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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 2 months ago

Note

Okay, I am in love with all your Sebastian fics like a honeybee to pollen 🐝

Could we get some love for Ominis, too? 🥺 If your requests are open, I was thinking of something a bit packed with drama. Maybe during the early 1900's, Ominis was going to be married off to another pureblood woman as a last ditch effort to save the Gaunt family from utter disgrace. But Sebastian sent a frantic letter to MC (knowing she's always had feelings for him) and she rescues him because she's quite literally the only person who can counter the strength of the Gaunts.

If this is too action-packed, I understand 😅 And if you want to do something else with this, I'm totally onboard for it! Thank you so, so much!

Speak Now | Ominis Gaunt x Reader

CAN YOU HAVE SOME LOVE FOR OMINIS? UM, YES. OF COURSE. ALWAYS. SEND ME ALL THE OMINIS PROMPTS, I LOVE HIM DEARLY.

ANON, I HOPE YOU LOVE AND ENJOY <3 THANK YOU FOR YOUR MESSAGE!!!

Words: ~10,500

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Fluff, Angst, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romance, Pureblood Drama

The ink was smudged, the parchment worn, as if it had been handled too many times before finally being sent. The hurried scrawl was unmistakable—Sebastian Sallow had always written like he was running out of time.

You have to come back.

That was the first line, sharp and urgent, as though he was reaching across the distance to shake you into action. You swallowed hard as your eyes darted over the rest of the letter, scanning the words that followed.

They're forcing Ominis into a marriage. He won’t fight it. He thinks he has no choice. He’s going to let them do it. The Gaunts are desperate—this is their last chance to cling to whatever power they have left. If you don’t stop this, no one will.

You tilted your head back against the hotel room chair, exhaling slowly. This wasn’t what you had expected when you saw Sebastian’s weekly letter among the rest of your correspondence—his updates had always been the same.

Small anecdotes of life in England, sharp-witted remarks about Ministry work, and the occasional complaint about the monotony of it all. It had become a habit, these letters, a quiet tether to the life you left behind.

But this was different.

Sebastian had always known. Even when you tried to hide it, when you buried your feelings so deeply they felt like ghosts inside you—he knew you were irrevocably in love with Ominis.

He had known when you stood beside him through the worst of it, when the three of you were still inseparable. He had known when you were sixteen, when you looked at Ominis across the Great Hall with something aching in your eyes.

Sebastian wouldn’t have sent this if he wasn’t desperate.

The candlelight flickered against the crumpled parchment in your hands, the ink smudging beneath the heat of your fingers. Your chest felt tight, something old and aching clawing its way to the surface.

You had spent nearly a decade trying to carve Ominis Gaunt out of your heart.

You had moved away. You had thrown yourself into the world, traveling far from England, chasing adventure and knowledge, anything to dull the pain of loving someone who would never be yours. You had gone years without talking him. Not because he hadn’t written—but because you never wrote back.

It never worked.

Because love like that—love that had rooted itself so deeply, so completely, didn’t just disappear. It lingered in the spaces between your ribs, in the quiet moments before sleep, in the way your body still tensed at the mention of his name.

It had been unspoken between you, as silent as the spaces he left untouched when you stood too close, as damning as the way his hand would hover near yours but never close the distance.

And when you couldn’t take it anymore, you left.

You left because you thought, maybe, if you put an ocean between you, the wound of unrequited love would heal.

It never did.

And now Sebastian was asking you to do the very thing you had spent years convincing yourself you wouldn’t.

Go back. Save him.

The Gaunts were a dying family, their legacy rotting from the inside out. With every generation, their blood grew thinner, their wealth squandered, their name teetering on the edge of ruin. A marriage—an advantageous one—was their final desperate bid for survival. And Ominis, bound by duty, bound by the fear that he had nowhere else to go, was walking into the trap with his head bowed.

You let out a shaky breath and reached for the letter again, rereading the final lines, the ink smudged and urgent.

If you don’t stop this, no one will.

By tomorrow night, you would be back in England.

The night was cold, the London streets slick with rain, the gas lamps casting a dim glow against the cobblestones. You barely felt the chill as you climbed the stairs to Sebastian’s flat, your heartbeat pounding louder than your footsteps.

You didn’t hesitate. You raised your fist and banged on the door. Hard.

The music inside was loud enough to mask the first round of knocks, but you weren’t deterred. You hit the door again, more forcefully this time, your palm stinging from the impact.

There was movement inside, the shuffling of feet, the clinking of glass. You exhaled sharply, bracing yourself.

All you could hope was that he was alone.

Because if there was one thing Sebastian Sallow had never lacked, it was company.

It had been a constant presence in your lives—girls who were drawn to him like moths to a flame, girls who whispered behind their hands when they saw the two of you together, girls who looked at you with suspicion, jealousy, irritation.

It had never mattered that you weren’t interested. That your heart had belonged to Ominis so completely that there had never been room for anyone else. That Sebastian had never once looked at you that way.

It hadn’t stopped the tension, the quiet hostility, the accusations in whispered conversations you weren’t supposed to overhear.

You could only imagine how much worse it would be now if you were about to interrupt a lover’s evening.

The door swung open, and Sebastian stood before you, shirt half-unbuttoned, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

His eyes widened in disbelief.

“Bloody hell.” His voice was hoarse, caught somewhere between shock and amusement. “You actually came.”

You huffed a laugh, tugging your bag higher up your shoulder. "Hello, Sebastian."

His expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across his face before settling into a lopsided grin. He stepped aside, motioning you in with an exaggerated sweep of his arm. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come in before you catch a cold.”

You hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside, brushing past him. The flat was warm, filled with the scent of oak and whiskey, the remnants of dinner still on the table. A record played in the background, something slow and bluesy, and the room was dimly lit by the flickering glow of the fireplace.

You scanned the space quickly. No sign of anyone else.

Relief loosened the tension in your shoulders.

Sebastian caught it immediately, his smirk widening. “Were you worried I’d have company?”

You shot him a look.

He laughed, the sound low and knowing. “You used to hate that, didn’t you?”

You sighed, tugging off your gloves, your fingers stiff from the cold. “I didn’t hate it, Sebastian.”

“Oh, you did,” he said, dropping onto the sofa, his gaze sharp. “Every time a girl so much as looked at me twice, they’d take one look at you and think they had to fight for their lives.”

You rolled your eyes. “That wasn’t my fault. You’ve always had a type, and apparently, that type is ‘possessive.’”

Sebastian grinned into his glass. “It was entertaining, at least.”

You huffed out a breath, shaking your head, but there was no real annoyance behind it.

He studied you for a long moment, something flickering in his expression, before he let out a quiet huff of amusement.

“You look so much more… grown up.”

Your hands stilled where they had been undoing the buttons of your coat. You glanced up at him, unsure whether to feel flattered or vaguely insulted. “Should I be offended?”

Sebastian smirked. “No, no. Just—well, you know.” His gaze flicked over you with something bordering on appraisal. “Filled out a bit. More mature.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious.

He grinned before leaning back into the sofa, stretching his arms behind his head lazily. “Ominis is going to be very happy to see you.”

You groaned at the implication, rubbing your hands down your face. “Gross, Sebastian.”

He laughed, clearly pleased with himself. “What? It’s been a long time. He’s going to notice.”

“You just noticed, and that’s already too much.”

Sebastian only smirked, utterly unrepentant.

You shook your head, slipping your coat off and draping it over the back of a chair. The warmth of the flat was already sinking into your bones, easing the tension in your shoulders.

Sebastian watched you for a long moment, his teasing expression softening slightly.

“You really came,” he murmured, quieter now.

You met his gaze. “Of course I did.”

“I’ve tried to reason with him, tried to convince him he doesn’t need to do this but…” He hesitated, drumming his fingers against his knee. “I don’t think he realizes he has a choice. How much he still—”

He stopped himself, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”

“So,” you said, glancing at him, “do you have a guest room these days, or am I taking the couch?”

Sebastian’s lips quirked up at the corner. “What kind of man do you take me for?”

You arched a brow. “The kind who forgets to replace his bedsheets for months at a time.”

He let out a laugh, shaking his head as he stood, finishing off the last sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down. “You wound me,” he drawled, then he gestured for you to follow him down the narrow hallway.

As you trailed behind, he glanced over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Your accent’s changed,” he noted. “Sounds almost American now. Tragic, really.”

You scoffed. “It does not.”

“Oh, it does.” He mimicked a horrible, exaggerated version of an American drawl. “Next thing I know, you’ll be saying ‘ain’t’ and asking for a cup of coffee instead of tea.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ve been gone, not possessed.”

Sebastian chuckled, pushing open a door and stepping aside to let you enter.

The spare bedroom was small but comfortable—a proper bed, neatly made, a modest wardrobe, and a single oil lamp on the nightstand. It was uncharacteristically tidy for him, and you cast him a suspicious glance.

He smirked. “Surprised? I do have some manners, you know.”

“Debatable.”

He snorted but didn’t argue. Instead, he lingered in the doorway, watching you as you set your gloves on the nightstand, smoothing out the worn fabric between your fingers.

Then, without warning, he reached for you, wrapping you in a sudden, firm embrace.

You tensed for half a second before melting into it, your hands pressing into the worn fabric of his shirt as you buried your face against his shoulder. He smelled like whiskey, firewood, and something unmistakably Sebastian—familiar, grounding.

“Missed you, you know,” he murmured, voice quieter now, rougher around the edges. “I wish I’d threatened Ominis’s marriage sooner. Would’ve saved me years of boredom having you around again.”

You let out a breathless laugh against his shoulder even as your chest ached.

You had been gone for so long, chasing something you could never quite outrun. And yet, standing here, in the warmth of Sebastian’s flat, his arms still loosely around you—

It felt like a piece of you had finally come home.

You swallowed past the sudden lump in your throat, blinking quickly. “Well,” you said, clearing your throat, “we’ll have to make up for lost time, then.”

Sebastian grinned, giving your shoulder a final squeeze before stepping back. “Oh, we will,” he promised. “Starting tomorrow.”

Your stomach twisted at the reminder.

"What's the plan for tomorrow, exactly?"

Sebastian leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, the flickering lamplight casting shadows across his face. He tilted his head slightly, considering your question.

“Well, obviously, I have a wedding invitation,” he said, his smirk sharp and knowing. “And seeing as you didn’t exactly RSVP, you’ll be my plus-one.”

You sighed, rubbing your hands together. “Okay... but when we get there, then what?"

Sebastian’s smirk faded, replaced with something more serious. “We’ll try to get to him before the ceremony starts,” he said. “Pull him aside, talk some sense into him. If we can convince him to walk away without causing a scene, that would be ideal.”

You exhaled slowly. “And if we do have to cause a scene?”

Sebastian lifted a brow, a familiar glint of mischief in his gaze. “Well, you did bring all that dramatic ancient magic of yours back with you, didn’t you?”

You shot him a dry look. “Yes, Sebastian, I plan to hex an entire wedding party in broad daylight.”

“Now that would be entertaining,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “You think he’ll listen?”

Sebastian hesitated, his fingers tapping idly against the doorframe. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve tried, but you know how he is. Stubborn as ever. He thinks this is the only way. Thinks he has no other choice.”

Your stomach twisted.

"And you think, somehow, I'm going to change his mind? We haven't spoken in, what, eight years? He probably—”

Sebastian cut you off with a pointed look. "Exactly. You haven't spoken in years. Which means you showing up? That'll shake him more than anything I could ever say."

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. "Or it'll just piss him off."

Sebastian shrugged, unbothered. "That works too. As long as it gets him to actually feel something about this instead of just rolling over and letting his family dictate his life again."

Your jaw tightened. "You think he hasn't felt anything about this?"

Sebastian tilted his head. "I think he's spent so long convincing himself he doesn’t have a choice that he's stopped considering the alternative. And I think," he said, crossing his arms, "that if there's anyone who can remind him of what he wants instead of what he owes, it's you."

The words struck deeper than you wanted them to.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, gripping the edge of the bed as if grounding yourself. "If he ever wanted me," you said, quieter this time, "it was never enough."

Sebastian huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You always were terrible at seeing what was right in front of you."

You frowned, but he didn’t give you a chance to argue. He pushed off the doorframe, turning toward the hall. "Get some sleep," he said over his shoulder. "Big day tomorrow. You might have to throw yourself in front of an altar."

You snorted. "Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that."

Sebastian grinned. "If it does, at least try to make it entertaining. Dramatic declarations, an I object! shouted for the ages." He paused, then waggled his brows. "Preferably while wearing something scandalous."

You rolled your eyes. "Goodnight, Sebastian."

"Sweet dreams, sweetheart," he teased, retreating down the hallway.

You listened to his footsteps fade, staring at the worn wooden floor beneath you.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, you would face Ominis again.

Sebastian was already ready. Of course he was.

You could hear him outside the bathroom, pacing the hallway, his dress shoes clicking impatiently against the wooden floor. He’d already knocked twice, and now he was resorting to pestering you from the other side of the door.

"Are you ready yet?" His voice was exasperated. "Honestly, if I'd known you'd take this long, I would've given you a two-hour head start."

You stuck a pin in your hair and rolled your eyes. "It's been thirty minutes, Sebastian. You’re acting like I've been in here for days."

“Might as well have been,” came Sebastian’s voice from the other side, muffled but unmistakably exasperated. “We’re going to a wedding, not a coronation.”

You sighed, adjusting the way your dress fit over your shoulders, tugging at the fabric as if it would somehow settle your nerves.

The truth was, you were taking longer than usual.

But could he blame you? You hadn’t seen Ominis in nearly eight years.

And sure—he couldn’t see you, exactly, but his wand could.

You sighed, stepping back from the mirror and smoothing your skirts. You had settled on something elegant, something proper, something that would make it impossible for the Gaunts to ignore you when you walked through their doors.

Sebastian, of course, was dressed for trouble. A sharp three-piece suit, his tie just slightly loosened, his hair combed back but still holding that casual devil-may-care disarray that somehow made him look even more like a menace.

Another impatient knock. “The wedding starts in an hour, by the way.”

You shot a glare at the door, even though he couldn’t see it, then took one last look in the mirror before before finally stepping out.

Sebastian was mid-complaint when his eyes landed on you.

His mouth clicked shut.

He blinked.

And then, after a moment, let out a low whistle.

“Well, well,” he said, stepping back slightly to take you in. “You do clean up nice.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing past him. “Don’t sound so shocked.”

He grinned. “I’m just impressed. You put me through an agonizing wait, but I suppose it was worth it.” His gaze flicked over you again, more appraising now. “Ominis is going to—”

You shot him a warning look before he could finish the sentence.

Sebastian just smirked. “Right, right. Gross.”

He, mercifully, didn’t push the subject further as the two of you stepped out onto the quiet London street. The air was crisp, the overcast sky hinting at rain, and the city was already awake—carts rolling by, men in suits tipping their hats as they passed, women hurrying along with baskets in hand.

A sleek, enchanted carriage waited at the curb, black lacquer gleaming under the dim morning light. Sebastian, always the gentleman when it suited him, opened the door and gestured dramatically.

“After you, my lady,” he quipped, voice dripping with amusement.

You shot him a flat look but climbed in nonetheless. The interior was comfortable, the seats upholstered in deep blue fabric, smelling faintly of polished wood . Sebastian followed, settling in across from you as the carriage took off with a jolt.

The ride started in silence, the rhythmic clatter of hooves filling the space between you. You stared out the window, watching London give way to quieter roads, your stomach twisting itself into knots.

Sebastian stretched out, lounging like this was nothing more than a casual social call. “You’re awfully quiet.”

You exhaled, fingers drumming against your knee. “I’m trying not to think about the fact that I might be making a mistake.”

Sebastian scoffed. “Oh, please. As if this could even qualify as a mistake.”

You shot him a sharp look. “This isn’t a joke, Sebastian.”

His smirk softened, just slightly. “I know,” he admitted, leaning forward, bracing his forearms against his knees. “But listen to me—there is no version of this where Ominis doesn’t want to see you.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “You don’t know that.”

Sebastian’s gaze was unwavering. “I do.”

You wanted to argue, wanted to tell him he was wrong, that Ominis had probably long since buried whatever he had once felt for you—if he had ever felt anything at all.

But you couldn’t ignore the gnawing in your chest, the way a tiny, fragile part of you wanted desperately to believe Sebastian was right.

The carriage slowed. Your breath caught.

Sebastian straightened, adjusting his jacket. “Showtime.”

The Gaunt estate was exactly as you remembered it from your Hogwarts days—cold, imposing, and entirely too suffocating. The sprawling grounds were still vast, stretching endlessly in every direction, but there was something unmistakably wilted about them now. The hedges lining the drive had grown wild at the edges, the once-pristine cobblestone path cracked in places, and the grand iron gates—tall and menacing—creaked on their hinges as they shut behind your carriage.

The manor itself was much the same: gray stone, towering spires, an air of superiority that had always felt like a performance rather than a truth. But even from this distance, you could tell that the years had not been kind to it.

The roof, once gleaming with meticulously maintained slate tiles, had dark patches of discoloration. Ivy crept aggressively up the eastern wing, unchecked, wrapping around balconies and windows as if slowly strangling the place. The grand windows that had once shimmered with warm candlelight now looked dimmer, some of them cracked, their leaded glass slightly warped with age.

Neglect.

That’s what this was. The decay wasn’t extreme—not yet—but it was there, creeping at the edges, slowly taking hold.

And you knew why.

Ominis’s father.

The man had been wretched, and his penchant for excess was nothing new. Even back when you were all still in school, it had been whispered that the Gaunts' fortune was a shadow of what it had once been—that their power was more name than substance now.

And now, with his father dead and Ominis as the heir, it seemed evident that the cracks in the foundation had begun to spread.

Sebastian let out a low whistle beside you. “Charming as ever.”

You exhaled, willing your nerves to settle as the carriage rolled to a stop before the grand entrance.

Footmen were stationed by the double doors, their posture rigid, their expressions carefully blank. A few well-dressed guests were filtering into the manor, their whispers hushed but pointed, eyes flickering toward your carriage with interest.

This was it.

You were here.

And somewhere inside that crumbling, gilded ruin was Ominis—waiting for a future he had resigned himself to.

Sebastian stepped out first, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket before turning to offer you a hand. You ignored it, stepping down on your own, too preoccupied with the steady thudding of your heart against your ribs.

As you approached the grand entrance, one of the footmen—rigid, humorless, and probably handpicked for his ability to look as unwelcoming as possible—stepped forward, barring your way with a polite but firm, “Name?”

Sebastian handed over his invitation, flashing a smirk that bordered on arrogance. “Sebastian Sallow,” he said smoothly. “And my lovely plus-one, of course.”

The footman scanned the invitation with a blank expression, then flicked his eyes toward you. His lips pressed together.

“I’m afraid there is no ‘plus-one’ listed, sir.”

Sebastian blinked. “Pardon?”

The footman held out the invitation again. “Your name is on the list, Mr. Sallow, but there is no mention of a guest.”

Sebastian made a show of taking the paper back, squinting at it dramatically. “Oh, what an incredible oversight,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Truly, a devastating clerical error. You should fire whoever manages this list.”

The footman’s mouth twitched—somewhere between unimpressed and mildly annoyed. “Sir, I was given specific instructions. No additional guests who are not accounted for.”

Sebastian threw up his hands. “I’m accounting for her right now—”

“Sebastian,” you muttered under your breath, nudging his arm in warning.

He huffed. “This is absurd. What do you think she’s here for? To steal the centerpieces? I assure you, my guest is—”

The footman remained firm. “If her name is not on the list, she does not enter.”

Your fingers curled into fists. You should have seen this coming. Of course the Gaunts would keep the guest list strictly controlled—this wasn’t just any wedding, it was their last-ditch attempt to save face. The idea that a surprise guest might slip through the cracks was laughable.

Sebastian was still arguing when you finally grabbed his sleeve and yanked him aside.

He frowned at you. “What? I was wearing them down.”

“No, you were irritating them,” you muttered, glancing back at the guards. “Look, you have an invitation. You can get inside.”

He crossed his arms. “And what, exactly, are you going to do? Sit on the curb and wait?”

“No.” You lowered your voice. “I’ll figure something out. But you need to get to Ominis now.”

Sebastian hesitated, his brow furrowing. “You sure?”

You exhaled, glancing back toward the doors. “We don’t have time to waste. Find him. Get him alone. Make him listen. If that doesn't work... we'll... we'll think of something.”

Sebastian clenched his jaw, clearly not thrilled at the idea of leaving you behind. But after a moment, he exhaled sharply.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But if you’re not inside within the next fifteen minutes, I will cause a scene.”

You smirked despite yourself. “You always cause a scene.”

He grinned. “Yes, but this time, I’ll make it big.”

With that, he turned, flashing the footman an exaggeratedly smug smile before striding through the doors and disappearing into the estate.

You, meanwhile, lingered near the entrance, watching the footmen out of the corner of your eye. As much as you hated the idea of waiting out here while Sebastian got to Ominis, you knew forcing your way in wasn’t an option.

So you waited.

The footmen barely glanced at you once they assumed you were no longer their problem. Instead, they refocused on their duties—checking invitations, directing guests, speaking in hushed tones with the occasional arrival. It only took a moment for the perfect opportunity to present itself.

A carriage pulled up, the sound of clattering hooves drawing the footmen’s attention just long enough for you to slip away from the entrance.

You kept your posture casual, strolling toward the side of the estate as if you belonged there

The gardens sprawled around the estate in twisting hedges and overgrown flower beds, a shadow of their former grandeur. You maneuvered quickly, ducking beneath the trellis of a neglected rose arch, its petals long wilted, its thorns creeping along rusted iron.

Beyond the hedges, the ceremony setup came into view.

Rows of white chairs arranged in perfect symmetry. A raised platform at the far end, decorated with elegant but impersonal arrangements of deep red roses and ivy. Guests milled about in clusters, dressed in their pure-blood finery, the air thick with murmured conversations and thinly veiled judgments.

You swept your gaze over the fence, searching for a break in the iron, a space for you to slip through without your name on that stupid list.

Nothing.

You kept moving.

The gardens stretched endlessly around you, a maze of twisting paths and forgotten alcoves, the scent of damp earth and decaying petals clung to your senses as you pressed on, scanning every wrought-iron fence post, every creeping vine for a weakness in the estate’s meticulous defenses.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your skirts, your mind racing, cycling through every possible version of what you would say when you saw Ominis again.

How were you even going to begin? Would you demand? Beg? Reason? Would you tell him he was making a mistake, that this wasn’t the only option? Would you say it plainly, admit that you had spent years running from the truth that you loved him, and you always had? That you couldn’t stand the thought of watching him tie himself to someone who would never understand him the way you did?

Suddenly, your skirts snagged against the thick brambles of a particularly dense bush, yanking you to an abrupt stop.

You hissed in frustration, twisting to untangle the fabric, cursing under your breath as you fought with the thorny branches.

Then—

Music.

You froze. Your hands clenched in the fabric of your dress, your breath catching in your throat.

A slow, solemn melody drifted through the air, carried by an unseen quartet.

Shit. Shit. The ceremony is starting.

Your pulse pounded. This wasn’t just some idea anymore, wasn’t just a plan scribbled onto parchment in Sebastian’s messy handwriting.

This was happening.

This was Ominis’s wedding.

Your heart was in your throat.

You tore your skirt free from the brambles, stumbling forward, breath coming faster as you scanned desperately for a way through.

If you didn’t get inside now—

A hand clamped down around your upper arm, yanking you backward with enough force to make you stumble. A startled gasp escaped your lips as you twisted in place, trying to wrench yourself free, but the grip was unrelenting.

The footman was tall, broad, and utterly impassive, his expression betraying not even a flicker of emotion.

"Ma'am, you are trespassing on private property, I must insist—"

“No, wait—” you gasped, trying again, shoving at his arm, but the man barely even shifted. “I just need a moment—I’m not here to—”

“The wedding is invitation-only,” the footman said, unbothered, already dragging you back toward the entrance. “Guests are to remain in designated areas. If you do not have proper clearance—”

“I just need to talk to him!” you nearly shouted, struggling as the ceremony music continued to drift through the garden, the slow, deliberate swell of strings making your stomach twist violently.

Ominis was at the front of that ceremony right now, waiting, standing still and poised while guests murmured and the woman he was supposed to marry prepared to walk down the aisle.

It was real. It was happening. And you were out here, being dragged away, powerless to stop it.

A sickening ache took root in your chest, spreading through your ribs, pressing against your lungs like a vice. Your breath hitched, sharp and unsteady.

You tried everything.

You dug your heels in, but the footman pulled you along effortlessly.

You tried bargaining. “Please, just listen—Ominis Gaunt—he knows me, we were close once, I need to see him—”

It didn’t matter.

He wasn’t listening.

Of course he wasn’t.

The Gaunts controlled their world too carefully to let last-minute intrusions disrupt them. Even now, at the end of their dynasty, they still clung to their crumbling influence, still made sure that everything went exactly as planned.

You just needed one chance—one opening to slip away, to disappear, to reach Ominis before it was too late—

Your fingers twitched toward the hidden pocket in your skirts, brushing against the cool handle of your wand.

It was reckless, maybe even stupid, but you didn’t care.

But then, another hand seized your wrist.

Your breath hitched violently as a second footman stepped forward, his grip firm, unyielding.

“Stop resisting,” he ordered, voice impassive.

“No—please—” you gasped, voice breaking.

The music swelled, the notes stretching out like a death knell in your ears, wrapping around your ribs like a vice.

You could see it now. Too vividly.

Ominis.

Ominis, sitting at the head of a long, extravagant dining table, a woman—his wife, a woman you did not know, would never know—beside him, her hand resting lightly on his wrist as they spoke in hushed tones.

Ominis, dancing with her at some pure-blood gala, his hand on her waist, his voice low in conversation.

Ominis at holidays, wathcing his children—laughing as they tore open gifts wrapped in crisp gold and silver paper.

Ominis in the soft quiet of night, pressing a kiss to his wife’s temple, his hands gentle as they cradled her face.

A sharp, ragged breath tore from your throat, your chest constricting painfully, your lungs refusing to expand properly.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

You fought harder, twisting violently, desperation turning into something sharp and frantic.

"Please, you don’t understand,” you gasped, struggling, thrashing, but it was useless. "Please—I just need a moment—I have to—"

They kept dragging you back to the front drive, further and further away from the ceremony, from him, from the one moment you had to stop this. Your lungs burned, your vision blurred at the edges, and a hot, unbearable pressure rose in your throat—desperation curling tight, suffocating.

Tears burned behind your eyes, stinging, threatening to fall.

And then—

A sudden crack. A flash of red light. The grip on your arms vanished.

You collapsed to your knees, barely registering the sharp sting of gravel biting into your palms. Your chest heaved, ragged and uneven, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins as the world tilted around you.

The footmen hit the ground hard, unmoving.

And when you looked up—

Sebastian stood at the threshold of the grand doors, wand raised.

“Looks like I got here just in time,” he mused, voice light, almost lazy, as if he hadn’t just knocked out two Gaunt guards in broad daylight.

You sucked in a shaky, gasping breath, arms trembling as you pushed yourself upright. The fight had drained you—left you raw, exposed.

Sebastian’s smirk faltered. His gaze flickered over you, taking in the state of you—your wild hair, your disheveled dress, the way you struggled to breathe past the sheer panic still lodged in your chest.

His expression hardened. He crossed the distance between you in three long strides, dropping to a knee before you, hand bracing against your shoulder to steady you.

“Hey,” he said, lower now, gentler. “You’re alright.”

You let out a shaking breath, still staring at the unconscious footmen, mind still reeling. “I wasn’t going to make it,” you whispered, voice hoarse, raw from the struggle.

Sebastian squeezed your shoulder. “Yeah, well.” He exhaled, straightening. “Luckily, I’ve got a terrible habit of causing trouble at exactly the right moment.”

You let out a breathless, exhausted laugh.

Sebastian stood, then offered you his hand. “Come on.” His tone shifted, sharpening with urgency. “We need to move. They’ll wake up soon.”

You took it, fingers gripping his tight as he pulled you to your feet.

Your legs were weak, but there was no more time for fear, no more time for second-guessing.

Sebastian held your gaze.

“Are you ready for this?”

Ominis was still waiting.

And you—you were still here.

You nodded.

Sebastian grinned. “Alright, then.”

And with that, you ran.

The Gaunt manor was a maze of dark corridors and endless rooms, its sheer size and suffocating grandeur turning your desperate rush into something far more frustrating.

Even with Sebastian practically dragging you forward, navigating the twisting hallways and sharp turns, it felt like time was slipping through your fingers.

Your pulse thundered. Your legs burned. Your breath came short and uneven as you sprinted your, skirts gathered in your hands.

Footsteps echoed in the halls behind you—shouts, movement. They were coming for you.

A left turn, another hallway, a sharp sprint down the main stairwell, and then finally—

Sebastian shoved open the back door, and you stumbled into the gardens.

The sudden burst of open air nearly stole your breath away. Your lungs ached, your body trembling from the exertion. And then—

You heard the officiant speaking.

Your head snapped toward the ceremony, your entire body freezing in place. It was already happening.

Rows of pure-blooded guests sat in eerie silence, their attention locked on the figures standing at the altar.

You could hear the officiant now, his voice steady, final.

"If there is anyone present who has just cause why these two should not be joined in marriage, speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Everything in you screamed. Your vision tunneled, and before you could even think—

"I OBJECT!"

The words rang loud, impossible to ignore, echoing across the ceremony as if they had weight, as if they had been carved into stone.

The officiant froze mid-sentence, his mouth still parted, the words he had been about to speak dying on his lips.

And then, the ripple began.

Gasps. Dozens of them. Whispers—hushed, sharp murmurs spreading through the crowd like wildfire, rustling through silk gowns and stiffly pressed suits. Heads turned sharply in your direction, eyes wide, mouths forming quiet exclamations of scandal and disbelief.

The woman beside Ominis—his bride—let out a small, startled gasp, the delicate bouquet in her hands trembling slightly. She turned her head toward him, confusion flickering across her face, but he didn’t move to reassure her.

Sebastian let out a sharp, triumphant breath behind you. "Well. That got their attention."

But you couldn’t answer. Your heart was going to burst.

You could feel it—pounding, breaking, swelling, shattering all at once, an unbearable rush of emotion so raw that it nearly brought you to your knees.

Because he was standing right there.

Ominis.

Older. More composed, more refined, dressed in a suit that fit him perfectly, every line and seam made for him. But it was still him—the boy you had once loved.

The boy you still loved.

Your vision blurred, and for a horrible, dizzying moment, you thought you might actually cry.

But your feet were moving now.

You barely realized it—one step, then another, then another, until you were walking, carrying yourself down the aisle toward him, your breath still coming too fast, too uneven from the struggle, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Your skirts were torn at the edges, your hair mussed from running, from fighting, from forcing your way through every obstacle that had tried to keep you away from him.

The whispers grew louder, the tension in the air becoming so thick, so suffocating, but you didn’t care.

The words fell from your lips, breathless, desperate, trembling with everything you had kept buried for far too long.

"You can't marry her, Ominis."

For a moment, the world felt frozen, as if the sheer weight of your presence—your defiance—had brought everything to a grinding halt.

The officiant stiffened, his mouth slightly parted in shock. The bride inhaled sharply, her fingers tightening around the bouquet, knuckles turning pale against the soft petals. The guests—rows upon rows of pure-blooded aristocrats—stared at you, their expressions ranging from horrified to scandalized to morbidly fascinated.

But none of it mattered.

Because Ominis finally turned.

His head lifted, his face shifting just enough for you to see him fully, and the breath nearly left your lungs entirely.

He was beautiful in the way only Ominis had ever been—his features a careful composition of sharp cheekbones, a proud jawline, plush pink lips pressed into a firm, unreadable line.

But God, he had grown even more handsome.

Time had sculpted him into something even more unattainable, something even more devastatingly perfect.

His voice, measured and steady, cut through the stunned silence.

"...And why is that?"

You felt it before you understood it—the way his voice reached inside you and wrapped around something raw, something fragile, something you thought you had buried beneath years of distance and silence.

It was deeper than you remembered. Richer. Steadier.

And for a terrible second, you couldn’t speak. You had imagined this moment a hundred different ways. You had dreamed of it, dreaded it, rehearsed what you would say if you ever saw him again.

But none of those versions had prepared you for this.

You swallowed hard, blinking against the burn in your eyes. Your fingers curled into your ruined skirts, grounding yourself, forcing breath back into your lungs.

"Because you don’t love her," you said, voice shaking yet resolute. "And she doesn’t love you."

The bride’s sharp inhale was barely audible beneath the collective gasp that rippled through the guests.

"You’re doing this because you think you have to," you continued. "Because you think there’s no other way. But that isn’t true, Ominis. It’s never been true."

His jaw tightened, but he didn't speak.

Your next words came softer, but they still broke through the air like a spell cast in desperation.

"Tell me you want this. Tell me this is what you really want, Ominis, and I’ll leave."

You took another step forward, heart hammering so hard it felt like it was trying to tear itself free from your chest.

The guests were silent now, barely breathing, watching as if they had stumbled into something far too intimate, far too raw to be witnessing.

But you didn’t care. You kept going.

"But if you don’t, if there's—" You swallowed, huffed a small, shaky breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, because god, you were unraveling. "—if there’s any part of you that doesn’t want this—any part at all—then don’t do it. Please. Because I—" You hesitated, feeling the weight of the moment bear down on you, crushing, suffocating. "Because I love you, Ominis."

A ripple went through the crowd—a gasp, a scandalized whisper, a rustling of fabric as guests turned to each other in shock.

The bride was rigid, her knuckles white against the bouquet, her lips pressed into a tight, thin line. But it was her eyes that gave her away—wide, wild, brimming with something between fury and panic.

"Ominis," she said sharply, her voice a blade cutting through the heavy silence. "Say something."

But he didn’t.

Ominis stood motionless, carved from something finer than marble, yet just as unyielding. His lips parted, breath slow and uneven, as though you had reached inside him and shaken something loose, something buried too deep to name. His jaw tightened, the muscle feathering beneath pale skin, his throat working around a swallow he never quite finished.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

It stretched and stretched, yawning wide like the space between stars, like the distance you had spent years putting between you. It pressed against your ribs, against your throat, thick and suffocating, a weight that crushed the breath from your lungs.

You had been so sure—so certain—that he would say something, do something.

But he only stood there. Still. Silent. Unmoving.

And as the seconds bled into each other, as the realization began to sink its cruel, merciless teeth into you, the first seed of doubt took root.

This reckless, desperate thing you had done—it had been a mistake. A cruel, foolish, selfish mistake. You had laid yourself bare before him, only to be met with silence. Nothing more than a last, flailing act of desperation, a pathetic display that only proved how far you had fallen.

Sebastian shifted behind you, and for a single, awful moment, you thought—

Maybe he’s going to drag me away.

Maybe he’ll step in, cut your losses, put an end to this, spare you from any further disgrace.

Maybe this was your only way out.

Maybe it was time to let go.

You swallowed against the burn in your throat, against the ache blooming in your chest. Your vision blurred at the edges, and for the first time, you truly considered turning around.

Walking away. Leaving Ominis to the life he'd been bred to live.

But then Ominis exhaled, a breath so sharp, so unsteady, it sliced through the silence like the edge of a knife.

And then, he turned.

Not just his head. Not just the subtle tilt of his face in acknowledgment.

All of him.

His entire frame shifted, shoulders squaring, spine straightening as he turned fully toward you, facing you where you stood trembling in the middle of the aisle.

The tension in the room snapped taut, the atmosphere shifting as if the very foundation of this moment had cracked beneath the weight of his movement.

A murmur rippled through the crowd, hushed and urgent, the kind of sound that signaled the birth of a scandal, the sort of thing that would be whispered about behind gloved hands for years to come.

The bride sucked in a sharp breath, her bouquet shaking in her grip. “Ominis—”

But he wasn’t listening.

His hand twitched at his side.

And then, he stepped forward.

Just one step at first, slow and deliberate.

Then another.

And another.

The bride’s composure cracked.

“Ominis,” she snapped, her voice laced with something sharp. “What do you think you’re doing?”

But he didn’t stop.

He didn’t even hesitate.

Your chest felt too tight, too full, as if your own ribs were locking around your heart, trying to keep it from breaking, from believing what was happening.

Because Ominis was walking toward you. Confidently. Purposefully.

As if there had never been any other choice but this. As if, after years of silence, of distance, of unspoken things left to rot in the past, there had only ever been one path left to take.

The whispers rose to a fever pitch, scandalized and sharp, shocked and disbelieving. A frenzied murmur of names and questions and outrage, but all you could hear were his footsteps against the stone, each one measured, steady, unshakable.

And all you could see was him.

Tall and lean, just as he had always been, the crisp lines of his suit, the effortless precision of his movements, the way his shoulders squared with a quiet, unshakable confidence—it was Ominis, but not the boy you had once known.

He was a man now.

And he was—he was right in front of you. So close you could see the subtle rise and fall of his chest, could hear the slow, deliberate exhale that left his lips as he seemed to gather himself.

Your heart pounded in your ears, drowning out everything but the sound of your own breath, the silent demand in your mind that you memorize this, remember this, because no matter what happened next, this moment would live inside you forever.

Then—he moved.

Slowly, deliberately, as if the weight of this moment threatened to crush him as much as it did you.

His fingers brushed against yours first, barely a touch, a whisper of warmth that sent a shudder through your spine. And then, with a quiet, unsteady inhale, he took your hand fully, his grip firm but trembling, as though he were afraid that if he didn’t hold on now, he might never get the chance again.

A gasp rippled through the crowd, a sharp intake of breath from dozens of watching eyes, but it barely registered. The garden, the wedding, the expectant horror of pure-blooded society—all of it had ceased to exist.

It was just him.

And then, finally, he spoke. Soft, low—only for you.

"You came back."

His voice—God, his voice.

Your throat tightened, your fingers tightening instinctively around his.

"Of course I did."

Ominis exhaled, a breathless, almost disbelieving sound—half a laugh, half a shudder. As if he couldn't quite grasp that this was real, that you were here. Then—slowly, reverently—he lifted his free hand, his fingers trembling ever so slightly before they found your cheek.

You barely had time to react before a sharp, furious voice cut through the air.

"Ominis!"

The bride.

Her voice rose, high and shrill, cracking under the sheer force of her rage. "Have you lost your mind?"

The ceremony was in chaos now—guests murmuring, shifting, watching with wide, horrified eyes. The officiant was pale, his hands clasped together as if unsure whether to proceed or flee. Somewhere in the back, someone stifled a horrified gasp.

But Ominis didn’t turn. Didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch.

His palm remained cradling your cheek, his thumb still smoothing gentle, unconscious strokes against your skin. His head tilted just slightly, his breath still uneven, as if the world outside of you had ceased to exist entirely.

"Tell me," he said, voice low and steady, a quiet thing made of certainty and desperation all at once. "Tell me it's true," Ominis whispered, barely more than breath. "Tell me you meant it."

Your pulse roared in your ears, your breath shuddering past your lips.

"You said you love me." His voice dipped lower, raw and unguarded, something fragile threatening to break beneath the weight of it. "Was it true?"

And oh—he needed this.

You could feel it in the way his fingers curled slightly against your skin, in the way his voice wavered at the edges, in the way he stayed, unshaken, unmovable, even as his world collapsed around him.

Your throat tightened. Your heart ached. And for the first time in years, you didn’t hesitate.

You lifted a hand, pressing it over his where it still cupped your cheek.

"I've always loved you, Ominis," you said, voice steady, unshakable.

His breath hitched—his fingers tensed against your skin. His grip on your hand faltered for the smallest second, as though the weight of it, the truth of it, had knocked the air from his lungs.

And then Ominis laughed, soft and disbelieving, shaky and full of something like wonder, like relief, like everything.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t polite. It wasn’t chaste. It wasn’t the careful, reserved gesture of a man bred for propriety.

It was a collision, a reckoning, years of longing and regret and unspoken words crashing together in one devastating, breathtaking moment.

Ominis kissed you like a drowning man breaking the surface, like you were the only thing tethering him to this earth, like he had spent years starving for something he had convinced himself he would never taste again.

His hands, usually so composed, were firm, desperate—one cradling your jaw as if to hold you exactly where he needed you, the other splaying against the small of your back, pulling you impossibly close.

And you melted.

The world around you erupted.

The bride screamed.

A high, piercing sound, raw with rage, with betrayal, with pure, unhinged fury.

Another voice—sharper, colder—cut through the chaos, filled with absolute horror. His mother.

"Ominis Gaunt, what in Merlin’s name do you think you are doing?!"

Pandemonium.

Gasps, shouts, the rustling of expensive fabric as guests stood, as scandalized pure-blooded aristocrats lost all sense of composure. The officiant took a stumbling step back, as if physically recoiling from the disaster unraveling before him. Somewhere, a woman swooned, and a man cursed under his breath.

It was chaos.

But you didn’t care. Because Ominis didn’t care.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t falter. If anything, the noise, the outrage, the sheer catastrophe unfolding around you only made him hold you tighter. Only made him deepen the kiss, parting his lips against yours in a way that made your knees buckle, that sent your fingers flying to clutch at the lapels of his suit, holding on to him for dear life.

He tasted like desperation and devotion, like every word he had never spoken, like every moment that had led to this one, like forever.

And all around you, the world was collapsing, and you could hear it—

Movement.

The rustling of fabric, hurried, frantic. The clambering of shoes against stone. Someone—his mother, the bride, maybe both—running toward you.

A furious, sharp inhale. A gasp of outrage.

And then—

A hand.

Firm, unrelenting, gripping your shoulder.

Before you could even react, before you could turn to see who had reached for you, there was a sharp pull, and the universe twisted, folding in on itself, pulling you through space, through time, through everything.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

You were somewhere else.

It took a second for your mind to catch up, to register your surroundings. The scent of damp earth. The distant hum of insects. The soft rustle of trees swaying in the wind.

Feldcroft.

And Sebastian was there, standing just a few feet away, arms crossed, an entirely too pleased expression stretched across his face.

“Well," He exhaled, shaking his head. "That was dramatic.”

You blinked, dazed.

Ominis's hands were still on you—one at your waist, fingers firm and unyielding, the other curled at the back of your neck. His chest rose and fell against yours, his breath still uneven, still chasing the moment, still catching up to everything that had just happened.

Sebastian let out a low whistle, looking between the two of you with the kind of slow-spreading smirk that made your stomach drop. He was enjoying this.

“Merlin,” he mused, rocking back on his heels. “I knew you had it in you, mate, but I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

Ominis exhaled, sharp and slow, the ghost of disbelief still clinging to the breath. He had done it. He had walked away from everything—his family’s expectations, his carefully arranged future, the life he had been forced into.

All for you.

The realization struck like lightning, burning through your veins, stealing the breath from your lungs.

His mother was going to kill him. And the bride—dear god—

Ominis had just dismantled years of pure-blood tradition in the span of a single moment, and the fallout would be absolute.

But as his grip on you tightened—just barely, just enough to remind you that he was here—you realized something else.

He didn’t regret it. Not for a second.

He took a slow, steadying breath, then finally—finally—turned his head in Sebastian’s direction.

"I suppose you're expecting me to thank you for that little apparition stunt," he said, his voice still a little rough at the edges.

Sebastian’s grin widened. "I’d prefer a heartfelt speech about how I saved your arse, but I’ll settle for the knowledge that I just witnessed one of the greatest pure-blood scandals in recent history.”

Ominis scoffed—something that might have been amusement, might have been exasperation.

And then he turned back to you.

The shift was immediate. The teasing, the aftermath, the lingering humor between friends—all of it faded, leaving only the space between you, heavy with everything that had just unraveled.

Ominis still hadn’t let go.

His fingers twitched against your waist. His other hand, still resting at the nape of your neck, curled slightly, as if reacquainting itself with the shape of you. His head tilted, his lips parting just slightly, as though there were words on the edge of them, waiting, hesitating.

And you knew.

You knew what he was thinking.

What now?

You had shattered his carefully built world in a matter of minutes. He had destroyed everything that had been set in stone for him. And now, here you both stood, at the precipice of something entirely new, something undefined, something terrifying and exhilarating and real.

Sebastian, sensing the shift, sighed dramatically. “Right, well, I can see I’m no longer needed here.” He turned on his heel, taking a few steps toward the cottage before pausing. “Just don’t shag in my childhood home, yeah? I’d really rather not have to burn it down.”

Ominis didn’t even dignify that with a response.

Sebastian laughed under his breath, gave you a knowing look, then disappeared down the path, whistling as he went.

And then, it was just the two of you.

Alone.

Ominis let out a long, slow breath.

Eight years.

Eight years since he last saw you. Since the moment he convinced himself he’d never see you again. Since you disappeared from his life with nothing but silence left in your wake.

His grip tightened, fingers curling ever so slightly against you, as if he was afraid you might slip away again.

“You never wrote me back,” he said, voice quieter now, roughened at the edges. “Not once.”

You swallowed, throat tightening, a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you. “Ominis—”

“No,” he cut you off, a sharp exhale betraying the control he was desperately clinging to. “No, let me—” He broke off, shaking his head, voice dropping lower. “Let me say this before I lose my nerve.”

You nodded, pulse thrumming in your ears, watching as his expression twisted with something raw, something fragile.

“I wrote you,” he continued, softer now. “I wrote you for years. And I know you wrote to the others. Sebastian, Imelda, even Garreth, for Merlin’s sake. But never me.” His fingers flexed at your waist. “Why?”

Your breath caught in your throat. You had braced for this. You had known, even in the haze of everything that had just unraveled, that this moment would come.

You shut your eyes for a brief second, gathering yourself, trying to steady the tremor in your voice. “Because I thought you… God, Ominis, I was in love with you.” The confession tumbled out, raw and unpolished, your throat tightening around the words. “And I didn’t think you felt the same. I couldn’t—” Your breath hitched, and you forced yourself to go on. “I couldn’t handle it anymore. Every day, being near you, pretending I was fine when all I wanted was—” A sharp, shaking inhale. “It was easier to run. To disappear. To… to hide.”

Ominis made a sound—half choked, half incredulous—a sharp, disbelieving exhale that might have been a bitter laugh if not for the rawness in it. “Are you serious? You thought I—?” He let out a shaky breath and pulled back just enough to search your face, his touch firm but hesitant, as if afraid you might vanish again. “You were everything to me.”

The world around you shrank to nothing. It was just him, just the storm in his voice, the years of pain in his expression, the way his carefully composed mask had finally, finally cracked.

You could barely breathe. “Ominis...”

A muscle in his jaw jumped. “You really mean to tell me—” He let out a slow, shaky breath. “You left because you thought I didn’t love you?”

A lump rose in your throat.

"Yes."

His expression changed then—shifting from disbelief to something devastatingly open, as though every wall he had ever put up had crumbled all at once. No careful detachment. No measured control. Just him, stripped bare.

“Eight years.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, hoarse with something you couldn’t name. “I spent eight years convincing myself you were happy without me. That I was a fool to still be in love with you.”

Your breath stilled in your chest, the weight of his words sinking in all at once. “You—?”

“Yes.” The answer came without hesitation. No hesitation at all. “I loved you then. I love you now. I never stopped.” His fingers curled ever so slightly against you, like he was trying to ground himself in this moment. “And all this time, I thought you—” He swallowed, shaking his head, voice breaking on the last words. “I never knew.”

Your stomach twisted painfully.

For eight years, you thought you had carried this heartache alone.

But so had he.

Ominis had spent these past eight years thinking the same thing. That you didn’t love him. That you didn’t want him.

The weight of it crashed down on you all at once, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your fingers tightened against his jacket, as if holding onto him could somehow anchor you, could somehow make up for all the time you had lost.

Eight years. Eight wasted years.

“Ominis,” you finally managed, but the sound of his name wasn’t enough to contain everything you felt. The love. The grief. The aching realization of what you both had done to yourselves, to each other.

“Say it again,” he murmured, voice low, barely more than a breath between you.

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“That you loved me.” His fingers flexed, tightening where they rested at your waist, and you felt it—the desperation, the need. “Say it.”

Your throat tightened, and you lifted your gaze to his, knowing exactly what he was asking.

Not just for the past, but for now. For the truth that still remained, untouched by time.

You swallowed hard. “I loved you.” A shaky breath. “I love you.”

Ominis let out a soft, broken sound, like something inside him had finally snapped. Before you could even think, he moved.

His hands framed your face, and then his lips were on yours again.

Unlike the desperate, heated clash of lips from the wedding—a collision of years of tension and aching grief, unpolished and frantic—this was something else entirely. This was slow. Purposeful. Reverent.

Ominis kissed you like he was memorizing you. Like he was tracing the contours of something long lost, something he never thought he’d have again.

His fingers moved, skimming along your jaw, tilting your face just so, allowing him to deepen the kiss in slow, measured increments. No rush. No desperation. Just the quiet, unshakable truth of what had always been there between you.

You sighed against his lips, and he responded with a quiet, content hum, the sound reverberating through you like a tether, like a promise. His thumb brushed your cheek, featherlight, as if to reassure himself that this moment was real—that you were here, in his arms, not a cruel trick of his imagination.

He broke away only for a breath, just long enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breathing uneven, his hands still cradling your face like something fragile and precious.

“I can’t believe it,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with awe, with wonder.

You let out a shaky laugh. “Believe it.”

He swallowed hard, his lips hovering close to yours, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to part from you. “I’ve spent so long dreaming of this.” A pause. “Of you.”

Your heart clenched at the quiet confession, at the raw tenderness in his voice.

“I’m here now,” you whispered. “And I’m not leaving again.”

Something in his expression shifted then, something profound and unguarded. His hands slid from your face, down to your waist, pulling you just that much closer until there was no space left between you. His lips brushed against yours once more—not demanding, not desperate, but full of quiet devotion, the kind that made your knees weak, the kind that felt like home.

His arms wrapped around you fully now, enveloping you in his warmth, his breath fanning against your cheek as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. “Good,” he whispered, his voice soft but firm. “Because I wouldn’t let you.”

A small, breathless laugh escaped you, but it dissolved into nothing as he kissed you again, slow and sure, as if he had all the time in the world to make up for every missed moment.

And maybe—just maybe—you did.

289 notes · View notes

ohisms · 1 year ago

Text

↪ 𝐹𝐼𝐿𝐿𝑂𝑅𝑌 ⅋ 𝐅𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 . ( a collection of sentence starters from season one of syfy's the magicians . adjust phrasing as necessary . this prompt will be updated as time goes on . )

it's always something with you , isn't it ? it's always an emergency .

look , this is your responsibility .

wow , nice trick . i'm sure you're a hit at parties .

so ... you think you're ready .

i called you . all weekend . where were you ?

okay , we have got to pull you together .

you can't run away hard enough , can you ?

i know where you were all weekend .

life is raw , everybody medicates .

i love you . call me , okay ?

am i hallucinating ?

come on , or you'll miss it .

can i start over ? please .

i'm going to make sure you don't remember a thing .

playing with time is such difficult magic .

don't bother trying to compare yourself .

it's good to be aware the world is blatantly unfair .

it's my fault that they said that .

if you think my family is some sort of advantage , you've been misinformed .

maybe i wouldn't let myself forget .

that was before i knew there was something else .

it's really okay if this is not your thing .

you're hurting yourself , & you're not okay .

i just needed to see if i was right .

we've been watching you for quite a while now .

hello ? do you need help ?

you feel right because you're starting towards your destiny .

for some reason , you're involved . so be involved .

look , hold that thought , okay ?

i'm obviously coming with you .

there's no such thing as safe magic .

what is this place exactly , besides a health hazard ?

you ask a lot of questions .

jesus , you didn't tell me you were dangerous .

it's a little bit bigger than messing up .

there's a bad story every few years around here .

can you just help me live with myself ?

i'm gonna tell you something deep & dark & personal now .

i'm trying to tell you , you are not alone here .

i don't know . i wanna be your friend , i guess .

you should hate me right now .

the last thing i wanted to do growing up was read fantasy .

let's just say life wasn't exactly non-stop fun growing up .

if you're guilty , i'm guilty .

come do something stupid with me before you go .

okay , you know what ? i'm not interested in your personal issues .

this isn't just some lark to me , just so you know .

i mean seriously , what do they expect , you know ?

look , you can't run away from you .

there's nothing i can do in this moment to stop the comet from crashing into the earth , is there ?

i keep trying to tell myself that this is somehow better .

you don't see color & want to go back to black & white .

you can't help , & i can't help you .

what the hell was that , you maniac ?

why would you ever trust anyone ?

i'm willing to teach the right people what i know . & i know a lot .

you're lucky i can fix this .

hey , have you heard of karma ? sometimes it's instant .

i'm generous with you , considering .

get me everything on this list . this week .

why even ask , if you'll just forget it again ?

that's not a real answer .

you're a much better liar than i expected you to be .

do you think you have a destiny ?

there is no destiny . no born heroes .

you can either step up to it or not , that's up to you .

this is your problem , that you should solve !

#rp meme #inbox prompt #rp inbox prompt

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jojaxcola · 25 days ago

Note

So I, like a lot of people, love your mockumentary series. And this is a stretch and probably won't get done for ages but could I use your mockumentaries to write a fanfic? It won't be long or complex, more of an extension to the scenes you've drawn. I'll give credits, don't worry but yeah.

But if I do, I'd love if you answered a few characterisation questions.

I know the farmer filmed some but is any of it not farmer filmed?

Why is the farmer doing this?

Are there any fanon or hcs you used to create characters that I should use too?

Expect more soon + updates

Thank you so much!! I had this in my inbox for a while and I've been thinking for a while about how to answer, because I'm not sure how much I want to give away at this point in the series hehe 👀 but I hope these answers are helpful

I consider the farmer/producer to be the project lead and to be present for everything that's being filmed. While they take on some of their own filming, they have a small crew to handle things like camera work and sound. During the talking head segments, the farmer is the one prompting them with questions as needed

The farmer is still a Joja employee like in the beginning of the game, but not with the same office desk job. Their team has been tasked with filming a documentary series highlighting the happenings of a JojaMart location, and the farmer was the one to propose the relatively new Pelican Town location due to their grandfather's love of Stardew Valley. So they're still a newcomer to the town, but they don't have the farm. I might stay a bit quiet about the farmer's ultimate motivations for this project, though... :)

This one's a bit tricky since I'm not totally sure how to narrow it down hehe. One thing I'll say here is that I altered Sam's work schedule to have him appear in the store more often (since in the game he's only there like six hours a week). I'll also say a little bit about how I like to characterize the main players in the series:

Sam is someone whose cheeriness is partly genuine, but also partly because he needs to be the guy who keeps everyone positive in tough times. It's important to him to make sure everyone feels included and not forgotten. Sam isn't dumb—he's actually very creative and resourceful—but he does tend to rush his thinking and follow bizarre trains of logic. He doesn't like to slow himself down, and when he dwells too much on his thoughts he tends to reach uncomfortable conclusions.

Shane has an extremely low opinion of himself, but keeps himself going at work to provide for Jas and to not be a burden to Marnie. He's easily annoyed and has a tendency to push people away, but he's not completely shut off. He'll accept gifts and other gestures of kindness but doesn't totally understand why he's getting them, or why he even deserves them. He needs significant and repetitive convincing to believe any friendship with him is genuine. Shane believes that life is harsh, and he tends to fixate on difficult truths. Sam's optimism frustrates him, and he sees Sam as a naive little boy who will be eaten alive by the cruelty of reality.

I don't like depicting Morris as cartoonishly evil. I think it's more fun to make him "corporate evil", where his villainy comes from a "socially-acceptable" disregard for the little guy. He'll go on about how the JojaMart personnel are one big family, but he can't even call his employees by their names. He thinks he's above his staff, and he's satisfied by the idea of getting to look down on someone; he views higher-ups as having earned their power, and that looking down on others is just part of that package. Morris loves to project the image of human connection, not because he genuinely believes in it, but because that's what appeals to customers. And he'll do everything he can to convince Pelican Town that Joja is the answer to all of their problems.

I also like to pepper little personal headcanons into the different entries (I like to think Sam is left-handed, so I wrote his notes on his right wrist in no. 5) but I think listing them here would bloat this post :o

Please feel free to ask anything else about the series (or individual scenes), this was really fun to write up! And I can't wait to see what you come up with!! :D

===============

Follow ups to this post (I might make a separate FAQs post if needed):

What has become of the community center? (@happycomputertimetravel): It's still dilapidated. I consider the jojamart series to have the town in the same state as it is at the start of the game (so Kent is still overseas, the bus is still broken, etc.) unless depicted otherwise

#ask #icantpickanamefromonefandom #for the characterization section i left out a lot of backstory headcanons #because i wasn't sure if i wanted to save the specifics for later instead #i'm so excited #i feel a little guilty calling morris a main player because he's actually appeared in fewer entries than jodi at this point #(he'll be in no. 20 though. spoilers)#jojamart mockumentary bonuses

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months ago

Text

Cool for the Summer 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After finishing your degree, you return home only to find things aren’t as you left them.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: Humping it up on hump day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You taste the cocktail and make a face. As sweet as it is, the alcohol is stringent in your throat. You set the glass down as Bucky’s fingers tap on his pint. You glance up, surprised to find him watching you.

"Don't like it?" He asks.

"Mm, no, I mean yes. No." You stutter out. "It's good, I just... don't drink much."

"She's a good girl." Your mom teases. "I always had to push her out the door. Oh, don't even ask about prom." She grabs his forearm and cackles. "You would think buying a dress would be fun. Nope. I think she'd have rather gone to the dentist."

Your cheeks turn hot. Four years past and you still cringe at the fitting room torture. You look down and fiddle with the cutlery wrapped in a red napkin. You really wish she wouldn't treat you like a child. You suppose at times you might act like one.

"Those things can be tough. I barely remember mine. Only went so my buddy didn't feel like such a loser," Bucky shrugs. "But look at how far you've come. I'm sure high school is like a blip on the radar. Now the real fun begins, huh?"

You know he's trying to help and you appreciate. But it only makes your chest tighten. The dread throbs in your temples. Life, it's all ahead of you but you have no idea where to start.

"Yeah, I... I barely remember." You talk to the table.

"She's a smart one," your mom praises. "I really lucked out. No teenage angst, no rebellion."

You chew your lip and pick at the trim of the table. You sound lame. You are and you never minded the safety of that trait. Still, you'd like to be known as more than a boring little bookworm.

"Okay, here we are." The server rescues you from further humiliation. "Chicken caesar."

She puts your salad in front of you, "cheese steak sammy and macaroni salad." She lays a plate in front of Bucky, "and the sizzling fajitas."

Another server appears with a wooden plank, set with a cast iron pan atop it and fixings; tortillas, salsa, guac. It smells delicious but you know it's too early for all that. You'd be even sleepier and you still have to get unpacked.

"Enjoy," the waitress smiles and struts away.

You unwrap your cutlery and use the knife and fork to shred the lettuce. You should've known better than to order salad. It's always so awkward to eat with others around to see.

"Mm, pretty good," Bucky says. "Lauren, how's that extravaganza? Really went all out."

"Wasn't expecting all this." Your mother scoops grilled peppers into a tortilla, daintily with her fork as her nails shine in the light. You remember when you asked to get a manicure and she said they were impractical...

She's changed but you don’t feel all that different than when you left for college. Maybe you should have tried harder. Well, it's not like your life is over. Far from.

"How about you?" Bucky prompts and once more you meet his gaze with a startled blink. You nod and swallow.

"Good. Just boring old salad." You say.

"Always chicken caesar," your mother chirps. "Creature of habit. Don't worry. You'll hardly be surprised. By tonight, she'll have one of her books and you won't hear another peep."

You bite down on your tongue. You're not sure anymore if she's bragging or she's chiding you. Her life is so exciting now. Her hair is highlighted, her nails are filled, and her makeup... she's actually wearing makeup.

"Didn't think you could work with those." You say as she catches her nail on her napkin.

"Oh, yeah, I'm not in the ward anymore. Sweetie, didn't I tell you? I do clinicals now. I just show the new ones what to do. Not much hands-on stuff."

"Uh, I remember. Sorry."

"Too sharp," Bucky chuckles. "Can't even hold her hand without getting clawed."

She jabs him with her shaped tip and he grunts. They laugh together and you look around. You're the sore thumb sticking out. Ever the third wheel. Even when you had 'friends', you sat on the sidelines, confused by their inside jokes.

"It's very good. Thank you." You sit forward and focus on the salad. The sooner this is over, the sooner you can do exactly what your mom expects. Hide with a book. Alone.

🩵

Home is always a comforting sight but not as much as you expect. A flicker of guilt sparks in your chest. Bucky just bought you lunch, you shouldn’t be so negative. Still, you just want to unwind after a long day of traveling.

As much as you want him to just go, you would never say as much. Your mom seems happy with him. She even seems healthier. It’s nice to see her taking care of herself, she’s done enough of that for others for too long.

You get out of the car but Bucky’s too fast. He has you bag in his hand before you can react to the trunk opening. He smiles and insists, “I got it. You lead the way.”

“Mm, I could nap about now,” your mother calls over the car roof.

You agree internally. The whole train ride, you looked forward to burying yourself in blankets and leaving the world behind. It would be rude to do so with company around, even if they aren’t yours.

You follow your mom to the front door and she unlocks it with a yawn. You enter and slip your shoes off on the mat. Things are different. Not too different, you can’t quite place everything. Yet you notice that the coat rack has been replaced with mounted hooks across the wall and the rug at the bottom of the stairs is new.

“Oh!” Your mom spins, surprising you before you can sneak past her. “I forgot about your surprise!”

You look at her then over your shoulder at Bucky as he plunks down your bag. You wait for him to respond. He just offers a small curve of his lips. You turn back.

“You,” your mom taps your nose. “Come on. Ah,” she waves around you at Bucky, “bring her bag with you.”

Your mom grabs your arm and ushers you upstairs. You can’t resist, too swept up in fatigue and confusion. He follows behind you. What’s happening?

“Okay. I hope you like it,” she goes to your door and your stomach flips. Oh no, what did they do? She swings the door open and backs up, waving inside, “tada!”

You hesitate but make yourself step into the doorway. You glance around and your mouth slowly falls open. You blink at the room. Wow.

It’s not awful, just another change you’re not ready for. Instead of your old rectangle bookcases, new circle ones have been built into the walls; white instead of brown. Your bed is the same but the wood is newly re-stained and the bedding is shade of pink you wouldn’t necessarily choose. A heart shaped rug is spread across the floor and your previous desk has been replaced with one that folds into the wall.

There is an entirely new piece that stands out. A vanity in the corner. The mirror is the same shape as the carpet and the stool has a fluffy seat.

“Oh, wow...” you utter as you step further inside.

“Bucky is so handy! I always wanted to do this but I didn’t know where to start. Oh, just wait until you see his place,” she rambles as she trails you. “He built the whole thing himself.”

“I had help,” he tuts and sets your bag down. “Tried not to do too much but just added a fresh coat to everything.”

You’re silent.

“Sweetie?” Your mom touches your arm.

“I’m... surprised. That’s all.”

“She’s speechless, Bucky!” She squeals and claps her hands. “I knew she’d love it.”

“Heh, yeah. Well, I hope it isn’t too much.” He rubs his neck as he looks around. “You can let me know. I can change whatever you need.”

“No, no, it’s really nice. Like really. I...” you wring a finger in your other hand. “Thank you.”

“Lauren,” he sidles past you and nudges your mother gently. “Why don’t we let her get settled in? I’m sure she’s beat from the road.”

“Right, right,” she beams around the room before she faces him. “Of course.” She glances over at you, “sweetie, let us know if you need anything, okay?”

“Mom, I’m fine.” You show your teeth sheepishly and hover around the wall.

Bucky leaves first, your mom following as she cranes to stare at the room. She leaves you with an excited wiggle and you go to close the door behind her. Once it’s shut, you sigh. You weren’t ready for any of this. Somehow coming home has proven even more disjointing than going away to college.

You plod to the bed and flop onto it. You roll onto your back and let your eyes rove. It is so cute. You would have killed for a room like this in high school, even on campus. Yet it does seem a lot. You’re sure once you get a job, your mom doesn’t expect you to stay too long.

Maybe this is a good thing. A little less pressure on you to get out but not exactly. With Bucky hanging around, you can’t help but be in the way. You’re not the only one who needs to adjust to your return.

You can worry about it all later. For now, you need to close your eyes and stop thinking.

🩵

The afternoon wears on as you dawdle away on your phone. You can barely keep your eyes open as the screen glares back at you. It’s almost six when you make yourself stop the addictive word game.

You lay listless, trying to urge yourself to get up and do something. You lose the battles as your eyes close and you drift off without realising it. In your subconscious, you’re just as you are in reality. Just lying there, motionless and mindless.

You wake slowly as pressure squeezes in your pelvis. Your bladder forces you to action. Even with the painful weight throbbing inside, you move without urgency. You sit up slowly, dizzy from the unexpected doze. You stand and shuffle to the door.

You leave it open as you go into the hall and let your feet guide you. Habit takes down to the bathroom door and you reach for the handle. It turns from the other side and you recoil in surprise. Bucky stops short as he emerges and apologises.

You stammer as you gape back at him. Somehow after the whirlwind morning, you forgot all that change. In your grogginess, you didn’t see the new walls or the white bookcases or think.

“S...Sorry...” you murmur.

You’re consumed in radiating heat as you stare at the stubble along his neck. Any lower and he might be embarrassed. He is shirtless after all. You’ve never been the best at looking people in the face but you have no choice. You examine his silver-streaked hair, slightly tussled, and his grizzly beard with its dusting of white along his chin.

You step back as he raises a palm and dips his head. “No problem. Gotta get used to each other, I guess. Bad timing, is all.”

“Right,” you agree dully.

He looks back at you and his forehead creases. “You okay?”

You wince. “Yeah, why?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just... you look... a little out of it.”

“I fell asleep,” you run your fingers along your throat nervously. The motion catches his eyes. Their startling blue hue gleam in the light.

“Right. I figured you needed it. Long ride...home.” His gaze flicks up to meet yours. “Sorry you’re stuck here with us boring old people. You probably miss it already.”

You shrug, “not really.”

“Not really? What about your friends?” He rests his hand on the door frame and leans.

“Didn’t... just study buddies. Classmates.” You look away and shift as your bladder aches.

He clears his throat and stands straight. He steps out of the frame and you jump at his sudden movement. He touches your hip to keep from colliding with you and sidles by.

“I’ll just get out of your way, baby girl,” He squeezes, his hand lingering for a moment. “Welcome home.”

He lets go and turns, strutting down the hall as you stand frozen. You hurry forward and shut yourself in the bathroom as you scramble with the sudden agonizing pang. You don’t have time to think, you have to go!

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #winter soldier #captain america #mcu #marvel #avengers #cool for the summer

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unboundprompts · 1 year ago

Note

Thank you so much for your blog! It's so neatly organized, it's lovely to read. It takes a lot of commitment to do detail every post and still constantly update, and I'm very grateful for you <3

I was wondering if you could write tips+prompts for a paranoid character?

Thank you again 😺

Thank you for the kind words!! That means a lot :)

How to Write a Paranoid Character

-> sources: mind.org , betterhealth.vic.gov

Paranoia is the irrational and persistent feeling that people are "out to get you."

Things that Make Paranoia More Likely:

Having confusing or unsettling experiences or feelings that you can't easily explain.

If you are anxious or worried a lot or have low self-esteem and expect others to criticize or reject you.

If you tend to come to conclusions quickly, believe things very strongly, and don't easily change your mind.

If you are isolated.

If you have experienced trauma in the past.

Things that may Contribute to Paranoid Thoughts:

Life experiences. You are more likely to experience paranoid thoughts when you are in vulnerable, isolated or stressful situations that could lead to you feeling negative about yourself.

Experiences in your childhood may lead you to believe that the world is unsafe or make you mistrustful and suspicious of others. These experiences may also affect your self-esteem and the way you think as an adult.

If you experience anxiety, depression, or low self-esteem, you may be more likely to experience paranoid thoughts.

Paranoia is sometimes a symptom of certain physical illnesses such as Huntington's disease, Parkinson's disease, strokes, Alzheimer's disease and other forms of dementia. Hearing loss can also trigger paranoid thoughts in some people.

Lack of sleep can trigger feelings of insecurity and even unsettling feelings and hallucinations. Fears and worries may develop late at night.

Recreational drugs may trigger paranoia, such as cocaine, cannabis, alcohol, ecstasy, LSD, and amphetamines. This may happen particularly if you're already feeling low, anxious or experiencing other mental health problems.

Research has suggested that genes may affect whether you are more likely to develop paranoia.

Symptoms of Paranoia:

being easily offended

finding it difficult to trust others

not coping with any type of criticism

assigning harmful meanings to other people's remarks

being always on the defensive

being hostile, aggressive, and argumentative

not being able to compromise

finding it difficult (or impossible) to "forgive and forget"

assuming that people are talking ill of them behind their back

being overly suspicious

not being able to confide in anyone

finding relationships difficult

considering the world to be a place of constant threat

feeling persecuted by the world at large

believing in unfounded conspiracy theories

Writing Prompts for a Paranoid Person

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

Everyone was against him. No one liked to see him succeed and so they were doing everything in their power to stop him.

People were talking about her behind her back. They would whisper as she walked by, and their laughter would echo in her ears as she got further from them.

"You never believe me!" They wailed, pointing an accusing finger at their friend. "You wouldn't get it! You don't know what it's like to be hated by everyone!"

He laid in bed, staring at the ceiling and wide awake. It was a nightly routine, at this point. He could never bring himself to close his eyes. There were too many things going on his head, too many things that only made him dread when morning came.

Everything was about to go so wrong so fast, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The impending doom beat down on her shoulders, reminding her that she was not okay. She was not safe.

They couldn't stop fidgeting with their hands. It used to offer some form of comfort, but not anymore. How could it when the whole world is against you?

They were looking at him. They were watching his every move. He was being tracked. Studied. Something was going to happen. Something bad. Something he wasn't prepared for. What could he do to be prepared?

"You think I'm crazy, but I'm not! You'll see."

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

#writing prompts #dialogue prompt #creative writing #writeblr #prompt list #ask box prompts #paranoia #how to write a paranoid character #how to write #writing tip #writing characters #writing help #writing advice

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ilysungho · 4 months ago

Note

May I request 78, 3 and 14 with Jaehyun? 🤭 Thanks

a/n: even if you are jobless irl, you WILL have a job in my fics, dw guys i got you! part of this scenario came to me in a dream so enjoy~ wc: 1.5k contains: dom!jaehyun x sub!reader, boss!jaehyun x employee!reader, big-dick!jaehyun, cocky!jaehyun, reader not a virgin, use of nick?names (sir, boss), restraining, semi-public sex, unprotected sex (don't!), not enough prepping (also don't!), creampie, partial mirror sex (window more like), exhibitionism?, lowercase intended, prompts italicized

your boss jaehyun had just come back from a meeting with his partners. you sat waiting for his arrival, swiveling around in the chair you recently got used to. you had come to update him on the progress of your team, being the head manager of the new project. you felt important in your new position, but it was also a challenge to have to come and meet your boss for reports every week.

"reschedule the meeting to 8pm. i won't be done until then."

hearing his voice, you sat up straight and started to take the reports out to show him. he came and straight away sat at his chair, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top few buttons.

“umm, sir… i’m here to report on the progress of my team. do you want me to leave and come back later?”

“no, just start. don’t worry about me.”

"ok..." you turned the reports towards him and started explaining, focusing on the figures and data on the papers. unknown to you, your boss had kept his eyes on you the entire time. the way you spoke so eloquently made him feel hot for some reason, making him remove his jacket now. he wasn't particularly interested in any of his employees so why is he suddenly wanting to know you inside out?

his sudden movement made you look at him, looking up to see his head rested on top his hands on the desk. "are you feeling alright? i can stop and call someone to check up on you."

"no, just keep going. don't stop talking." he could feel a boner growing in his pants but didn't want to make it seem obvious. it would be embarrassing for the both of you if he was being honest.

you found his behavior odd but ultimately continued on. the sooner i finish, the sooner i can leave.

"actually, y/n, i'm going to have to stop you there. it's too hot right now."

"sir... it's not. are you sure you're ok?"

"i should be fine, maybe it's you who's not." shifting blame didn't work when you got up and went around the desk to check his temperature with your own hand. you didn't understand how he could feel so hot either when the fans above him were too loud to properly hear anything over them.

feeling you touch him made everything so much worse. with a swift movement, he stood up and had you pinned against the desk. "i told you i'm fine."

his dominating aura instantly had you locked under him, being physically pinned down not helping you much. you hadn't ever seen him in that way but now that he had you under him, you couldn't help but notice the way his eyes darkened and how his lips were slightly apart.

he noticed your gaze on his lips, leaning down slightly to have you just an inch apart. his teasing nature was starting to show as he whispered against your lips, "you should listen when i talk, or do you not like your boss?"

you could feel his smirk on your lips as he kept brushing against them, making you feel things you haven't before. his lips barely touching yours was a sign to show how close yet how far the two of you are. but you closed that gap, pressing onto his lips.

he expected this to happen, kissing you back fervently as he still kept a distance from you. he held your waist right then, pulling you up with him. he then proceeded to walk the two of you over to the secluded area in between the window and packed bookcases.

you could feel the boner through his pants as he held you so close, pressed right above your core. he was big and you started to get as worried as you were feeling wet. “there’s no way you are gonna fit in me.” you said, breaking off the kiss.

jaehyun smirked while tonguing his cheek, liking the proposition of this challenge. “and how do you know?”

it’s like the screws in your jaw tightened, not letting you open your mouth to speak. “it’s not like i’m a virgin! i bet you’re good but i don’t know you. i've had my fair share of dick, and you're bigger than the others i've fit.”

“that’s sweet and all but did they touch you the way i touch you? fuck you the way i’ll fuck you? mm, yeah, didn’t think so.”

you stood shocked at his words. he had never been this… cocky, this… arrogant before. it was always him letting you do the talking and just listening to what you said, dismissing you once you were done. it was all just updates after all, nothing for approval, so he never talked more than necessary.

your stunned face led him to pulling you up, holding onto your buttons. "may i?" he kept the same smirk on his face as you nodded, his fingers working fast to let your shirt free your boobs. he touched your nipples from under your bra, feeling how they hardened under his touch.

just then, his door opened, the sound of a couple people walking in. "shit don’t make too many noises or we’ll get caught.”

a mischievous grin appeared on your face, already thinking about what could go wrong, “that’s part of the thrill, boss.”

"oh, thrill huh?" jaehyun took of his tie at that and wrapped it around your mouth, so you wouldn't be too loud. you're his toy for today and you should only be heard by him after all.

he turned you to face the windows, bending you over and slipping his fingers into the thin cloth covering your pussy. your eyes found his through the shiny glass' reflection. the eye contact through the window turned into whispered sounds of pleasure and demand as he pushed the cloth to the side.

"'m gonna fuck you so good, make you forget about all the other cocks that've touched you like this." at that, he rammed the full length of his cock into you, your moans getting muffled by the tie around your mouth. his hand pulled on your hair, while the other grabbed your wrists to restrain you even more. "now keep quiet so no one can hear us hmm?"

his smirks couldn’t be seen by you, instead focusing on your own building orgasm. the exhilarating feeling of potentially getting caught with his cock deep inside you made it all the more stimulating, silently thanking the fans in his office for being so noisy.

you bit onto his tie, drooling from the sides of your mouth and making it wet. but it was better than moaning loudly. jaehyun had it hard himself too, with being unable to produce his own sounds of ecstasy from how your walls clenched around him. all he could do were slow thrusts, and his big dick had to push through your tight cunt every time. he should've properly prepped you but his own greed got the better of him.

jaehyun bit his lips as he threw his head back, the sensations making him weak while feeling close. your breathing got progressively raggedy as you also reached closer to your high. the both of you chased after your releases, still being careful as to not make any loud sounds to alert the people in his room. he whispered about how they came for a meeting that was supposed to get moved, but his secretary couldn't do one job right when he needed it most.

an additional pair of feet hurriedly walked in then, anxiously speaking, "oh hello sirs, mr. jaehyun moved this meeting to 8pm. i apologize for the lack of timely updates." the sounds of the secretary profusely asking for forgiveness rang through the room as the group left with disappointed sighs. the action was copied by the two of you in a rather more delightful tone, jaehyun unwrapping his tie from your mouth. he titled your head to kiss your mouth sloppily, increasing his pace into you finally.

“shh, just a little more… you kept so quiet that i'll have to reward you mmm." your head bobbed as he bit your earlobe. the wet sounds of his length thrusting into you could only be heard by the two of you now, emitting groans from him as he hit your soft spot repeatedly to hear your pretty sounds.

"'m c-coming s-sir..." your knot snapped as he thrusted into you harder, the feeling of you coming undone around him making him shoot his load inside you. he pulled out of you, putting your wet panties back into their place to not have his cum leak out. you tidied up as best as you could before stepping out of the secluded space, jaehyun following after you.

"let's have the next meeting at a hotel room, as y/n and jaehyun. how does that sound?" the tint of your cheeks surely hinted at something having happened between you both as you made your way to the exit after grabbing your materials. you winked at him before leaving the room, his lips pulling together to return a smirk.

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batman-dc-imagines · 1 year ago

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Hi!!!! May I please request the J squad (Gotham) separately with a reader who works at the police office and is kinda like their inside mole? Like they let them know plans to catch them and are also always willing to help them escape and stuff? THANK YOU ❤️

A/N: All jobs are associated with the GCPD. Slite nsfw on Jerome's end.

Gotham!Jerome Valeska

Job: Police Officer

Oh you little tattletale.

He’s not too surprised by your efforts in trying to keep him from getting caught.

Hell practically half if not most of his followers are or used to be coppers before joining him.

You’re no exception.

Expect to get anonymous calls from him talking and asking about anything other than any more information on Gordon being on his tail or big plans the precinct has been working toward.

For example, one day he called you while on shift to just say, “When are ya gettin’ off cop doody?”.

He has a printed and digital copy of your work schedule.

As we see in Season 4,he has complete control over Arkhams guards and prisoners, even saying that he wants to make a show of his escape, further displaying the extent of his 'showman complex'.

For the sake of the prompt, if he had any minor inconveniences with his little escape he wouldn’t turn down you assisting him in his plans.

Though do keep in mind his showman complex and that unless you want to be discovered as a traitor, you’ll need to discuss with him a plan where you won’t be seen as an accomplice.

He’ll leave little gifts for you on your desk mostly to show his appreciation for all that you’ve done for him.

How he gets them there, you’re not too sure.

If you don't care for his gifts, he'll offer other ways to show his appreciation. (I'm winking under the eyepatch)

Gotham!Jervis Tetch

Job: Doctor

“Twinkle, twinkle, pretty doctor, how I long to unlock her. In this asylum, you shine with smite, but in my heart, you are my light.” (Yes, this is similar to him and Lee’s interaction.)

When he got sent to Arkham, there wasn’t much he was looking forward to.

Except getting back out on Gotham streets and getting revenge on James Gordon.

But when he meets you? Now there’s something to look forward to.

Once he realizes you’re on his side and help him escape the first time, expect to hear from him often.

Quite often in fact.

When he gets sent to Arkham a second time, doctor visits and check ups are a lot more fun now.

It’s like two kids in kindergarten, passing secret notes to one another while the teacher isn’t looking.

Some being about a plan for his escape while others are all laughs and giggles.

He is a gentleman when it comes to showing his gratitude for your assistance.

That is if he likes you of course.

Gotham!Jonathan Crane

Job: Forensic science technician

When you first met, Jonathan didn’t trust you.

In fact he hated you.

Anyone associated with the GCPD and Jim Gordon, he hated.

He blamed you all for the death of his father.

It took a bit of time and patience for him to fully trust you.

Even when you started becoming a full time mole for him, he still kept you at an arms length.

No matter how often you’d update him on the GCPD and their plans, or Jim Gordon’s whereabouts, he’d just give a vague form of acknowledgment or confirmation in your words.

The only reason he started to put his whole trust in you was when you started showing interest in his experiments.

Especially his toxin.

He starts enjoying your company more when you start helping him perfect his toxin.

You both find out it comes in handy that you’re able to get information on your former colleagues' fears without any suspicion.

He’s able to find weak points in practically every police officer in the precinct.

He starts showing his gratitude for your help later on.

Though he does tend to act vague about it.

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luna-loveboop · 1 year ago

Text

Wait...

It's November. It's November first. Yesterday was October 31st, so October is over. ...it's over. Is it over?

Inktober, artober, whumptober, flufftober, linktober, every tag ending with -tober that's been circulating for the past month... is it over? I don't know why it's just hit me but...

This matters. So I will try to get the message across, even though I'm not the best at it sometimes

Fanartists, fan writers, artists, fic writers, people making comics, every single one of you that has created art for the past month...

Thank you

This is my first October on tumblr. When I started seeing the "tober" tags, seeing the posts from artists with wips, saying they were going to make something every day to a prompt, making masterposts to update with each day, I thought "cool"

But every day this month, I have gotten on here and smiled.

And I don't mean smiled. I mean I smiled at least 20 times every time I got on the app because I saw all the art and fics. I got to see artists/writers connect stories through different day prompts. I saw people having the most brilliant ideas and creativity, flowing from their hands into their posts. I saw artists responding to continuous asks, telling them how amazing they are. I saw artists getting behind, and keeping going.

I saw Free. Beautiful. Emotional. Amazing. Original. Creative. Art.

Every day

I haven't committed to anything of this before, so I can't directly relate to what you guys were thinking and feeling. But I'm willing to guess; I think you probably enjoyed it, because most won't do such a huge project unless they enjoy it. I think you probably saw it as a challenge you were willing to fulfill, and an opportunity to grow and develop your skills.

... but I'm also willing to bet you did it for us. For people like me, who love art, but don't do this specific type, who are in fandoms, who love tracking and watching you art and sending you compliments, who take joy in your work. For the other artists (and writers!) who admire each others styles and love to learn from each other.

If anyone ever tries to tell me that humans are inherently evil again, I will strap them to a chair, pull up these posts and say look. Look at what these people did. Look me in the eyes and tell me these sorts of actions don't come from the most loving hearts. Tell me these people don't want to make others happy, that they aren't inherently good. And I will tell you you're wrong.

I have so much going on, yet somehow it slipped into my life that I was constantly looking at your art for the joy of it without me even noticing.

And how is it possible. That we have such a beautiful community of people here that we will share. And communicate. And exchange compliments. And literally do things and send asks solely for the purpose of making someone smile.

I'm almost crying by now. God I can't express it well enough! But I am so. So. Grateful

You guys brought me a month of joy! You gave headcanons, and art, and stories!

Even yesterday, Halloween, I was blown away. Because I had expected... I didn't expect anything. And then I log on and see people sending happy halloween asks, exchanging doodles of candy, and headcanons and gifs.

And some are still catching up to the schedule or whatever, and that's ok! But at the beginning of this post, when I was simply realizing it was November, I asked myself "is it over?"

Is it over?

... I don't think so. I've seen artists say they're going to continue and expand on a piece they made and especially liked this month. Some people are still continuing, catching up to a voluntary deadline. All those masterposts with your whump/fluff/link/ink tober art? I know many as well as myself will be going through, looking over your posts with smiles, catching up on some things they missed this month... it will continue in the people and artists I didn't know existed before, but now follow. In the skills and growth in creativity! In the community we've grown, and art you've made, and the art to come, at a normal rate like every other month, even if it's not October anymore!

But my artists, writers... thank you so much. I don't know if you guys know how valuable and amazing you are. How incredible it is that you exist! People say it's amazing we exist under a sky of such stars, but how incredible is it that you made a stranger on the internet smile every day! Your life is so. So. Valuable. I can't even express how grateful I am that you exist, that you somehow are selfless enough to share the most beautiful parts of yourself simply to create, and to create joy. Thank you so so much.

(And this applies to all artists, in any fandoms, not just mine. And I'm just as grateful to people who couldn't do something every day, or only one day! You still share your art, you're just as... incredible. You are incredible.)

Okay.

So I'm gonna do this, and if others want to do it in the reblogs that's great! I do not care at all about reblogging or likes, but I want to make the people that have brought me such joy some appreciation- I hope I can bring you even a smidgen of the light you have brought into my life. So I'm gonna tag all the artists/writers I know of/can think of that have done any sort of October challenge, all of you creators that have made me smile. If people wanna want to tag others in the reblogs or replies to spread love that's cool.

(Basically I don't know social customs or anything at all, so if you don't want me to tag or if I was supposed to do something different or something let me know I have no idea what I'm supposed to do)(if I like accidentally tagged someone who isn't an artist/writer or forgot someone I follow... sorry)

@skyward-floored @kikker-oma @adrift-in-thyme @blueskittlesart @zeldaseyebrows @smilesrobotlover @bahbahhh @soso-dedeck @lennsart @arecaceae175 @illcamp @breannasfluff @solarfire-art @26kabeuchi @cathianemelian @truffeart @scribbly-z-raid @uniquevoidflowers

To all the artists and writers out there: thank you so much!!! You are amazing and I'm glad you exist. Your life is precious, and you matter. Thank you so much for sharing your beauty with us, we love you too!!!!!

... yeah. Just want yall to feel loved... because you are. Again, thank you. Thank you so so much to my beautiful creators who create joy as well as art, who keep storytelling alive. Just... thank you.

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al-the-remix · 8 months ago

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BuckTommy Positivity Week Day 1/3 : what they love most about each other/meeting the friends and family

Slowly making my way through the @bucktommypositivityweek prompts! I'm not normally a big fan of shovel talks, but I thought Tommy deserved his own moment where his friends show up for him and have his back (and so does his boyfriend).

The bar was pretty much exactly like Buck expected it to be: plastered with an assorted collection of knick-knacks, military plaques, and wall art that Buck will just call inspired–fighting each other for wallspace all the way up to the low T-bar ceiling. The main source of light came from the ionized glow of the neon beer signs and the stained glass fixtures over the billiards tables that looked like they hadn’t been updated since the 70s. Buck was pretty sure he’d spotted at least three fire code violations just walking through the doors–but that wasn’t what tonight was about.

A small section tucked between the fleet of pool tables and the dart boards had been reserved for their party, and from his spot at the bar Buck had a clear view of where Tommy was leaning against his pool cue, his posture the most relaxed it’s been since they’d hit Grand Junction as he laughed with the group of men gathered around him.

Buck couldn’t help but smile. The longer they’d driven, the more tense Tommy had become, and Buck had begun to worry that maybe this hadn’t been such a great idea after all. Now he felt like he could finally breathe; they’d booked it up the 15 and onto the 70 on the way here, and Buck was looking forward to taking their time on the way home, finding the scenic routes and exploring the one road towns and tacky tourist traps they stumbled across. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a week off work that hadn’t been the result of a near-fatal injury.

“You know you’re the only person he’s ever brought to one of these,” came a voice to his right, one that Buck had only recently become familiar with.

With great pain, Buck drew his attention away from Tommy to the person settling in at the bar beside him. Dave. He was the only one of the guys here that had been with Tommy since Fort Irwin. He had a wife and two daughters and a boxer named Jones–all information Buck had learned, not from the man himself, but during their three day drive from L.A. to Colorado Springs–which Tommy had used to give Buck a rundown on pretty much everything he knew about his old battalion mates from their rank down to their dental records.

“I’m happy to be here,” Buck said, meaning it. He hadn’t been expecting an invitation, taken completely off guard when Tommy had asked him so casually, as they got ready to head out for work one morning. He’d presented it like it would just be a good excuse for a fun road trip and not what Buck was starting to piece together in his head was actually a monumental gesture. Either way, he’d agreed immediately.

Dave was watching him like he was trying his best to punch through Buck’s skull and peer directly into his brain. Buck had a feeling Dave hadn’t really made up his mind about Buck–yet–and if there was one thing he was going to change by the end of the night it was that.

“Tom said you’re also a firefighter.”

Buck twisted in his chair so they were facing each other. “Yeah, actually I’m at Tommy’s old station, transferred in not long after he left. Kind of funny how things work out, eh?”

“I’ve heard stories,” Dave said in a tone that implied not all of them were good.

“It’s not like that anymore,” Buck assured. Gerard’s second reign of the 118 had been over for a while now and Buck had been informed by Hen and Chimney that although it had been unbearable, with more eyes on him, Gerard had not been nearly as bad as the first time around.

“I’ve heard that too.” The corner of Dave’s mouth ticked up. That was the most charitable he’d been thus far. “Tommy has a lot of good things to say about the new crew there, especially you.”

Buck wasn’t above preening a little at that. He knew all about bragging about his partner to anyone that would listen. He was practically a pro at it at this point. If anything he and Tommy had a little competition going on at this point.

Dave’s eyes flicked over Buck’s shoulder and back. “Listen, I don’t want to overstep here because Tommy will be fuckin’ pissed at me, and I’ll never hear the end of it–but, you seem like a nice guy, and I just want to make sure you know what a big deal this is. These shindigs used to host a few more bodies before Tommy came out. Just don’t hurt him.”

He could hear Tommy’s laugh, the full-bodied, knee-slapping one he only did when you really got him cracking up or he was about three pints in, or both, floating over the din of the bar. Buck could pick that laugh out of any crowd. He could follow it home.

Dave was watching him with a curious expression, and maybe Buck hadn’t totally won him over yet, but he had a feeling they were at least moving in the right direction.

“I won’t. And I–I won't let him know you gave me the shovel talk if you rat me out either, because he doesn't know this yet and I want him to hear it from me first, but Tommy's one of the most amazing people I've ever met. He's one of the first people I've been with in a long time that makes me feel like I can be myself, unconditionally, and I just hope I make him feel the same way, because I love him.”

“I think it’s safe to say he does.” The corner of Dave’s mouth twitched up in the amused beginning of a smile. “But you should probably let him know that instead of me, just saying.”

Buck rolled his eyes as Dave clapped him cordially on the shoulder. It looked like he wasn’t off the hot seat yet.

He held out his glass and was pleased when Dave clinked them together. It was progress.

///

It was 1 am when they finally made it back to their motel, the latest Buck had been out in a good long while. He’d taken the keys from Tommy before they’d even left for the evening and now he was swooping around the cab of the truck to catch his boyfriend as he nearly tumbled out of the passenger side door.

“Easy there,” Buck said as he tried his best to steady Tommy on his own two feet, a task more difficult than it sounded.

“I think I lost my keys,” Tommy moaned as Buck grabbed his jacket and locked up.

“No, see I’ve got them right here.” He jangled them in Tommy’s face and watched him grin before slipping them into his own pocket. “Don’t worry I’ll give them back to you later, here let me help you out.”

He slipped his arm around Tommy’s waist, pulling him a little tighter against his side than was probably necessary.

Tommy’s clutched at his shoulder, melting against him. “You’re so nice to me.”

“What else would I be?” Buck chuckled as he steered Tommy towards their room. He was just glad that Tommy was a placid, happy drunk–if a little handsy. “Come on big guy, let’s get you to bed.”

It was a struggle to get the door unlocked and Tommy through it with two-hundred odd pounds of boyfriend hanging off him, trying to worm his fingers under Buck’s shirt and breathing hot and damp against the juncture of his neck.

When they finally stumbled inside Tommy starfished onto the bed, the poor old motel mattress groaning in protest beneath his weight.

At least he looked like he wasn’t about to try and get up any time soon.

The soft hum of the window AC unit filled the room, a pleasant contrast to the guitar riffs of the hair bands the bar had played all night. Buck filled up two cups of water, leaving one on his bedside table before settling down on the mattress beside Tommy and nudging him until he sat up.

“Here, drink this,” he said and helped Tommy tilt the glass up to his mouth without spilling it all over himself.

Tommy was pawing at him as soon as Evan’s hands were free. “Evan, Evan–” he said, reaching out to grip Buck’s face with both hands, pulling him closer. The special smile Buck was beginning to learn was just for him, creasing his face. “You wanna hear a secret?”

“Of course, anything,” Buck said, letting himself be manhandled and feeling real goopy and affectionate about it.

“I love you,” Tommy said, with a lot of eye contact and the sort of drunken earnesty that made Buck’s heart just about trip out of his chest. Then Tommy frowned, his gaze going unfocused. “I’m going to be really sad if we break up.”

Buck allowed himself a chuckle at the sudden, unwarranted disappointment in Tommy’s expression. “Me too, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“Really?” Tommy asked, perking up.

“Really. I love you too, and I’m going to remind you of that tomorrow when you forget all of this in the morning.”

“I won’t forget,” Tommy insisted.

“Okay, whatever you say, boss.”

Buck went to the bathroom to hit the head and brush his teeth and by the time he returned Tommy had managed to wrestle out of his shoes and his pants, still spread out across the covers in his shirt and socks like a massive toddler. Buck shook his head, ditching his own shirt. Tommy reached out, making grabby hands at him as Buck kicked off his jeans and crawled under the sheets beside him. He was instantly wrapped in an only slightly sticky bear hug.

He pressed a kiss to the cowlick at the top of Tommy’s head. “You’ve got some pretty great friends.”

With more awareness than Buck expected in his current state, Tommy said: “I hope Dave didn’t bother you too much tonight, I could tell he was giving you the third degree for a bit there.”

“Dave and I are cool,” Buck assured. “I’m glad you have guys from back then who’ve still got your back.”

Tommy went quiet for a bit after that and Buck was just figuring out how he was going to wiggle out from beneath his boyfriend without waking him to turn off the lights when Tommy muttered, “I’m glad you came with me. I was tired of coming to these by myself.”

“Any time you want, I’ve got your back too you know,” Buck whispered, holding Tommy tight in the cradle of his arms.

“I know,” Tommy said, and Buck fell asleep to the thump of Tommy’s heartbeat pressed against his own.

#bucktommy #mine

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midnight-mourning · 4 months ago

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Snowy Snuggles

❄️❄️Midnight's DCA December Day 19❄️❄️

ahem, i saw the phrase cuddles and kisses and went ham, I would apologize but I think we all know that you people are going to eat it up, so enjoy!

Prompt: sun/moon’s systems freezing up because of the cold so reader decides ah… cuddles and kisses to the boyfriend(s) to warm them… sun and moon try to make it as unobvious as they can that theyre warmed up because they love love love reader’s cuddles but they are steeeadily starting to overheat because ohhh they love reader so much

Word Count: 1234

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

You bend down and light the last candle, snuffing out the match a moment later and discarding it. The entire room is enveloped in a soft, warm light with the amount of candles you have in here. They're pretty, but they provide no heat. That, was something you were going to have to figure out yourself.

There's an old wood stove still set up in the basement, but you only have a little bit of wood for it currently, you'd need to go out back tomorrow and chop some. For now, you'd just have to hope the house won't get too cold on you.

It wasn't you that you were worried about, and this power outage wouldn't have been a big deal, if you and the boys hadn't just spent all day out in the snow, and had come inside expecting to warm up significantly.

You spare them a glance, the light's just enough for Sun to be out, as he huddles under the pile of blankets you'd provided. Your heart twists with concern as you see him tremble. You're sure they'll be okay, it's just, not a great situation currently.

"Hey." You softly call out. "Doing alright over there?"

Sun perks up, looking over to you. Tone more cheery than you think he actually is. "Of course, Sunshine! We're okay, I promise."

"You don't look okay to me." You walk over, cupping your hands around his faceplate. "This is all my fault, if I'd noticed the outage sooner I could have planned better. I'm so sorry."

Sun's rays flutter, not having the energy for his usual spinning. "Don't say that! We insisted on staying outside so long. It was a complete and total fluke that the power went out. Nothing you should be blaming yourself for, alright?" His hand reaches up for your wrist, leaning into your touch.

"Okay,"—you sigh, then giggle as he kisses your wrist, you take a step back—"I'm gonna go grab my dinner, and then I'll be back."

Sun nods, and lets you go.

You give him once last look, and hurry off into the kitchen. By the light of your phone's flashlight, you make yourself a sandwich or two, and pour a cup of cold coco. You check to see if there's any updates on when the electricity will be back, but you still have no signal.

Deciding that that's not good enough, you search the cupboards and find your old storm radio, along with your regular one, and bring them and your food back with you from the kitchen.

When you get back, you don't miss how Sun scrambles back from holding his hands over the candles on the coffee table. He feigns innocence, sinking back into the blanket as your frown deepens. There's got to be something you can do to help, and you have an idea in mind.

You set everything down on the end table, turning on both radios. The storm radio doesn't have any updates, but the other softly plays holiday music, bringing some life to the living room. Then, you turn your focus to Sun, hands clasped.

"Yes, Starshine?" He asks, a little on edge at the look on your face.

You wave your hand. "Open up that blanket, that's my spot."

It takes him a moment, then it clicks. "O-oh! Of course." He opens the blanket, and his arms.

You all but hop into his lap, snuggling close as you wrap your arms around his neck. Then, you pull back and kiss him once, grinning. "Thought I'd provide the best heat I could think of. If that's alright?"

Sun's stare is blank, unmoving. Then, his rays spin rapidly and he nods several times. It makes you laugh as you reach over for your sandwich, snuggling further into his lap as he brings the blanket back around the two of you.

"Sorry in advance for any crumbs, but after getting pelted with snowballs all day I'm kind of hungry." You take a bite, reveling in it for a second. For a cold sandwich, this slapped.

Sun chuckles, arms coming to rest around you. "I suppose just this once it's alright, special circumstances and all that."

"Good, because I wasn't asking." You snicker as he huffs.

After finishing your sandwich, you get even cozier, entwining your fingers with Sun's and snuggling your head against his neck.

Bored, and also feeling cheeky, you place a kiss to his neck, followed by another, and another.

He stiffens and you grin to yourself, continuing with a squeeze to his hand. Eventually the position starts to ache, so you decide to turn around so you're straddling him. When you do so, you make eye contact and smirk.

"Hi." You say.

"Hi."

You interlock both your hands with his, leaning back in so that you're only inches apart. "Mind if I get back to work?"

"Wo-work?" Sun asks.

You giggle. "Mmmhmm. I've got nothing better to do than sleep, and to be honest, I'm not really in the mood for that." You kiss the edge of his smile. "So, want to help me with that?"

Sun's hands squeeze yours, tight. For a moment, you swear you hear a low humming sound, but it's hard to tell with all the blankets and the radio.

"Very much so, yes."

You grin again, closing the remaining small gap between the two of you. "Let's get to it then."

After, a plethora of kisses is exchanged between the two of you, and you think Sun has melted into the couch, you decide it's Moon's turn.

"You ruined him, you know." Moon snickers, forehead against yours. "He's comatose in here."

You chuckle. "That was the intention."

"I hope you don't think it's going to work twice, Star."

Your hands wrap around his neck, fingers slinking between the wires there. When he shudders you pull one back, using it to grip his chin while you pout. "Are you sure? I'm gonna be real sad if it doesn't."

"Brat." Moon mutters, but with how he's avoiding eye contact you'd say you've already won.

You lean in to kiss him only to hesitate, when he puts his hand up between you.

"Oh, sorry, I wasn't—" He takes your head, and places it against his chest.

Now closer, you can hear the noise from earlier, which you now understand was their internal fans. And it clicks what's happened.

Your face starts to burn. "I see."

"We tried to hide it." Moon coughs. "But now it's becoming a problem."

You pause, then shift back to gape at him. "You're overheating? Are kidding me?"

Moon ducks his head and you can't help the astonished laugh you let out. Then, you hug him, shaking your head in disbelief.

"Guess we don't have worry about freezing up after all, huh?"

"Don't start." He warns, but it's half-hearted, weak.

You laugh again. "Okay, okay. No kissing for a bit then."

Quiet.

"I can always go back out in the snow for a few minutes if you want..."

You scoff, baffled. "If I want? Excuse me, I think tha—"

Moon interrupts you by pulling you further into him, muttering something you can barely make out.

And if you weren't so incredibly offended, you might have taken him up on that offer.

Emphasis on might. You are pretty cozy right now, regardless of being able to kiss them or not.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Thank you for the request @vypridae!! I very much enjoyed writing more cuddly kissy fluffy things, and flustering the boys that too :)

Masterpost link

Tag list (if you would like added, see this post for more info):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8

@luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @amarynthian-chronicles

@robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva

@juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a

#fnaf dca #dca fandom #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #sundrop #moondrop #dca fic #x reader #mm dca december #writing requests #mwehehehe #starting off STRONG today folks #it's a fun batch of em after this #but fr i hope this flusters yall BAD #going for the kill as I catch up #midnight mutterings

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mochelisgf · 2 months ago

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Morgan cheli prompt #2

pairing: morgan cheli x oc childhood bestfriend!reader

word count: 3002 !!!

warnings — opposite attract! first kiss, parties/partying, small mentions of drinking, no smut I fear but there is making out and little kisses!. UConn vs USC mention (but UConn wins for the sake of the story), friends to lovers!!!!! Morgan sometimes called Misha (my oc) ‘M’ for a little nickname

summary — Morgan and Misha have been friends since they were young girls, even after going to seperate colleges that doesn’t stop their friendship from drifting apart, if anything they grow closer. So when Misha surprises Morgan by attending one of her games, well let’s just say she gets more than what she bargained for, but hey she’s not complaining!

authors note — so I know it’s been some time since I’ve updated my morgan cheli fanfic, honestly it takes so much out of me to repost my word because of layout issues + im having insane writers block with chapter 4 so pls be patient, i'm hoping to get the next chapter out this week, anyways enjoy this little thing :) Also little note, there will be so many pov switches throughout this prompt, honestly i'm trying to grow out of this habit, so if it suddenly goes from first person to third, just ignore it pls.

—————————

Morgan and Misha had known each other since they were 5 years old, basically their entire lives. Like the typical first meeting between two 5 year old girls — it started on the playground.

Misha had always been a loud child, often causing havoc for her parents and sometimes at school for her teachers. Morgan on the other hand was quiet, she enjoyed being on her own and she rarely caused problems at home or at school.

So when the two girls began playing with one another during recess time, everybody was a bit surprised. The girls had completely different personalities, but that small little detail didn’t bother the two.

After the first meeting, Morgan and Misha went everywhere together. Misha wanted to go to the park and pick flowers? Morgan was there, messing up her newly bought jeans. Morgan wanted to play basketball? Misha was there, even though she sucked at basketball. The two girls were two peas in a pod. Where you’d find one, the other one comes not long after.

But when Morgan got accepted into UConn and Misha into USC, it came to a surprise for everyone. People assumed that the girls would go to the same college, I mean they’d be together almost everyday since that one unforgettable day in kindergarten, and not just for the girls but for everybody.

When the school season started back up, the girls were upset. But they’d just had the best summer ever, and it’s not like they’d be away from each for long, with school breaks coming up, USC and UConn playing against each other in December plus an endless amount of facetime calls. Sure they live 42 hours from each other now after living 6 minutes away from each other their entire lives but distance really isn’t a problem for them.

DECEMBER 21, 2025

6 USC vs 7 UConn

The arena was buzzing. For weeks people have been anticipating this match. And Misha was in town, supporting her best friend — well best friends as in plural. During her time at USC, Misha had begun an unexpected friendship with juju, her roommate but also her childhood best friends basketball rival team.

And from both sides for the past week all the girls had talked about was the upcoming match, but I mean who wasn’t excited for this match. Misha herself had never really been a big basketball fan (and it’s definitely not because she sucks really badly at it) but even she had been excited for this match.

She’d entered the arena not long ago and was grabbing some food before the game started, candy and a diet soda. As she finishes paying her phone rings, smiling at the cashier then grabbing her food and moving to the side in order to not block the way, she sits her food down on a table and grabs her phone — it’s Morgan.

It’s to be expected though, if anything Misha was waiting for Morgan’s call. Every game Morgan had since she’d started at UConn, she called Misha, her best friend. And Misha would have to spend the entire time calming her Morgan’s nerves because she couldn’t be there to do it like she’d done at Morgan’s games in high school.

Picking up the call, Morgan’s voice rings through the phone —

“Dude what if I choke?” Her panicked voice is echoing throughout the device

Misha letting out a gentle laugh replies “Mo calm down, look you’ve been doing good recently, like you’ve seriously been putting in the work this month. Don’t panic, you’ve got this.”

The line is quiet for a moment, but then Morgan’s voice pops back up and you can hear the confusion in her tone “Where are you? It’s so loud.”

panicking slightly you hastingly reply “Oh i'm at a gathering, yeah a few of us are chilling at my dorm to watch the game since we couldn’t be there” a hum echoes slightly after your answer.

Morgan didn’t know you were there. This would be the first time in 3 months that you’d see Morgan, and you wanted to surprise her by showing up to one of her games unannounced. A few of the girls from the UConn team had known you would be there, Aubrey was the first you told, Jana learned shortly after.

you breathe in lightly then say “I know you’ve been feeling off recently, but I just want you to know that i'm here okay? No matter how the game goes, I’ll be supporting you every step of the way.”

Morgan’s breath is low, but you can tell that she lets out a deep exhale, her voice sounds shaky but you don’t mention anything, she’s about to have one of the most nerve-racking games she’s ever had.

“You always know what to say M.” Morgan begins, you smile into the phone and respond back with a “ha ha ha, don’t get too soft on me.” Morgan in reply scoffs jokingly, her laugh echoes through your ears, you can tell she’s let out one of her soft — shoulder shaking laughs and your smile widens slightly

Morgan responds “Yeah says you, okay I gotta go yeah? I’ll call you after the game, Love you.” You respond back with “love you too” and then she hangs up

Putting your phone away, you get up, grabbing your food along the way and begin to make your way to your seat.

It’s the third quarter. Uconn was not having a good game, USC was in the lead at least 2 points ahead per every uconn point. Morgan had come off the bench at the beginning of the second quarter, she’d done good in terms of turnovers and rebounds, but you could tell that every shot she missed and every look at the scoreboard had brought her confidence down.

It wasn’t until there was 4 minutes left in the third quarter that Morgan had even noticed me in the crowd – The game had come to a timeout, and as the team was on there way back to the bench, Morgan looks up and she freezes causing one of the girls to accidentally bump into her, Morgan looked to the side in response – it was Sarah, I wasn't exactly sure what Sarah had said but it was something along the lines of “Oh sorry!”

Morgan had begun walking again and as she walked closer to the bench, her mouth made a somewhat round look as she mouthed ‘what?’ and her eyebrows lifted slightly and then she furrows them. But then her face breaks into a smile – smiling back in response I do a small wave in her direction in which she waves back before sitting down.

You can see she’d shook her head. Turning to the girl beside her – Aubrey, you could see her smiling and rambling about how she’d seen you, Aubrey already knowing that you’d be at the game just let out a small laugh, turns around to my direction and waves at me. Morgan’s evidently confused and so she reaches across Aubrey’s lap to tap on Azzi, the girl turns around at the tap and you can see Morgan asking her something, Azzi in reply just shrugs, also turning around in my direction and giving me a small smile.

The timeout had now ended and the players were walking back on the court, and as Morgan is walking onto the court she turns slightly to look at me – I give her a smile and small nod and she smiles back and continues walking.

From there it’s like the game just turned around in those last four minutes of the third quarter. Kk with steals (and fouls) back and forth, Morgan getting more confident with the shots she was taking, having more assists, and both Sarah and Paige just playing with more confidence.

By the last 5 seconds in the fourth quarter the score was 72 to 69. That was until a foul was called and Sarah was given three free throws. She’d made all two out of three, the score then laying at 72 to 21. Until Paige gains possession of the ball, passing it to Sarah who shoots the ball —

and makes the game. winning. three.

The party was buzzing, the music blasting through the walls. The fraternity living room is packed. People crowded on the couches, others dancing and tumbled over. The room is more than alive, laughter and chatter filling the air and the colorful bright lights flickering – almost blinding. The two girls walk arm in arm in an attempt to not lose each other in the wilding crowd, bodies moving fluidly and in motion with another. And behind them, the girls from the basketball team are following them. As the group walks in, people are cheering, some of them walk up to them to give them pats on the back and a thumbs up because why not!

As the group walks to their area where some of their other friends are waiting, kk starts “They are definitely hooking up tonight right?” The girls all start laughing and agreeing, some even taking out money to make bets on how long it’d take for the two girls to finally get together during the week that Misha would be on campus. The said girls — Misha and Morgan are too busy in their own little world to even notice or hear what the girls are saying.

A few hours later

They’ve been at the party for two hours now, Misha isn’t the most wasted and neither is Morgan — I mean at least compared to the other girls who are completely hammered. So when when one of them runs over to them and says

“SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN” the entire room that they’re in bursts into cheer. Misha’s a bit hesitant because come on? Seven minutes in heaven? The same game she played at every high school party she’d been to? Hell no. But before even getting the chance to voice her opinion, Morgan’s grabs onto her hand pulling her and dragging her to the floor where some of the girls, people from the men’s team, and other random party goers are all gathered, and sitting in the middle of the group is a singular bottle.

One of the party goers spins the bottle first, it lands on a random boy from the men’s team, so the two get up giggling at each other before making their way into the closet that lays directly across from the area the group is sitting at. Then one of the girls from the team goes, it lands on a random party goer, Misha herself even spins once and it lands on one of the girls from the team, they go into the closest and they just talk about random shit going on. It’s fun — actually 10 times more fun than she would’ve imagined until it’s Morgan’s turn, and the bottle lands straight on her.

The entire room (the girls honestly) are letting out teasing tones going “oooo” and it makes Misha start giggling because it’s just Morgan — what's the worst that could happen! And so the two girls get up from their spots and make their way to the closet.

The closet is dark and honestly kind of cramped from the stuff in it but it’s on the larger side so there is more than enough space to move around in it.

“So….” Morgan says, her tone is slightly awkward which makes you snicker “Morgan we don’t have to kiss, I came in here with Azzi early and all we did was talk. ”

Morgan nods in reply, her eyes drifting slightly before she settles back onto your figure. She doesn’t really know what to do with her hands, they’re kind of all over the place but she sticks with letting them sit behind her back — at least that way you can’t see her playing with her hands.

“So, the game was good today”— she cuts you off. Morgan cuts you off by moving swiftly and then leaning down and kissing you. The action catches you off guard and Morgan’s completely expecting you to push her away or just stand there awkwardly and laugh slightly but instead you lean into it.

Morgan’s doubt all begins to slip away one by one as your hands begin resting on the back of her neck, tilting your head slightly to lean more into the kiss. Morgan’s hands which were awkwardly sitting on your hips begin to settle into a more comfortable and relaxing grip.

You slightly nibble on her lower lip, in which she opens her mouth in response allowing you to slip by our tongue into her mouth. Morgan’s hands begin moving again, this time one moves to your upper back so that she moves your body closer into hers. You break the kiss and start kissing on —

There’s a knock on the door, the two girls jump apart like they’d just been electrocuted and someone says “7 MINUTES ARE UP”. The two girls rush to fix their outfit (and hair) quickly and then they both walk out. They aren’t very slick because when they walk back to the circle, Misha looks at Jana who's looking at her with a teasing grin on her face.

When Misha wakes up the next morning her head is absolutely throbbing and her mouth is dry. She begins moving around to get more comfortable until a voice says

“M stop moving around” and Misha freezes — she turns around and Morgan is laying there, arm laid over her eyes. Her hair is messy and she’s wedged between Misha and the wall.

“Oh shit sorry” she sheepishly says before turning around fully in Morgan’s direction, Morgan puts her arm down, now laying on her side as well and they just stare at each other. Honestly they are still trying to wake up and the light peeking through the blinds isn’t helping.

But nonetheless, Misha doesn't let that stop her. She’s lying there staring at Morgan who is staring just as intensely as her —

“So, last night…” Morgan starts, swiftly turning on her back to avoid her eye

Misha licks her dry lips “Yeah last night was um–”

Morgan interrupts her “It wasn’t just a drunk mistake for me”

The room is quiet for a few seconds, Misha just processing what she’d just heard. And maybe Morgan got a little anxious waiting for a response when she pops up out of bed, a small “shit” muttering underneath her breath. She puts her hair behind her ears as she starts to stand up out of the bed, last second Misha utters out a “ Mo wait” her hand reaching out to grab onto the other girls arm.

Morgan pauses looking down at the girl who simply replies “It wasn't a mistake for me either.” a small grin appeared on her face. Morgan grins back, trying to hold back her smile but she fails.

Misha bites her lip, a small laugh escaping “I like totally fucked that up right?”

“Maybe a little but–” Misha pulls onto Morgan's arm, the girl now laying on top of her and grabs the back of her head pulling her into a kiss. It's short but sweet and passionate.

Smiling into the kiss, Morgan’s hands begin to wrap gently around Misha’s waist but there is a knock on the door, pulling away from the kiss Morgan lets an exaggerated huff with an eye roll making you giggle.

“Hey, you guys up?” It’s jana, she sounds just as tired and hungover. The two of you respond with a “yeah”, the sync word making the two of you look at each other and snicker — “Well me and the girls made breakfast, so if you guys want a plate just let me know”

Misha responds “Yeah we’re coming, grab us plates yeah?” Jana hums in response and she leaves.

Morgan gets up first and you follow behind her, going to your vanity, you grab a brush throwing one to morgan and then grabbing another one to comb out your own hair.

After brushing your hair, you both walk out the room, as asked Jana had grabbed the two of your plates and also two glasses. Going to the kitchen you both fix your food and join the rest of the girls in the living room to watch criminal minds while eating.

But I guess you and Morgan weren’t the most secretive because some of the girls easily caught on. Only 10 minutes into eating a voice — paige’s cuts through the silence —

“Aubrey pay up” the room gasps and they look at the two of us, Morgan chokes on her food, puts it down and looks back at Aubrey “Dude really?”

“Hey it’s not my fault you're a love struck puppy!” The girl proclaims, the room cackles and then Morgan says “Wait how many of you guys made bets?”

The room goes quiet. And Morgan gasps “Oh my god?…Caroline you too?” Caroline looks at her sheepishly and shrugs her shoulders before turning back to the screen

Morgan turns back to me and says “Can you believe them?” You chuckle slightly replying —

“Funnily enough I can.”

#morgan cheli smut #morgan cheli x reader #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #uconn x reader #morgan cheli #paige bueckers x reader

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