#cute decorative spoons for things like adding honey to tea

[ardentmuse]

37 with George Weasley? And congrats love! You’re a phenomenal writer!

The Perfect Potion

Harry Potter - George Weasley x Reader

37. I’d say it’s like 50 million simultaneous orgasms, but better.

Wordcount: 1.2k

Warnings: implied sexual content, kissing and flirting, lots and lots of fluff

Masterlist

A/N: Aww, thank you, sweet! I am so glad you think so and so happy to tackle this request for you. Georgie is one of my all-time favorites. I love his sweetness partnered with his confidence, his strange ability to tote the line between cocky and cute. He’s such a gem! 

“Babe, taste this,” called a voice from the back rooms of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

Most people couldn’t tell the twins apart with their identical hairstyles, similar dress, and duplicated mannerisms. But the one thing that had always made it clear to you who was who had been their voices. Fred had a jovial modulation, like he was ringleader to the world’s greatest circus and you were just hoping to be gifted a ticket. George, on the other hand, while still pleasant and chipper and just a tiny bit conspiratorial, had a slight throatiness, almost a rasp, the kind the reverberated in your chest when he held you close and spoke directly into your ear. It was the kind of huskiness – especially in these early sleepy hours – that sent shivers along your body.

The fact that this voice called you “babe” only added to the confirmation.  

You set Fred’s coffee down upon the counter and carried yours and George’s beverages with you into the cramped workspace George often hunkered down in before the store opened for customers.

When you entered, the room was surprisingly organized, only a few vials of ingredients, only some of which you recognized, set upon the counter beside the cauldron George was leaning over. The smell that permeated the room was intoxicating, like citrus and honey.

“Now what am I tasting?”

George turned around to offer you his brightest smile. He was surprisingly chipper these past few mornings; so different from the cuddle monster he could be sometimes when the morning light threatened your time together. Whatever he was working on, it was something for which he was taking great pride.

“I hope the most delicious thing your mouth has ever known,” George grinned, raising his wooden spoon to you.

Your eyes took in the vials beside him. One contained what looked like spider’s legs and the other something that looked like living smile, moving and molding to its container as it glowed a brilliant blue. You felt your stomach turn at the sight, but then you registered that smell again – that glorious, delectable smell – and you decided to ignore your vision. George loved you. He wasn’t about to poison you; at least not on purpose.

You took the steps towards your partner, the man you couldn’t help but love even when he was doing his best mad scientist routine. His smile only grew as you stood chest to chest with him. You handed him his tea as you took the spoon from his grasp, running your fingers up the length of his rose colored sleeve before plucking the object gently from his fingers.

You took in the liquid, a swirling mass of silver hue, and something in you yearned to taste it. Before you knew it, you had the spoon against your lips and the liquid tossed back down your throat.

The trail of it warmed your throat even though the liquid was cool. Your forehead knitted in confusion and your mouth fell open.

“That bad?” George asked, his fingers fidgeting with his cuffs.

You blinked back to your senses to address him, “I’d say it’s like 50 million simultaneous orgasms, but better.” You lifted the spoon and reached around George to dip it again in the cauldron. The tingle in your throat at the scrumptious potion was just dissipating and you needed to sense it again, to taste the fruity, sweet, sharp spark the liquid gave you.

Before you could reach the pot, George’s fingers wrapped around your wrist.

“Okay, okay, I think that’s enough now.” He pulled the spoon from your hands and set it back on the counter before holding your shoulders to look you in the eyes.

You pouted at him.

“What? I don’t want any more competition in the pleasing you department.”

You laughed heartily as his hands stroked you through your coat. The fall had truly hit now and the chill in the morning air made your daily beverage runs all that better for waking you up. George’s hands ran down your chest to find the buttons amongst the wool. He flicked only one before speaking again, his eyes growing lidded as he leaned into you.

“Perhaps I might dissuade of the lies that pretty little mouth of yours feels like telling, hmm?” He flicked another button and let his fingertips brush against your stomach underneath. “A man could get a little jealous if you keep talking about the products like that.”

Your breathing had grown short as his attentions and at the thrill of George showing you just the kind of pleasure he could give you that no potion could. But at the word, product, your eyes shot open and you took a step away.

“What’s about to happen to me, George? Am I going to grow a second head or start breathing fire?” Your fingers ran against your own lips as you clung tightly to your stomach. You never once thought about the consequences of tasting a Weasley concoction as it was usually followed immediately with an antidote once the desired effects were seen. But George didn’t seem eager to offer you any alternative. He only prowled forward, like an big cat stalking a drinking gazelle.

“What’s about to happen to you is your boyfriend is about to ravish you on top of this counter before we have to open shop.”

His hands found your waist again and pulled you flush to him. The hard expanse of his broad chest was a pleasant retreat for your frightened form.

“No weird effects?” you asked again.

“None,” he promised with a kiss to your nose, “Just a base I was working on, a treat for our anniversary that I thought I might apply to some love potions. Though if it tastes the way you say, then—“ George cut himself off for a moment as the red grew strong in his cheeks, hiding the beautiful freckles that decorated his face. He coughed a little before adding, “I mean, I know they taste the way you said. I modeled the taste after you.”

You raised your eyebrow to ask the question but George simply wouldn’t let you.

“No more talking, love. We have,” he looked up at the grandfather clock that stood in the corner, “seven minutes.” He lifted you up with ease unto the counter top, pushing away any remnants of ingredients that he may have been using.

One vial rolled towards you and hit your hip. You picked it up as George began trailing gentle kisses down your neck.

You read the label, “I taste like gurdyroot to you?”

George hummed against your neck, “Had to improvise.”

As he licked the skin of your collar bone, you felt a new kind of burn in your throat. Maybe you had been rash with your words before. Nothing felt better than the man before you. Not even magic could compare to him.

George moved to kiss your lips, you suddenly felt how short seven minutes truly were.

And it was only made worse when he whispered against your lips.

“Mmm, cloves.”  

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa, @thisisbullshytt,  @cancerousjojian, @whovianayesha, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @luna-xxxxx, @sleepylunarwolf, @starryrevelations, @potter-thinking, @all-by-myself98, @bananafosters-and-books, @cutie-bug, @igotmadskills, @hazelandcoconuts, @yallgotkik

Harry Potter tags: @tessimagines, @0-lost-in-stereo-0, @whysoseriouspadfoot, @eldritchscreech, @luckyvirgo, @hellizhelusive2, @lexrius, @sapphireorchid, @amazingwonderlandnapkin, @garbdump

[vannahfanfics]

The Measure of a Good Hero

Category: Hurt and Comfort

Characters: Shota Aizawa, Izuku Midoriya 

Pain … Blinding pain pulsed across Shota’s face like red-hot lava as he lay prone on the ground. No, not lay; he was pressed, crushed against the pavement with hot sticky blood flowing out of his mouth and nose to smear across his cheek. The gray-haired young villain’s high-pitched cackles bounced inside his ears, only adding to the skull-splitting pounding in his head. Shota’s vision blurred as his brain withered under the assault, and he lapsed into unconsciousness no matter how much he told himself to hold on, hold on, hold on… 

Shota jerked upright in bed with a gasp. The ghost of the searing pain ebbed into a dull ache as the remnants of his shattered eye socket lamented with phantom trauma. It took a few moments for Shota to recognize that he was not at the USJ but safe in his bed in the U.A. dormitory. 

His heaving breaths slowly mellowed, the cold sweat slowly dwindled to coat him in a layer of perspiration, and his constricted pupils slowly dilated as his eyelids drifted over them. With an agonized groan, he drew his hand over his face. 

“Damn...” 

Shota’s muscles felt as if he’d boxed a gorilla. They ached and throbbed terribly, protesting as he flipped the sweat-soaked sheets off himself. The cold air blowing from the air conditioner washed over his body, allowing the sweat to sap even more heat from his system. He rubbed the bare skin of his legs as the coarse black hairs stood to attention, trying to force warmth back into his chilling body. After a few minutes, he slipped off the bed and padded barefoot out of the room towards the dormitory kitchen. 

The moon streamed through the row of floor-to-ceiling glass windows framing the wall of the living room. The bushes lining the building gleamed like polished malachite as the stark contrasts of darkness and light clashed in their leaves. The wind whistled through the boughs of the skinny trees scattered across the courtyard to flicker against the windows like moths flapping at an illuminated dull yellow lightbulb. A peaceful night, for all intents and purposes… 

A peaceful night for everyone but Shota that is. 

Shota rubbed at his aching eye as he used his other hand to rifle blindly through a cabinet. Occasionally, he’d pluck a box from the depths to squint critically at it, using the soft white light to read the labels. After several failed attempts, he finally secured his desired midnight snack- chamomile tea. 

Though Hizashi and Nemuri gave him hell for it, Shota consumed almost as much tea as coffee. He’d taken to natural sleep supplements after melatonin pills had failed to lull him into a decent night’s rest. Their resident tea connoisseur, Momo Yaoyorozu, had enlightened him to more adventurous blends of brewable sleeping droughts, but this night he settled for the classic. 

Shota procured a random mug from the cabinet (Izuku’s, judging from the All Might hero suit patterning) and filled it with tap water before popping it into the microwave. Through baggy, lidded eyes, he watched the colorful cup spin slowly in the appliance, all while swinging the bag of tea lazily around his finger. The seconds counted down one by one, and he focused on the depleting neon figures, lest his nightmare seep back into his mind to haunt his waking life too.

A small squeak made Shota straighten up and squint into the depths of the living room. Through the shroud of darkness cloaking most of the room, Shota caught a glimpse of wild pine-green bedhead and gleaming emerald eyes. 

“Midoriya,” Shota drawled in recognition. He looked back to the rotating mug in the microwave, trying to use it to distract from the humming in his nerves. Though the logical part of Shota knew that the odds of being attacked in a school dormitory in the wee hours of the night were slim to none, adrenaline has still gushed through his bloodstream upon sensing the young boy enter. His tensed fist slowly uncurled as he forced himself to relax, and he watched out of the corners of his eyes as the bashful Izuku shuffled into the room. 

“Up late grading papers, sir?” Izuku asked with a wavery smile as he pulled open a cabinet. He bee-lined for the box of animal crackers on the top shelf, pulling down the red box along with a small plastic bowl. 

“Not exactly,” Shota huffed in amusement. For several moments, the only sounds in the kitchen were the crackling of the plastic bag of animal crackers, the cookie-like snacks thudding against the bottom of the bowl as Izuku poured them, and the consistent humming of the appliance in front of Shota. “What are you doing awake at this hour? It’s well past curfew.” 

Though Shota was mostly joking, Izuku jerked violently in surprise, spilling animal crackers all over the counter. 

“W-wah! I’m sorry, sir, I just-!” Izuku babbled, hastily scooping up the scattered crackers to dump them in the bowl. “I just- I, um…” As he trailed off, his movements slowed until his hand rested on the counter, still clutching several of the snacks. “I… Had a nightmare about the summer camp incident…” 

Shota watched Izuku through half-closed but scrutinizing eyes. Izuku’s fist clenched, cracking the cookies into small pieces as he stared glassily at the bowl of animal crackers as if it were now a foreign object. “I dreamed that… it went a lot worse than it did, and…” Izuku clenched his fists so tight that his scarred knuckles glared white in the gloom. “I couldn’t protect anyone.” 

Even in the sparse lighting, Shota could see the frustrated tears blooming in the corners of Izuku’s eyes. The microwave beeped shrilly in Shota’s ear to herald the boiling of his mug of water. Shota inhaled sharply, then exhaled deeply and turned to busy himself with pulling out the piping-hot cup of water to dunk the bag of chamomile tea into it. As the yellow-gold flavoring diffused through the clear liquid, Shota idly stirred the bag around to speed up the steeping. 

“I know how you feel,” he said after several moments. He kept his back to Izuku, continuously drawing the teabag around the bottom rim of the mug, but he could feel the boy’s widened eyes on him. “That’s one of the scariest feelings… That you can’t protect the people that you care about.” He reached up, ghosting his fingertips over the crescent moon-shaped scar decorating the underside of his eye. 

Shota had grappled with that fear for such a very long time. It never seemed to leave him. As soon as he thought perhaps that he’d been able to move on, to grow strong enough that he didn’t need to be afraid before, reality reared its ugly head to squash him back into the dirt. Sometimes, quite literally. 

“Do you have nightmares too, Mr. Aizawa?” 

Shota smiled wryly, finally glancing over his shoulder to look at Izuku. The boy watched him adamantly; doubt and a need for reassurance swam in his bright green irises. Shota may not be the cuddliest, most fatherly man alive, but he was a teacher. Consolation was something he could attempt to give, at least. 

“Of course I do,” he said, turning so that his back now pressed against the counter. One elbow propped loosely against the tile, while his other bent in the air as he rubbed the nape of his neck. His eye twinged with phantom pain, remembering once more the feeling of his bones shattering against cracking concrete. “Anyone in this line of work who tells you otherwise is a liar.” 

Izuku let out a tiny chuckle, and it seemed like his expression brightened just a bit. Shota smiled as he looked down at his tea. The golden brew had blended through the hot water. He grabbed a bottle of honey and stirred a spoonful of it into the tea. When he sipped it, the sweet flavor of the honey and the muted tone of chamomile spread over his tongue, filling him with a warm sense of calm. 

He turned back to Izuku, holding up the All Might mug and supping casually at his beverage. With a wry smile, he tapped the edge of the cheesy smile adorning the bottom half of the cup. 

“Take All Might, for example. I know for a fact that he has nightmares.” 

Izuku’s face scrunched up in a mix of amusement and disbelief. 

“No way!” the boy laughed and waved a hand dismissively at Shota. “He’s All Might !” However, as realization dawned on him, his entertained smile sagged into a sad one. “Though I guess… He has been through a lot, especially recently. I guess there has to be at least one thing that he regrets, and that haunts him…” 

“Of course. Being the Symbol of Peace doesn’t make him perfect.” Shota shrugged. He then smiled when Izuku looked at him with knitted eyebrows. “Midoriya, the measure of a good hero isn’t how few mistakes you make or how few regrets you have.” 

The mug gently clinked as Shota set it down on the counter. He walked over to Izuku to gently clap a hand on his shoulder, and the boy looked up at him with big emerald eyes. “The measure of a good hero is how well you can bear the burden of your mistakes and regrets, and how you can make them right by doing better.” 

Izuku’s forest-green eyes stared intently into Shota’s face for several seconds as he articulated the solemn statement. Slowly, his head dropped until his chin dropped down against his chest. 

“Yeah… I… I think I get it, Mr. Aizawa,” he whispered with a small nod. Shota smiled and patted Izuku on the shoulder, then snagged a few of the animal crackers to pop them into his mouth. As he sauntered off toward his room, swirling the chamomile tea and crunching on the sweet cookies, he shoved a hand in the pocket of his pajama bottoms. After a few steps, he stopped and looked back at Izuku, who had gone back to staring blankly at the bowl of animal crackers. 

“Midoriya, you still have a long way to go,” Shota reminded him with an endeared smile. It was almost cute, how insanely ambitious his class of students was. Cute, but a headache and a handful sometimes when they got too intent on growing up too fast. “Take those feelings you have now, and use them to grow stronger.” 

Clarity flooded Izuku’s dull eyes, returning that determined little gleam that Shota admired so much about the kid. He turned back to Shota with a bright smile. 

“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!” 

“Great talk. Now, off to bed with you. I don’t want to hear complaints that you’re tired tomorrow.” 

“Of course, sir!” 

Izuku went to scamper off, making Shota chuckle. 

“Midoriya, your animal crackers?” 

Izuku whirled on his socks to see his bowl of crackers still perched on the counter, untouched and forgotten. 

“Oh, right! Th-thank you!” he laughed sheepishly and scurried back to retrieve his midnight snack. Shota watched warmly as he scampered off, munching on the animal crackers and muttering self-motivating blathers under his breath. Shota took a healthy swig of the chamomile tea; it blended with his improved mood to stimulate the drowsiness currently rising in his system. “Goodnight, Mr. Aizawa!” Izuku’s hushed shout floated down the stairs several yards away. Shota snorted and turned to retreat back into the darkness of his bedroom. 

“Sleep well, Midoriya. Pleasant dreams.” 

As Shota collapsed on his bed, the finished mug of chamomile tea resting on his nightstand, he actually felt secure for once that he’d be gifted with pleasant dreams, too.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[ellyisaslygirl]

Comfort

"I can't do this, Harry."

Draco and Harry laid together on the couch, legs crossing each other's, Harry's arm around Draco and he was laying back, biting his lip in fear.

"Look, I know it seems scary, but it's worse for me." Harry said, thinking of the countless possibilities that could happen during the time of Draco's parents coming over. They still hadn't accepted the fact that their son was gay and was in love with Harry. Well, his mom was a bit more understanding, but not Lucius. No, he left the Manor as soon as Draco told him how he felt.

"They've never been in a muggle world, Harry. I've been recently but only because you forced me."

"Out of love." Harry chuckled, giving his lover a small squeeze and kiss to his cheek.

The action hadn't made Draco relax though, because he was still going on about how he felt.

"You don't understand, Harry." He sounded desperate, like if he didn't get his point across that he would just break down and cry.

"Love, I understand enough...besides, I'm here. I wont leave you alone with this. I'm scared too, but we can be scared together and get this over done with and we can go back to our life, doing whatever. It'll be easier with your mother, but you're father-"

"That's another story."

Harry nodded, looking down at their legs, noticing that Draco was still a bit taller than him, but he didn't mind. It came in handy in the bedroom sometimes.

"Harry...do you think your parents would love me if they were still alive today?" Draco's question made Harry's chest feel tight, just thinking about his dead parents, but also imagining what it would be like if they were still around and if Harry and Draco were a couple. He was starting to get too curious, so he just sat up somewhat and looked at Draco, taking his hands into his own, giving them a bit of a squeeze.

"Almost as much as I do...no one can love you as much as I do." Harry smiled, noticing how soft Draco's face looked with the small glint of surprise in his ocean eyes. 

"You really believe that?" Draco's voice was soft, almost as a whisper and he looked down at their hands, rubbing his thumb over Harry's.

"Highly."

Draco nodded and pulled Harry to him, their faces inches away. Harry looked back and forth between Draco's lips and eyes, before kissing his lips lightly.

Draco wrapped his strong arms around Harry, bringing him closer until they was no space between them.

Harry had felt warm and safe in Draco's arms, even though Harry was the braver one out of the two, but he knew Draco would protect him no matter what.

"I love you." Draco said softly, looking into Harry's eyes, clearly trying to show that he meant it fully.

"I love you too, Draco." Harry said back and they both jumped at the sound of the doorbell.

"That must be them." Draco got up from the couch, straightening himself up as well as Harry did and Draco walked over to the front door, opening it.

There stood his mother. She was growing more wrinkles and lines around her face, but she still looked beautiful as always.

"Hello, dragon." She smiled, opening an arm out to Draco who gladly let himself into her arms, giving back a hug.

"Where's father?" He asked, seeing that he was not here with her.

His mother let out a sigh, tugging a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear,"I'm sorry, dragon. He-"

"Didn't want to come." He finished for her and sighed, shaking his head and looked down at the cobble stone driveway, focusing on the pattern.

"I wish your father would be more of a supportive man. I understand how this must feel for you." 

Harry came out, with a kind smile on his face, walking towards Narcissa.

Harry always seemed to know when to come into conversations, he had saved Draco many times when a conversation became dull, awkward, or just wasn't able to say anything.

"Hello, Mrs. Malfoy. Thank you so much for visiting." He smiled, hearing Draco sigh of relief.

"Please, darling, call me Narcissa." She smiled, giving her son a little wink.

"Would you like to come in and start with a cup of tea?" Harry offered, looking as she nodded and walked into the house.

"It isn't much...I know it's not fancy...but I think it's cozy...it's home." Draco said to his mom, who was speechless when it came to how Harry's house was decorated and furnished.

"Well, as long as you're happy, but when you two get married, please take a little bit of control over uhm..this." she motioned at the living room.

None of the furniture had matched, but it was comfortable and Draco just grew use to it, not really minding it and thought it was kind of cute how Harry didn't care.

"Yes, mother." Draco smiled and motioned for his mom to his on the blue recliner.

Harry came into the living with a tray with three full cups of tea and a small bowl of sugar.

"Here we are." Harry said, sitting it down on the wooden coffee table.

"Thank you, oh these cups are gorgeous." Narcissa smiled, picking up a cup that was black, but had blue and white flowers designed onto it.

"I hope the tea is good. Draco never really told me what kind you liked." Harry said, taking a cup as well, Draco following suit.

"It's quite tasty." Narcissa said, after taking a few sips of her tea, licking her lips.

Draco smiled, liking how supportive his mother was being and was being as kind as a Malfoy could be.

Draco added a spoonful of sugar into his tea, stirring it a bit.

"So, any pets?" She asked.

"Just Hedwig, my owl, but I wouldn't mind having another pet. As long as Draco is okay with it." Harry gave Draco's knee a small touch.

"As long as I still get attention." Draco joked, earning chuckles from his mother and lover.

"Actually, mother. There is something Harry wants to ask you. He was going to ask father, since it would be more appropriate, but you can understand how that isn't going to happen now." Draco said, and then gave Harry a look, before getting up, taking his cup of tea with him.

Harry nodded, feeling a bit nervous as he felt Draco leave the room.

"What does he mean, Harry?" It was the first time she had spoke his name and he didn't know if he liked it or not.

"Like Draco had said, I should rather be asking Lucius, but that bit is obvious." He sighed, taking a deep breath in, sitting his cup down onto the tray and looking directly into Narcissa's eyes like Draco had told him to do.

"I know this is a big thing, but I love your son very much, we've been together for quite some time and knew each other for much longer. I want to make him nothing but happy and be completely devoted to him, but I can only do so if I could have your blessing, I would be the happiest man ever to marry Draco." Harry's eyes were a bit teary, but he didn't want to wipe them away as he felt it would ruin the moment.

Narcissa put her cup down, holding her hands firmly to her lap, before giving Harry a side glance, taking in his facial expression and the tears building up.

She smiled, grabbing his large hands and looked at him.

"You have my blessing. I just can't say the same about Lucius."

But that was enough for Harry. He grinned widely, finally feeling more excited than ever. More excited than when he first flew his broom.

"Brilliant! I'll tell Draco." He jumped to his feet.

"Well, before you do so, I would like to thank you for letting me see your home and for the tea. I must be going." She smiled and Harry opened the front door for her.

"Of course, completely understandable. Safe travel." He almost chuckled to himself as he watched her Disaperate .

"Draco, honey!" Harry called out and Draco came out of their bedroom.

"How did it go?" Draco asked, looking at him with an expression that read that he was looking for the good answer.

Harry walked over, grabbing his hands and looked directly into his eyes, before smiling."She said yes."

Draco's eyes lit up and he let go of Harry's hands and put his own to his mouth, his eyes becoming full and the tears ran down his face, but they were happy tears.

Things weren't going to change and this was going to be a new chapter to Harry and Draco's life. It was scary as hell, but Draco didn't care. As long as he had Harry, he would be all right.

"She did?" He asked.

"Yes." Harry answered.

"Then screw what my father says, now let's just tell our friends." Draco smiled brightly, walking over to the fireplace and Harry smiled at him, watching him as he contacted as many friends as possible during the hours. Some didn't answer because of their kids or because of work or sleep.

A great amount answered though and were completely happy for them. Hermione wanted to help plan the wedding, but Harry knew she was going to have to fight over that job because, Pansy would want to help as well.

But here to the new chapter of their lives.