicating, reloading, and running. Yell “Fire!” Why “Fire”? Cops will come with the Fire Department, sirens often scare off the bad guys, or at least cause then to lose concentration and will…. and who is going to summon help if you yell ”Intruder,” “Glock” or “Winchester?”
Accuracy is relative: most combat shooting standards will be more dependent on “pucker factor” than the inherent accuracy of the gun.
Someday someone may kill you with your own gun, but they should have to beat you to death with it because it is empty.
Always cheat, always win. The only unfair fight is the one you lose.
Have a plan.
Have a back-up plan, because the first one won’t work. “No battle plan ever survives 10 seconds past first contact with an enemy.”
Use cover or concealment as much as possible, but remember, sheetrock walls and the like stop nothing but your pulse when bullets tear through them.
Flank your adversary when possible. Protect yours.
Don’t drop your guard.
Always tactical load and threat scan 360 degrees. Practice reloading one-handed and off-hand shooting. That’s how you live if hit in your “good” side.
Watch their hands. Hands kill. Smiles, frowns and other facial expressions don’t (In God we trust. Everyone else keep your hands where I can see them.)
Decide NOW to always be aggressive ENOUGH, quickly ENOUGH.
The faster you finish the fight, the less shot you will get.
Be polite. Be professional. But, have a plan to kill everyone you meet if necessary, because they may want to kill you.
Be courteous to everyone, overly friendly to no one.
Your number one option for personal security is a lifelong commitment to avoidance, deterrence, and de-escalation.
Do not attend a gunfight with a handgun, the caliber of which does not start with anything smaller than ”4?.
Use a gun that works EVERY TIME. “All skill is in vain when an Angel blows the powder from the flintlock of your musket.” At a practice session, throw your gun into the mud, then make sure it still works. You can clean it later.
Practice shooting in the dark, with someone shouting at you, when out of breath, etc.
Regardless of whether justified or not, you will feel sad about killing another human being. It is better to be sad than to be room temperature.
The only thing you EVER say afterwards is, “He said he was going to kill me. I believed him. I’m sorry, Officer, but I’m very upset now. I can’t say anything more. Please speak with my attorney.”
Finally, Drill Instructor Frick’s Rules For Un-armed Combat.
1: Never be unarmed.
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Painting
Anxiety starts painting again after going a long time without so much as touching a brush. Thomas and the Lights always promise to come see his work, but seem to never come... Leading to one very distressed Anxiety.
This is inspired by this vent fic by @januceit, don't worry I made sure to ask him first before I decided to write this!
Pre-AA, canon to my au (up until CLBG, the sides were actually in the videos, but after that Thomas acted in them. With AA, Thomas created that storyline himself because this fic is what actually happened and he didn't know how to make it into a video.)
Also Logan knows Anxiety's name is Virgil, but also refers to him as Angel as he also goes by his middle name.
Pairings: implied prinxiety crush
Warnings: Crying, overworking
Anxiety headed down the ladder to the cellar, where he'd set up a small painting studio. He has his canvases, his brushes, plenty of paint, a closet for storage, and his favorite paintings were hung up on the walls. He was comfortable there, and felt safe.
He hadn't been down there in a long, long time.
But recently, he was struck with inspiration to pick up painting again. He had an idea for a beautiful painting, and wouldn't rest until it came to be.
The painting had turned out better than he'd hoped; a forest clearing, with butterflies fluttering around and glowing flowers on vines creeping up the trees. It was gorgeous, and Anxiety was proud of it.
He remembered how he'd gone to the next meeting Thomas called with a big smile on his face.
"What're you so happy about, kiddo?"
"Oh! I decided to get back into painting, and wondered if you'd like to come see? It turned out beautifully!"
They all promised they'd come see, but never got around to it.
So Anxiety tried again.
Running his brush along the canvas, bringing his ideas to life.
"Hey Princey, you like art right? I made another painting, and I think you'll really like it! It's an giant angel holding the human it guards."
"Wow. I wouldn't have expected something that sounds so wonderful from someone like you! No offense. I'll come to see it as soon as I'm done here."
He never came.
Anxiety kept trying.
His ideas were indeed coming to life, but not the ones he'd hoped would.
"Patton, hey! I finished my new painting. Do you want to come see it? It's a little bit darker, but I think you'll like it! It's a child hugging their cat as a fire burns in the background."
"Sounds lovely, kiddo! I'm a bit busy right now, but I'll come see it in a little bit, okay?"
Let down again.
Anxiety wouldn't give up.
With shaking hands, he touched the brush down on the canvas.
"Thomas...?"
"Not now, Anxiety. I need to work."
Anxiety swallowed the lump in his throat. No one ever came to see his beautiful work.
He sank out, going home.
His roommate was there on the couch.
"H-hey, do you... Want to come see my paintings?"
"I'd love to, but my neck totally doesn't hurt at all."
Anxiety sighed. "Where's Remus?"
"With Logan."
Anxiety nodded, heading back towards his studio and going down the ladder.
Anxiety looked at his latest painting, still on the easel. He was suddenly filled with anger. He hated this painting.
He grabbed a brush, dipping it in white paint and drawing an X over the entire painting.
"Dammit!" Anxiety threw his brush, letting it hit a canvas he'd painted black.
When he looked at the canvas...
It gave him an idea.
He shoved the hated painting off the easel, grabbing the black canvas and setting it up.
He grabbed a small brush, dipping it in the white paint and making a sketchy circle above the white blemish from the thrown brush.
He added diagonal lines; hair.
He added a mouth with gritted teeth.
He added two curved lines; an eye, wide open with fear.
Anxiety realized he was crying. He added a line falling from the eye.
He expanded the white mark, turning it into a body.
He added arms, bent towards the head as if covering the ears.
He added legs, curled up under the figure.
Anxiety wiped his eyes, washing off his brush.
He dipped it into the green paint.
His hands were shaking.
He added a green circle to the eye. Then he added a green X over the hair, where the other eye would be.
He washed his brush.
He dipped it into the purple paint.
He added an purple X over the green circle, matching his own left eye.
He made a sketchy painting of himself, curled up and crying as he covered his ears.
But he wasn't done.
He grabbed a bigger brush, and added hands pointing at the drawing of himself.
Starting on the left, arcing over to the right.
A green hand, for the one who's never home.
A light blue hand, for the one who called him "kiddo" but was never able to treat him like his kiddo.
He skipped one.
On the right, a yellow hand, for the one that always had an excuse.
And below that, a red hand, for the one he thought he loved, but who always seemed to have something better to do.
Finally, at the top, a pink hand, for the one he was supposed to protect.
Wait.
There was one missing.
Logan.
Logan had come to see every painting, never failing to arrive.
"Oh wow, Angel, that's beautiful! How long did it take to paint those flowers?"
"This one's even better! Virgil, is this you and Thomas?"
"...Virgil, its beautifully painted, but... Do you need to talk?"
Every painting, every stroke of the brush, Logan was there for him.
Anxiety painted one final hand.
A dark blue one, helping him cover his ears.
The painting needed something more.
He added two halves of a broken heart at the bottom, on either side of him. On the left, outlined in purple and colored in green. On the right, the opposite.
He was finished. And just in time; Thomas was calling him.
"Just a minute, Thomas!"
He laid down his brush and wiped his eyes again.
He'd done it. He'd finally made a painting showing how he really felt.
Once the paint had dried, he took the canvas and sank out, heading for Thomas' apartment.
"Hey, everyone."
"Hey, kiddo!"
Anxiety nervously rocked on his heels, clutching the painting.
"Why did you bring your painting this time?"
Anxiety felt tears running down his face again. "I just... This is one you guys... Really need to see."
Slowly, he turned the painting around.
Everyone went silent, staring at it.
"Anxiety... Bud, is this how you really feel?"
"Kiddo, why didn't you tell us?"
"Angel..."
Roman simply stared in silence.
Anxiety couldn't stop himself from sobbing.
"I-I'm sorry, I just... I didn't know how to tell you. You guys never came to see my work, and I... I..."
"Anxiety."
He looked up at Thomas.
"Take us to see your paintings."
"You... What?"
"You heard me. Take us to see your paintings."
Anxiety beamed through his tears. "O-Okay!"
He sank out, pulling everyone with him.
"This is my studio. It's actually the cellar, but we had no use for it so I took it."
Everyone looked around, awestruck by Anxiety's paintings.
"The ones hung up are my favorite ones. Look, Roman , this is the one I asked you to see! The angel, remember?"
It was a landscape-oriented painting of a large angel, with two rings blocking its eyes from view. The rings themselves were covered in eyes, one with green and one with purple. The angel was seen from a 3/4 angle, holding up its hands. In its hands was a small human, seemingly unaware they were being held at all.
"That's... More beautiful than I expected."
Anxiety blushed a bit. "It's, uh... Supposed to be me holding Thomas. Y'know, since it's my job to protect him, I kinda see myself as his guardian angel."
Thomas gazed at the painting. "I never thought of it that way, but now that you mention it..."
He turned away from the painting.
"Anxiety, I-"
"Virgil."
Thomas tilted his head. "What?"
"That's my name. Virgil."
Roman's eyes went wide as he heard the name. "Virgil, as in... Virgil Moriarty? The prince of Kora?"
Virgil chuckled nervously. "The one and only. But that's not important right now. What's important is that... You all cared enough to come see my paintings."
"Virgil, you're just as much a part of me as the others. Of course I care, even if I don't show it."
Virgil smiled.
Things were finally looking up for him.
If anyone wants to see the vent painting, here it is!
@sablesides @nerosdayinhell @januceit @vellicrow @unknownpupper @boredomrewards @xandriagreat @lord-of-the-frogs
Ans here's the angel painting! Just know I used gacha club to make this one haha
#sanders sides#virgil sanders#patton sanders#logan sanders#roman sanders#remus sanders#janus sanders#stel's tss au#virgil angst#pre aa virgil
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Cold Day in Hell - Part 1
Logan Delos x Reader
A/N: This does not completely follow canon, it’s mainly lemon zest 🍋 because the world needs more Logan Delos.
Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content, including oral, between consenting adults* in future chapters. Drinking and swearing.
*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.
(My GIF)
Logan Delos was bored. Mind-numbingly, screamingly, terminally bored. He was rapping out an irritated drum solo on the arm of his chair with his long fingers. He was shifting in his seat, constantly crossing and un-crossing his long legs. He was moving the papers on the conference table in front of him from side to side, then backwards and forwards.
The businessman who was talking through the main presentation had a voice that was flatter than roadkill and had only one tone... monotone.
Logan leant forward and propped his elbows on the conference table in front of him, using his fingers to physically hold open his eyelids as they kept closing of their own accord. He felt a yawn coming on and fought to stop his mouth opening to accommodate it... but failed.
He was aware of the door to the conference room opening behind him but didn’t even have the energy to turn and see who it was. This asshole is draining the fucking will to live out of me, he thought. He vaguely heard said asshole saying something about his colleague talking through the next section of the presentation.
Logan sat right up in his seat as he spotted a beautiful - no, stunning - woman making her way to the front of the room. She was dressed in ‘business smart’ but even those sensible items couldn’t hide her curves. Her hair was pinned up, and he had already started fantasising about loosening it and running his hands through it. He wished he’d paid attention when Asshole had said her name. Or had he said her name? Logan had no idea.
He heard her starting to speak, a melodic voice... he had to know her name! Logan tutted and picked up the meeting agenda, riffling back and forth through the pages to get to the correct one, but wasn’t even sure what page he should be on. Suddenly the folder tumbled from his hands and clattered onto the floor. The talking stopped and he became aware of everyone’s eyes on him, including hers. In fact, she was kind of glaring at him.
He gave an apologetic wave to the room in general as he retrieved the folder from the floor. She began speaking again, and he resumed his page-riffling. Finally he found the current one, and there was her name in black and white. A melodic name to match her voice, he thought.
He started paying attention to what she was actually saying.
»»————————————-———- ⚜ ———————————-————-««
You’d just started your part of the presentation when some asshole dropped his agenda folder, the sharp noise bringing you to a screeching halt. When you saw a hand waving around in the air, your eye followed the arm down to its owner and noted that he was in fact a very good-looking asshole. But he was still an asshole.
You cleared your throat, trying to collect your thoughts and then launched back into your presentation. The asshole was now staring at you relentlessly; every single time your eyes swept the room, his dark eyes were on you. Like... always on you. Not like the others, who were at least glancing down at the handouts occasionally.
The section you were presenting drew to a close, and you now took an empty seat at the table. It was diagonally opposite the handsome asshole. Who was still staring at you.
Now that you were much closer, you could see that his eyes were a dark chocolate brown, with a wicked gleam in them. They matched his shining dark hair, which was immaculately swept back from his forehead. You boldly met his stare for a while, before breaking eye contact to listen to your colleague Craig deliver the final part.
At the end of the presentation there were a few questions which were duly answered, and then everyone was gathering up their paperwork and milling around prior to leaving the conference room. As you tucked your folders away in your document bag, in your peripheral vision you became aware of a pair of long legs making their way to you. You knew who it was bound to be so you didn’t bother looking up. A throat cleared next to you but you continued packing away your items, and then you heard your first name being spoken in a low, husky voice. This time you did look up - it would be rude not to - and yup, it was Handsome Asshole. A hand was proffered to you and by reflex you took it, your hand being crushed in a strong grip. “Logan Delos,” said that suave voice, “...it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart?” you scoffed, “...how original!” while thinking, oh... so this is the infamous Logan Delos, whose name you’d heard all the time in connection with the projects but never actually met before. He had a reputation of being a bit of a diva. You heard him give a deep chuckle. “Yeah, that’s me - an original. Unique, in fact I’d say.” “Well, you’re super confident, that’s for sure!” You picked up your document bag and headed for the door, saying “Nice to meet you, Mr Delos,” as you started to leave. His tall frame scooted round in front of you before you could reach it, “Oh, not so fast.... I can’t let you leave before you agree to have dinner with me.” You tried to sidestep him but he blocked your way, and then a little ‘step to the right, step to the left’ dance ensued. Finally, exasperated, you stood still and put your hands on your hips. “Mister Delos! Will you please let me past!” He copied your stance, “Not until you say you’ll have dinner with me. Or lunch. Or.... breakfast, if you prefer?!” wiggling his eyebrows at you. You huffed, “I don’t date business partners!” He still stood in front of you, seemingly immovable, “We’re not business partners - technically speaking. Boring Asshole is my business partner, not you.” Your mouth dropped open but before you could stop it, laughter bubbled out.
You hastily silenced it, saying, “I admit, Craig may not be the most inspiring public speaker, but he really knows his stuff,” trying to cover your somewhat indiscreet reaction and save your colleague’s honour at the same time. “But that’s beside the point, Mr Delos, because we are business partners despite what you’re trying to say.” Logan had moved slightly aside while you were speaking and you took this opportunity to brush past him, calling out, “Goodbye, Mr Delos,” with the emphasis on the goodbye as you went.
If you’d bothered to look back, you would’ve seen Logan Delos watching you go, a very determined expression on his face.
»»————————————-———- ⚜ ———————————-————-««
Juliet looked up from her laptop as Logan breezed into her lounge, tossing his car keys onto the coffee table and throwing himself onto the sofa, long legs spreading out in front of him as he did so.
“Good meeting?” she asked, seeing that his head had gone back onto the cushions and he was staring up at the ceiling. He hummed, “Good and bad. The presentation was the single most boring thing I’ve ever heard in my life, but on the other hand one of their staffers.... wow! It was like an angel came down from heaven and found her way into that conference room.” She sighed, “Logan... by all that’s holy... do not try to screw one of our business partners for god’s sake! Dad will go ballistic if you mess up our working relationship with them.” Logan looked offended, “Who says I’d mess it up?” Jules gave a big sigh and shrugged, “Me, for one. Dear brother, I love you with all my heart but you’re fucking awful at relationships. You’d just fuck her and drop her like a hot potato. Who is it that caught your roving eye this time anyway?” Logan said her name in a dreamy tone and Jules rolled her eyes heavenwards, “Oh, no, no, no!... no way, Logan. I know her, she’s a lovely person and also does a fantastic job - she’s one of their top software engineers, specialising in middleware.”
Logan smirked, “She can engineer my middleware anytime she likes.” “Oh, shut up and get your mind out of your pants, Logan. Stay away, okay?!!” He huffed, “Hey! You can’t tell me who to pursue or otherwise, Jules!” “But that’s it, right there - you’ll chase her, catch her, bang her and drop her! I really like her as well as respecting her work, so you better just be damn careful!”
Logan sighed. He loved his sister but god, she was a king-size pain in the ass sometimes.
»»————————————-———- ⚜ ———————————-————-««
A week or so later, and you’d almost forgotten about that handsome asshole at the presentation. You couldn’t deny that he’d popped in and out of your thoughts since, but you’d googled him the day after you’d met him and had also made some discreet enquiries amongst those colleagues who’d worked with him before on projects. What you’d discovered had not endeared him to you.
He was a world-class player, that was obvious - and not fussy about which gender he played around with either. Not that that put you off, it was just the sheer volume of men and women he was pictured out on the town with. And alcohol and substance abuse had been there in the mix too, with some stays in rehab mentioned although the last one had been over a year ago. So no... you’d decided you wouldn’t be entertaining any further thoughts of the undeniably attractive Mr Delos.
You turned your thoughts back to the current middleware solution you were constructing, in fact it was for Delos Corporation, involving various scenarios for their Westworld hosts. You were immersed in code and structure when your phone rang, and you saw your boss’s extension number on the caller ID. Hmmm... what could she want? She usually gave you free reign when you working on a project, catching up with you every couple of days at team meetings. Answering it, you heard her assertive voice asking you to pop along to her office and so you set off on the short walk there. You knocked on her door and heard her say ‘come in’, so in you sailed and then came to an abrupt halt. Logan Delos was sitting opposite your boss; he was half-turned towards you with a somewhat triumphant smirk on his face. Your boss indicated the chair next to Logan and you quickly sat down, wondering what this was about and why Logan looked so smug.
Your boss launched into a mini-summary of what you were currently working on, and all you could do was nod. Eventually she finished up with, “So all your current projects are for Delos.” It was a statement not a question, so you just nodded. “Mr Delos here...” she levelled a hand towards Logan, “....has come up with a suggestion, and I happen to think it’s a good one.” She smiled at Logan, before looking back at you and continuing, “He thought it would be beneficial to have the person working on most of his projects - that’s you, just to clarify - to be based at Delos Destinations for the next three months, to facilitate progress.” You knew you were looking completely dumbfounded as she hurried on, “Obviously I’d like your input on this, but I’m sure you can see that it’d be very helpful for you to be on-site with our partners while you’re working through the projects?” Meanwhile you were desperately trying to come up with reasons to remain in your own office, but truthfully you couldn’t. It would be helpful to have instant access to their engineers when you needed an answer on something, you couldn’t deny that. Reluctantly you nodded, “Yes...I can appreciate that. But couldn’t we just have me spend maybe one or two days a week over there rather than be actually based in their offices?”
Logan spoke for the first time, his expression business-like now, “That wouldn’t really fulfill the brief though, would it? Because we’d be back to having a slight delay in receiving and giving responses for the time you weren’t at our offices. And I’d ... we’d... make you very welcome. There’s an office waiting for you... right next to mine.” He couldn’t stop that smirk reappearing as he finished speaking. You forced a smile, “Well, I can’t really refuse an offer like that, can I Mr Delos?” You looked back to your boss, “I guess that’s agreed then. When does this take effect?” Your boss beamed at you, “Excellent! I don’t see any reason for it not to commence immediately, do you? How about as of tomorrow?”
»»————————————-———- ⚜ ———————————-————-««
Logan walked onto his office the next morning, whistling a happy little tune. He’d had a small glass of wine the night before at Juliet’s place when he’d dropped in on his way home, knowing he had to break the news to her that evening about the cunning plan he’d come up with. He was happy for two reasons; firstly, visiting Jules and his niece Emily and not having to see William’s stupid damn face any longer would never get old, and secondly, his little scheme to get closer to that gorgeous woman was coming together. As Jules worked partly from home and partly at the office, he had to let her know that a new face would be around for at least the next three months. It would give him a much better chance to persuade her to go out with him - she wouldn’t really be able to escape him given that she’d be right next door to him every day. Predictably, Juliet had issued a stern warning about what would happen to certain parts of his anatomy should he overstep, but had reluctantly accepted that it was a fait accompli. (Privately, she was looking forward to working more closely with her and also warning her about the usual antics of her beloved brother, that’s if she wasn’t already well aware of them).
He’d been racking his brains for ideas on how best to pursue her ever since she’d turned him down flat at that conference. Logan wasn’t used to being turned down. He’d had a brainwave a couple of days later and had checked into who was handling the Delos projects at her company - after all, surely she wouldn’t be at the conference in the first place if she wasn’t involved somehow? He’d been overjoyed to find out that she was handling just about all of the current open projects (so why on earth had they allowed Boring Asshole to give the majority of the presentation?! he’d thought incredulously) and had then begun to put together a plan to somehow get her into his close orbit. He was really quite proud of what he’d come up with.
His secretary knocked on his doorframe and announced that his visitor had arrived. A big smile appeared on Logan’s face.
Here I go! he thought, the thrill of the chase coursing through his veins.
»»————————————-———- ⚜ ———————————-————-««
The secretary smiled at you over her shoulder as she leaned against Logan’s office doorframe, “Please, go right in,” before stepping aside so you could enter.
The man himself was lounging back in his fancy office chair, which to you looked more like the type of padded seat you’d get on a private jet, waving you into the office before getting up and striding over to you. He held out his hand which you took but instead of shaking it as you expected, he pulled you towards him and kissed your cheek very softly. A waft of delicious and no doubt expensive cologne reached your nostrils before he stepped back, “Welcome on board!” he said, “...I’m so glad you’re joining us here at Delos Destinations.” You smiled, “Thank you, Mr Delos.” “Logan!” he said immediately, waving his hand and saying your first name. “Logan,” you said dutifully, “yes, thank you for the welcome ....of course I do still work for my own company.” He smiled at you, still holding onto your hand and beginning to lead you to the door, “Well, for now you do. I’ve a mind to steal you away for myself, you know. Or, sorry... for Delos Destinations, I should of course say.”
OK... seems like he’s still interested, even if that wouldn’t last longer than a heartbeat once you’d gone out (and especially if you slept) with him. You knew this secondment was going to be trouble, you thought. Three whole months of trying to resist Mr Player of the Decade. But you were convinced that you could do it.
As he lead you from his office to what was going to be yours, you were suddenly very aware of his tall figure beside you, your hand in his (he still hadn’t let go of it) and a hint of that beautiful cologne of his again. He looked across at you, dark eyes gazing into yours and gave you a mischievous grin. Annoyingly, your stomach did a little flip.
Yeah, really convinced.
»»————————————-———- ⚜ ———————————-————-««
(Not my GIF - credit to owner)
#logan delos x reader#logan delos#ben barnes#westworld#logan delos fanfic#logan delos imagine#logan delos fan fiction
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Stowaways - G.W.
Stowaways- George Weasley x Fem!Reader (former Gryffindor)
Warnings: none! just tooth-rotting George fluff :)
Word Count: 5.7k
A/N: Sorry this took so long! This is my longest fic to date, and I’m so proud of it. I love Georgie so I’m glad to finally write for him. Hope you guys enjoy this one <3
Just a reminder: Y/N is Your Name and flashbacks/thoughts are in italics.
93 Diagon Alley is a place of wonder, mystique, and above all else, joy. A place where all your best memories are enshrined, a place where you can be your best self, alongside your doting fiery-haired boyfriend, who wears his ginger mop of hair like a halo. Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes occupies most of the address, its orange and purple exterior lightening up Diagon Alley effortlessly.
Its interior is just as magical, the multiple levels of the shop are engulfed with shelves stocked full of Fred and George’s mischievously ingenious products. Some threatened to transfigure you into an eye-popping xanthic canary, while others could spontaneously spawn a whole swamp in the blink of an eye.
Everything within its walls brings smiles to children of all ages, and it could be argued that George is still one of those kids too.
The store seems to make George truly come alive, even more than he was at Hogwarts just a year prior. The look in his eyes as he skillfully operates the store with Fred reminds you of the glow that your face used to hold as a child as you looked longingly through countless toy-store windows around December.
While the shop is the main source of his pride and joy, even its power couldn’t halt the toll of a busy workweek. Every day, new shipments had been zooming in and out of the store, sales at an all-time high. The new lot of Hogwarts students must have a mischievous streak, for student-sent owl orders in preparation for the school year were arriving daily by the barrel-load.
It was finally Friday evening, and George trudged up the back stairs to the flat, his eyelids droopy and back hunched. His lack of energy, however, couldn’t take away from the playfully handsome purple and brown ensemble he wore. He pitifully fiddled with the keys before finally turning the lock, entering the flat promptly, taking in the familiar home-y aroma.
He promptly plopped down at the small breakfast table near the kitchen, a tired sigh escaping his lips. He pressed his elbow onto the surface of the table, his arm supporting the weight of his head that his neck couldn’t bear any longer.
“How was your day? You look absolutely exhausted,” you asked with concern. You already knew you would have to plan something to cheer poor George up.
“I am simply dying, Y/N,” he said, while pretending to go limp like a corpse, “there’s no hope for me. Tell Mum and Ginny I love ‘em.”
“Not even your own twin brother, huh?” you asked sarcastically. He could only respond with a zombie-esque groan.
You sarcastically rolled your eyes at his dramatic display, glad to see his lack of energy didn’t affect his sense of humor. You walked over to your tired George, who had his head now resting on the back of his chair, eyes spaced out at the ceiling.
You calmly sat down next to the Titian-haired love of your life and laid your head on his strong shoulder, your arm slowly snaking up his back. The motion of your hand alternated between tracing soothing circles lightly on his strained back muscles and massaging his tense shoulder.
He turned his face to you, painted with a soft and grateful grin, glad to finally be home, especially with you. For a few serene minutes, comfortable silence filled the air.
George had nearly drifted off before the both of you were disrupted by his stomach emitting a loud growl. “I take it you’re hungry, Georgie?”
“Apparently so,” your boyfriend responded, patting his stomach.
He languidly started undoing his bright amaranthine purple tie when you asked, “Do you want icky leftovers or yummy takeout? I know what I’m voting for.”
“Such a tough decision…” George responded with a wink.
----
By the time dinner was over, the tired look in George’s eyes remained, but the delicious takeout helped remedy his splitting headache.
The two of you quickly settled on the comfortable marmalade-hued couch to watch one of your favorite muggle movies (it was a comedy of course). George’s laugh never ceased to make your heart flutter, even after all these years. The way it used to echo so freely through the crimson Gryffindor common room, and now through you two’s cozy flat, couldn’t help but make you fall even more madly in love with him.
George somehow brought out the kid in you that laid dormant for so many years. With him, the world seemed so vibrant; there was always a little adventure waiting for you both, even in mundane activities like laundry. He would bunch up the freshly-washed paisley and tessellated dress shirts that he wore down to the shop daily, pelting them at you like the snowballs that he enchanted to hit Quirrell all the way back in third year.
You loved George with all your heart, as did he.
After a while of movie-watching, George drifted off into a light sleep. His hazy dream was filled with thoughts of the school he called home for so long. The smell of the burning logs and pumpkin that would drift through his nostrils every morning as he walked down the steps from his dorm; the sound of first years’ giggles as they messed with one of his pranks.
His brain then swam through the blurry memories to the first time he met you, the real you, drinking Firewhiskey and playing truth or dare in the back of the common room with the Golden Trio and crew after a victorious Quidditch game.
He thought of your first date, your face scrunched with belly-aching laughter as you tried stuffing in as many sweets as you could on a snowy Saturday at Honeydukes. The way the twisted rainbow lollipops and chocolate frogs made your face uncontrollably grin cemented what he swore the moment he first saw you: he vowed to never stop making you smile.
He couldn’t live a day without your joy-filled face; it enchanted him like the beautiful glow of fireworks against a smokey black sky, like the addicting feeling of adrenaline from breaking the rules.
----
“Georgie,” you whispered, “Georgie!”
Your drowsy boyfriend slowly drifted back to reality after hearing your soft whisper, your hands lightly tapping his chest to an invisible rhythm.
He released a yawn before asking, “What is it, angel?” His eyes fluttered lazily, and his lips were quirked to the smallest of smiles.
“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t fall asleep on the couch for the night,” you said caringly, “I knew you’d be even sorer in the morning if you did.”
George’s heart warmed at your thoughtfulness. He quickly took in his surroundings, which starkly contrasted his dreamscape. The television softly droning cheap infomercials instead of the muggle movie he fell asleep to, the blinds closed to hide the velvety black sky, and bits of buttery popcorn strewn across his chest and lap.
He sat up tiredly, swiping his hand carelessly through his vermillion-pigmented locks. He rubbed his umber eyes as you brushed loose kernels from his clothes to the carpet.
George muttered, “I love you, Y/N,” quietly, thinking you wouldn’t be able to hear it.
You did, however, and you reciprocated an “I love you, too” sweetly. You stood up from the couch, extending your hand to help droopy-eyed George up. He took your hand and he rose before walking towards the kitchen, drawn to the stark blue light of the refrigerator.
The fridge doors popped open, revealing tupperware full of picked-at leftovers, a few odds and ends, and a half-drank bottle of Dragon Barrel Brandy. He groaned at the meager scraps of food occupying the fridge, shutting the door disappointedly. The crisp air that surrounded him with a chill dissipated within an instant.
“Georgie, I think we should go off to bed. Tomorrow's Saturday, and I have a big surprise for you planned,” you said excitedly, coming up behind the man of your dreams, resting your hand steadily on his shoulder. He leaned into your touch as you guided the sleepy boy to the bedroom.
As the two of you laid down to go to sleep, facing one another, George asked in a tired, raspy voice, “What’s the surprise, darling? Or will I have to find out tomorrow?”
“You know I would never spoil a surprise. Don’t worry, you’ll love it.”
----
George awoke to the delectable scent of freshly-fried bacon and eggs wafting from the humble kitchen. The other half of the bed, he noticed, lay empty, the cozy handmade quilt blanket you usually dozed under laying askew. Sunlight poured through the windows, letting his linen covered body bask in golden morning rays.
After minutes of continuing to peacefully lay under the covers, absorbing the pure morning ambiance, George finally decided to get up and follow the delicious aromas emitting from the kitchen like a bloodhound.
As he entered, you were bent over the stove, guiding a spatula around in a lightly tarnished pan, appetizing pancakes browning within. You were still in your sleepwear, wearing oversized plaid pants that dragged across the tile and one of George’s shirts, which was huge on you and smelled strongly of his cologne.
He snuck up behind you quietly as a mouse, before unexpectedly poking the sides of your stomach. You let out a shocked, “George!” before bursting into laughter. Your chuckles blended with his effortlessly, creating a beautiful symphony.
“Morning, darling. I see you’re making breakfast,” George said with a smirk as he surveyed the surrounding food-covered counters. He seemed in a much better state than he was yesterday, his tired eyes replaced with resplendent brown and gold-speckled ones, which were flooded full of energy reminiscent of his adolescence.
“I am! And I made all your favorites, so get excited! The day’s only getting started.” You sent him a knowing wink, and he responded with a child-like grin. George giddily opened a cupboard, grabbing two shiny ceramic plates. He forked some already-cooked bacon and eggs onto each plate, shaping the food into two adorable smiley faces.
“What did I ever do to deserve such an amazing girlfriend like you?” George asked after giving your cheek an affectionate peck.
“The real question is, what didn’t you do? You’re perfect in my eyes, Georgie,” you heartfeltly admitted as you carried a small plate stacked with butter and syrup-coated warm pancakes coated to the table.
George had beaten you to the breakfast table, waiting patiently until you finally sat down in the chair to his side. He eagerly stabbed a forkful of egg, stuffing it into his mouth. While Ron was usually credited as the biggest food-lover of the Weasleys, there was no way you could deny that George was runner up.
He gulped down the rest of the meal quickly, sending breakfast-filled smiles in your direction after every bite. After both of your plates were squeaky-clean, you ventured to the bedroom to get ready for the busy day ahead of you.
You instructed George to wear “something comfortable,” and he happily complied, throwing on a cream-colored, pin-striped short-sleeve oxford with a pair of worn jeans. You selected something equally as comfortable, and adorable.
You were in the middle of packing a backpack full of snacks and water when George finally asked, “So… when do I get to know where we’re going?”
“We’re going to Hogwarts,” you said promptly with a knowing smile, greatly contrasting George’s look of perplexion.
“And how exactly are we going to manage that, love? Surely they wouldn’t allow an impromptu visit like this, even good ol’ McGonagall?”
“Well, let’s just say Hogwarts doesn’t actually know we’ll be there.”
----
Platform 9 ¾ could be seen bustling with life, the delicious taste of magic floating through the air. It sent you back to all of those years you spent before term, pushing a luggage-stacked trolley across the station.
The scarlet express heaved tufts of smoke from its chimney, a piercing shriek occasionally echoing from its whistle. The magical platform was coated with clumps of young witches and wizards and their parents; the brick floor could barely be seen under all the boots.
You bid goodbye to your parents, ready to start a new (magical) chapter of your life. As you skipped gleefully to the entrance of the enchanted coach, you caught sight of a rufescent sea of wizards bickering and chuckling with each other. There were six carrot-topped wizards in total: a middle-aged and balding father, an equally middle-aged warm and caring mother, a short and freckle-ridden son who appeared to be the oldest, a tall and stuck-up boy with pretentious-looking glasses who was tightening the crimson tie around his neck, and two identical-looking boys who seemed to be first years as well.
One of them could be seen tieing the stuck-up boy’s shoelaces together, a mischievous smirk on his face as he did. The other was distracting the glasses-wearing brother, shooting the knotter an occasional sneaky glance.
You smiled at the sight before stepping into the train, eager to make new friends. You felt a little less nervous upon seeing students chatting in their compartments; pure joy from students’ laughing and yelling filled the corridor.
You looked around in search of a promising compartment. Finally, after what felt like hours of looking, you settled on a compartment filled with three other first-years. There were two girls and a boy: one of the girls, Angelina, was animatedly recounting a story, the other, Alicia, sprinkled in witty comments, and a smitten-looking boy named Lee was blushing in the corner, listening intently.
After a while of bonding with your new friends, the train slowly began to chug along the tracks, rhythmic clanking creating some pleasant background ambiance. The train began to gain speed before your compartment door was slid open by none other than the vexatious redheaded twins.
The twin who tied his brother’s shoelaces together, who you later learned was named Fred, confidently took a seat next to Lee. They quickly struck up a conversation, seemingly clicking almost instantly. The twin who served as the distraction for his poor older brother, George, sat down next to you timidly.
At first, George was too shy to say anything other than a meek, “hello”, but as soon as the trolley stacked with sweets rolled around, he became quite talkative. He was very observant; he would enchant you with beautiful descriptions of the most minute details in the most mundane things.
George was so observant, in fact, that he noticed you didn’t get anything from the trolley, despite the look on your face saying that it wasn’t by choice. He could only afford a single chocolate frog with the spare change his mother gave him, which he handed to you with a toothy grin.
You yanked on George’s long arm, pulling him behind one of the large brick pillars supporting the platform. “Okay, George, for this to work, we can’t be seen by anyone.” You unsheathed your wand from your pocket, preparing to cast a spell.
“I’m going to cast a disillusionment charm, okay? This should make us blend in with our surroundings so we can sneak onto the train. If I do it correctly, we should be able to see each other just fine, though.”
After receiving an accepting nod from George, you gave him a light tap on the shoulder with the tip of your wand. Camouflage slowly dripped down his body, as if someone poured some sort of invisibility paint above his head. Just as quickly as he faded into the pillar behind him, he returned back to normal colors. You hoped he was still invisible to everyone else.
“Wicked,” he uttered, checking out his arms as they turned invisible and back.
You did the same to yourself without hesitation. George watched with curiosity as you blended seamlessly into the platform; he then admired you as your features slowly returned from invisibility. Every eyelash, every blemish, and every inch of your lips never failed to go unnoticed by him.
“What’s the next step of the plan, Captain?” George asked with a salute.
“So, without being seen, once all the students are off the platform and on the train, we need to sneak onto the caboose, where we should be able to ride safely. After that, it’s smooth sailing to Hogwarts!”
“That sounds easy enough… I think,” George said with his hand in his palm, thinking over the steps of the plan intently.
“Oh trust me, it’ll be great! I mean, if you can set off fireworks during an exam guarded by Umbridge, you can sneak onto a bloody train.” You gave George a reassuring thumbs-up.
“Don’t even remind me of that soul-sucking bright pink nightmare!” George said with a sarcastic eye roll.
As students slowly started filtering into the train, your time to strike inched closer and closer. Finally, the clock struck eleven, and you and George were dashing across the platform to the back of the train with your hands intertwined with one another’s.
You and George leaped onto the back ledge of the train just in time, for the scarlet locomotive slowly started rolling along the tracks just as you latched onto the railing. The both of you broke into cheers of triumph the moment the train was out of the vicinity of the station.
“Y/N, look at the window, there’s no reflection of us in it. We really are undetectable,” George mentioned, gesturing towards the window.
It was unsettling to not see your usual features bouncing off the window, but you were thankful that your charm had worked.
You moved to sit on the ledge of the train, which was small, only about a foot wide. You put your legs through the wide rails so that the soles of your sneakers nearly dragged on the tracks. George took a seat next to you, his lanky legs sitting crisscross.
The scenery that the express heaved through was breathtaking; it was even better feeling the crisp air on your face. The rolling moss-tinted hills, vibrant green and yellow trees that dotted the horizon, and worn stone archways that cut through the landscape allowing the train to huff on. All of it reminded you of the impressionist paintings in museums.
The sunlight bashfully peeked through the clouds like the small flashes of vibrant strawberries hiding under their large green leaves on a serene spring day. The air tasted sweet and refreshing; it felt like you hadn’t ever breathed until your lungs were filled with it.
You and George sat peacefully in silence, listening to the noises of the express and the faint chirping of birds, reflecting on the past. Eventually, he said softly, gaze pointed to the scenery, “I can still remember the moment I realized I was in love with you.”
He continued, “It was the start of fifth year, on this very train. The moment you sat down in the compartment next to me, I just knew. Everything was different. There were so many things I never noticed until then; it was like my eyes were finally open.”
Silence filled the air. You couldn’t think of what to say, and even if you did, you wouldn’t know how to say it.
“Everything about you looked so beautiful all of a sudden. The way you moved or swished your wand, the way your lips enunciated every heavenly word that fell from your tongue. All of it.”
George turned to you nervously. What if I messed it all up? What if that wasn’t the right thing to say? he thought. You stared down at the track, lost in the depths of your mind.
Everything George had ever spoken to you danced through your brain like ballet; his words sounded like rich and eloquent poetry, even his simple cheers or quips at teachers. Your heart felt like it was beating a million times the speed of the chugging crimson engine.
You rapidly pivoted your head to him, his uncertain gaze immediately locking deeply with yours’. Your eyes were clouded with determination and passion, which reflected in the kiss that you swiftly pulled him into. His lips felt magical against yours’, still oozing with lively youthfulness as always.
George tenderly tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, you wrapped one of your hands around the nape of his neck. The kiss softened, becoming something slow and loving. Your other hand intertwined delicately with his’, which lay softly on your thigh.
After a while of sugary sweet kissing, George’s lips parted, uttering an “I love you,” lightly.
“I love you, too. Promise me you’ll marry me someday?” You asked, still heavily under the angelic ginger’s trance.
“You know I couldn’t marry anyone but you, Y/N.”
----
The sun slowly retreated behind the horizon, painting the sky a brilliant and fiery orange, which nearly matched the hue of George’s wind-swept hair. You languidly rested your head on his broad shoulder, staring out in the distance. Your face lingered with euphoria, courtesy of George’s amazing kisses which had just peppered every inch of it.
The backpack stocked with snacks you perfectly packed was now filled only with empty food wrappers. Most of the various foodstuffs had found a new home safely in your boyfriend’s black hole of a stomach, leaving you with mere crumbs to chew.
“Georgie… why’d you have to eat all the snacks? I’m starving,” you asked dramatically, pretending to be skin-and-bones.
“I’m sorry I didn’t save enough for you, darling. I would give you some but… y’know… they’re in my stomach.” George petted your hair caringly with a regretful smile, his strong fingers gently brushing through your strands, taking in the familiar scent of your shampoo.
As you sat, gaze towards the breathtaking sunset, George mechanically started braiding a small section of your hair. He had always been an expert at braids; Ginny taught him how to fourth year. His mind was elsewhere than your strands, however, for he was plotting something significantly more mischievous.
George retracted his hands from your hair, the soothing touch of his fingers dissipating from your scalp. He stood up from the cozy spot beside you, turning to peer through the window of the coach. His eyes scanned the corridor like a hawk, his brain spindling abstract ideas into a devious plan reminiscent of the schemes he so often plotted back at Hogwarts.
“Georgie, what are you doing?” you asked quizzically.
After one final glance through the coach window (bearing no reflection), he said with a devilishly handsome and mischievous smirk, “I have a plan.”
Before you could interrogate him any further, in one calculated motion, he swung the emergency door open, leaping inside the train full of students.
If anyone was skilled enough to pull off whatever he was set on doing, it was George. While Fred was often the instigator of the twins’ famous pranks, George was often pulling the weight of the trick.
You just hoped the disillusionment charm hadn’t worn off yet.
----
George silently crept through the corridors of each enchanted coach, elaborately dancing around stray students who occasionally ditched their compartments. His face was scrunched with determination as if he were a raider searching for the holy grail.
It took all his self-control, and more, to resist sneaking into Malfoy’s compartment and giving him a slap across the head; it was even harder resisting giving Ron a friendly spook, along with the other members of the Golden Trio. He decided to stay on track of his mission, for you and you only.
Every coach he passed through, he became increasingly more irritated and nervous. Now that he was an adult, there wouldn’t just be a simple ten points deducted from Gryffindor, no. Sneaking onto a train full of students and stealing candy from the poor old lady’s trolley of sweets would be a hefty fine. Molly would definitely not be pleased.
Finally, in the coach closest to the engine (and unfortunately furthest from the back), laid the trolley, luckily unattended. It was practically overflowing with classic sweets that he used to enjoy so much: colorful Berties Botts Every Flavour Beans (he swears he got a booger flavored one once), towering stacks of frosted cauldron cakes, clear-as-glass sugar quills, and chocolate frogs.
George, of course, knew your favorite anything and everything like the back of his hand. He swiftly grabbed a package of candy from the bottom rack of the trolley, a twinge of guilt hitting him in the heart. The kind old lady would be down one treat. His guilt was quickly alleviated when magically, another perfectly packaged sweet filled the empty space.
The expedition back to the caboose was a decidedly more risky one; it’s a lot more obvious that someone is invisible when a piece of candy is levitating midair. Luckily, the darker it got outside, the more students opted for the comfort of their cozy compartments, which fostered the perfect environment for sleeping. After all, when he and Fred would pull pranks on the train, this was the hour they’d hit the hardest.
He was nearly to the back coach when a now sixth year Neville Longbottom emerged from his cabin, a defeated look on his face. A harshly conquered game of wizard’s chess could be seen, Luna Lovegood sitting next to the board with a neutral smile resting on her lips.
George had tried to dance around Neville, but Longbottom’s clumsiness was no match for him. Not even a second passed before Neville rammed headfirst into George’s chest, falling backward. He laid on the floor for a minute, dumbfounded, before cautiously getting up, reaching for the floating sweet that George grasped high above his head.
George couldn’t help but mutter a low ‘sorry’ to poor Neville before rapidly darting past him towards the door. Neville looked around suspiciously for a minute longer before accepting the fact that he had likely been the subject of another foul prank.
Finally, unscathed, George returned to the rear of the train, where you lay half sprawled across the ledge sleepily. Your eyes were closed, your ears focused on the calming rhythmic rattling of the wheels on the track.
A small smile couldn’t help but creep onto George’s face at the sight of you asleep. He gently tapped you awake, a soft hum escaping his lips. Your eyes fluttered open, a loving look glazing them.
“What is it, Georgie?” you asked, taking in your surroundings.
“Just wanted to make sure that you didn’t fall asleep here. You’d be sore by the time we get to our destination if you did,” George said with a wink.
He outstretched his hand like Prince Charming, helping you stand up from the floor. Your rubious-haired boyfriend inconspicuously held his other hand behind his back, concealing the candy in his large palm.
“Where did you go, George? One moment you’re out here with me, next moment you’re off into the train packed full of people!” you questioned curiously, inspecting George from head to toe.
“Well, you said you were hungry, so naturally....” he said, “I had to get you something to eat.”
George held out a single chocolate frog in his hand like a proud little kid. He wore the exact same smile he sported first year: a look radiating innocence and kindness. You gingerly accepted the frog, slowly unwrapping the chocolate and stuffing the card in your pocket for Ron.
“...just like first year,” you muttered, barely able to make a sound.
You were seated on the tail of the express once again, eyes pointed towards the inky black and star-blemished sky. George quickly mirrored your actions, comfortably sitting next to you. While you munched on your chocolate frog joyfully, George rested his head on your shoulder, even though he was very much taller than you. He momentarily began humming a lullaby he learned as a baby; the vibrations emitted from his voice box resonated comfortingly through your body.
His angelic humming echoed lovingly through your brain all the way to Hogwarts.
----
The train screeched to a halt at the Hogwarts station behind the school. The soothing rattle of the train ceased, to your dismay, and exuberant students began to flood out of the express like a tidal wave. You and George trailed far behind the various cliques of students, cracking jokes at the expense of the new first years.
“Look at that poor one! He’s fixed to become the new Neville!” you said laughing, before getting a playful elbow from George.
“McGonagall will have quite the handful with those two over there. Reckon they’ll be tricksters like us?” George asked with a nostalgic laugh, pointing at two boys who were sneakily distributing some sort of (surely hexed) candy to their gullible peers. They looked so much like Fred and George did in their first year, down to the very same expression.
“No doubt about it,” you said confidently, darting your eyes comparatively from the boys to your boyfriend. “It really is quite uncanny.”
Soon enough, the towering main entrance to the castle was opened with a swish, and the distinctly familiar smell flooded your nostrils. You were finally home once again. Not much had changed since you left, besides the absence of all of Umbridge’s devious decrees, replaced with some friendly-looking paintings.
“Looks the exact same, doesn’t it?” George whispered, careful to be unnoticed by the excited soon-to-be-sorted first years who were guided to the Great Hall. You nodded yes, clenching his hand harder with exhilaration.
Instead of risking getting caught during the time-honored Sorting Ceremony, you and George walked aimlessly, enjoying the unique ambiance of the school. After a while of galavanting around the halls, you climbed the moving steps towards the Gryffindor tower.
“Open up, it's George,” he whispered to the portrait of the Fat Lady with a smirk, and surprisingly, she obliged with a pleasantly surprised smile. Your stare flickered from George to the portrait, mouth agape.
“Let’s just say, me and the Fat Lady have a lot of… history. Oh, not like that!” George let out a laugh followed by an adorable wink.
You gravitated towards the comfortable crimson couches which sat by the large and inviting fireplace, dragging George’s hand behind you.
Your body melted into the red plush of the couch, the soft material much more desirable than the stiff metal rails of the express. Your carrot-topped better half took a seat next to you, his body intertwining with yours.
Gryffindors threatened to flood into the common room any given moment, so you wasted no time pulling George’s soft shirt to your chest for a gentle and loving kiss.
“Blimey! Get a room you two!” Ron said, walking towards the two of you from the portrait, gagging.
“I guess the charm’s worn off, Georgie.”
“Just in time, too,” he said with a slightly cocky smile.
You turned to Ron, who reluctantly held his arms out for a hug. You ran to him with all your might, meeting the messy-haired ginger’s chest. “I’m so glad to see you again. It’s felt like ages.”
“Glad to see you too, Y/N,” he said with a genuine smile.
Harry and Hermione entered not long after, a matching perplexed expression on their faces. “Y/N? George? How’d you get in here? Surely McGonagall wouldn’t permit a visit such as this?” Hermione asked, giving you a small but confused hug.
“Well, the thing is, no one knows we’re actually here,” George said, a grin on his face.
“How’d you do it? Sneak in here, I mean,” Harry asked, eager to learn a new way to sneak to the school.
“Snuck onto the express. Brilliant idea and execution courtesy of my dear Y/N. She’s a genius in training. Learning from the best, of course,” George said sarcastically, his thumb pointing to his chest.
“Very funny, Georgie. This one was all me. My magnum opus, some would say.”
----
The ensuing night was amazing. Laughter echoed through the cherry-tinted walls of the common room like a magnificent orchestra; classic games like spin the bottle and truth or dare were played religiously.
By the time it struck midnight, your mind had nearly escaped to your hazy dreamscape too many times to count. It had been a long day; you started early with cooking a full breakfast, sneaking onto the Hogwarts Express, and partying for hours into the night with the Gryffindors, all with the love of your life. To say you were exhausted was a massive understatement.
Harry had graciously offered his comfortable bed to you, Ron reluctantly sacrificing his to George. “You owe me one,” he repeatedly grumbled to his older brother, who plastered a sickly innocent smile on in response.
George took quick notice of the unfathomable exhaustion plastered onto your face from his couch across from you, immediately announcing to the chatting group of friends, “I think it’s time for me and Y/N to turn in for the night. See you all in the morning.”
‘Goodnights’ drifted in and out of your ears as George picked you up from the couch bridal-style, carrying you light-as-a feather up the steps to the boys’ dorms. He could envision a furious Head Boy Percy demanding, ‘Put her down, George! Girls sleep in the girls’ dormitories, boys in the boys’! They have that rule for a reason!’
He smiled as he creaked open the sixth year boys’ dorm’s door, laying you peacefully onto Harry’s scarlet four-poster bed. He grabbed some cozy knitted blankets, gently setting them over your body.
“There you are, angel, have a good nights’ sleep. I love you with all my heart,” George cooed. He turned to Ron’s bed with a smile before you grasped his hand desperately.
“Before you go to bed Georgie, did you have fun today? I know you super were stressed out yesterday and all,” your words came out slurred and tired, some borderline incoherent.
“I have fun any time I’m with you, darling,” he said, smoothing your ruffled hair. “But yes, I had the time of my life with you today. Just being with you makes my day infinitely brighter. You’re like my little sunshine.”
“And will you actually marry me someday, Georgie?” you asked, your droopy eyes filled with an unfathomable and everlasting love. You were deep under the heavenly redhead’s spell once again.
“I always keep my word, darling.”
#george weasley#george weasley x y/n#fred and george#george weasley fluff#george weasley x reader#george fic recs#fred and goerge weasley#fred and george weasley#george weasley one shot#george weasley blurb#george weasley imagine#george weasley x you#george weasley x gryffindor!reader#george weasley headcanon#george weasley hc#george weasley fic#george weasley fanfiction#weasley wizard wheezes#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter#hp#weasley twins
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Hogwarts AU Headcanons
Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead, Toshinori Yagi/All Might, Taishiro Toyomitsu/Fatgum, Mirai Sasaki/Sir Nighteye, Keigo Takami/Hawks
Masterlist
Slytherin 🐍
He was the odd ball though when it came to his own house since he hung out with a Hufflepuff and a Gryffindor
Would every now and then find himself in some trouble alongside his friends with the professors
Especially for being late to class, his two friends goofing off around the grounds, and trying to sneak around late at night.
Was in possession of the Maurader’s map with his friends....but Filch took it...
Also was friends with you as well, ever since the first train ride to Hogwarts, but the two of you start to date in your 6th year.
He excelled with all his subjects and O.W.L.S. and graduated almost at the top of his class
The two of you married not too long upon graduating Hogwarts.
Became an Auror and was pretty great at his job, but with the offer of a position at Hogwarts recommended to him, he decided to give it a go
The two of you move to Hogsmeade to be closer to his work.
I picture him teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts
He’s a strict teacher, but only because he needs the students to know the ways to defend themselves and be knowledgeable of the dangers in the wizarding world.
He is also runs Wizarding Duel Club, which is actually quite popular despite him being so strict with his teaching methods
Enjoys roaming around Hogsmeade with you on the weekends he and over the holidays
Frequents the Three Broomsticks and Honeydukes with you (especially honeydukes when you fall pregnant during his 2nd year of teaching)
Students were SHOOK to see their professor at Madame Puddyfoot’s Tea Shop with a heavily pregnant you on Valentine’s Day
Students since then have introduced themselves to you and enjoy talking to you....despite Shouta wanting a student free weekend in Hogsmeade.
But he can’t help but like it when students request to feel your baby bump and you happily let them....the happy look on your face makes his heart flutter
Will invite you to eat at Hogwarts with the students and professors that stay for Christmas because he feels bad for the students who don’t go back to their families
Gryffindor 🦁
Was extremely popular in his Hogwarts years
Won the triwizard tournament his 7th year
His academics though? They weren’t out of this world, but they were pretty normal, he was better when it came to his extracurricular activities such as Wizarding Duel and Quidditch
He would secretly go to geek out about the muggle world with the Muggle Studies professor every now and then
Upon graduation he was a pretty popular quidditch player for the United Kingdom, but suffered a life changing injury
Decided live in the muggle world and study their way of life for a bit after the injury, he ended up composing a text book with all the basics he scrounged up together
It’s even used for the curriculum at Hogwarts
Though Hogwarts offered him a position as well as the Muggle Studies professor
Hell to the yes he went! He become head of Gryffindor house and helped give pointers to the quidditch team
Started a weekend club where students would meet in the great hall to observe Muggle Artifacts, it wasn’t really that popular, but it didn’t matter, the few students that joined was enough for him.
Met you shortly after beginning to teach at Hogwarts
You taught herbology and would sometimes listen in during his Muggle club in the great hall and would sometimes ask questions about the object he was talking about.
After that he would invite you out to Hogsmeade to get a butter beer and talk about muggle things since you showed an interest in wanting to know
The conversations soon turned into what would go on between two friends and it flowed so nicely, so after that he would ask you to meet up a few more times before going on a date.
The fact that two of you dated was no secret as your dates were of course held at Hogsmeade and the students could very well see the two of you chatting away.
So it wasn’t a surprise when the two of you got married and you fell pregnant during one year of teaching.
He totally invited the members of his muggles club to the wedding and totally didn’t get emotional when they gifted him a rubber duck (his absolute favorite muggle artifact)
Hufflepuff 🦡
Known as the gentle giant while in school
Supper nice and was friendly with absolutely everyone, so he was highly respected and adored by his peers
His academic life was pretty normal, excelling in the subjects he needed to become an Auror, he was also the announcer for the school’s quidditch matches.
Also liked to spend his time in the library to study....also snuck snacks in as well and would share with the other students that were studying
Met you on the train ride to Hogwarts his 7th year, he was trying to enter your train car since the others were full but he only managed to bang his head upon entering
You two were joined at the hip ever since then and started dating
The two of you married after graduation
You came into the ownership of honeydukes at Hogsmeade while Taishiro spent most of his time away for his job as an Auror
Quite his job though once the two of you had your 5th child to move to Hogsmeade to be with you and to help you run the candy shop.
The students love interacting with you and Taishiro, talking about their classes and their stuggles and asking for advice as they would purchase their chocolate frogs and other confectionary
Your older children, who all happen to be girls, love to go visit you and Tiashiro ok the weekends and sometimes hang out with their friends there.
Your younger girls would give advice to the students who are purchasing candy on which one is the best and will also look longingly to them because they wanted to be at Hogwarts already.
They would also brag that they had like five of the cards that a student would get from their chocolate frogs, but Taishiro would soon put them on blast and say they didn’t
Became instant BFFs with the Weasley family thanks to being able to relate on having big families, so holidays together are chaotic but fun
Is a huge advocate for house elves rights along with his daughters and you
Ravenclaw
Was a little quiet during school, a little mysterious
People either liked him or just really didn’t know him, mostly people from his own house liked him.
Excelled in academics and was at the top of his class and was viewed as the brightest wizard in his year, but sucked when it came to quidditch.
Really, really, really, really loved quidditch though and really wished he was good at it, but you can’t help some things.
Upon graduation he took up a position at the Ministry of Magic as the head of the Department of Mysteries
Worked extremely close with the Hall of Prophecy thanks to his gift of Divination (divination was his favorite course in Hogwarts)
Met you through work after becoming head of the Department of Mysteries
Your were the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement
You two had a meeting for damage control because a worker on the Hall of Prophecy managed to drop on of them and the even needed to be documented
You had a framed signature from a famous quidditch player on the wall that caught his attention after the meeting, which he pointed out and the two of you had a conversation about your shared love of quidditch
After that, he was hooked and asked you out on a date, which went well and the two of you were married a year or two later.
He would read your tea leaves or your palms about your future to impress you
It always impressed you and it will always impress you no matter how many times he would do it.
The two of you live in an apartment in London and will often go to the Leaky Couldron and Diagon Alley
The two of you would deck yourself out in your favorite teams for the quidditch World Cup, which includes painting your face
Gryffindor 🦁
EXTREMELY popular in his Hogwarts years
Literally all the girls loved and pined after him, all the boys wanted to be him, and all the teachers were always impressed with his work.
Was the best seeker for the Gryffindor quidditch team
All around perfect student and he always seemed to do everything with so much ease and stress free
Always managed to dodge the love potions girls would try to slip him.
He met you one day while messing around with his friends at the lake skipping rocks, you were under the shade of a tree studying.
His friends went to start messing with you, which he soon told them too all ‘fuck off’ when he could tell that you were visibly annoyed with them.
Always hung out with you since then, becoming almost like your gaurdian angel
Upon graduation he struck a job being an Auror, you the potions master at hogwarts.
He was pretty dang awesome in his job and honestly everyone knew the amazing work he did as Auror, so he was pretty popular amongst the Aurors as well
He quit his job though to begin teaching the flying lessons to the first years at Hogwarts because he really did enjoy quidditch and flying
Also was in charge of quidditch as a whole
And he also just really missed you
He finally asked you out on a date towards the end of his first year of teaching at Hogwarts and you said yes, then towards the beginning of the next year, the two of you got married
The students love Keigo, he treats them as equals, mostly because he’s honestly not that much older than them and was in their position not to long ago.
Girls swoon over him and are low key jealous that you are married to him.
He likes to pop his head in to bother you during, or before and after your classes
Plays quick games of quidditch on the quidditch field with the house team that are practicing for fun
Will tug you into the potion’s closet for a quick kiss, despite how unprofessional you think it is
#aizawa shouta x reader#aizawa shouta headcanons#eraserhead x reader#eraserhead headcanons#toshinori yagi x reader#toshinori yagi headcanons#all might x reader#all might headcanons#toyomitsu taishiro x reader#taishiro toyomitsu x reader#fatgum x reader#fatgum headcanons#sir nighteye headcanons#sir nighteye x reader#mirai sasaki#mirai sasaki x reader#hawks x reader#keigo takami x reader#keigo takami headcanons#hawks headcanons#bnha headcanons#mha headcanons#bnha#boku no hero academia#my hero academia#mha#hogwarts au
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I'd die for you. | G.W
TW // major character death(s), angst, general sadness, love, mentions of blood, death and sadness.
I would like to apologise in advance for this one, it has taken me two full days of tears and breaking my own god damn heart.
Let me know if you want to be on the taglist my loves💞
@witch-and-a-half @weasleysflowr @wand3ringr0s3 @hufflepuffgirly
Never make a promise you don't intend to keep. That's what my mum always taught me, so in the lead up to the Seven Potters I promised George that even against my best judgements, I'd stay back at the burrow and wait for his arrival.
"If you keep biting those nails, you'll have none left, dear!" Molly said, sitting next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders "Before you know it, they'll all be walking through that doo-" A loud splash echos around the quiet surroundings of the countryside, causing Ginny to jump from the chair and run outside, greeting Harry and Hagrid on their arrival. All too quickly I hear Lupin's voice yelling, causing everyone to look in the direction of his voice. My heart fell to the pit of my stomach.
My mind went blank in the next few moments, I was stood there watching Lupin carry the weak and limp body of love of my life into the confines of the Burrow. Ginny grabs my hand, pulling me inside when she notices that I hadn't moved an inch. I thanked Merlin that he was still breathing, but the blood rushing from his ear made me question how he wasn't unconscious.
"Take a picture, it'll last longer." he jokes, feigning a small smile at me as he reaches for my hand, which I let him take, dropping to kneel by his side. My other hand reaching up to brush the hair from his eyes.
"George, you never cease to amaze me how you can still be smiling when you've lost an ear," he squeezes my hand tightly, almost to check I was still there, "who am I if I can't even make the woman I love smile?"
I press a small kiss to his hand, giving him a reassuring smile. I feel a hand on my shoulder, looking up to see Fred staring down at me, he moves to join me beside his brother, "How're you feeling, Georgie?" George takes a deep breath before speaking up.
"Saint like," he smiles, I look to Fred, who has a worry in his eye, I give him a reassuring look as I give George's hand a squeeze, "Come again?" George lets go of my hand, straining to reach up and point at his own ear "I'm holey, get it Fred?"
"The whole wide world of ear related humor and you go for 'I'm holey'... It's pathetic" The twin smiles, looking down at his hands that sat nicely in his lap, "Recon I'm still better looking than you, at least Y/N still thinks so, right angel?" I smile nodding as a small blush rises to my cheeks, I lean in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead, earning a small but weak smile from him.
After about 10 minutes of arguing over who would clean up George's ear, I convince Molly that I was more than happy to take care of her son, especially as I've been patching the twins up after any and all mishaps at the shop. She obliges, despite her motherly instincts kicking in, helping me guide George into the bathroom. We seat him ontop of the toilet seat, nestling between his legs as I gently dab a warm cloth over the side of his face, clearing away all of the blood. I find myself taking in every freckle, every little scar on his face, the way his cheeks were so full and how he was just so perfect, making me realise how much I loved him.
"How did I ever get so lucky?" he smiles up at me, his hands holding onto the backs of my thighs, as my hand holds his chin in place, starting the task of cleaning the blood from his ear. I try to make sureBeing careful to be more gentle every time he winces. "If you're lucky, Georgie, imagine how I feel waking up to you every morning."
"Promise me something," I push back his hair so that it's out of the area, grabbing some antiseptic. "If it's that the antiseptic won't hurt, then there's nothing I can do my love, just bite down on this." I give him a towel which he places between his teeth. The sounds he made as the alcohol cleaned his wound broke my heart, but it was in his best interest. I pull out my wand, casting a small spell to deal with the stitches while he's still biting down on the cloth, causing him to groan again, but this time it was more of a wince then full on cries of pain. I wrap a bandage around his head, holding some gauze in place to help with the bleeding.
"If I didn't love you so much, I'd be swearing this house down by now," he says, pulling the cloth from between his teeth, I reach to wipe away his stray tears that linger under his eyes and on his cheeks. "Now my love, what am I promising you?"
He goes to stand up, quickly deciding against it as he sits back down. I take his hands again, rubbing my thumbs across the back of his hands, he pasuses for a moment, almost as if he's unsure of what he's about to ask, however the grin that he pulls his lips into dispells any worry. "I want you to promise me that you'll still love me with one ear."
"Georgie, I'd die for you, regardless how many ears you may or may not have, you're the love of my life." I laugh, leaning down to finally press a kiss to his lips, moving one of his hands to the small of my back and tgr other to the back of my head, keeping me pulled into the kiss for a little longer.
The next few months were weird and uncertain, Diagon Alley becoming quieter and quieter, I begged George to move back to the Burrow so that we'd be out of the madness and true to his word we did, Molly helping me work with him on his sickness and growing vertigo. Harry, Ron and Hermione were off hunting horcruxes and every morning I got a gut feeling that things were going to get worse.
Beams of Green and Red were flying all around me as I ran through the corridors of hogwarts. The sounds of crying, screaming and yelling were all I could hear. A head of firey red hair, pops around the wall which I spot out of the corner of my eye, he was fighting off Death eaters like it was nothing when suddenly he's thrown to the floor, his wand flying from his hand. I'm trying to run towards him but I feel like I can't move, every muscle in my body is resisting.
"Avada Kedavra!" suddenly the body of the man I love goes lifeless before me, I scream at the top of my lungs, my body finally giving in as I collape at his side, wailing from the pit of my stomach.
"no, no, no... Wake up! Please wake up, My love, just open-" "your eyes, shh, it's okay, I'm here, it's just a dream, baby." my tear stained cheeks, and small shallow breaths were enough for George to realise that it wasn't a normal dream, the protective part of him pulling me into his arms, rocking me gently as he coos my sobs, which grow less and less violent as I'm brought back to reality
"I'm sorry." I whisper as his hand plays with my hair, soothing me to a point where I can finally breathe again, "don't be, when you screamed like that i thought something was happening to you, I swear whatever was hurting you like that I'd take the brunt, I'd die for you, my angel."
"Don't say that." I breathe, shaking my head as I press a soft kiss to his jaw, "no dying, not for me, Georgie." he holds me tighter, leaning down to connect our lips in a soft kiss. "no dying, got it."
I hadn't seen George in a month, we decided that with the death eaters still roaming the streets, it would be better if we both went into hiding. My aunt, who has two witches herself, was keeping me safe, telling her girls to stay in Australia for their own safety. I hear a small knock on the door, Aunt Melinda poking her head into the room.
"This just came inside one of my letters, it's for you, darling." I smile at her, taking the letter gratefully, I recognise the handwriting immediately, opening up the envelope to a gorgeous hand-written letter.
To My Angel,
Merlin, I miss you. Dad told me about how the whole muggle mail thing works and I think I enjoy it more than mail by owl. I think personally that it was a stroke of genius to write to you like this because I know theres no way that the death eaters will go looking through muggle mail.
I want nothing more than to hear your voice again, to touch your skin, feel you next to me when I wake. Oh, Speaking of sleep, how are your nightmares? I don't sleep much these days so I hope you're resting better than I am.
Dad says the order has been checking on the house and the shop regularly, they think the burrow will be safe again soon, I hope you'll join the family and I because I have something I need to ask you and I don't want to do it over a letter.
I love you always and forever.
Georgie
I hold the letter close to my heart, longing to feel his presense again. The nightmares haven't been getting any better, no matter what I do, I don't get to him in time and I have to watch him die in front of me over and over again, knowing that I could've saved him. A wave of pain and sadness washes over me as I curl myself into a ball, under the covers, praying that the duvet becomes his arms and that I don't fall asleep to see his lifeless eyes again.
Two months later, finally stood in each other's arms, kissing again in the room where it all started for us. For a moment I'm taken back to Dumbledore's Army and the hours George and I spent as we snuck into the room of requirement, him helping me perfect my patronus, giving me the happiest memory of all when he kissed me for the first time.
We stood by the window, away from everybody, talking and making up for lost time, holding onto me like he wouldn't ever let go again, every time I looked at him, I was smiling, my heart doing backflips.
"I wanted to ask you this before it all gets crazy," he smiles taking both of my hands as he gets down on one knee, pulling out a ring from his pocket. "I was going to ask you when you were mending my ear, I wish I didn't catch myself out and that I'd asked you then and there because being away from you made me realise that I can't spend another day without you, I love you so much, you're the best thing to have ever happened to me so I want to make us last forever, that's if you still love me, even with one ear."
I giggle, taking the ring and slipping it onto my finger as I nod frantically. I wanted nothing more than to be with George forever, even if he only had one ear.
I don't think any of us realised we were fighting a war until the bodies of people we cared about started to pile around us. I was fighing for everything I had, until I couldn't breathe, a sense of dread washing over me when I realised I'd been fighting alone. I was running around the castle and everything felt like slow motion. That was until I stumbled into the great hall and suddenly time felt real again.
Ginny was holding me back from stepping closer to any of the family, I caught a glimpse of the redheaded boy who looked to be asleep on the floor, his twin sobbing next to him as the family wept. "It's freddie, Y/N" she whispers, "Fred's gone."
Every wail and sob from every nightmare came back to me at once, pushing past Hermione to wrap my arms around George, letting him cry into my arms, and there we stay for as long as he needed.
When It felt like it was all over, we believed Harry was Dead, that this was the end, that everything we had worked for was short lived. I cried into George's shoulder, hugging his side, it felt like a part of all of us had gone. So when Harry reveals himself to truly be alive we were all in a state of shock, moving as one to finish what was started if not for us then for those we lost.
The fight was not over. Beams of Green and Red were flying all around me as I ran through the corridors. The sounds of crying, screaming and yelling were all I could hear. It's like I'd done this a thousand times. I saw the man I loved, from the corner of my eye, he was fighting off Death eaters like it was nothing, when suddenly he's thrown to the floor, his wand flying from his hand. I realised, I had done this before. It was all de ja vu and before I could think, I run and jump in front of the spell that was meant for him, taking it with the full force of my body.
The next few moments felt like no time at all, like both nothing and forever. He held my body in his arms as I reach up to press my hand against his cheek, feeling the last of my life slip away from me, "I love you, George, even if you do only have one ear."
Never make a promise you don't intend to keep. When I told George I would die for him, I truly meant it. When I told him I'd love him forever I meant it. I continued on with him for years, watching him heal and mourn Fred and I. The thing that hurt the most was hearing him still talk to me, like he feels me there, "I made your favourite, mum's cinnamon rolls, she doesn't make them much anymore, I don't think she will without your help." he smiles down at his plate, pulling the roll in half, before letting out a deep breath, placing the other half down and sliding it across the table.
I'm hugging him but he can't feel me there, I'm there every night, curled up next to him but he doesn't feel me hold his cheek anymore. He's sat in the dark, tears rolling down his cheeks, "I know you're here, I can feel you with me but not Freddie." he wipes away his tears, pulling a pillow into his chest. "I hope he's okay, would've been nice of him to leave me one of his ears, it's not like he ever used them anyway." George Weasley, you never cease to amaze me how you can still be smiling when you've lost all that you have.
He never loved another woman, even when he tried, by Godric I wanted him to be happy, even if it wasn't with me. He was sat on the bed, clutching the photo of him and I as he played with the engagement ring he gave me. "I live for you my Angel, If only there was a way you could have lived for me."
#george weasley#fred and george#george weasley fic#george weasley x reader#harry potter#weasley twins#harry potter fic#Angst#Sadness
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Train Rides
낮잠은 어땠어? How was your nap?
Description: What is hoped to be a quiet train ride down to your grandparents’ is interrupted by a loud business trip with an intriguing conversation with a business man who’s apart of the group that’s creating chaos in the train car.
Warnings: Swearing
Genre: Fluff, Non-idol!Minghao x Fem!Reader ft. Non-idol!Seventeen
Word Count: 3k
Seventeen Masterlist | Masterlists
My duffle bag bounced against my hip as I did a weird jog shuffle down the train platform in search of the train car where my seat was. Almost missing my train was what I got for spending a few extra minutes in the shower. My aunt would've killed me if I missed this train because I was bringing the most important stuff for my grandparents' anniversary.
"Finally." I exhaled as I finally found my assigned train car: number 8.
Pulling myself into the train car, I focused on calming my rapidly beating heart. I opened the door separating the seats from the space between train cars and my ears were immediately bombarded with lively chatter.
I looked up to find a large cluster of seats were taken up by a group of males. They were the ones creating the chatter. And it didn't help that they were all clustered around the middle of the train.
Internally, I groaned because I honestly hoped to get some more sleep on this train ride before I had to deal with my very loud, very obnoxious family. But that plan jumped out the window. But then, my heart dropped even further.
My seat was somehow in the smack dab middle of their cluster.
I cursed my need for a little extra leg room and a window seat as I trudged down the aisle with my duffle bag gripped in my hands. The conversations didn't quiet down as I approached, nor did they stop when I reached the middle of the train car where the backwards facing seats met the forward facing cars with a table in the center.
Sitting across from my seat were two males, one with blonde hair and the other with black hair. Both had rounder faces but they were in no way pudgy. In the seat right next to mine was another black haired male but he had a slimmer face and honestly, a slimmer physique in general. He had sharp facial features, a pair of round glasses sat on his nose and his entire focus was on the notebook supported by one hand while the other flew across the page with a pencil in its grasp.
The two from across noticed me stop and stared for a couple seconds as I struggled to get my ridiculously heavy duffle bag up into the overhead storage.
"Here. Let me help you with that." A light voice offered from behind me and a pair of hands helped me push the duffle into place.
"Thank you." I turned around to properly thank him and I was met with an almost angelic face that matched the voice almost perfectly. He had red hair and angled features but he somehow made it all work well together.
They were all seriously good looking and I was suddenly very thankful I spent those few extra minutes in the shower.
"No problem." The red head smiled and my involuntarily fluttered, "Do you have the seat next to Minghao?" He asked, nodding towards the male who was still engrossed in his little notebook.
"I guess." I told him with a small smile and then I heard the faint ringing throughout the platform telling everyone we were about to depart.
As the train car doors closed shut, one of the males across from my seat must've kicked the male sitting next to me because his eyes shot up with a glare that would've made even the toughest guys back down. But after a quick nod in my direction, the one in the seat next to mine directed his attention to me and I swore I saw his eyes widen ever so slightly. As quickly as he shot his head up, he scrambled out of his seat to let me into my seat.
"Thank you." I said quietly as slid into my seat just as the train began to move.
"No problem." The male next to me said and slid back into his seat. I could feel his gaze on me for a few more seconds before he reburied his head into his notebook.
I pulled out my book and headphones from my backpack before setting it down next to my legs. The conversations around me began to pick up again and I decided I could try to ignore them with some music.
But... just as the train left the station behind...
"So where are you headed?" The blonde male directly across from me asked just as I plugged in my headphones.
I blinked, for some reason unsure why he would be talking to me. "Uh, I'm headed down to Jinju." I answer him slowly.
"Oh, no way." The blonde smiled widely, "We are too."
"Oh, that's cool." I commented, unsure of how to actually respond.
"Yeah, we have a few important business things to do there." He explained though I didn't exactly ask for one. The slight awkwardness that creeped into the atmosphere almost made me want to laugh.
"Important." The black haired male next to the blonde repeated with air quotes and a large eye roll.
"Ignore him." The blonde informed me while pushing the black haired one in the shoulder. "I'm Seungkwan, by the way."
"(y/n)." I introduced me since it was the only thing I could do.
"Soonyoung." The black haired one raised a hand, all traces of his annoyance from earlier completely gone.
"Hi." I smiled, playing with an earbud wondering if they were going to talk to me the entire trip.
"So, are you just visiting Jinju?" Seungkwan continued his round of questions.
"Yeah," I answered, realizing that they were indeed probably going to talk to me the entire way there, "My grandparents live there and I'm visiting them."
"Oh, that's so sweet." Seungkwan cooed.
"I wish I was visiting my grandparents." Soonyoung grumbled, his annoyance returning.
"Soonyoung, I swear to god, if I hear another grievance from you, I'm going to make you participate in the panel next week." Another black haired male from across the aisle narrowed his eyes at Soonyoung.
"Oh god, not the financial panel." Soonyoung's face dropped so fast that I barely had time to hold back a laugh.
Seungkwan caught me and leaned in closer, "Don't worry, we all think he's nuts."
"Not as nuts as Jun." A voice piped up from behind me. The male looked by far the youngest and he was pointing diagonally across the aisle at a bucket hat wearing male with sharp catlike features.
As the others started to banter about who was more nuts, I glanced over at the notebook of my glasses wearing seat mate. On the page was a crude drawing of a character of some sorts and I couldn't help but be captivated by it. It wasn't anything super fantastical or extraordinary but every part held a story and I wanted to decipher all the parts. The way the body was positioned gave the impression of a welcoming and comforting personality but the face had the emotions of hidden stresses and thoughts.
The owner of the notebook cleared his throat slightly and I was caught red handed.
"Sorry." I apologized and felt a blush creep into my cheeks.
"It's okay." He accepted my apology but the embarrassment was still drowning me.
"It's a really interesting drawing." I complimented him and then mentally face palmed at the genericness of it.
The male glanced down at the drawing and then back up at me, "You think?" He asked.
I nodded, "Yeah, that's why I was staring. I was trying to figure out the pieces of the story it holds." I explained, trying not to look away from his intense curious gaze.
"Huh." He commented, slightly impressed for some reason, "These idiots never looked at one of my drawings for more than ten seconds." He gestured to the still bantering males around us.
I chuckled, "Well, they can't be complete idiots considering you're all attending business meetings together." I told him and he tilted his head to the side, considering my point.
"Fair." He said and then paused, thinking, before adding, "Then they're idiots of the art world."
"That sounds a little better." I said with another laugh bubbling in my chest, "So, do you draw often?"
He shrugged, "Kind of. I do it whenever I feel like I need to let off steam or if I'm bored."
"Which one was it today?" I asked then wondered if that was borderline too personal.
"Boredom." He answered, nonchalantly, and added a few more pencil strokes to the shadows of his character.
"Train rides not your favorite?" I guessed with a questioning eyebrow.
"Not really." He responded, "I'm more of a car ride kind of guy. But the train was the fastest option for us, so here we are."
"You like driving through Seoul?" I questioned with slight shock because Seoul was a city where every hour was rush hour and every car was trying to make it to their destination in record time.
He chuckled in disgust, "Oh god no. I hate driving in the city. Makes me want to pull out all of my hair." He joked and a smile grew on my face. "But give me a long drive through the country, an AUX cord, and a few snacks and I'm all set to go for hours."
"You would go alone?" I asked.
He leaned in close so the others wouldn't hear him but my heart skipped a few beats. "These guys are idiots of the art world, remember?" He reminded me with a small playful smile.
"Right. I guess music counts as an art form." I stated, hoping he couldn't see my nervousness. He straightened back up and a tiny part of me was extremely disappointed.
"Exactly." He agreed, "Though Mingyu's not a bad companion, if I want one." He pointed across the aisle and a row back at a green haired giant.
My eyes widened at his hair color and I had to ask, "Why is his hair green?"
"He lost a bet." He informed me, a smile touched his face with the memory and he looked even cuter when he smiled.
"Poor dude." I exhaled glancing back at the green haired male as he laughed at something the guy next to him said.
"Eh, he actually suggested the punishment himself so..." The male next to me trailed off with a shrug.
"So, what's your name?" I asked suddenly, realizing I knew a few of the others' names but not once did I get to ask him his.
"Minghao." He stuck out a hand and I grabbed with a surprised smile.
"(y/n)." I reciprocated the greeting and pray he can't feel my racing pulse through my skin.
""And you're visiting family in Jinju." Minghao repeated what I told Seungkwan earlier and my lips pucker in surprise. He chuckled and pulled his hand away. "My ears still pay attention even if my eyes aren't."
"I can't do that." I said, resting my hands in my lap, "Multitasking like that is not my forte."
"Gotta focus on one or the other?" He asked and I nodded my head.
"If my eyes are focused on like my book," I rested my hand on the cover, "Or something, my ears tune out everything so I don't miss a single word."
"Is that what the headphones are for?" Minghao asked nodding towards my phone with the still plugged in headphones.
"Yeah, kind of." I answered and twirled the wire around my finger, "It's easier to tune out familiar sounds than new ones."
"Any particular sounds?" He inquired and set down his closed notebook on the table.
"Music, particularly." I told him and tried to ignore the giddy thoughts that screamed that he enjoyed talking to me. I also peeked at his hands and noticed he wasn't wearing any rings. Which could've have been a big indicator that he wasn't in a relationship with anyone considering every couple seemed to have couple rings here.
He gave me a wide smile and the action softened his facial features so much. "Any particular artists?" He reiterated his question using the same word we had been repeating.
"Jason Miraz is one of my favorites." I informed him.
"Oh, I love Jason Miraz." He said with bright eyes, "His style is just so cool and he makes great songs."
"His style is really, really cool." I agreed. "Have you heard his new album?"
"Did that come out already?" Minghao asked with widened eyes.
I nodded, "This morning."
"Oh dang, I didn't even know it was coming out this soon." He said and scratched the back of his neck.
I reached for my headphones and handed one to him, "You want to listen with me? I haven't made it through the whole thing yet either. Just the first couple."
Minghao cautiously grabbed the earbud out of my hand, "You're sure?" He questioned me.
"About sharing headphones?" I answered with another question, "It's fine." I gave him a reassuring smile and it seemed to relax him a bit.
I popped my earbud in my ear and then scrolled through my phone to find the playlist. Adjusting the volume so it wouldn't blow out our eardrums, I started the album from the top.
"How's the volume?" I glanced over at Minghao after settling the volume at a level I thought was comfortable.
"Good, good." He responded, still a little stiff.
Turning my head towards the window, I let the calm melodies and voice of Jason Miraz accompany the green country scenery that quickly passed by. Pretty soon, my eye lids began to grow heavy and my morning rush started to catch up with me. Before I knew it, I was nodding off with my head leaned back against the weird velvety seat. Jason Miraz's soft voice carried me further into sleep land.
Just before the haze of exhaustion turned into a dark abyss, I felt a hand lower my head until it met the hard curve of a shoulder.
I woke up to someone calling my name and it wasn't Jason Miraz's voice. Blinking my eyes open, I was still on the train and the country side was still passing by very quickly. My head was still pressed against a shoulder and then it hit me just who's shoulder I was leaning on. [Though you know Soonyoung was not going to let Minghao live down how sweet the action was.]
"We're like 5 minutes from Jinju station." Minghao's voice informed me and I sat up, trying not to be too sudden about it.
Running a hand through my hair, I checked my phone and the time coincides with the information given to me.
"I can't believe I slept through the entire ride." I chuckled at myself, still in shock.
"I'm surprised you slept through Seokmin and Soonyoung's screaming." Minghao laughed lightly and handed me the other half of my headphones.
I gathered the wire and picked up my backpack to shove them and my book back into it.
"Ugh, we didn't even get to talk about the album." I pouted, annoyed at myself for sleeping.
He giggled and it added itself to list of things I found cute.
"How about this?" He suggested, "We exchange numbers and we can discuss the album once you actually listened to it."
I puckered my lips in thought because dude just called me out for falling asleep in the middle of tiny listening party for a new album. But, the little jab did nothing against the desire to keep in touch with him. So, I unlocked my phone and handed it over with the contacts app opened.
"Deal." I agreed to his suggestion and he took my phone before quickly typing in his information.
"How was your nap?" Seungkwan asked, resting his arms on the table and leaning forward.
"It was unexpected and long." I answered him, zipping up my backpack.
"But was it at least good?" He questioned further and Minghao handed back my phone.
"I'd say it was pretty good." I told him and he smiled, content with my answer.
The train pulled into the station, which was the last on its route, and we all shuffled out of our seats. I reached up to the overhead storage for my still ridiculously heavy duffle bag but Minghao grabbed it before I could even touch it. Pulling it down, he held it out for me to take.
"Thank you." I thanked him with a smile that I hoped would cover up the toll that the bag's weight took on my body, specifically my arms.
"No problem." He nodded with a small smile.
The other guys let me walk off the train first and I didn't get a chance to look back or wait for them because my aunt was waiting on the platform for me.
"(y/n)!" She yelled and ran towards me. "Glad you made it! Oh! We have so many dishes to prepare. Come on, your mom's busy chopping up vegetables and claims she needs her sous chef ASAP." My aunt took the bag from me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders before leading me away.
I tried to look back for one last glance at the male who let me sleep on his shoulder but my aunt demanded all of my attention.
"Did you remember to bring all the stuff we asked?" She questioned me.
"Yes, auntie." I replied, "I even remembered the Christmas ornament, though it took me forever to find."
"Oh, you're amazing!" She squeezed my shoulder and we walked out of the station and towards her car.
As we made our way down the stairs, my phone rang with a text.
I pulled it out and a laugh bubbled inside my chest as I read the message from Minghao.
"I don't think Jason Miraz can save you from that conversation."
#kpop#kpop imagines#seventeen#seventeen imagines#seventeen the8 imagines#seventeen minghao imagine#the8 imagine#minghao imagine#xu minghao imagine#xu minghao#seventeen the8#seventeen minghao#seventeen imagine#seventeen the8 imagine#writer-k-pop
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hiiiii ! i hope you’re having a lovely day ! may i please request sirius black x daughter ! reader where the reader is about to start another year at hogwarts but she doesn’t want to go because they’re finally ‘a proper family’ ? 🥺🍄
A/N: Thank you for the request, like that's super cute. I'm just assuming you mean in the year after the third book. I hope you like it and have a nice day. Also I hope Headcanons are okay, otherwise feel free to request something longer.
You're in your third year third year when your father escapes Azkaban and luckily for you, you're close enough to the Golden Trio to be aware that your father is innocent
Considering there are no closer relatives you have been staying in a orphanage until now, but after returning to his own home Sirius is quick to let you stay with him
Summer break has never been better
You get to know your father and together you spent a lot of time forming a bond
Stories are swapped, games are played and evenings are spent with the two of you cuddling as you catch him up on your life
Everything is fine until a week before school starts again
To pinpoint the exact moment you realise you don't want to leave your father is the time you are in the diagon alley with the Weasley's to get your school stuff
Your father can't come because he's still wanted and you see how close the Weasley family is and realise you don't want to leave your father again
Once you have everything and have returned to your new home you decide to just keep quiet about it for now, not wanting to seem like a crybaby or similar
Sirius catches on that something is wrong pretty quickly and will ask you if something happened
If you tell him right away what bothers you he will understand what you mean having thought about the same thing, he will hug you and try to cheer you up with semi-serious jokes and will pay a lot more attention to spending quality time together
Like cooking together, cuddling or talking over a cup of tea/hot chocolate, going out yo remote places and him giving gifts
If you try to brush it off he will be worried and try to piece it together himself, his little girl is sad and he will find out why
Once he has figured it out he will talk to you about it making sure that you understand you can tell him things like that and that he doesn't want to let you go either, but that education is important
Will spoil you for the rest of the break no discussion
At the last day of your brake he will spent the whole day doing things you like with you and before you go to bed he will give you a little package and tell you to open it once you're on the train
After a long goodbye hug and entering the train you can open the package and see what's inside
In the package is a necklace with a charm you can open with a photo of the two of you inside, some sweets, a two-way mirror and a message from your father
So you can always contact me my little angel, love you - Dad
PS: Do some good pranks for me
#harry potter#sirius black#sirius black x reader#daughter#father#female reader#family feels#fluff#headcanon#request fulfilled!
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Idol
A/N: I’m back to writing after my little break; I just needed this week to get back to enjoying writing again and I definitely am so here we are! I have so many requests and yet here I am writing out a Draco fic. This is inspired by a conversation I had with the always lovely @dreamer821 who loves Cassandra Clare just as much as I do - our conversations are making my day and I think you’re amazing. But it got me to thinking and this is the end result. I hope you all like! And yes, requests are still being written!
Summary: Bookshops, book signings.
Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader
Warnings: none - fluff.
Word count: 2.3k
You unzip your jacket the moment you enter the warm shop. Draco copies your movement, unbuttoning his suit jacket underneath it too.
You shake your head at him fondly. Only he would dress so formally to an event such as this one.
The welcoming scent of old books and worn pages washes over you as you step further into the bookshop. Your stomach had been full of butterflies all day for you were finally meeting your favourite author after being a fan for so long. Draco had surprised you with tickets to the event for your birthday knowing how much you adored her books but how rare it was for her to travel to the UK.
Draco follows you to where chairs have been set up in expectation. He leans close to your ear, murmuring, “Where are we sitting then, love?”
“I don’t want to seem too eager by sitting right at the front, but I’d like to have a good view and be able to hear her.”
Draco smiles, “What about the third row?”
You nod, letting him lead you to two seats furthest from the aisle. You sit in the final seat; turning your body diagonally for a better view. Draco sits in the seat beside you, carefully placing your bag of books down on the floor in front of him. He had insisted that he be the one to carry them as you had piled six hardback books into the bag after long consideration over which books you would take to be signed. Eventually, you decided on the original hardbacks of the series that made you fall in love with the author in the first place. Nostalgia and sentimentality winning the battle of choice.
A hand on your knee makes you realise that your leg was bouncing with nerves and excitement.
“You okay?” Draco asks, eyes searching your face.
“Nervous. Excited.”
Draco chuckles, watching you fondly. From his happier moments at Hogwarts, he remembers you walking around with your nose permanently hidden away in a book. There was always one series that you would return to over and over again – rereading the first books then reading the new book when it was released. He never stopped noticing how much you adored this author, even after you fell in love with him. He didn’t need to understand your love for this particular muggle author; he just accepted it as part of you. So when he caught wind that she was visiting the UK on a book tour for her most recent work, he immediately bought tickets and surprised you on your birthday.
It was the hardest secret he has ever kept from you. It was the only secret he has ever kept from you.
“Are you happy with your choices of books?” He asks, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
You nod, grinning, “Very happy. And I get doubled signed thanks to you coming with me.”
“What better use of your partner is there?”
“Very true.”
“Have you thought of any questions you’d like to ask her?”
You bite your lip, “I have but I don’t know if I want to ask anything.”
“Why not?”
“What if I mess up and make a fool of myself in front of her?”
“Then I’ll have to make a bigger fool out of myself to take the attention away from you.”
You sigh, sliding further into your seat, “I can’t help but wonder how you’d do that.”
“I won’t need to,” Draco reassures, “You aren’t going to mess up.”
“You astonish me with your faith in me.”
“As you astonish me, dear.” He takes your hand in his, tangling your fingers together. “Now, let’s meet your idol.”
Quiet falls over the expectant crowd as the interviewer and your favourite author take a seat at the front of the room.
Your hand tightens on Draco’s as you take in the sight of finally seeing your idol in the flesh.
Draco leans towards you, whispering, “Can you see okay?”
You nod at him as the interviewer greets the crowd and the event begins.
The latest book in her series wrapped up the previous plots from past books before bringing in new issues for freshly introduced characters. Angels and demons were using Earth as a battleground and it was down to a group of misfit teenagers to stop it.
A cliché plot but when you first read the books as a misfit teenager at Hogwarts, you fell in love with the world-building and character development. You had also formed somewhat of a crush on the sarcastic blonde-haired character that as you sit next to him, reminds you of Draco.
He hadn’t read the books, and he didn’t intend to, but he was happy to sit through the interview for you. Anything for you.
You sit entirely enraptured by the author as she details her inspirations for the novel as well as her hopes for the series.
You couldn’t be certain you weren’t dreaming.
Soon enough, the interviewer opens up to questions from the floor. Hand after hand shoot up, all wanting an opportunity to ask a question, to talk to the author.
Draco nudges your side with his elbow. You turn to him, catching his eyes. You stare at each other for a moment before he mouths, ‘go on’. Your hand raises itself in the air.
“Yes, you in the corner next to the blonde-haired man.”
Your eyebrows fly into your hair; you point down at yourself checking the interviewer meant you.
“Yes, you. What would you like to ask?”
You clear your throat. Draco squeezes your hand in support, reminding you that he’s here. “Erm… well my question revolves around the lore that runs through the series. It’s so heavy with mythology and that’s essential to the plot, so I was wondering where you got your inspiration from?”
Your favourite author smiles at you; she smiles at you and you are certain you stop breathing. “That’s a really good question. There’s a lot of biblical references throughout the series given that it’s angels and demons, but I drew inspiration from everywhere. Greek mythology especially, I love the story of Hades and Persephone, so I wanted to include that in some format. But I also enjoy researching the lore and history surrounding witches and wizards such as witch hunts and knew I had to involve magical lore somewhere. The series really is an amalgamation of those interests. Thank you for your question! Thank you for coming!”
You settle further back into your seat as the interviewer takes more questions. You sit there in disbelief at the conversation you just had with your favourite author. Your heart pounds from the adrenaline. You could cry from happiness right now.
Draco’s arm wraps around the back of your chair; he leans in to whisper in to your ear, “You did good, love.”
“I did?” You mouth.
He nods, smiling at you before turning his attention back to the Q&A session. You let your mind wander slightly, taking it all in. Her books had been your lifeline through Hogwarts where you felt lonely and invisible; they had been your comfort through exam stress, and teenage stress. You knew you could return to her books and feel as if you were being welcomed home.
You didn’t know that Draco had noticed you.
It was the perfect relationship, really. You both adored books; Draco loved his non-fiction and latest journals in the advancement of potion making and medicine. You loved your fiction; transporting yourself to different worlds for hours at a time.
The library in your home was split down the middle; your books taking over one half, his taking over the other half. In the middle of the room was a couch where you would both spread out on a weekend and either read or catch up with work.
Draco’s hand on your shoulder brings your attention back to the room, “They’re moving onto the signing. Are you ready to meet your idol?”
Excitement bubbles in your gut, “Never more ready.”
You both the join the queue where you give your names to the worker waiting with sticky notes to put in your book. Draco says your name when asked; you look up at him questioningly, but he shrugs it off.
You’re practically bouncing in your spot in line as you amble closer and closer to your favourite author. You can see her head over the top of the line where she signs book after book, personalising each one.
The line gets shorter and shorter and it isn’t long before you’re standing in front of her, “You asked the first question,” she says, recognising you.
“I did,” You say, somewhat in shock, “I’m (Y/N).”
“Well (Y/N),” she starts, signing the first of your books and pulling the second towards you, “I loved that question, so thank you for asking it.”
“Thank you for writing these books; they meant the world to me through high school.”
“I’m glad they mean that much to you. Thank you for coming today!” She says, signing your last book with a flourish before handing the pile back to you.
You smile at her before turning away; watching Draco as he walks up to her with his pile.
“Another (Y/N)?” She chuckles.
“Not really, she’s my partner. I’m getting them signed in her name.”
She looks taken aback, “That’s lovely.”
Draco shrugs, “She would read these over and over again in high school. I never saw her without them. I couldn’t let her miss this at all.”
“That’s… really very sweet.”
Draco smiles, “Thank you.”
She takes her time signing his final book, saying to Draco that she’s writing a special message to you. She hands it back to him with a smile and a ‘thank you’. Draco nods his head before walking over to where you’re waiting for him with barely concealed tears in your eyes. She cannot help but think Draco looks exactly what she pictures the protagonist to look like.
“Love?” He asks, taking your pile of books from you and putting them carefully in the bag.
“Oh Draco,” You say, wrapping him up in a hug. Your face hidden in his chest; arms wrapped around his middle. “Thank you,” You utter, words muffled by his clothes.
Draco chuckles, placing the bag of now signed books on the floor, and running a hand through your hair, “You’re very welcome, love.”
You look up at him, tears still in your eyes, “You’re the best, I hope you know that.”
“I do, but it’s nice to hear it sometimes.”
You step back, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket. Draco picks up the bag of books in one hand and holds your hand with the other. You walk out of the shop, taking a moment to fasten coats and jackets against the chill of the evening air.
“You asked a wonderful question, love.” Draco compliments.
“Thank you, darling. I wonder if she knew we’re a witch and wizard.” You muse.
Draco hums, “I do wonder myself. Is there a lot of witches and wizards in the books?”
You shake your head, “Not really. Though there is one figure that reminds me of Dumbledore in his description.”
Draco chuckles, “It wouldn’t surprise me at all if he met her once upon a time.”
You laugh with him, “No, I suppose it’d make sense.”
You fall silent as you walk down the street; hands swinging between your bodies.
“What did she say to you?” You ask Draco after a moment, “You looked to be having a good conversation.”
“She mentioned that I was the second person with your name, so I said that I was your partner. She thought I was very sweet; I’ll have you know.”
You lean into his arm, “You are very sweet. The sweetest.”
“I’m about to be even more sweet. Shall we get some dinner while we’re out?”
You groan in happiness, “Yes, please. I don’t feel like cooking tonight.”
Draco barks a laugh as he leads you into a nearby restaurant. You’re seated in a small booth and are given menus before ordering your drinks.
“Thank you for taking me, Draco. It means the world.” You say as the waitress goes to grab your drinks.
Draco smiles at you softly, “Anything for you, you know that.”
“I love you.” You grin.
“I love you too. You want to look at her signatures don’t you?”
You squirm in your seat, “I really do. Is that nerdy? It’s nerdy, isn’t it?”
“It’s not nerdy at all. I know that she wrote a special message for you in one of them.”
Your mouth drops open, “What? Really? You’re joking? Don’t joke about this.”
“I wouldn’t joke about this. She really did write a message for you.” Draco states, handing you the bag.
You pile the books onto the table, moving the ones she signed for you to one side. Focusing on the books that she signed for Draco. You run a hand over her signature; still not truly believing you met your favourite author.
“I can’t believe we met her,” You whisper in awe.
“You best believe it, love.”
You smile at him before flipping open the last book in the pile. The first two had simple signatures addressed to you, but as you turn the pages to the title page, you see her message inscribed in ink:
“To (Y/N), Few find a love like you have with him. He’s a keeper.”
And underneath is her shining signature. She had seen it so clearly; his love for you, and your love for him. It radiates from the both of you.
You show Draco the message and he laughs at it in disbelief, taking the book from your hands to read the message.
Draco eventually hands the book back to you, “I have to say I’m rather inclined to agree.”
“I think I agree with you. You are a keeper.”
His eyes shine with love and adoration as he holds your hand across the table.
********
General (HP) taglist: @the-hufflefluffwriter @obsessedwithrandomthings @kalimagik @summer-writes @lupins-sweater @slytherinprincess03 @mischiefsemimanaged @soleil-amaryllis @masterofthedarkness @bforbroadway @chaotic-fae-queen @peachesandpinks @nebulablakemurphy @haphazardhufflepuff @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @firewhisky-kisses @deafgirltingz @kylosleftbuttcheek @heloisedaphnebrightmore @harrypotter289 @sprvpti @accio-rogers @potterverseimagine @figlia--della--luna @angelinathebook
Draco Malfoy taglist: @cheapglitter @the--queen-of-hell @in-slytherin-we-trust
#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy fanfiction#draco malfoy fanfic#Draco Malfoy#draco lucius malfoy#draco x y/n#draco malfoy one shot#draco malfoy imagine#draco malfoy fluff#draco x reader#draco malfoy x you#draco malfoy x y/n#draco x you#draco x female reader#bookish#draco fanfiction#draco imagine#draco fluff#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter fanfic#My writing#draco one shot#hp fanfic#hp fanfiction#hp fandom
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Should’ve Known Better [GW]
After the Second Wizarding War, the wizarding world faces a great recession that puts you and George in financially and morally compromising situations.
Pairing: George Weasley x Reader
Word Count: 3.3k
Warnings: swearing and terrible use of tenses (im sorry for the grammar)
A/N: written for angst prompt #14 for @kalimagik‘s 1.3k writing challenge!! congrats on 1.3k again!! <3
You had always been good–exceptional, actually–at writing since your teenage years. Essays you’ve written for work assigned by Professor Flitwick managed you top marks. Hell, even Snape commended your writing from time to time (if he wasn’t too busy taking away points from Gryffindor.) Throughout your years at Hogwarts, you entered multiple wizarding writing competitions and won them all. It made sense to you to seek out a job at the Daily Prophet after graduating from Hogwarts to put those writing skills to good use.
Your first year at the Daily Prophet was difficult, to say the least. You were paid almost next to nothing and writing on an empty stomach while worrying if you had enough galleons to pay rent was terrible for your creative process. On top of that, it seems as though whatever piece you made never satisfied your boss, Angel Hornbeam, editor of the Tragedies and Mishaps section of the paper. Each piece you wrote was either sent back with red ink splattered across the parchment with scathing comments on how sophomoric & crass your writing was or outright discarded. You didn’t know what Angel hated more: you or your writing.
There you were walking down Diagon Alley after a grueling day at work. You made two pieces today–only two pieces–that were immediately thrown out to the rejection pile at the corner of Angel’s office. Roan Staghart, a colleague of yours, accidentally spilled pumpkin juice all over you which Angel pointed out and subsequently prompted her to give you a long-winded lecture on how unbecoming it was to sport such an unprofessional appearance in a place of work. You made your way down Diagon Alley with your path only being illuminated by the lights in the shops you passed. You were downtrodden and hungry and lonely and unmotivated and uninspired. You thought about the eviction notice plastered to your flat’s door that you received earlier that day before heading off to work. You thought about the empty pantry in said flat, which then reminded you of your empty wallet. Lost in thought and not looking directly straight ahead, you ram your head straight into the open door of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Your arse lands on the cobblestoned path and you’re clutching your bleeding nose with your right hand, while your left provides support.
“Merlin, I’m sorry!” says one of the Weasley twins as he hurriedly walks toward you.
“Georgie, go get her some ice.” says the twin to the other behind him, still clutching the door open.
“Fred, right? Sorry, I’m shite at telling you and your brother apart.” You say while letting out a humourless chuckle, wincing in pain as you clutch your nose. Fred crouches down to your level.
“S’alright, just know I’m the better looking one.” He pauses, “You’re [Y/N], you were in [Hogwarts House], correct? I remember you selling a pre-written essay to Lee in our fourth year. T’was the only he got an O for, if I recall.” says Fred with a joking grin. George runs back with ice wrapped in a handkerchief which he passes to Fred, which Fred passes to you.
“Had to make money to buy butterbeer at Hogsmeade somehow.” You answer him as you bring the wrapped ice to your nose. Both the brothers smile at you and you smile back.
“Fred and I were actually headed off to dinner at our flat, join us. I suppose it’s the least we could do after the damage we’ve inflicted onto your poor nose.” George proposes.
“I couldn’t impose–”
“Nonsense!” They say in unison. Fred offers you a hand, which you graciously take. He pulls you up and you walk with them to their flat.
You were now at the Weasley twins’ shared flat at the edge of Diagon Alley. It was the best meal you’ve had in weeks, not to mention the twins’ presence was a morale booster in itself. Dinner lasted an hour, but the conversations after lasted well into the night. You wondered why you weren’t friends with the twins during their school years. Perhaps if you detached your hand from your favorite quill and parchment, you would have been. Regardless, that night sparked a friendship.
You were stopping by the shop on your way home from work on the daily and the twins enjoyed your presence so much so they offered you a small, part-time job as a stock keeper as a means to keep yourself afloat while your work your way up the Daily Prophet ladder. They’d come to visit you in their spare time at your dinky flat on the border of Knockturn and Diagon alley. As hard as your first year at the Daily was, your newfound friendship with Fred and George made it all the worthwhile. While you and Fred remained friends, you and George had begun to engage in a shameless “flirtationship” as you coined–always dancing on the border of friends and being more than friends. Stealing kisses in the shop, holding hands underneath dinner tables, George reasoning out to Fred that you needed help at your flat only for him to spend the night, writing little notes for George before he left in the morning. Everyone around you knew you and George were it, as much as you and he tried to suppress it. One day, George decided to make it real and official.
Your personal life had improved immensely after your horrendous first year as a journalist. You were dating George Weasley, your pantry was always full now, and you didn’t have to worry about getting evicted anymore. Your work life wasn’t as terrible as before as Angel Hornbeam turned over a new leaf and was much more forgiving at work. You were finally given a small promotion–not a choice Angel made, but by a higher-up as you stayed loyal to the good of the wizarding world–which offered you enough stability to leave the shop.
The wizarding world at this point in time, however, was not improving. Death eaters infiltrated the ministry and your beloved Hogwarts. They started censoring pieces at the Daily Prophet, much to your chagrin. You couldn’t write or report about tragedies happening as the Death Eaters wanted the media to depict dark wizards as righteous and justify their actions. You moved over to making crossword puzzles for the paper as opposed to spewing lies about Lord Voldemort and his mission to take over the wizarding world. Fred and George had to close down shop for the time being as the Weasleys went into hiding.
Then the Battle of Hogwarts happened. You fought alongside Fred and George, casting spells and charms. Blasting death eaters left and right. You did everything you could to fight against the Death Eaters. But you couldn’t save Fred, nor could George. George was never the same after Fred’s death and neither were you. You were both deeply resigned to grieving and still continue to do so everyday. The sun still rose and set like it always did, but Fred was gone and the world just kept spinning. It left you and George no time to breathe.
The wizarding world slowly built itself back up after the war, with Kingsley Shacklebolt acting as the Minister for Magic. He’d done a bloody good job of it. He purged out the dark wizards from the ministry and from the Daily Prophet, effectively returning most things back to normal. You were back to writing in the Tragedies and Mishap department, but the wizarding world hit a great recession after the war. People were losing jobs left and right; you knew for a fact that your neck was next on the chopping board if you didn’t come up with a good piece soon. Though George was slowly reopening the shop, with the help of his family, it wasn’t enough to keep you and he afloat. Losing this job would bring your right back to where you were your first year out of Hogwarts and you were determined to avoid that.
--
It was 3 o’clock in the afternoon, two hours to the end of the work week. You haven’t written anything substantial in a while and your desk was evidence. The brown wood was stained with droplets of stray ink from your quill, but they weren’t as obvious because of the crumpled pieces of ripped parchment scattered across the desk. Your hand was ink-stained and your hair was in disarray. To say the least, you looked a mess.
“[Y/N], I need you in my office,” Angel called out to you, peering out of her office door.
You stood up, straightening out your top, trying to look as presentable as possible. Walking over to her office catches the attention of your many officemates. Your stomach begins to feel like a vacuum, sucking in all the air around you, ineffectively trying to get you to breathe. Were your fears getting realized? Was this it for your writing career? So many thoughts raced in your head as you walked–slogged, rather–the distance from your desk to Angel’s office. You reach the archway of her door and she instructs you to close it. You gulp heavily.
“Yes, Angel? Anything I could do for you?” You anxiously choke out. You feel like your guts are about to unceremoniously find its way out your mouth and onto her office floor.
Her office was decorated all in black, from her quills to her velvet wallpaper. Angel stood out in the gloomy decor of her office, sporting an all-white outfit. She says it’s a metaphor–tragedies are both light and dark, simultaneously and she wants to embody that. A little pretentious, but she’s right nonetheless.
“Don’t look at me like that, I’m not going to fire you, darling.” Darling, a term of endearment, but never when it came from Angel’s lips. “I’m close, but I won’t. I have a proposition”
You look at her intently, your eyes almost bulging.
“I want an editorial piece on grief and love. I want romance wrapped in despair, topped with angst.” Angel mused.
“I beg your pardon?” You muster out.
“Write about lost love, the war did just happen–it’ll be fresh, uncut,” Angel pauses for dramatic effect, “Absolutely raw.” She clenches her fist in such a theatrical manner, it's almost comical.
You stay silent, unsure of what to say or do. Your face must’ve looked bewildered, as she slouches and rolls her eyes.
“Godric, I want you to interview someone who lost the love of their life because of the war, so to speak. It’ll do wonders for readership. Have you read that muggle story–Romeo and Juliet? Love and tragedy create such a spicy little mix.” She says in response to your look.
“Wouldn’t that be exploitative, no? Everyone’s still grieving.” You question Angel.
“That’s journalism.” Angel’s brows are furrowed and you can tell she’s trying to control her temper. “I better have a damn well-written editorial on my desk come Monday morning. May I remind you, you are the last of your colleagues to have either been promoted up or let go. Do you want to be the latter?”
You gulp, she hasn’t threatened you since your first year at the office. You shakily let out a soft no. She returns with a softly-said good and points you to the direction of her door.
--
You were on your way home to you and George’s shared flat in Diagon Alley. Your mind was raking itself for who you could possibly call to satisfy Angel’s wants. The gears were grinding hard until you had the aha moment–Angelina. Her and Fred’s relationship was complicated to say the least. They weren’t friends but they weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, but they didn’t want to see other people. You could no longer recall what they were and with Fred gone, the answer didn’t seem to matter anymore. The “almost” aspect of the relationship would provide the angst–unfinished business, if you will. Fred’s death and the love that could’ve been. You lit up at the ideas forming in your head, but you feel your conscience gnawing at you. However, you and George had to keep the lights on somehow.
George had beaten you home that night and was eating a packed dinner from Molly on your couch. You hang your bag on the rack next to the door, taking your coat off as well. You walk over to George, plotting your body next to him. Resting your head against his shoulder you say, “How was your day?”
You each share quips about your days at work, leaving out Angel’s request entirely. A silence ensues and you find this to be the most opportune moment to ask him.
“D’you mind having Angelina over tomorrow? A light catch-up? Haven’t seen her since, well, y’know when.” You ask George. His face stiffens.
“Alright, would be good to see an old friend, yeah?” He manages to say. He gets up to write an owl to Angelina. He sends the owl off and within the hour, Angelina’s response comes back. She agrees.
--
It’s the day of your interview-not-interview with Angelina. You are in the bathroom getting ready while George waits by the door for Angelina. Your self-writing quill for note taking and its accompanying notebook are hidden in a cupboard at the corner of the kitchen that could not be seen from the dining room, ready to start writing at your will.
“Love, Angelina’s here!” George says through the bathroom door. You quickly get out, rounding the corner to get to the living room and see Angelina sat on your sofa. You bring her in for a hug which she happily returns, you feel the guilt creep up again. You try and dismiss the feeling as hard as you can but it lingers like an unwanted guest. Trying to ease your nerves, you invite her to the dining room, where food you cooked in the morning lay waiting.
Angeline told stories about her life as a bigtime Quidditch match commentator and you entertained her with stories from the Sports department. You were both marveling at how much time has changed things since your graduation from Hogwarts to the war to life now. Now’s a good a time as any, your mind reasons out. You muster what little courage you had and shift the topic over to Fred.
“So, Angelina, how have you been holding up, since the battle?” You ask her. George looks at you strangely, as he notes the shift and tone in your voice.
“Uh, well I’m here. Coping. Grieving.” She responds.
“We’re here for you, tell us more.” You say, trying to probe more information out of her. A slimy feeling makes itself known in the insides of your stomach and you try your hardest to ignore it.
Angelina stays silent and then starts, “It’s been rough, Fred–” The winning ticket.
“What about Fred? It was a bit complicated before he died.” Cutting her off, you were siphoning as much information as you can.
“Yes, it was. You know that.” Angelina deflected, but she continued. “I wish there was more time. More time with him.” Her voice grew heavy, but you tried to turn up the pressure.
“Tell me, what would you have done with that time? Were there things you would’ve said? Done?”
Angelina takes an ugly pause.
“Well?” You don’t mean to say this in such a crass and impatient manner, but you do.
At this point, George stands up. He gets uncomfortable and goes to the cupboard to fetch himself a glass of water. As he inches to the cupboard, he hears scratching noises like a quill writing on parchment. He knows exactly what you’re doing now. Opening the cupboard he sees your quill and notebook scribbling away. On the pad is written, “‘A love lost, an almost,’ says Angelina as she begins to tell me about what could’ve been had Fred avoided his untimely death…” George stopped reading. It clicks in George’s head now. It explains the sudden decision to send an owl over to her last night. George’s jaw tenses up.
He grabs a glass, closing the cupboard, while leaving the quill and notebook in there. He heads to the front of the refrigerator where you’d be unable to see him. It gives him time to rethink his next move while calming down. He knew journalism would be gross, but he didn’t think you’d prey on your friends–especially since you knew how everyone was still mourning the loss of his twin brother.
Angelina begins to cry from the other room, but you continue to hound her with questions.
“What would you be doing now if Fred were still around? Do you still dream of a life with him? What else have you been doing to fill the space? Do you wish there was more you could’ve done?” The words were practically marathoning out your mouth. The guilt in you subsides and all you feel now is a desire to get the truth out of Angelina. It’s as though you were watching this unfold from the corner of the room; it wasn’t you shoving questions down Angelina’s throat, but an entirely different entity.
“Merlin, will you stop!” Angelina boomed. “I’m leaving. I missed you and George, I really did. But, how dare you. We’re all grieving and if this is your sick at attempt at therapy, I’ve damn near had it.”
You’re silent and you feel yourself float back to your body, sat in front of a tearful and red-faced Angelina. She angrily gets up, dropping her fork onto the table. She makes a beeline for the coat rack, grabbing her things, and leaves–making sure to slam the door.
“What the fuck was that, [Y/N]?” George shot at you, as he emerged from the kitchen. He was holding his glass of water with his fingers by the brim, both his arms by his side. The expression plastered on his face was a mixture between disappointed, frustration, and anger. You stay silent.
“Answer me, what was that?” George repeats again. You still stay silent, you don’t know how to answer him. “Were you trying to make a piece out of Angelina?”
You look down at your lap repentantly. “Angel said she’d fire me if I didn’t.”
George makes his way over to you, placing his glass on the dining room table. He doesn’t take a seat, instead he looks down at you in anger.
“She’s our friend. She’s grieving, mourning–like you and me fucking both.” George was fuming, “You were being a prick and I didn’t like it, obviously neither did Angelina. I could say more, but out of respect, I won’t.”
“George, we have to eat one way or another. I didn’t want to lose any more income than we already had!” You tried very hard to justify your reasons as to why.
“At expense of a good friend of ours? Merlin, [Y/N].” George rebutted. “I can’t even look at you right now. I know you love writing, I do. I love your writing, in fact. But, this is low. All for what? A few fucking galleons? Merlin.”
George turns his heel and stomps to the door, grabbing his coat and slamming the door shut in one swift motion. He presumably chases after Angelina to apologize on your behalf. You hang your head, trying to recollect yourself, and think about what to say to Angelina and George.
You decide right then and there that you were going to quit your job at the Daily Prophet–there was always a need for writers in the Wizarding World anyway and jobs of that sort were probably not as exploitative in nature. Deciding to write a Letter of Resignation later that night, you trudge your way to the door, grab your coat, and run after George.
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masterlist here
#maggieswinterwritingchallenge#harry potter#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter x reader#harry potter x y/n#george weasley x y/n#george weasley x reader#george weasley fanfiction#george weasley angst#george weasley#angelina johnson#fred weasley#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley x y/n
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Not Today XXXIII
A/N: And we're back?? With hopefully better more regular updates again??? So, I am apologising with some serious fluff at the end. Oopsies <3 And, without further ado, thank you for your patience and enjoy chapter thirty-three XD Skål!
Summary: When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.
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No rest came for Asta after that night, or at least, it didn’t come easily. Ivar couldn’t get out of her what she’d seen, not about anything. He’d convinced her to tell him she had seen something, convinced her to tell him each thing she’d seen- Hvitserk sick, Björn falling when she fought him that final time in Kattegat, but she wouldn’t tell him why she’d woken speaking of Lagertha.
Ivar was certain now, if of nothing else, that Asta was a Prophet. He just wished that she was a Prophet who could sleep some, as she’d barely done so since the night she’d woken. In fact, as they now sat around the table for another meal with Oleg, Katia, and Igor, she seemed to be starting to doze, and Ivar had to keep gently waking her.
They were currently having a conversation about how they’d entertain themselves through the winter, and Katia’s description of bathing in a hot spring had made Asta’s brows crease, looking up at her slowly. Katia was smirking at her, smirking at Ivar as well, and Asta decided right then and there that she just wanted to take Ivar back to their room and go to sleep. Forget any dreams she may have- that would be better than how awkward she felt just then.
“And you, dear Ivar?” Oleg asked. “The future King of all Scandinavia… what would you like?”
“I would like to walk,” Ivar replied, after a few long moments of thought. Oleg began to chuckle, and Asta narrowed her eyes at him.
“That would be a miracle,” he pointed out, as if laughing Ivar’s desires off. But Ivar didn’t laugh, not at all, and Asta began to wonder if he was going to get angry at Oleg.
“I’ve heard that your God performs miracles,” he began. “Jesus Christ raised a man from the dead. He made a lame man walk. He fed a thousand people with just a few loaves and fishes. I don’t think it’s too much to ask of Him to cure a simple cripple, is it?”
Clearly, Oleg was irritated. The idea made Asta smirk, in a way which mirrored Ivar’s own smirk. Irritating that man was now something which Asta thoroughly enjoyed.
“We will all pray for that miracle, Ivar the Boneless,” he said tensely. Asta smiled softly, taking Ivar’s hand under the table.
“We will,” Asta agreed, nodding, and Ivar turned to her with a small smile, before turning back to their host.
“What about you, Prince Oleg?” he questioned. “What is it that… amuses you?” He was silent for a moment, and then reiterated, “What is it that you really want?”
Once the question was asked, Ivar lifted his cup to drink from it, and Oleg replied, “As usual, I want the impossible. I want to go back into my mother’s womb. I want to float there, in that small, limitless universe, among the stars. With no beginning, no end. Waiting for the new world to begin.”
There was a far off look in his eye, and yet Asta still found herself opening her eyes wider, her brows lifting a bit as she took a sip of her drink. Impossible, indeed, she thought to herself. She turned to Ivar then, who looked almost like he might pity the man, and so her eyes turned to Katia, who seemed as if she were… not quite enthralled, by him, but she certainly listened intently. Ivar followed Asta’s gaze, and so Katia turned to look at them both, a strange smirk on her lips.
“I know we have all been here before,” Oleg continued on. “We’re constantly reborn. It’s what I believe.” He seemed to watch, then, the way his wife interacted with the Vikings at their table. Ivar looked away as Katia returned her attention to her husband, and Asta returned her attention to her drink. “Don’t you, Ivar?” he asked.
Katia looked back to Ivar, and it was then Asta became aware of what was happening here. Rebirth… Rebirth, like the face of one’s late wife, now being the face of a new ally’s wife. The statement was designed to draw attention to that once again. Her eyes narrowed a bit, as she heard Ivar thoughtfully answer, “Yes. That’s also what I believe.” He glanced back to Katia, a nearly anxious look in his eyes, and Katia smiled gently at him. The Shieldmaiden wished she could take him from the room, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t risk upsetting Oleg without due cause, not now that Dir was free, even if it meant letting Ivar continue to be subjected to this sort of mental torture.
“Well,” Asta said, hoping to interrupt this conversation and change it again. “Isn’t anybody going to ask what I’d like this winter?” Ivar chuckled a little at the pouty expression she wore, as if feeling a bit left out.
“My apologies, my Queen,” he said, inclining his head to her as if he were deferring to her authority. He even gave a little flourish with one of his hands, and earned a small giggle from the woman.
Asta turned back to him, and put a hand on his cheek affectionately. “I’d like to spend some time with my husband,” she began, “perhaps having a drink in front of a warm hearth, enjoying his presence with me here. I count it a blessing every day that we are here together, and this winter, I want to be sure I don’t take that for granted.”
Ivar smiled softly at her, and covered her hand with his own. He pulled it away from his cheek so that he could kiss the back of it, before turning it and lacing his fingers with her own. “I think I would like that as well,” he said. “If my legs will not be healed, then I should like to spend some time with my wife, being grateful for the fact she remains at my side, even after all we have been through together.”
She gave his hand a small squeeze, and her free hand lifted to cup his cheek once more. “Then we will,” she promised him. And, whether he knew it or not, her want for that winter served more than one purpose. Of course, she meant all she said, about wanting to spend time with him, and not taking it for granted, but at the same time, she sent a message to Oleg and Katia, who she could still sense trying to mess with Ivar. She wasn’t going to stand by while this happened, and in fact, intended to actively stand in the way. Whatever they thought about that, she didn’t care. All Asta cared about, was that she was there for Ivar, and kept them from hurting him any more than he’d already been hurt.
Fortunately, the rest of the night passed without incident, and the next day Asta and Ivar found theirselves standing up above the market of Kiev, watching as Igor skated around on the ice beneath them, just as he’d said he wanted to do. The people around them cheered the young prince on, and Asta and Ivar were no exception. However, a man soon approached them, and stopped to stand on Ivar’s right, where Asta stood to his left. Neither of the Vikings acknowledged him, but he still spoke.
“I have a message for you, Ivar the Boneless, and Asta the Prophet,” he began, and finally earned their attention. “Prince Dir sends you greetings. He is safe, well, and restored. But for the time being, still in hiding.” The two looked back toward Igor, ensuring it couldn’t be noticed, not easily, that they had just been talking to the man who’d approached them. “However,” he continued. “He hopes that one day he will be strong enough to help you achieve your ambition… which, is also his ambition.”
Cheers and applause went up as Igor finished his skating, and stopped to bow as if having just finished an elaborate performance. Ivar and Asta, as well as their apparent visitor, joined the crowd in congratulating the Prince on not falling over, though the former two wore proud smiles on their faces. While the crowd was thoroughly distracted, the messenger sat a small, metallic object down on the banister on which Ivar leaned, a brief motion before clapping again as well.
“He sends you this cross, by which you will know him, and is a token of his enduring friendship,” he explained, and Ivar casually sat a hand down over it, as if just balancing himself. He picked up his crutch as well, in time for the messenger to say, “Now, I must leave. Please do not turn or watch me go.”
They did as asked, and the man left their side just as quickly as he had come to it. A thoughtful expression took Ivar’s face as he left, and he shared a look with Asta. Things were in motion still, it seemed, and they’d certainly have much to discuss that evening. Ivar turned then to lift his hand, looking down at the cross which had been left by Dir’s messenger. It looked quite different from the crosses Asta was used to seeing in Wessex, having two bars across the top as opposed to the one, and a diagonal bar across the longer section of the bottom. She figured, to represent the sign held above Christ’s head, and to represent the place His feet were nailed to the cross.
So caught up in what had happened as they were, they barely noticed as Igor approached them, and asked, “Who was that?”
“He didn’t tell me his name,” Ivar answered him honestly. “But, he told me that Prince Dir is safe,” he paused to uncover the cross for Igor to see it, “and that he is prepared to help us when the time has come.”
Igor nodded and looked up and out, saying, “Then he is an angel sent from God.”
Ivar made a face as if considering what Igor said, and he smiled a bit as he replied, “You’re right. An angel sent from the gods.”
Asta smiled as that conversation naturally reached its conclusion, and she moved around Ivar to go and hug Igor tightly. “And you, Igor, skated just like a little angel yourself!” she complimented him, and he grinned up at her.
“Do you really think so?” he asked happily, which earned a nod from her.
“I know so,” she answered with a smile. “You were so smooth out there! Perhaps you could teach me, hm? Though I may be too old to learn…”
She started to walk with him back to the Palace, and Ivar stood behind them and watched them go. He could hear Igor laughing, and telling her she wasn’t old, and certainly she wasn’t as old as Oleg, which made her laugh as well.
A small smile formed on his lips as he watched this, and watched them, before finally following along after them. Not that he figured he’d catch up now, but he didn’t mind. It was nice to sit back and watch the two interact, really. Asta, though still young, seemed to have a very natural way with children, and it occurred to him that he was thinking of this for the second time about her- ironically, it was also the second time he’d really just watched her with Igor.
She even walked with an arm around the boy’s shoulders, a move that seemed both protective and affectionate all at once. But, he noticed that they really did look like mother and son as they walked along, and it occurred to him once more that he rather liked the idea of them being his family, now. It wasn’t a difficult fantasy to entertain, as often as they spent time together in the ways a family would. And, truth be told, he didn’t find it a harmful fantasy in the slightest. In fact, it even seemed to warm him from the inside out- a hard thing to do in the cold Rus climate.
Once Igor had been returned to his chambers, Asta and Ivar had said goodbye to him and returned to their own, which felt a bit colder to them now as the winter wore on. Asta, ever one to take up an opportunity, smirked and said to Ivar, “I think I’m going to have a servant come and light our hearth, perhaps bring us something to drink. What do you think of that?”
Ivar chuckled a bit at the suggestion, remembering the previous night at dinner. “You want to make your winter wish come true tonight, do you?” he asked her teasingly. “I think it is a fine idea, though, you are lacking a husband to sit with, are you not?”
Asta giggled a little and walked closer to him cupping his cheek and answering, “What need do I have of a husband when I have you, dear Ivar?” She gave his cheek a quick kiss, and then went to the door to pop out and begin her search for a servant.
Perhaps dangerously, Ivar found himself considering, quite seriously, the idea of really making her his wife, making himself her husband. The idea of entering another marriage unsettled him, as horribly as the last one had gone, and he was comfortable with Asta, the way they were. Yes, they flirted, far more than was needed for the story they sold to Oleg and Katia, and every other person there in Kievan Rus’, and he felt nearly certain that what they shared was something real.
But what damage could he do by giving voice to it, by truly setting the idea before her? He would be putting his heart at her feet, he knew that, and the last time he’d given his heart away, it had been handed back to him crushed, if not tossed back down at his feet. Was he ready to risk such a thing again, to risk Asta rejecting him, for whatever reason, and perhaps leaving him alone, pulling away? He thought it must have been better to have what he did with her, than to ask for more, and lose it all.
His time to debate this ran out as Asta soon returned with a servant, one who came into their chambers and immediately began to tend to their hearth, lighting it and coaxing the flame into a full, warm fire by which they could sit and warm themselves. The servant left once it was ready, to go and fetch them some drinks, and Asta hauled one of the many furs off the bed and dragged it over to the hearth, sitting down under it as Ivar eased himself down beside her.
At first, when she offered him the blanket, he had declined and said he wasn’t all too cold. A quip had been made about Saxons, and how less prepared they were for such cold temperatures, but by the time drinks had been brought to them, and they’d had one or two, he found his shoulder pressed up to hers beneath the blanket. It was far more comfortable than trying to weather the cold alone.
And, that applied to his current dilemma with her, too, didn’t it? Perhaps it was the slight buzz he felt, the alcohol in his blood which loosened his lips, or perhaps he’d truly just made up his mind that he didn’t want to let the possibility fade away, too comfortable with what he had to possibly gain something better. It didn’t really matter, he didn’t guess, because he still opened his mouth, and still asked, “Asta?”
She turned to him with a quiet, “Hm?” not even seeming to be upset that he’d cut her off. He figured that was a good thing, given he wanted her happy when he put his question to her. But oh, how to ask this? How to even begin?
“What do you think you will do when all this is over, hm?” he settled on, tilting his head just a bit. She gave a thoughtful hum, and turned to look at the fire in front of him.
After a few moments debating, she turned back and asked him, “What will you do?”
“That was not the question,” he answered with a chuckle. “I want to know what you want after this.”
She sighed and returned her gaze to the fire, the flames lighting up her face with their red glow, and reflecting in her eyes. “I’m not sure,” she confessed. “Part of me wishes to return to Wessex, and visit my brother. But at the same time… I’m not certain I’d be very welcome there anymore.”
Ivar’s brows creased together some as he asked, “Why would you not be welcome there now?”
“I’ve made quite a name for myself as your Queen, don’t you think? No doubt he’s been told that I’m with you, as opposed to in Kattegat with your brothers. If word has travelled to Kattegat of what I’m called here, then word may reach him, and I don’t know that he’d want to receive me now. Not to mention, we live together as though we’re husband and wife, without being… They’re liable to condemn me as an apostate.”
Asta chuckled, but Ivar could tell it lacked all humor. She was anxious, nervous about what her life since she’d left Wessex might have done to the relationship she had with her final living relative. He could sort of relate to that, having lost all his brothers either to death or simply falling out. His hand moved to rest on her leg, meant to be a comforting gesture, and Asta smiled and covered his hand with her own, taking it. Now, he thought. Now is the time.
“We could… always change that, you know,” he began.
Asta’s brows creased as she turned to him and asked, “Change what?”
He swallowed. “You say it would offend your people, and possibly drive a wedge between yourself and your brother, if it was discovered that we lived together as though we were married, when we are not,” he said. “But we could…” Her face fell, and something cold seized his heart.
“Ivar,” she said. “No, I don’t mean to say that I want to stop. Believe me, I don’t… I don’t know how I’d go back to life before this. Being with you like this, it’s good. It makes me happy. I never felt alone before, but I know now that if I lost this, I would. I’d rather they mistake me for an apostate than lose this.”
Ivar shook his head, and turned to face her more, reaching across so he could take both her hands in his. “Asta, that is not my meaning. My meaning is that, we could change how they would see us living together this way.” Her eyes widened a bit as she seemed to realise where he was leading with this, and her lips parted slightly.
“Ivar…” she managed, but he held her hands a little tighter, and pushed through.
“Asta, if we were married, they would have no way to criticise the way we behave. And nothing would have to change. We live as husband and wife as it is, and we tell all we encounter here that we are. Why should we not be?” he questioned. “Asta, marry me.”
Her hands tightened in his, and he could see a thousand thoughts running behind her eyes, almost as if she were trying to calculate if this could work. Eventually, she managed to say, “You realize I never want to marry a second time, yes? So if I say yes right now, and we do it…”
She was considering it. Somehow, he’d not believed he would even get this far with it, and yet she was actually considering the possibility.
“I can’t lose you,” she finished. “I know I’ve said so before, but I mean it more so than ever if I agree to this. If we were wed, I could not stand to lose you. I don’t want you to offer this just to save my dignity before my brother and the people of Wessex. I may already be outcasted enough for having become, essentially, Viking. So if you’re only doing this for that reason, and don’t truly want to be my husband… Please, say so now, and we’ll leave it be.”
Ivar shook his head. “We would have to wait until all is done here, as to marry now would reveal we have not been married all along, and it would ruin the little trust we have with Oleg. But when this is done, before we return to Wessex, we could be married.”
Asta smiled at him, in such a way as she seemed about to say yes, but then her face fell, and she sighed. “You can’t know how badly I wish to say yes right now,” she confessed. “I want to say yes, to marry you somewhere between Rus and Wessex, and to truly become your Queen. But if we are honest, do we think Alfred will approve of this? I may have all but given up my titles, but that’s here. In Wessex, they will still expect me to uphold those traditions. You would be expected to ask Alfred to wed me, as no other relatives of mine still live.”
He huffed and rolled his eyes a bit. “You are a Viking Queen,” he said. “Why should you need the permission of a Saxon King to marry, huh?”
Asta gave a small chuckle and shook her head. “I’m not a Viking Queen,” she reminded him. “It’s a story we fabricated to protect us, or have you forgotten?”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Ivar said, lifting his hand to cup her cheek. “You are my Queen, and when we take Kattegat back from my brothers, I want you to be Kattegat’s Queen, too.”
Asta swallowed, and for a moment, she allowed herself to indulge in a world where she could simply say yes. So, she smiled, covered his hand with hers, and leaned slightly toward him. It came as no shock to her when Ivar leaned in fully, and captured her lips with his.
For the night, Asta decided, she would believe she could be whatever she wished, and she would let herself believe that she could be his.
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