anotherworld08

[anotherworld08]

Dreams- Sirius Black

(Sirius Black x Reader, inspired by “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac)

The night hung heavy around Grimmauld Place, the storm outside a perfect reflection of the one raging inside you.

Sirius stood by the cracked window, one hand wrapped loosely around a glass of firewhisky, though he hadn’t taken a sip in ages. His hair, still damp from the rain, clung to his jaw. He looked like a ghost in his own house — lost, beautiful, and unreachable.

“You hear me talking to you, but you don’t listen,” you said quietly from the doorway.

He glanced over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth twitching in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I listen,” he said, voice rough. “I just don’t always believe.”

You crossed the room, your bare feet silent against the old wooden floor. “Believe what?”

“That this,” he gestured vaguely between you both, “could ever be real. Not for someone like me.”

The words twisted inside your chest. You wanted to scream that it was real, that whatever this wild, broken thing was between you, it mattered more than anything else. But Sirius had been abandoned too many times. Betrayed by blood, locked away by a system meant to protect him, and now—haunted by memories he could neither outrun nor forget.

“You always run before you get left,” you said, almost to yourself.

He laughed dryly. “Better to leave first, isn’t it? Spare yourself the heartbreak.”

You moved closer, until you could feel the heat radiating off him. He smelled like rain and smoke and something achingly familiar — like home, if home had never been safe.

“You think you’re the only one who’s ever been hurt?” you asked softly. “The only one who dreams of something better?”

He set the glass down with a soft clink, his hand trembling just slightly. “Dreams,” he echoed, almost bitter. “That’s all they ever are.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The house creaked under the weight of the storm, the world outside a howling blur of water and wind. You could feel the truth between you, heavy as gravity: you loved him. And he was terrified of it.

“You know what I think?” you said finally. “I think you’re scared of being happy. Because happiness means having something to lose.”

His dark eyes flashed with something raw and furious — but beneath it, there was fear. A boy’s fear. A man’s fear.

“You don’t understand,” he rasped. “Everyone I’ve ever loved has either left me or died. I can’t—” His voice broke off, and he pressed the heel of his hand hard against his forehead like he could shove the memories away.

You reached out slowly, carefully, and laid your hand over his. For a second, he flinched — instinct — but then he stilled under your touch.

“I’m not leaving,” you whispered.

“You say that now,” he said, voice cracking. “But time makes fools of us all, sweetheart.”

You swallowed, your heart squeezing painfully. “Maybe,” you said. “But until then, I’m here.”

He turned his hand over beneath yours, threading his fingers through yours so tightly it almost hurt.

The thunder cracked loudly overhead, but you barely heard it. The world had narrowed down to this — the pulse at his wrist, the heat of his skin, the quiet plea written across his face.

“You make loving you seem like a losing game,” you said, half-laughing, half-crying. “But I’m not afraid of losing. I’m afraid of not even trying.”

Something inside him broke then — you saw it happen, like watching a dam finally collapse. Sirius tugged you against him, burying his face in your neck, holding you like he thought you might vanish if he let go.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured against your skin.

“Maybe not,” you said, smiling through your tears. “But neither of us deserve the lives we were given. Doesn’t mean we can’t take something good when it finally shows up.”

For a long time, you just stood there, holding each other while the storm raged on. It was messy, it was complicated, and it hurt — but it was real.

And maybe Sirius would always be a little broken. Maybe he would never quite believe he deserved happiness. Maybe he would spend his life half in dreams, half in regret.

But tonight, in this crumbling old house, he chose you.

And you chose him — again, and again, and again.

[anotherworld08]

☆Not So Secret☆

The Burrow was louder than usual, and that was saying a lot.

Spring had finally nudged winter out of the way, and the Weasley house was overflowing with life: windows flung open to let in sun and air, garden gnomes yelping as they were tossed over the fence, and Molly Weasley humming as she chopped vegetables for dinner.

Fred, however, was sweating bullets.

He wasn’t supposed to be here today. Or rather, she wasn’t. Y/N Malfoy — a name that had no business blending into a place like the Burrow — had dropped by under the most casual, innocent excuse: returning a charmed pocket-watch he’d left behind after their last Hogsmeade trip. She’d planned to apparate in, hand it off, and be gone before anyone even noticed.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

The plan started unraveling the moment she arrived. Fred had barely stepped out into the yard to meet her when the unmistakable pop of Apparition echoed from behind the house — and in true Weasley fashion, George rounded the corner almost immediately.

Fred barely had time to stuff the watch into his pocket when George’s voice rang out.

“Oi, Mum says get your lazy arse in for dinner —”

He froze mid-sentence, his eyes landing on Y/N. She stood perfectly still, looking only slightly less panicked than Fred, like a cat caught in a beam of lumos.

George blinked.

Y/N, to her credit, recovered first. She raised a single brow, cool as ever. “Evening.”

George looked between them, his mouth twitching slightly as he took in the scene: Fred looking like a kid caught stealing biscuits, and Y/N Malfoy standing in the Burrow’s backyard like she belonged there.

“Evening,” George echoed, tone dangerously casual. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Y/N tilted her head, giving the faintest hint of a smile. “Returning something Fred left behind. Thought I’d spare the owl the trip.”

George let the silence stretch for a beat too long. His sharp brown eyes flicked from her to Fred and back, piecing things together with uncomfortable ease.

“Well,” he said at last, “I hope whatever it was is worth all the trouble.”

Before Fred could muster even a half-baked excuse, Molly’s voice rang out from the kitchen window.

“Fred, who was that at the door?”

Fred cringed. Y/N, knowing the jig was up, lifted a hand in silent farewell and Disapparated with a soft crack, leaving behind only the faint scent of lavender and the sound of Fred’s stomach sinking to his shoes.

“Friend from school!” Fred called back, a little too loudly, turning to find George still staring at him.

George folded his arms. “Friend, huh?”

Fred sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, look. I was going to tell you. I just… didn’t.”

George snorted. “You think I’m daft? The way you looked at her just now, mate — Merlin’s beard, you might as well have been carrying a banner that said ‘I fancy her.’”

Fred groaned. “George—”

But George just clapped a hand on his shoulder, and his voice, when it came, was surprisingly gentle.

“Malfoy, though? Bloody hell. You don’t half make things interesting.”

Before Fred could respond, the kitchen door banged open. Ginny poked her head out, squinting into the evening light.

“Who was that? Thought I saw someone standing with you.”

Fred froze. George, bless his soul, didn’t miss a beat.

“Just some owl delivery. Wrong house.”

Ginny frowned, clearly suspicious but not invested enough to argue. She disappeared back inside.

George turned back to Fred with a smirk. “You’re lucky I’m good under pressure.”

Fred let out a laugh, more nervous than amused. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me more than one, mate,” George said, tapping his temple. “But you’d better tell the rest of the family before someone else catches her here. You know Mum’s got eyes like a hawk.”

Fred never got the chance to come clean on his own terms.

Two days later, it happened. Spectacularly.

It was a Sunday. Sundays at the Burrow meant two things: laundry flapping on the line, and the entire house crammed around the table for Molly’s roast dinner. Fred had managed to go about the day with relative calm, though the memory of Y/N’s visit still sat sharp in his mind.

After the plates were cleared, Arthur decided to fiddle with his latest Muggle gadget: an old two-way mirror he’d enchanted to work like a Muggle “video phone.” Everyone took turns poking at it, half-bored, until George, grinning devilishly, swiped it from Percy’s hands.

“Let’s see if this thing can make prank calls,” he joked, tapping the side of the mirror as if dialing.

But the mirror, apparently still linked to its last user, flickered to life on its own.

Fred froze the moment the glass brightened. There, clear as day, was Y/N — sitting comfortably in her room, brushing her hair. The golden “M” crest on the bedpost behind her was unmistakable.

The room went silent.

She hadn’t noticed the connection yet, humming softly to herself, until Arthur, squinting, leaned in.

“Isn’t that—?”

Y/N glanced at the mirror, blinked, and then her face went from curious to horrified in half a heartbeat.

“Fred,” she said flatly.

Fred buried his face in his hands.

Y/N, ever the composed Slytherin, straightened her posture and gave the mirror an unflinching, if slightly resigned, smile. “Well. I suppose the secret’s out.”

There was a long, long pause.

Molly was the first to speak, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re dating a Malfoy.”

It wasn’t a question.

Fred looked up sheepishly, ears burning. “Yeah. I am.”

For a moment, no one moved. Then, slowly, George leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head, whistling low under his breath.

“I knew it,” he muttered, more proud than surprised.

Ron’s mouth opened and closed like a gaping fish, Hermione beside him looked vaguely scandalized, and Ginny wore an expression that landed somewhere between “disappointed sister” and “impressed troublemaker.”

Arthur, bless him, only adjusted his glasses and gave Fred a measured look. “She seems polite.”

Molly, on the other hand, looked like she needed to sit down, which she did, rather heavily.

“Of all the girls in Britain, Fred,” she said, shaking her head, though her voice was more baffled than angry. “A Malfoy?”

Fred rubbed the back of his neck, shifting in his chair like it was covered in spikes. “She’s not like them, Mum. I swear. She’s smart, and funny, and — I don’t know. She’s different.”

Y/N, still visible in the mirror, raised a brow at the understatement but said nothing, waiting.

Arthur cleared his throat, glancing between his wife and the mirror. “Well, dear, it seems Fred’s already made up his mind. And if the girl’s willing to put up with this lot, she must have some patience.”

Molly looked at her son, then at the girl in the mirror. Mauve held her gaze, calm and unapologetic. Finally, Molly exhaled a long, slow breath.

“I suppose I’ll have to meet you properly then, won’t I?”

Y/N smiled, sharp but sincere. “I’d like that, Mrs. Weasley.”

When the mirror blinked dark again, the room buzzed back to life, half the family talking over each other, and Fred sat there, still stunned but oddly lighter.

Later that night, Fred found George leaning against the back garden fence, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“You’re braver than I gave you credit for,” George said without turning around. “Not for dating her — for hiding it from Mum.”

Fred chuckled, joining him, the night cool and soft around them. “You’re not angry?”

George shook his head. “Nah. I figured it out the second I saw you two in the yard. Malfoy or not, I haven’t seen you this stupidly happy in years.”

Fred smiled, the tension finally bleeding out of his shoulders. “It’s serious, you know.”

“I know,” George said simply. “And I’m glad.”

The two of them stood there a while longer, watching the stars blink awake in the darkening sky.

And for the first time in weeks, Fred knew — really knew — that everything was going to be alright.

[anotherworld08]

☾There She Is☾

Imagine: Edward’s mate, Y/N Y/L/N is late to everything...Even her(his/their) own wedding...

Note that I’m using she/her. Feel free to replace the pronouns however you want to! <3

“Where is she?” Edward hisses as Alice straightens his tie for the fifth consecutive time.

“Y/N will be here soon , Edward. Chill man, when Rosie left me hanging in 1989, I just went on our Honeymoon solo.”

Edward snaps his head to face his brother.

“Oh, you went on your Honeymoon solo, did you? That was after you’d been married, what, five times before..?”

Rosalie laughs as Emmet shrugs. “Just being myself, mate. It’s not your fault Y/N is the one person who can’t show up on time to anything.”

Carlisle clears his throat.

“Speaking of, there she is.”

Edward takes in a sharp inhale and an unneeded breath to steady himself.

“There she is,” he chokes out, in awe of the woman he was spending his forever with.

[anotherworld08]

☆Let me☆

Imagine: Y/N helped make sandwiches for the Shifters. Her mother, Esme, distributes them when she sees Y/N is too scared.

Using she/her but feel free to replace it with any pronouns!

“Y/N, it’s lunchtime for the pack. Care to give them out?”

Y/N ducks her head, fiddling with her vampire-pale fingers.

Turning may give physical strength and perfection, but you’d learned the hard way that it didn’t help with mentality...Especially not anxiety or social anxiety.

“Erm, y-yeah, sure.”

Jasper halts his training session to give Y/N a hug and kiss on the forehead.

“It’s alright, darlin’, no one is going to hurt you while we’re here.”

Esme finally picks up on her daughter’s anxiety and gives Y/N her best motherly smile.

“Let me. You made them anyway- so, you’ve already done more than enough.”

Y/N smiles gratefully up at her mother.

“Thanks, mom.”

Esme nods and goes to distrubute the food.

She whispers something to the pack that Y/N can’t hear and they all nod in agreement.

After training, each shifter- even Paul- comes up to her, nods their head  and thanks Y/N for their lunch.

“L-Least I could do- seeing as how you’re helping,” Y/N replied to each.

[anotherworld08]

♔Try-On♔

Imagine: Y/N is Rosalie and Emmet’s mate. Alice decides to let Y/N model her new fashion line. Y/N’s mates have the time of their lives watching their mate get all dolled-up by their sister figure.

“Alice! This is the eighth dress of the collection. How many more do you have lined up?”

Alice grins, both sets of teeth on display. “Two, maybe three depending on my mood...”

“Depending on your- I may have forever, Ali, but that doesn’t mean I’d like you to take forever!”

“Beauty, takes time, Y/N. That’s why it took two centuries for you to finally gain a fashion sense.”

The Olympic Coven watch as Alice and Y/N bicker, smiling to themselves as they observe the sibling bond.

“By all means,” Emmet intervines, “take forever. Y/N is just getting hotter every time she change’s clothes. Though I have to say, even without clo-”

Rosalie coughs. “You look beautiful, Baby. Let Alice take her time, she doesn’t get to launch her collections a lot of the time, anyways.”

Alice yelps, hands clapping excitedly. Jasper chuckles to himself.

“Actually, I just landed a deal with Calvin Klein... Y/N, how do you feel about underwear modeling?”

Silence.

“Erm...”

“NO!” Emmet and Rosalie growl.

Y/N laughs. 

“It’s a no-go, Alice.”

(If anyone has any Twilight or Harry Potter requests, please let me know!)

[anotherworld08]

♡”Love.”♡

Imagine: Y/N is Carlisle’s wife and the mother of all the Cullen children. When Y/N gets a little bit too competative with one of her kids, Carlisle tries to butt in, ending up simply laughing along at his mate’s antics.

“Wow there, matey! That was way after I skillfully caught the ball!”

“And who’s going to prove that?” Emmet asks, a smirk lining his features as his mother’s eyes squint up at him in annoyance. “It’s not like you’re going to fight me on this anyways. You’re harmless. Isn’t that right, Shortstack?”

Y/N lunges at her son, arms strangling his neck and popping his easily- removed head off.

“Careful there, Giant, or I might just have to prove you wrong.”

Y/N steps forwards, her stance becoming intimidating and a smile etching its way onto the edges of her mouth.

Rosalie punches Emmet in the stomach, smiling at her mom with a knowing glint in her eyes.

“Drop it, Em.”

Carlisle steps forwards, wrapping his arms around Y/N’s waist.

“Both of you, drop it. It’s a game of baseball, not World War Three.”

“Pfffttt,” Y/N scoffs, “World War Three would be easier than trying to get Emmet McCarty-Cullen to play by the rules.”

Emmet feigns hurt whilst Carlisle simply chuckles as he walks away to bat.

“You are a funny one, love.”

If anyone has any imagine requests from these fandoms: Twilight/ Harry Potter: plz feel free to let me know.