#but also him binding them and not taking care of them would be such a bane move

[ladycremecaramel]

So this was my ask from a long time ago, and I had thoughts of mgit (modern girl in thedas) story for this, but it never came to fruition. What I did do, though, was write a drabble from the Inquistor's POV. I thought it was long gone, but I stumbled upon it through my Google docs. After reading it, I thought I would post it here.

For context, the woman's name is Nora, and she is married and has a kid. There was an accident of some sort where the husband and child didn't survive, but she did and wound up in Thedas with the mark on her hand. She didn't want anything to do with the Inquisition as her spouse and child were her whole world and was grieving. She didn't care if she lived or died, but her moral compass of wanting to help those in need prevented her from outright killing herself.

Over time, the grief becomes...less in a way. After the fall of Haven and becoming the Inquisitor, her depression ramps up again but also has conflicting feelings about Cullen.

Then she becomes kidnapped red templars and...I forgot what they called the evil mages that worked for Corypheus were called. The ones that went crazy or were they called blood mages? Anyway, their plan was to 'kill' the Inquisitor and then use necromancy on her dead body to have control of the mark. Obviously, that doesn't happen cuz the Inquisition comes to the rescue juuuust in time.

So here it is. Below this is a TW of depression, blood, thoughts of suicide, and mentions of rape

Whack.

She yelped in pain as he punched the side of her face again. Another swollen bruise to add the collection on her body and face. She tried to wrench her wrists free of her binds, but the rope held tight was starting to cut into her skin. “Why am I fighting this? Don’t I want to die?” She thought to herself as her body struggled against her captors. 

She wasn’t sure, but her thoughts were stilled when a rough hand grabbed her by the throat. The red templar forced her to look up at him as he tightened his grip. Staring into the glowing crimson eyes, he snarled. “Should I let them rape you, mage? If you keep fighting, I won’t let you have any dignity left.” 

Nora froze upon hearing those words. To be raped and let whatever was to be become of her? His grip was tightening as she went limp with fear. If she were to die anyway, she wanted to at least have the choice to stay intact. The man stilled his tightening grip and slowly loosened his hold to see if she would struggle again. She didn’t move. Taking as a sign of surrender, he ordered the other men to bind her legs quickly. 

Everything moved quickly in a blur for her after that as she was carried to the open wooden box and placed inside. Her eyes began to sting with tears while her captors placed the lid on top and hammered it down with nails. She couldn’t see anything, but she could hear their voices. 

Soon she heard what sounded like chanting. It sounded low and in another language. What was going on out there? Did it matter? She watched interior of the box glow at the seams with a dark purple energy. It glowed brighter and brighter what felt like the longest time before it faded away, plunging her back into darkness. 

The next thing she knew was that box was being lifted and then lowered back down. She rocked back and forth with the casket, but it soon lurched with a soft thump. Nora fidgeted around with her hands tied in front of her until she heard the sound dirt being poured on top of the box she was in. Her eyes grew wide, and she sobbed. “This is it. This is how I die.” She thought as she tried to calm herself and accept her fate as she was being buried alive. 

��It shouldn’t be painful. I’ll fall unconscious as I lose oxygen. I’ll get to see my boys again soon. Just like I always wanted. I would have already offed myself if I didn’t have this fucking curse on my hand. They wanted their world saved though. My stupid guilty, noble do-the-right-thing just HAD to win out…” 

She thought like this as the sound of the dirt grew fainter. She assumed it was because her grave was almost filled up. She wondered how much time she actually had. It could be a few minutes to possibly a few hours or so she was told by Google. Looks like she was going to test that theory. 

Nora let her mind sift through all her memories. From her childhood to her adolescent days to adulthood. Then it went to more recent memories of losing her husband and child in a flash of green and then winding up in Thedas. Going through the story of the game or most of it anyway. She thought about the companions she met and actually becoming friends with them. She even thought about him. She wasn’t sure how she felt about him still but he definitely made her heart race. 

She wasn’t sure how much time has passed but the sound of the dirt stopped and she heard muffled shouts and what sounded like metal clashing. She strained her ears as best as she could. She couldn’t tell how deep she was buried but it didn’t sound like she was buried too deep or she wouldn’t have likely heard anything. 

She was starting to feel tired. When she heard a muffled angry voice that sounded like...

“Cassandra?”

They came all this way for me?

--------------

Aaaaannnnd end. That's it. Then my ask picks up from there.

You don't have to do this one. DAi: LI's only. After locating the Inky's they find that their leader is nowhere in sight. After some fruitless interrogating, they hear a faint THUMP THUMP THUMP and muffled screaming. They search for the source and find a half filled grave and the sound of their leader under the dirt. Their reaction: Discovering their Inky was buried alive.

Cassandra: Her heart drops, and the panic doesn’t even have time to settle before she is loudly barking orders and trying to steady her breathing. The second she gets the Inquisitor out of his shallow grave; she grabs him in a big hug and refuses to let go. The seeker is far from a merciful person, any may Andraste protect whoever dared do this to the person she loves. For a second she looks up at the man she loves, dirty and bruised with a mixture of panic and fear in his eyes. She doesn’t even want to think about what would’ve happened if they hadn’t gotten there sooner. 

Solas: Bring along the fury of a wolf and you will end up being ripped apart by the pack, this is very much apparent with Solas. The apostate is quick on his feet, helping his vhenan out of the grave and staring at the people responsible whom they just questioned; he has murder in his gaze. The only thing stopping him from acting then and there is the soft touch from his lover, her shaking body quickly moving closer to him for comfort. He would never forgive the people who did this and the ones who survived his visit later that night were the unlucky ones.

Dorian: At first he is rather unsettling, extremely calm and soft-spoken, only to lash out when someone makes a rather poor comment as the Inquisitor is helped out of his grave. Dorian feels utterly helpless and furious when he sees his Amatus like that, the man has bruises around his wrists showing he was tied; a busted lip and a tired gaze. he knows that if they had been slower the man he loved would’ve been underneath them all along but lacking the consciousness to ever speak up about where he was. One wrong clue or details lost could’ve led to being one minute too late. And that terrifies him.

Sera: May whatever god these people look up to be a just and forgiving one; because Sera sure as hell isn’t. As soon as Inky is out of that grave, an arrow is lodged into the leg of the nearest guilty person; and she has to be held back from jumping the man. She has no mercy for these people, and absolutely no pity for them as their screams reach her ears. Sera is scarily silent as she calms down, quickly finding her girlfriend and latching onto her- a shaky breath escaping her as she promises that she won’t ever let this happen again.

Blackwall: Honestly; it would surprise noone if Thom admitted to having done this himself, seeing as how calm he was when he was met with the issue itself; quick and steady hands knowing what to do right away. He doesn’t speak much when the Inquisitor stumbles out of the grave, clinging onto him and gasping for air and shaking. The tears in her eyes is enough to send his very being into a angry rampage; but he simply stays silent. Comforting his lover as he leads her away from the site, the others can deal with the vermin.

Iron Bull: May whoever did this rest in peace, because honestly they messed up the second they dared to mess with anyone who had contacts within the chargers. Bull is extremely gentle and careful with his lover; the poor thing shaking and it breaks his heart the second he sees the bruises on their face. Being buried alive is not fun, he would know. He is more aware than anyone else how lucky they were; because you loose oxygen fast in a casket. He lets out a shaky breath before kissing their face, muttering an apology for taking so long.

Josephine: When she had heard the word of what happened, she couldn’t help but close herself inside the office and just cry. Leliana had made sure she got time to let out all the worry and stress as she awaited for her lover to return. When they did? They were met by Josephine, puffy eyes and a lip that she had clearly chewed on more than enough to draw blood. And she only started crying again when she saw their bruised face, just about starting to heal from traveling back. She hated that she had to let them go on these trips; but she knew stopping them would only make things worse. With a tired sigh she grabs their hand, they needed a few hours. Just to be.

Cullen: He was the one leading the rescue operation, and he thought he had the ability to act cool. But when the Inquisitor is helped up from the casket and is finally able to see in the much brighter area; she sees him acting extremely out of character. The man on the ground is bleeding heavily from his face as Cassandra pulls the commander away from him. Cullen had been scared, he had felt so lonely when he found out that his rage blinded him and for a split second he wanted nothing else but to kill the person responsible. He feels his anger melt when the hand of his loved one is carefully placed on his cheek, as she whispers for him to calm down. She is bruised, tired and was probably on her last breaths. He would never forgive himself for allowing this to happen to begin with, but may the maker have mercy on the people responsible. They would face the wrath of Cullen Rutherford.

[diushek]

The Shen Yuan that dies - really dies. He actually dies and doesn't transmigrate, but well, you know, death is a timeless thing and the flow of time itself in the world of the dead is so weird lol So, well, let me make up that all the demons and ghost kings and cultivators inhabit this powerful timeless space where the dead also go, and oh, there's Shen Yuan now -

So, Shen Yuan is just a silly ghost fire filled with pent-up rage, damn shitty novel, damn shitty author. Is he “alive” for something? Because of how much he hates PIDW and its fucked up ending. Get a lower-ranking ghost body because he's just... angry at Airplane. His new form is, ah, well, different and weird, but he can grow his hair to go unnoticed, and can steal some robes.

Get a small job eventually just because he was bored and although he don't need to eat, it would be nice to have extra money - and the tea house owner doesn't care if he's a human or a ghost as long as he's not creepy with the customers and serves their tables. It's a routine that gives him the quick financial support to get bad books, complain more - and maybe he's getting stronger because of it? Because of his anger at mediocre authors and repressed anger? Does it even make sense?

At some point, Tonglu opens. Shen Yuan has headaches and the desperate feeling that he must go, as if he summoned. He tells his boss he's going to be out for ghostly reasons - his boss is like, oh, you needed a vacation anyway. And Shen Yuan goes.

It's a massacre, of course. A mix between the Hunger Games and the Purge, but Shen Yuan has something they definitely don't: a lot of knowledge in shooting video games. And he doesn't have a gun, but hey, he can shoot resentful spiritual energy and it works like bullets or something - he soon discovers that the more ghosts he overcomes, he becomes stronger. He has more power to throw, more skills, a stronger body.

Go to the kiln. Have bloody fights. At some point he gets a sword and it takes him forever and nothing like a training sequence to use it properly. And finally, the kiln opens and Shen Yuan comes out looking... Well, stronger.

He returns to the teahouse to change and take a bath. The owner tells him that it's been thirteen years, what the hell, but lets him in and gives him hot water and clothes.

Shen Yuan's new body and new abilities are strange to him. He notices himself taller. Stronger. His hearing and smell have improved. His abilities seem to be more wordy, as if he could persuade people if he spoke to them in a specific tone, as if his words could bind them. Well, it's not a bad way to be dead.

Shen Yuan tries to continue working at the tea house, but the humans are clearly terrified by the powerful ghost king aura in their area, so there are hardly any customers. Shen Yuan just sighs and decides to leave. He has some savings anyway.

Ghosts run away from him. Humans either try to kill him or hide. Shen Yuan is fed up; no matter if it is in the mortal world or the ghost world, people are gossiping about him and how he has not taken a Territory, about how unorthodox he is, about how they are waiting for him to start his killing spree one day.

Shen Yuan learns to change his appearance from creepy ghost to normal human, hide his resentful energy, and camouflage himself in the human world. It's a long way from his old tea house, and so many years have passed that the kind owner has probably already died, so Shen Yuan gets another job at a bookstore. Nothing unusual. Just a boy who was once from a wealthy family and was disinherited when his older brother took over the family leadership because of their bad relationship. Now he must work to live.

People swallow that story like a good meal, some even feel sorry for him.

And Shen Yuan is having a decent afterlife. Boring, mostly, but with good days. He reads a lot, gets angry a lot, writes authors letters that reach their desks without them even realizing how the hell did this crazy guy find his addresses. Let's just say he's having an interesting life.

Then one day, he meets Luo Binghe.

He... He literally knows that he's Binghe. It couldn't be anyone else but Luo Binghe. He does his investigations, and apparently, Emperor Luo Binghe exists, he has been there all along. It's not like Shen Yuan knew it; the ghost realm and the human-demon realm are divided, and even if they have a common mortal ancestor, demons and ghosts don't usually meddle in their own things.

Not that Shen Yuan wants to be cannon fodder anyway; he keeps his distance in Binghe, works at that bookstore, gives friendly greetings to his customers, and keeps sending angry letters to authors.

And one day Shen Yuan receives a direct visit from Luo Binghe at his door. With a letter in his hand.

"This letter was on my Second Wife's desk," Luo Binghe says, with a fake smile. "No one but her can open or read it, so this Lord wonders after discovering the resentful energy signature on the paper, what missives does this Ghost King exchange with one of the Emperor's wives?"

Shen Yuan is not surprised that Luo Binghe knows who he is - ever so OP the Protagonist! However, it is more difficult to explain that his wife actually writes cut-sleeved novels that the fact that Shen Yuan was reading and criticizing them in the first place.

Well, he's been dead for over a hundred years, really denying that he's at least bisexual at this point in his life...

[carpenoctxrn]

Promise (Yandere!Ominis x fem!reader) Part 3

Requested by Anon!

Disclaimer: Mature adulting stuff.

AN: Ominis is not possessive in this as much because everything is going "as planned", like little lark Ominis was crazzzzy possesive. So really he is sweet more than anything because he is getting everything he wants. Like he has no need to be possesive when she so willingly is letting him take her.

Also I want to get married at a vineyard now and own one too.

Masterlist

It had been three weeks since she had given herself to Ominis.

Three weeks after they had lost their virginity together, their bodies entwined in the moon illuminated room, in secret, where no one else could touch them, see them, ruin them.

And for the past three weeks, she had been filled full of him every single night.

Her body still ached from the last time, his grip on her hips, the way he pushed deeper, deeper, deeper, whispering how she was his, how he would never let her go.

She had loved every second of it.

But now, as she struggled to zip up her skirt, her stomach twisting with a growing sense of dread, she felt something else entirely.

Am I swelling with a child?

The thought made her breath hitch.

No. No, I can’t be.

Her parents had been strict, enforcing ridiculous rules about courtship “No dating until after Hogwarts.”

And yet, here she was. Possibly pregnant. With only a month left until graduation.

Her fingers trembled as she adjusted her uniform, hiding the half-zipped skirt beneath her vest before rushing out of the dorm, her mind spiraling.

She needed to get to the Great Hall. She needed to think.

But she never made it there.

A hand shot out, grabbing her wrist, yanking her into the shadows of a secluded hallway.

Her breath hitched; until she felt him.

Ominis.

“Good morning, love.” His voice was velvet, smooth and possessive, before his lips descended upon hers in a searing, all-consuming kiss.

Her thoughts blurred.

She melted into him instantly, just like she always did.

And Ominis smirked.

She was pliable in his hands— putty, soft and eager, bending to his touch without a second thought.

But so was he.

Just the clack of her shoes across the stone floors was enough to set him on edge, to make his body crave her all over again.

She was his.

His to love. His to keep.

His to ruin.

“Good morning, Omi.” She greeted, voice hazy from his kiss.

He pulled her in again, deeper, his fingers curling around her waist, claiming, holding, keeping.

And that was when he felt it.

The way she tensed beneath his touch.

She pulled back, and Ominis' smirk faded.

Something was wrong.

His grip on her waist tightened. “What’s wrong?”

She swallowed, eyes darting away. She looked nervous. Afraid. Like she was hiding something from him.

And Ominis hated that.

“Omi… I think—I think I’m pregnant.”

She whispered it, as if saying it too loudly would make it real.

His heart stilled.

Then—a slow, creeping smile spread across his lips.

It worked.

His plan had worked.

She was now with his child. His seed had taken root, claiming her from the inside out, binding her to him forever.

Soon, she would be plump with his heir, her body growing round and soft, all for him, all because of him.

Ominis exhaled a shuddering breath, pure ecstasy rushing through his veins as he crushed her against him, capturing her lips in a kiss filled with triumph, devotion, hunger.

“Don’t worry, love.” He whispered against her mouth, his tone soothing, reassuring, final. “I’ll take care of you both. I promise.”

But she didn’t kiss him back.

She stiffened in his arms.

And then her voice broke.

“But I don’t want a baby.”

Ominis felt his heart shatter.

His breath caught. His grip tightened.

“Why not?” His voice was low, barely above a whisper, but there was something dangerous in it.

A pause. A long, painful silence.

Then the words that nearly destroyed him.

“I love you, Ominis.” Her voice was soft, filled with emotion, and for a moment— just a moment— his heart swelled.

But then she kept speaking.

“And I want to experience the world with you before we settle down.” She sniffled, her hands gripping his robes. “You don’t want to be associated with your family, and I don’t either. If we have a child now, we’ll be forced to depend on others, to be tied down before we’ve even had a chance to live.”

Ominis stared at her, something dark and possessive slithering through his chest.

She didn’t understand.

She didn’t see what he saw.

She spoke as if freedom was something they needed.

But they already had freedom.

They had each other.

Still, he forced himself to think. She’s not saying she doesn’t love me. She just… doesn’t want it yet.

He took a slow, measured breath, choosing his words carefully.

“You don’t have to worry about money, love.” His voice was smooth, reassuring. “I made investments years ago. I have more than enough to provide for you— for us— without ever needing to rely on anyone.”

Her lips parted in surprise, and he let his fingers brush against her cheek, soft and gentle.

“That being said,” he continued, tilting her chin up, “this is your body. I will never force something upon you that doesn’t make you happy.”

His words were sweet, but his tone was possessive, laced with something darker, more dangerous; as if he was branding her with them, ensuring that she understood how deep his love ran.

She made her decision that day.

They went to Nurse Blaney; a kind woman who had helped many girls in this predicament before. She had been gentle, understanding, offering them a small vial of potion and explaining the aftercare in a voice soft with warmth.

“You don’t have to take it.” She reassured them. “Even now, with it in your hands, you are allowed to change your mind.”

And she almost didn’t.

Back in the Room of Requirement, she stared at the vial, her hands shaking.

She was about to drink it.

And then the tears welled in her eyes.

Her fingers trembled.

Her throat tightened.

Ominis' heart stopped.

“Love?” His voice was careful, scared. He pulled her into his arms, his hands firm on her waist, anchoring her to him. “Talk to me.”

She choked on a sob, gripping his robes. “I—I want them.”

A pause. A single, shuddering breath.

“I love them.”

She hiccupped, clutching him tighter. “And the thought of losing them; it scares me. Its unbearable”

Ominis exhaled, his lips pressing into her hair, his hold unbreakable.

And for the first time that day he smiled.

—---

The two of them had agreed to keep the pregnancy a secret— at least from their families.

Their friends, however, knew immediately.

The girls had been beyond ecstatic, squealing over the news, while the boys had clapped Ominis on the back, teasing him about becoming a “family man.”

But beyond the teasing, there was something undeniably different about him now.

Ominis had always carried himself with quiet intensity, but now? Now, there was an undeniable sense of purpose in the way he held her, the way he moved, the way he whispered against her skin every night, "You're mine. Always."

By the time graduation arrived, her stomach had begun to round ever so slightly, though not enough for anyone outside their close circle to notice. She wasn’t yet feeling the full symptoms of pregnancy— her breasts were a little fuller, a little more sensitive, but nothing drastic.

Her family, strict as they were, had grown fond of Ominis.

They knew his status, knew he was a gentleman, and had no reason to doubt him. If only they knew the depraved things he had done to their daughter, they wouldn’t be patting his back so proudly.

And then, of course, there were the Gaunts.

They arrived at the ceremony, cold and composed, but when introduced to the infamous Hero of Hogwarts, their greedy expressions flickered with something close to approval.

Power. Beauty. Status.

That’s all they saw when they looked at her.

Not the girl who had saved their son from becoming like them, not the girl who had made Ominis smile for the first time in his life, not the girl he had worshipped body and soul every night.

Just power.

And yet, Ominis didn’t care.

Because they didn’t matter. Only she did.

After the ceremony, once the Gaunts had left without fanfare, Ominis approached her father, his expression steady, his grip on her hand firm.

“Sir, I’d like to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Her father had known this was coming.

She had written letters about Ominis for years, talked endlessly about him during the holidays, and would smugly refer to herself as ‘the future Mrs. Ominis Gaunt’ just to tease her father, who loathed the idea of his little girl growing up.

Even her mother had joined in on the joke, always responding, "No dating until after Hogwarts."

But now, here they were.

And her father, after a long moment of deliberation, let out a deep sigh before nodding. "She loves you. That much is obvious. And you're a good man. You have my blessing."

Ominis let out a breath, relief flooding him.

Not that he had needed permission.

Because even if the answer had been no, nothing would have stopped him from keeping her forever.

Later that evening, as the sun cast golden hues across the castle, Ominis led them to a secluded overlook, a breathtaking spot where they could see the castle, the lake, and the rolling mountains in the distance.

Her family stood behind them, admiring the view, but Ominis wasn’t looking at the horizon.

He was looking at her.

And then he reached into his pocket.

Her breath hitched as he knelt before her, pulling out a ring that he had chosen months ago.

His fingers trembled slightly as he held it up, but his voice, his devotion, his love, was unwavering.

“You are the love of my life.”

The words were soft, gentle, but they carried the weight of everything he was.

“Not because of your beauty, not because of your power but because you know me better than I know myself. Because every day with you, I learn something new about who I am, about who I want to be. You are my reason for everything, my guiding light.

And I want to spend the rest of my life learning more about you, about us, about the family I know we will build together.”

His breath shook slightly, but his grip on her hand was firm, reverent, unyielding.

“Marry me.”

Her vision blurred with tears, her throat tightening as overwhelming love, devotion, and sheer emotion swallowed her whole.

She barely managed to choke out a soft, tearful “yes” before dropping to her knees and throwing herself into his arms.

Her family cheered, her mother wiping away happy tears while her siblings laughed and teased her for crying so much.

But it wasn’t just the proposal.

It was everything.

Her hormones, yes but more than that, it was Ominis.

The man she loved.

The man she had given herself to.

The man who would burn the world to the ground if it meant keeping her safe.

And now, he was hers. Forever.

Fireworks erupted in the night sky, a little favor he asked Sebastian who happily obliged and delivered.

—--

The wedding happened within a month.

Her family had hesitated, worried that she was rushing into it. But every time they questioned her, she would simply say,

“I courted him for two years. I refuse to be his fiancée when I could just be his wife.”

And that was that.

They knew their daughter, tenacious, brilliant, headstrong. And they knew Ominis, devoted, loyal, utterly besotted with her.

So, despite their reservations, they gave their blessing.

The Gaunts, however, were not invited.

Ominis had finally confessed everything— his unstable home life, the cruelty he had endured, the cold, loveless existence he had been raised in.

And her parents, with their warm hearts and unwavering protectiveness, had taken him in as their own.

For the first time in his life, Ominis felt something he had never known before.

A place to belong. A family that cared. A love that didn’t come with conditions.

And with that, the final tether binding him to the Gaunts snapped.

He was hers now. Entirely. Forever.

—

Then came finding their home.

A quaint little mansion, nestled just minutes away from Godric’s Hollow, with land sprawling around them in lush, green abundance. Vineyards stretched in one direction, fertile soil in another, ready for her to plant anything her heart desired.

Their home was perfect.

High-arched windows that bathed the rooms in golden sunlight. A kitchen lined with white marble, polished and pristine. A library for Ominis, lined with towering bookshelves, seamlessly doubling as a study for her. And most importantly; space.

Space for their growing family.

—-

The ceremony was set in their own backyard, just as the sun dipped below the horizon.

Tables and chairs were arranged neatly, all in white, the air thick with the scent of roses and honeysuckle. Flowers in blush pink and deep green adorned every surface, soft candlelight flickering around them.

And then— Ominis.

He stood at the altar, his tuxedo expertly tailored.

Charcoal grey. Silver embroidery. A crisp white shirt beneath, his vest black with intricate silver threads woven through the fabric.

He was breathtaking.

His groomsmen, Sebastian, Garreth, and Amit stood beside him, all dressed in black tuxedos, but Ominis stood apart. He was stunning, regal, ethereal.

And yet, even in all his refinement, he had eyes only for her.

His bride. His wife.

And when she appeared, walking down the aisle, arm-in-arm with her parents, Ominis nearly forgot how to breathe.

—-

She was a vision.

Her wedding dress clung beautifully to her form, the white fabric glowing in the soft twilight.

Intricate pearls were sewn into the bodice, shimmering with each graceful step she took. The corset-like design held her firm, and though she had worried about it being too tight around her three-month baby bump, Natty had reassured her, "It won’t harm the baby, I promise."

So she had worn it.

And now, as she walked towards Ominis, the delicate lace-trimmed veil trailing behind her, the soft parting of her breasts exposed by the gentle dip of her gown, her bare shoulders kissed by the glow of candlelight—

Ominis was undone.

His chest tightened.

His fingers trembled at his sides.

His bride, his wife, his love, was carrying his child as she walked toward him.

She was his.

And soon, she would be his in every way imaginable.

—

The vows were spoken.

Her voice was steady, full of promise, devotion, and love.

Ominis’ voice, however, was thick with emotion.

How could it not be?

He was marrying the woman who had saved him. The woman who had tamed his demons, softened his heart, and ruined him for anyone else.

She was his breath, his mind, his soul, his body.

And when the minister said, "You may now kiss the bride," Ominis did not hesitate.

His hands slid to her waist, pulling her flush against him as he captured her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

It was a kiss meant for show— loving, tender, drawn out just enough to make the crowd swoon.

But beneath it?

Beneath it was something else entirely.

Beneath it was hunger, longing, the kind of desperate devotion only he could feel for her.

Because tonight— finally— she would be his again.

—

As they walked down the aisle, hand in hand, a shower of petals rained down upon them, their guests cheering, the sun fully setting just as expected.

Candles floated around the courtyard, their soft glow illuminating the evening, courtesy of Professor Weasley’s magic.

And through it all, Ominis held onto her.

He held onto her like a man possessed.

Because in every way that mattered, he was.

—

Their first dance as husband and wife was nothing short of enchanting. Beneath the full moon’s soft glow, they moved in perfect harmony, their steps slow and deliberate, as if savoring every second. The makeshift pillars, once simple wooden boxes, had been transfigured into elegant structures adorned with ivy, framing their dance beneath the night sky. The air smelled of blooming flowers and ripened grapes from the vineyard, a reminder of the life they were building together.

Ominis had never known such pure joy. He could feel her love radiating through every touch, every whispered breath between them. But what truly made his heart ache with emotion was the gentle bump pressing between them; the life they had created together. His grip on her waist tightened ever so slightly, a silent vow that he would protect them both with everything he had.

Their foreheads touched as she blinked back tears of happiness, her lips curling into a smile. "I'm officially Mrs. Gaunt," she sniffled softly.

"And I'm officially your husband," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

She let out a soft laugh, her fingers brushing the nape of his neck. "But I was yours, and you were mine, from the moment I bumped into you leaving the Undercroft."

A smirk tugged at his lips. "And I knew you were mine the day I realized I couldn't stand the way other boys said your name."

She chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You glared at every single one of them, Omi."

"I wasn’t glaring," he protested, though even he knew it was a lie.

She only laughed again, shaking her head. He could listen to that sound forever.

His hand settled protectively over her stomach as he whispered, "I love you both more than anything in this world."

"And we love you too," she murmured, resting her hand over his.

Under the moonlit sky, with music swirling around them and their love wrapped in the warm embrace of the night, Ominis knew— this was his forever. And he would never let it go.

—

The embers of the bonfire crackled softly, casting golden light over the circle of friends gathered around it. The air carried the scent of burning wood, mingling with the distant sweetness of the vineyard. Laughter and conversation flowed as easily as the dark liquor Amit kept sneaking sips of, their voices hushed yet lively in the late-night calm.

Ominis sat comfortably on a transfigured loveseat, his wife nestled against him, her soft, loose dress doing little to hide the way her body molded perfectly into his. The warmth of her pressed against his side made it nearly impossible to focus on anything else. He breathed in deeply, trying to steady himself, but every time she threw her head back in laughter — especially when Imelda mimicked Headmaster Black’s pompous drawl — he felt himself slipping. Her delicate fingers gripped his thigh as she lost herself in amusement, her hair falling into her face, nose crinkling in that way that always undid him.

Ominis tightened his hold around her. Before her, he never had a reason to wake up in the morning beyond obligation. Now, he had purpose. He had her.

“So, do you want to know the baby’s gender?” Natty asked curiously, snuggling closer to Amit.

His wife’s parents had left an hour ago, having spent the past month at their estate, meaning the topic could be spoken about freely; something she loved.

“I think I do,” she murmured, cradling the small bump as she gazed down at it.

“I want to crochet as many little clothes as I can before they pop out,” she added with a giddy smile, excitement lighting up her face.

“And what about you, Ominis?” Amit asked, taking a slow swig of the dark liquor Ominis had introduced him to.

“I prefer whatever my wife prefers,” Ominis replied smoothly, as if the answer had always been written in the stars.

A chorus of teasing sounds erupted from their friends.

“You’ve gone soft, Gaunt,” Gareth chuckled, shoving another handful of chicken dippers into his mouth.

“More like being married has turned him into a doting husband,” Anne quipped, her words laced with knowing amusement towards Gareth as if for him to catch a hint.

“You’re not marrying my sister until you become something, Weasley,” Sebastian warned, his voice holding an edge of seriousness.

Laughter erupted, but Anne turned red in protest. “I am not marrying him!” she shrieked.

“Well, you’re not marrying anyone else besides Gareth either,” Sebastian shot back with an air of finality.

Everyone knew the truth that Anne and Gareth were inevitable. The moment Gareth had pummeled a sixth-year back in their fourth year for making an offhanded comment about Anne needing to “grow into her looks,” Sebastian had known. And so had the rest of their friends. The only ones oblivious were the two idiots themselves.

“So, who’s next to marry in our group?” Ominis’ wife asked coyly, stirring the pot with a mischievous smile.

“Maybe it’ll be Sebastian,” Ominis said with a smirk, finding humor in how the most hopeless romantic among them was the only one still single.

“And who, exactly, would I marry?” Sebastian asked, brow furrowed.

“Mrs. Hecate, of course,” Imelda deadpanned, laughing as Poppy nudged her with an elbow.

Their friends erupted into laughter, the old memory resurfacing. Sebastian groaned, rubbing his face as if to erase the embarrassment. He had once found a photo of a breathtaking young woman in the Restricted Section, believing it to be a former student. For months, he had been determined to find her—only to discover, to his absolute horror, that the photo was of Professor Hecate in her prime. When the picture had fallen out of his bag in the middle of class, she had simply stared at him, expression unreadable, before asking why he had it.

That day, the entire group had been sent to detention—for their uncontrollable laughter. It was the only time Sebastian had ever dreaded serving it.

“Hey, leave my good friend Sebastian alone,” Amit slurred, waving his drink dramatically. “I know what it’s like to have your heart broken.”

“Why would you say that, Amit?” Natty asked, suddenly curious.

“Well—I—it was—uh—” Amit stammered, his ears turning red as Imelda let out exaggerated “oohs,” sensing trouble.

But Ominis barely heard them now. His attention was fixed on the woman beside him. Her head had begun to droop slightly, exhaustion finally catching up with her after the long day. Her eyes fluttered shut for brief moments before she blinked herself awake again.

“Would you like to turn in for the night, love?” he asked, his voice softer now, pulling her just a little closer.

“Mhm…” She hummed, her body melting into his touch. “It’s as if I forgot I had a long day, and now my lack of sleep has crept up on me.” She yawned delicately, rubbing her eyes.

“Let’s go, Mrs. Gaunt,” Ominis said smoothly, smirking as she giggled at the sound of it.

“Goodnight! Make sure you all sleep inside the house and not out here,” she called out drowsily. “Birky will clean up outside in the morning.”

A chorus of whispers and giggles erupted behind them as they made their way toward the house — no doubt their friends making jokes about their need to consummate their marriage.

But just as they reached the threshold, Ominis suddenly stopped.

“What is it?” she asked, turning to face him, suddenly hyper-aware of the way the night had fallen into silence.

Instead of answering, he pulled her close, capturing her lips in a lingering kiss. It was one of the hundreds he had stolen from her that day, but this one was different. This one was filled with quiet hunger, with promise. His hands roamed over her figure in a slow, reverent touch before he pulled back just enough to maneuver her into his arms, lifting her effortlessly in a bridal carry.

A soft giggle escaped her lips, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

“I intend to make good on my promise, love,” he murmured against her ear.

Her breath hitched, all traces of sleep vanishing in an instant. He knew exactly what he was doing—how easily he could undo her.

And with that, Ominis carried his wife inside, the rest of the world fading away as their night truly began.

-----

Anyways this is part 3 to yandere Ominis. fourth part would be them consumating their marriage cause duh. Probably more breeding Ominis because lets be honest here, the man is feral.

Masterlist

Talk to me for funsies you guys, I love yapping!

pssst.... first divider by @anitalenia and second divider by @pommecita. the plain banner is by me....

[fascinationstreetmp3]

Sometimes I fear they won't do devil's minion at all. Armand won't call Daniel beloved and like the turning- the turning was said to be done in spite where in the books there was at least some love, something that made Armand say they will be in hell together after all. I feel like there is a possibility that in the show hell together means like a thorn lodged in the throat. You can't ignore it and you can't get rid of it. That will hurt a lot if they do that.

im sure dm will definitely be romantic in the show at some point, it's just a case of how they get there because things are obviously different from the books.

i myself am keeping an open mind about the whole "spite" thing tbh. that descriptor does not come from armand or daniel, it comes from louis, who was not there— and in my opinion, daniel sorta dodges addressing it any further when louis brings it up, and there could be multiple reasons for that (he doesn't want to talk about it? or maybe there's more to it he isn't letting on right now?)

just throwing things out there but if it WAS entirely spiteful, but past dm happened, it's possible they could also utilise daniel's book turning scene for the "memory wipe", framing that as armand's act of love in order to save daniel's life, which would balance things out a little more. either way i think we WILL see the turning no matter what anyone says

where they are now with each other, the writers might take inspiration from the sort of push/pull they have towards 1985 in qotd, along with the long period of separation they have after qotd and the regret armand feels for turning daniel. daniel feeling resentful towards armand (for turning him? for messing with his and louis' memories? for leaving him all alone?), but unable to stay away for long; armand believing he has made a horrible mistake and trying to stay away while also dealing with the fact that daniel destroyed armand's relationship with louis, but he and daniel are bound together now and the maker/fledgling connection sometimes seems to be a lot stronger in the show, even between "strangers" as displayed by madeleine & louis being able to "feel" one another

i think show daniel seeing armand at his lowest, knowing what he can do to people and what he has done to him, will play into the way daniel sees armand in the books: a terrible creature capable of great evil who daniel is drawn to and loves for who he is, and armand gets to be perceived outside of the roles he's always playing by someone he doesnt have to control or lie to (and cant, really). for how they get to the love part... im curious to see how it will go because there's a lot of ways it could happen. i'm just certain they will get there. they might feel stuck in "hell together" at first, but eventually hatred won't be the only thing that binds them together (if it ever was the 'only' thing between them in the first place)

maybe tangentially related but ive seen people suggest rolin jones has some sort of dislike for dm or that he just straight up doesn't care/wasn't planning on including it, and of course i have no clue what's going through his head but i have to disagree. a deeper relationship between armand and daniel has only been hinted at right now; pieces of a puzzle slowly make themselves known, and the audience has to notice them and put the puzzle together with what they've got so far. just because something's in the books doesn't mean theyll just talk about it openly, its still a show spoiler. which means outside of the show (in interviews etc) it's only going to be acknowledged as a "thing that happens in the books", yknow? just like book characters that havent appeared yet, the way theyll be portrayed in the show isnt discussed. kinda why i think they got king of spoilers eric bogosian to drop the "budding romance" line in those sdcc videos from a while back because to me... that technically is a show spoiler lmao

[citrusai]

taash said "they were doing it" and people ran with the interpretation of an npc that doesn't know solas or the history of the elvhenan even when bellara interjected and said, no, that's not right. that's not how it was for the elvhenan. they formed bonds before they had physical bodies. and people ran to doompost or create weird anti-solavellan shit even though mythal & solas refer to each other as old friends and when she releases him there is no tenderness or love in it. it is the act of unchaining a dog from his post, the stepping down of a general. but to each their own ig.

[wolveria]

👀👀👀 can I ask about the wing AU??

Yesss!! The Wing AU! Which is really just a long document with the various clones and Jedi/Sith what their wings would look like.

I'm going to post it as it is because the bullet point works, and this is the "baseline" part of the winged universe. I might have several stories stem from it, because... I just really love wings and I feel like I could go in several directions. So here it is!

There are only two beings in the galaxy with wings: those who are Force-sensitive, and the clones engineered by the Kaminoans

The wings of a child will be drab until they molt in maturity, bringing in their true colors

Touching another person’s wings without permission is disrespectful and invasive, while trusting someone enough to allow them to preen their wings is a sign of trust and closeness

The clones were engineered with wings to keep up with the Jedi during the war, though this has brought its own controversy with senators questioning if engineering wings is a step too far in cloning technology, as wings are supposed to be sacred (but the Chancellor claims this is a sign they are on the side of righteousness, though in reality he wants the clone troopers to have wings to keep up with the Jedi when he orders their execution)

Yoda has grey wings, Dooku has elegant black wings, and Darth Sidious has no wings at all (he removed them at an early age to hide his affinity for the Force, and he almost abhors the idea of them), Maul’s wings are black with red tips, and Ventress has wings of white with black tips

Anakin has beautiful golden-brown wings, Obi-Wan has soft sandstone-colored wings, and Ahsoka has white wings with blue stripes

Cad Bane has wings of blue variation, light blue at the base and darker at the tips, though they are so ragged from being unpreened and kept in bindings against his back that they can only glide, not fly, until they are restored with care and practice (which is unlikely since he always keeps them hidden and no one knows he even has them)

Clones Wings:

Hunter has dark grey wings, the same color as his eyes, and the feathers are broader and longer than a typical clones’ (his brothers used to joke that his missing height went into his wingspan)

Crosshair has silvery white wings that match his hair, and they’re especially soft around the shoulders of the wings, almost downy, but if anyone tries to touch them, they’ll get pummeled for it. Not with his hands—Crosshair has learned how to “punch” with his wings with uncanny accuracy, and other troopers learned long ago to steer clear of them

Wrecker has reddish-brown wings that have golden highlights in the sun, though he had to have cybernetic feathers and muscles implanted into his left wing after the explosion that took his eye

Tech’s wings are golden-brown, and they are prone to being unkempt much like his living space, the clone too distracted with his work to care for them, and if it wasn’t for his brothers they would be nearly unusable (which would be a shame, because he flies like a mynock on fire)

Echo used to have grey speckled wings that complimented Fives’ grey and white wings, but once he was captured, the Separatists cut them off. After he was rescued, Rex and Cody made sure there were funds to build him advanced mechanical wings so he could fly again

Omega has golden-white wings, and the Batch had to teach her how to fly because the Kaminoans didn’t show her and probably never would have

Crosshair would be the one to preen Hunter’s wings after a battle, and Hunter would preen his (Crosshair would let Wrecker preen his wings but no matter how hard he tries, Crosshair’s too sensitive, and Hunter is the only one with a light enough touch to do it)

Tech doesn’t really care who preens his wings out of the Batch, just as long as they don’t screw up and pull out any feathers, and he’s more than happy to let Wrecker do it since the big clone loves preening his brother’s feathers

If a flyer goes through a traumatic event, their feathers will molt and grow back a different color: this is what happens to the clones after Order 66, they lose their individuality/feathers, and grow all white wings to match their bleached armor (Crosshair loses his silvery feathers and they grow back in a much darker shade, showing he’s not completely under their control and is suffering for it)

There are only a few Imperial clones that don’t grow plain white feathers, but instead, they grow in pure black. The ones with black wings are selected to be Death Troopers

Crosshair’s new wings are not technically black, they’re more of a dark grey, and coincidentally, the same shade as Hunter’s wings

For clones who start to fight their chips, or their chips start to fail, they gradually shed their feathers and start growing them back with color. Such as Howzer, who started to grow back his teal-tipped feathers, and he had to bleach his wings so his superiors wouldn’t find out

The new TK troopers are given mechanical wings, but they are far inferior to the natural wings that clones are engineered with, but mechanical wings are cheaper than biological ones, and the clone troopers that remain are taken to Tantiss for experimentation

[imminent-danger-came]

I think people don't appreciate how much heavy lifting ROTSQ did for both DBK and Red Son's arcs

[nezuscribe]

you’re glad to have a friend like arranged!gojo, it feels good to have somebody to talk to and listen to. you feel nice being able to laugh with somebody and not apologize for the awful jokes or strange things you say. but sometimes you have to stop yourself from getting attached, reminding yourself that he won’t care for you like that.

and though that’s the farthest from the truth, it’s what you’ve convinced yourself. so when your birthday comes around, you decide to celebrate the way you always have, alone.

he’s your friend, not a husband, so you don’t see any need in dragging him into this ordeal.

you bake a little cake for yourself a couple day in advance, just like you used to at your old home. you stash it away for when night rolls around and it’s just yourself, you can enjoy it the way you have for years.

when you were little you would gawk and stare at the lavish parties your father and his wife threw for your sisters, the balls and the presents growing bigger and bigger the more they grew up. you’d mimic their behaviors on your own, dressing up in the best dress you had (a hand me downs from your older sister that never fit quite right) and pretended you too were surrounded by a room of people as they watched you eat cake.

and sure, when you were younger you’d feel embarrassed eating by yourself surrounded by drawings of people you’d prop up on chairs, but it’s become tradition now (not the drawings, you realize now how depressing that must’ve looked).

so the night of your birthday you take the cake you had hidden in the back of the ice den out, bringing it to the corner of the kitchens where the cooks kept the little table for themselves and began cutting into it, cursing yourself for freezing it too long.

you serve yourself a piece, hunching over your plate as you dug in with your fork, eating in silence.

you write a little note for the cooks to enjoy the rest of it as you place it back in the den once you were done, going back to your room for the night.

the following day when you were walking around the library looking for something new you spot gojo talking to one of his advisors, his eyes focused and his tilted slightly as he gave him all of his attention.

you pause, holding back until you were sure they were done with their conversation to reveal yourself from behind one of the looming bookshelves, watching as the advisor bowed his head to you before he left.

the crease between his eyebrows relaxes, his eyes softening when you waved at him, your smile gleaming.

“i didn’t see you for breakfast,” he tells you as he walks over to where you were standing, pushing some of his hair back as you grin apologetically.

“i slept in,” you admit sheepishly, tired from last night as you play with your fingers, “i also might’ve been a little snippy with alina when she tried to wake me up.”

gojo snorts, absentmindedly pulling some books out and putting them back in as he rests his side on the wall of binded pages.

“baking?” he asks simply, knowing you well enough to know that the only reason you’d miss breakfast would be because you spent the majority of the night in the kitchens.

“how’d you know?” you tease, crossing your arms over your chest as he tsks, his fingers picking some stray leaves from your head from earlier when you were walking through the gardens.

“i help whisk the butter and sugar when you don’t feel like it. i don’t know why you keep me out of the kitchens,” he murmurs petulantly and you chuckle a little bit, rolling your eyes at his antics.

“it’s for your own sake,” you tell him, a glimmer in your eyes that he’d chase around the world the see, “and besides, i wasn’t baking. i was enjoying the fruits of my previous labor.”

gojo squints a little bit, confused. usually you eat what you make the night of, sometimes bringing a plate by his room if it’s not too late.

“when else did you bake this week without me?” he asks, trying to mask his hurt with a playful grin, trying to recall the times he heard back from one of his guards that you were down in the kitchens.

“only a few days ago, when i trying to assemble the cake.” you say with a shrug. his mouth opens in shock, a pout on his lips as he averts your gaze.

“you had cake? without me?” he almost whines it out and you shove his boot with the point of your shoe, trying to calm him down.

who would’ve thought the most fearsome warrior of the north, hell, the entire kingdom, would have such a sweet-tooth?

“it was small,” you try to reason, “and you wouldn’t have liked the flavors. it’s a recipe from the west.”

gojo groans, stepping closer to you as he gently flick your nose, watching the way you’d scrunch it up in annoyance.

“but you know i love cake,” he murmurs, “and you said you’d only bake it for birthdays…you lied to me,” his pink lips pull into a pout, one that you want to kiss off his gorgeous face, and control yourself from letting the heat get too much in your cheeks.

“well,” you quirk a brow, “if it helps, it was for a birthday.”

gojo looks up from the ground, brows furrowed once again in confusion.

“mine?” he says a little hopefully, as if it was anywhere near his birthday.

you snort, shaking your head as your finger pokes itself in your chest.

“mine…you idiot,” you mutter under your breath, wondering how somebody how his caliber could be so daft.

but he doesn’t seem to find it funny, in fact, his brows seem to meet in the middle, the pout gone form his lips as he frowns.

“what do you mean yours? your birthday isn’t for…? isn’t it in…?” he tries to think, think back to when your birthday was, only to realize he didn’t know, to realize he’d never asked you about it, always assuming it’d be something told to him.

“it’s nothing big,” you try to say quickly to cover up the awkwardness, “i usually just make myself a cake and get it over with.” you say with a chuckle but he’s not finding anything about this humorous.

great, you think bitterly to yourself, said something else and fucked it up. you wince, wishing you’d just stayed quite.

“your birthday was yesterday?” gojo asks, his voice hushed and heavy. he looks like he cares, he looks sad. you find it unnerving.

“i,” you laugh uncomfortably, fidgeting with your ring as you swallow thickly, “i think so...? i eyeball the day every year.”

truth be told you done really know what day you were born. your father never remembered the exact date seeing how the nature of his relationship with your mother was so secretive, and nobody ever found the true date out. so usually you find a date each year that you think matches with what time season you were born with and go with that.

gojo feels like his heart has slowed, watching the way you shrink into yourself the way he notices you’d i when you feel like you’ve done something wrong.

“eyeball?” he bites out and you wince at his tone, and he wishes he could take it back and start over again without the bite of a general in his words.

“look gojo it’s nothing, really,” you insist, waving him off as you try to escape, shifting around so you were closer to the doorway, “it’s just a day, it’s nothing important,” you tell him reassuringly.

but he doesn’t believe you, running a hand down his face as he pinches at the bridge of your nose.

“why do you write these things off as if they’re not important?” his voice is deep, echoing around the walls of the vast library as your hold your breath, “why don’t you-”

“because it’s not important,” you say again, your voice a little bit harsher, “it’s just a day.”

his eyes drown in blue, dark and wavering like the shoreline.

“then why bake a cake?” he snaps, not in anger but in genuine questioning, and your face falls a little.

maybe because years ago you thought it was something important. maybe because you want that little girl to feel like she matters.

he gapes, knowing he said something wrong, but can’t speak.

“i…” you open your mouth then close it again, looking away from him as you shrug, “i have to go, i - um, shoko asked for me.” you lie lamely, not caring as you bow your head down slightly to him before you briskly leave.

and maybe if you turned back you could see the way his face fell too.

but with all the maybes you’ve told yourself no to, you’ve grown accustomed to the belief that every maybe wouldn’t have a chance of becoming something.

because maybe if you had actually told him the truth when you wanted to a couple days ago, that you’d like to celebrate with him, he wouldn’t shut you down the way you’d imagined he would and maybe he would’ve said yes.

but for now you convince yourself that this man is a friend who pretends like he cares. because never once have you heard of a man caring so deeply for somebody that he’d shed a tear over the fact that you’d celebrate your birthday alone. but then again, you’ve never met a man like gojo before.

[yeyinde]

The 141 finding out you've never had sex.

Just casually drinking, playing cards. A joke causes it to slip out.

body electric: the virgin edition

Gaz, the instigator, mutters something about not having been fucked in ages. this springs up a sudden surge of comradery, because, yeah. neither have they.

Soap's devote Catholicism (i like to imagine) leaves little room for flippant intimacy. he tries to be a good boy. key word, of course, being: tries. but the last serious relationship was years ago. back when he was grunt. he's pent up. abstinence, yeah? he holds it tight in his hand. but the thing about fists is that they're often mistaken for anger. Soap's a realist masquerading as an optimist. he knows whoever falls into his jowls next will be a MacTavish by the time he's through with them. and commitment. well. his comes at a price. a hefty one.

Ghost prefers casual flings where he doesn't have to take any clothes off. unzips his trousers, frees his cock, and then tries to pretend he's a real, flesh and blood, human. to feel something, anything, except a vacuum between hollow bones. but his tastes are peculiar. on the side of unhinged. he hasn't found the perfect body yet satiate himself with.

Price. well. with his bloody hands, he thinks he'd rather not dirty the same people he swears to protect. and divorcing at the age of 30 does that to a man, maybe. his role as a captain (an excuse in retrospect) also keeps him from unleashing his wants. the very same ones that are probably best under lock and key, anyway. it's just for the best, really. something he ought to do because the moment he has another chance to sink his teeth into someone's neck, he'll tear them apart. break them into pieces.

despite bringing it up, Gaz knows the real reason he's single is because he's pushy. he wants. so he takes. and then takes some more. more. more. until his gullet is full of the person he's obsessed with. carrying them around in his breast pocket everywhere he goes. the perfect mate. the one he can shower with unfettered affection. a deluge, in all honesty. one with the ideation to drown. biblical floods. trapped beneath him. he likes it more than he should, but. singedom, then, he supposes.

and then you roll the dice. admit, sheepishly, that, technically, you have them all beat. zero is always lesser than five, ten, twenty. but it's this misstep—zero, never—that catches their attention.

suddenly, you're not surrounded by kin but a pack of wolves. all hungry in their own ways, all starving. it just makes sense to quench their hunger with you, doesn't it? friend, ally. pretty little thing. so sweet for them. and perfectly mouldable. putty they shape to their hearts desire. the perfect mate.

Soap grips his rosary. the sign of the cross, heavenly Father and Holy Spirit, digging into his palm like the burn of a baptism. what's devotion if not pain? he cuts himself on the gold. offers blood of the sacrament to whoever might be listening, and leans in, sniffing.

Price's knuckles are white. he leans back, hidden in shadows. all you can see is spark of burning orange from his cigar as he takes mouthful after mouthful of smoke, contemplating. assessing.

"that so?" he doesn't even need to look at his Lieutenant to know that the man has gone still. too bad for you, it's not from shock.

Ghost barely holds himself back. keeps tight in his seat. fists clenching. unclenching. he has a good enough read on the people around him to see the unfiltered desire ripping across their face. scorching. but to bite, with his mouthful of jagged, seraded teeth; ones meant to rip, break, tear, would ruin you. permanently. unequivocally. and—

"wanna give it a go?" all eyes turn to Gaz, electric in his seat. eyes smouldering umbre. "i mean, you trust us the most, don't you?" us. it's stunning, he thinks, the way Gaz can weave tapestry in the air like this with just his words. one tangled like shibari binds. "and we care for you a lot. we'll be gentle. it's up to you, of course, but—"

Soap's bloody hand disappears under the table. you gasp. "yer askin' fer it, ain't ye? beggin' so pretty fer it."

"n-no, i—"

"mind your manners." Price. his voice is chiselled into char, authoritative; low. a lulling command spoken in a breath of smoke. "and don't lie, love. or i'll have to take you over my knee."

the tension is thick. Soap's arm moves, slow. deliberate. Ghost has clench his jaw to avoid bearing his teeth. snarling.

Gaz cuts it with a knife. hews compliance into your skin with a fine needle point. "it's okay. we'll take such good care'a you. make you feel so good."

your submission is a heavy thing. oppressive. the shallow dip of your chin, the blistering heat simmering under your flesh, burning right, is the prettiest fuckin' thing he's ever seen. he does clench his jaw this time. tight, tight. tight

until something pops.

"okay." you yield. head bowed. beautifully submissive.

when he looks around, catches the predatory crackle in the air. his hackles raise. immediate. instinctual. and ah, right.

it's easy to forget he's surrounded by a wild pack of stray dogs. starving ones, too.

[wonderjanga]

Marvel Breaking the Fourth Wall

Only, he’s not. He’s talking to the Divine Twitch Chat, but just to be a little shit, he’ll talk to them on some Dora type of nonsense. They eat it up cause they don’t know what Dora is. They’re just happy they get to interact with the stream.

A great example of this was when Billy got kidnapped by Sivana for the 50 million time. He got out of his binds, transformed into Marvel, busted through the doors and knocked out some guards. He was then met with a decision. He could either go left or right. Right lead somewhere unknown, and left lead to an exit. Time to consult the chat!

Marvel: *talking in Dora/Amanda the Adventure voice* “Hmm… What do you think?” *Turns to a random direction as if he’s talking to someone* “Should we go left or right?”

Solomon: “I believe it would be wise to go left, Billy-”

Heracles and Achilles: “RIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!”

Atlas: “No, stupidheads. That’s probably gonna lead him to robots.”

Mercury: “That’s exactly why we should go.”

Zeus: “I agree with Hermes.” *just wants to spite Atlas*

Marvel: “The votes are in! It looks like we’re going… right!” *starts walking right*

He in fact did run into a bunch of robots. But hey, at least he found Sivana. Back to jail he goes.

Also, someone recovered this footage from a security camera and they saw Marvel ask the question and just stand still in complete silence for a solid minute before saying the thing about the votes. They posted this online and he got called a schizo like twenty times over. Marvel was later brought in so Black Canary could have a little session with him.

Marvel: “Ms. Canary, I’m not crazy I swear.”

Black Canary: “Cap, I’m not saying that, but well, this footage suggests that you might have some… problems.”

Marvel: “But I don’t. Pinky promise. I was just talking to the gods in my head. That’s it.”

Black Canary: “Mhm. Mhm. I see. I see.” *scribbles down on notepad*

Marvel: *concerned* “What’re you writing down?”

Then, there was another incident where some guy tried robbing an old, homeless man that Billy knew. Marvel took him up to a building and let him dangle by his leg off the side of it. What could he say, the old man gave him a buck anytime he could. Billy’s loyal like that.

Marvel: *does the Dora/Amanda voice again* “Hmm… It seems we’re stuck with a decision.”

Heracles: “He’s doing the voice! He’s doing the voice!”

Marvel: “What do you think we should do?” *turns to no one again* “Should we drop him?”

Robber: “WHAT?” *stops flailing around*

Marvel: “Or should we turn him into the police?”

Zeus: “DROP HIM.”

Solomon: “Do NOT do that, Billy.”

Atlas: “I agree, drop him.”

Achilles: “Drop.”

Mercury: “Ooh! Ooh! Drop him, then catch him just when he’s about to hit the ground.”

Heracles: “I second that.”

Marvel: “Just kidding! This isn’t up for vote. Alley-oop!” *slings robber over his shoulder and flies to a police station*

Gods: “BOOOOOOOOOO”

The police report for this got leaked and now the residents of Fawcett got to know their lovable teddy bear hero dangled a man off the side of a building. Also, this is a recent thing by the way. Billy only started doing this about a couple weeks ago so all of the Fawcett citizens are so concerned because he never used to do this before. They’re all like, oh my God, is Cap going crazy? Point is, they’re worried.

One of their ways of showing they care that’s still fresh on Billy’s mind is when he was taking a dealer to the police station and the man offered him some of his stash because and he quotes:

Dealer: “Hey, man, you saved my kid brother from getting kidnapped. You’re good in my book. You gotta help people out especially if they help you.”

This stunned Billy a little if he was honest. He didn’t know if he should’ve been touched or offended. He was offered drugs, but I was as a token of appreciation. He’ll go with a little bit of both instead.

[sombrashe]

fingertips ∿ nam-gyu x reader x thanos

smut

content reader has a vagina, threesome, oral m!receiving, fingering, drug mention (reader takes one of thanos' pills)

notes the longer version of this post

"Two truths and a lie, ready? Go."

"I have two sisters, I've been out of the country, and I breathe air."

The guys whisper among themselves each one dramatically looking in your direction every so often. You played with your nails, weeks unemployed has led them to get rather long. Scratching at a dry patch above your elbow they finally have an answer.

"The lie is-"

"Wait, shit. It's just one lie? I did one truth, ha. Well, I fucked up. Your turn."

You give them a wide smile, your eyes drooping as whatever Thanos gave you started to take hold. They look at each other before Thanos takes your hands in his. Long fingers bind your hands together and you're yanked.

Embarrassment floods heat to your face as you land sprawled over his legs. Your hands are pinned under you and your only solace is the placement of the bunks kept you three out of most people's view. Just as fast as you were pulled down, you're righted back into a sitting position. Only this time your back is pressed against Nam-gyus chest.

"Two truths and a lie. I'll go."

"I am a rapper, this is Nam-sus first time trying these pills, me and him fucked before."

"Well, the lie is obviously that you two fucked before." They seem to pent up to have fucked before or else they would have again by now.

"Wrong." Nam-gyu lifts his sleeve and shows off the track marks littering his inner elbow. You look between the two of them and their hungry grins as you take in the information. Then you start laughing. It's soft at first, a few quick bursts of laughter mixed with silence.

"That shit would be funny as fuck." Your laugh has upgraded to a genuine cackle as you imagined it. Leaning back, you genuinely can't figure out which one would be on top. Thanos has too much of an ego to bottom but Nam-gyu would be the perfect amount of pathetic to top Thanos.

There's a shout and a ring-clad hand covers your mouth. You all wait a moment, giggles muffled behind flesh. When you've finally calmed down enough you take Nam-gyus hand and hold it against your heart.

"Funny as fuck." You mouthed to a grinning Thanos. He leans forward and tilts his head as if he's going in for a kiss. Passing your lips he whispers low enough for you two to hear.

"Wanna know the story?"

You rub your cheek against his with an excited yes. He pulls away and his surprisingly still fluffy hair tickles your nose. Getting comfortable, you and Nam-gyu have upgraded from a simple hand on your chest to playing with each other's fingers as you listened.

"Our first time smoking together. It was just weed really. Well, we had just smoked a blunt. I think we also did Ketamine, maybe some coke. We start smoking and next thing you know we're both hard and with no señoritas around we took care of each other."

You listen intently. Your lips parted and your head slotted against Nam-gyus neck. Wow. You blink in his direction for a moment.

"Who fucked who?"

"That's not important. Now we need to know if you're gonna join us."

"Obviously, but first I want to know who fucked who."

"You let us have some fun and we'll show you."

Nam-gyu finally speaks up and you sit up at the prospect. Grabbing one hand from each boy you place them over your chest and give their hands a squeeze for them. Slipping out of the bed you pad your way to the door in the far corner. You don't hear them but you know they're both right behind you.

"I have to go. So do they."

The guard hesitates for a moment but eventually lets you three out. Staying a few steps ahead of them you walk up the stairs with them trailing behind you. Entering the bathroom you make sure it's empty before pulling both in for a kiss. It's messy and doesn't work out quite right but you'll be damned if you didn't get your fill. Pulling away you're already panting with restrained excitement.

Neither one wastes any time stripping your top half completely naked. Shivering in the conditioned room, goosebumps litter your skin as you wait. It takes a few minutes, both admiring your tits. A few minutes is all they last before you're being nipped at. Thanos has teeth on your shoulders while Nam-gyu focuses on your jawline. Each one takes a handful and starts toying with your nipples. The sharp pain of teeth against flesh tingles your toes while the pleasure from their eager hand movements has your thighs clenching. You don't know what to do with your hands so you keep them balled up at your side. Only once blood starts staining their teeth do they pull away.

Pain is replaced with a tingling sensation as the pill covers your senses. Wetting your bottom lip you sink to your knees in from of Nam-gyu. Your jacket is folded to kneel on and you look back at Thanos. Once he joins you reach up and yank their sweats down with a little too much enthusiasm. With Thanos, it's a clean pull, just his sweats, his briefs restraining his cock. With Nam-gyu you accidentally catch his briefs in your pull and his cock springs free to slap against you. He lets out a laugh and you glare up at him motioning with chomping teeth what you'll do if he continues. Covering his laugh with a cough you go back to removing Thanos' briefs. You watch as his cock springs free and slaps against his abdomen.

Biting at your nail you take in the scene; two leaking cocks waiting for you to play with. Lifting your chin you maintain eye contact as you lick a stripe up Thanos' cock. Your tongue follows the small vein on the underside before you give his tip small kisses. Pulling away you mimic your actions with Nam-gyus and memorize each of their reactions. Taking a moment to gather some spit you let your tongue drip some down onto the tip of Thanos' cock. Using your hand you jack him off while your mouth is occupied with taking a few inches of Nam-gyus down your throat. Of course, Thanos starts complaining.

"How come he gets head first? I am Thanos the Great, your mouth should be over here."

You flip him off before continuing your movements. Taking Nam-gyu further your nose tickles as his bush brushes against it. Spending a few minutes ignoring Thanos and annoyance has you fucking up your rhythm.

"Shut up for two minutes and I'll give you head."

Going back to bobbing your head the silence doesn't last long. Thanos continues to voice his concerns for a few more minutes until he catches Nam-gyus face change. Hands tangle in your hair and drool drips down your chin. Silence falls over the bathroom and the only sounds that are amplified are your muffled hums and the wet movement of your hands. Two minutes wiz by and you reward Thanos by popping off Nam-gyus dick and onto his.

You work your way down until he's a lump in your throat. Bobbing your head you're only able to get a few breaths in before he's shoving your head down until you're choking on spit and pre-cum. His sounds are much more intimate. Low groans and praise fill the space. Nam-gyu only participates with heavy breathing and long sighs. A little while later you're being yanked off Thanos with a sharp inhale.

Your hand is replaced and both jack the other off until they finish on your face. You're given little warning to close your eyes but you make perfect time and you get a rush of adrenaline. When their breathing evens, you blink your eyes open. Standing, you pop your back and look between them.

Painted nails grip the clean skin of your jaw. Each one spends moments cleaning your face with their tongues. Every so often their lips brush against one another's and they spend time swapping cum. You're thoroughly covered in spit when they're done.

Groaning you grab some paper towels and clean your face with a damp one. Turning you see them both situated and talking amongst themselves. Pushing past them you gather your shirt and jacket and throw it back on. A manicured nail is placed against your chest and you're pushed back against the wall. Nam-gyu slots himself between you and the wall and lets you push up against him.

Two sets of hands are shoved down the front of your sweats. Long fingers pet themselves past your folds and into your dripping core. Cool metal causes your abdomen to clench as it presses against your skin. Your clit is pulled and scratched at. Instead of pain, you feel pure ecstasy at the feeling.

"Oh, holy fucking God."

Grinding your hips forward, deft fingers move in and out of you. Slick sounds fill your burning ears. Burying your face into Nam-gyus neck he leans forward to give you the escape. You're played with for only a few minutes before your orgasm washes over you. Your earlier activities having worked you up enough to cum twice already.

Your jaw clenches and your body tightens. Leaning there you attempt to catch your breath. Removing themselves from you, fingers are then shoved into your mouth and you're ordered to clean them. Whining around them you suck Thanos' fingers clean, your tongue moving between his digits to clean every inch. Pulling his hand away from your mouth you take the back of your hand and remove the extra drool that fell down your chin.

Thanos grins and wraps his arm around your shoulder. Laughing he starts going off about a rap he plans to complete once he gets out of here. You catch Nam-gyu on his other side holding onto his sleeve as he gleefully listens to Thanos ramble on.

[doremimosasol]

⋆˙⟡ Just thinking about MATTHEO RIDDLE's love language. He'd be such a lover boy when he finally has you, always reminding you of the love his heart bears.

Doves, cats, bunnies... Mattheo would succeed in enchanting parchment into every shape or form, letting them delicately land on your desk. The paper would gently graze the tips of your fingers as if urging them to absorb the words he wrote.

"Darling, the sun should be jealous of your radiant smile." — "That ribbon in your hair reminds me of the string that binds me to you." — "To love a heart as beautiful as yours has been the biggest gift in my life."

Mattheo would often take walks on the school grounds to drown out his sorrows, preferably alone but not without keeping you in the back of his mind. You’d often receive flowers — “Almost as beautiful as you.” —, stones shaped like a heart, unicorn hair… Every single walk, he’d search for something to gift you.

To him, defense against the dark arts classes were rubbish. — “They don’t teach you to properly defend yourself, so let me, please.” — He’d teach you to use dark magic while also letting you learn its weaknesses. It’d bring you two into the late hours of the night, hidden in the room of requirement. Always making sure to keep lingering touches on your hips, wrist, and shoulders. — “Just so you know the proper form.” bullshit

Having your own dorm room? No, you didn’t, he’d plead with you to stay in his all the time. He’d use excuses like ‘just protecting you’ or ‘keeping your nightmares away’. Silly guy. He just couldn’t handle not holding you through the night.

He’d often give you massages, driving away the tension in your shoulders. His lips would often follow the motion of his hands until no spot would be left unkissed.

Intimate times had two sides. Either he’d be pretty rough — not without telling you how beautiful you look — other times he’d be so soft. But not once he’d forget to take proper care of you after. Showering together sometimes for another round and kissing the skin painted by his love, or just taking a relaxing bath with your back resting against his chest.

He'd spend months to find a way to sneak out of Hogwarts for a weekend trip to London. Taking romantic strolls through the city, ending the day with his coat wrapped around you and a hot chocolate in your hands to keep you warm enough.

His biggest love language would be words of encouragement and soft touches. Often combined.

“How’d my love sleep?” — “Has my pretty girl eaten breakfast today?” — “My smart girlfriend, always working so hard.” — “I’m proud of you.” —

— “I love you.”

[downbad4sylus]

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

synopsis: You and Sylus visit a coffee shop and unexpectedly run into Doctor Zayne.

content: sylus x afab!reader; reader is MC; use of Y/N; pre-relationship; zayne cameo; just, so much fluff; mostly proofread

word count: ~2k

a/n: see guys, i’m capable of writing not-angst. also can you tell i have a headcanon about them holding hands while linked or what lol. anyway, i love exploring the dynamics of sylus with the other LIs, i have another one brewing ft. our resident doctor (NOT ANGST) and i’ll probably do some with the others in the future. if anyone has anything they want me try and write for them, please feel free to ask, im happy to do so :)

Dragging Sylus out in Linkon City during the day was never easy, but when a certain energy linkage was keeping you locked to each other’s sides and you just had to have your morning coffee, Sylus was a bit more agreeable.

So there you both stood, waiting in line to order. You’d developed a bit of a habit of holding hands as you’d long since grown used to the linkage binding your wrists. Sylus’s hand dwarfed yours, something that took time to get accustomed to, but now the feeling of his fingers laced with yours was a comfort, and admittedly something you often craved without the linkage.

“Will you let me pay for you this time?” you asked Sylus, peering up at him.

He breathed a low chuckle. “Don’t think so, sweetie,” he replied.

“You never let me pay for anything,” you grumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

You tugged Sylus along as you stepped up to the cashier. After placing both your orders (and begrudgingly allowing Sylus to pay), you waited off to the side for your names to be called.

“I’d like to go for a walk after this, if that’s okay,” you said to Sylus. It was overcast today, weather Sylus was more comfortable to be in during the day, you’d noticed.

“That’s fine,” Sylus said. “Where would you like to go?”

You beamed at him. “Actually, there’s a park not far from here, and since the leaves are starting to turn the scenery should be perfect for a—”

“Y/N?”

You whirled around at the sound of your name, spoken by an all too familiar voice.

“Zayne?”

Sure enough, there was your primary care physician, standing with his brow slightly furrowed and his gaze locked on yours and Sylus’s intertwined hands.

“I wasn’t expecting to run into you here,” you commented, drawing his attention from your hand to your eyes.

“This coffee shop isn’t far from the hospital, I stop here in the mornings quite often,” Zayne said. His hazel eyes flicked to Sylus. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Oh!” you exclaimed. “Right, Doctor Zayne this is Sy—uh, Skye, he’s…” you trailed off, panic seizing your mind as you fumbled for any explanation as to why you were here with Sylus, holding his hand, that wasn’t the actual truth.

“Her boyfriend,” Sylus lied smoothly, sticking out his unoccupied hand at Zayne. “It’s nice to finally meet you, doctor, Y/N’s told me a lot about you.”

You missed the nearly imperceptible flare of Zayne’s eyes at Sylus’s answer, too busy short circuiting over the fact that Sylus had just introduced himself as your boyfriend. When had you gone from “besties” to “boyfriend?”

“Nice to meet you too,” Zayne said politely, shaking Sylus’s hand. “Y/N, you never told me you were seeing someone.”

Sylus laughed. “We only just became official.”

You finally managed to regain your composure. “Right, and I haven’t been by for an appointment since then, otherwise I would’ve told you,” you said, bolstering the lie.

Zayne nodded, as if satisfied by your answers. “Well, then I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“Oh, Zayne please, that’s not necessary,” you insisted. A barista called for your orders, which Sylus grabbed and handed to you before taking his own. “Zayne, why don’t you come sit with us? Unless you have important doctor business to take care of.”

Zayne’s lips tilted ever so slightly at your teasing remark. “Sure, I have some time before I have to get back.”

Once Zayne received his coffee, the three of you found an unoccupied table and sat, with you and Sylus on one side, hands still clasped, and Zayne on the other.

“So, how long have you two been seeing each other?” Zayne asked with clinical precision, his stare just as sharp.

“Quite a few months now,” Sylus said. His bright red eyes focused on you. “Y/N practically fell on my doorstep, and I guess you could say the rest is history.”

You snorted, though your cheeks were as red as Sylus’s eyes. “That’s one way to describe it,” you muttered.

“What, sweetie? Would you explain it differently?” Sylus asked, raising a brow.

You shook your head. “No, yours was fine,” you quipped.

“How kind,” Sylus drawled.

You glanced at Zayne and found him watching the two of you with his head tilted. Mirth danced in his hazel eyes, as if observing the “happy couple” was amusing.

“How’s work been, Doctor Zayne?” you asked.

“Fine, the usual,” he answered. “And you? Any injuries you haven’t told me about either?”

“No,” you said firmly. “I’ve been very careful.”

Zayne’s lips curled. “I have a hard time believing that. Skye, has our Hunter been careful lately?”

Sylus’s fingers twitched around yours but his expression didn’t falter. “To everyone’s surprise, she has. No secret injuries to report.”

Zayne made a satisfied hum. “What do you do for work Skye?”

You stiffened. Nothing caused you more anxiety than when someone asked Sylus too many questions. He was a practiced smooth talker, able to craft a believable lie without a second thought, but you still couldn’t help worrying. The last thing you wanted was for him to be recognized, for him to be taken away from you.

Sylus rubbed his thumb along yours soothingly. “I own a few small businesses here and there,” he told the doctor.

“He runs a fruit stall!” you chimed in excitedly.

“That’s one of the few,” Sylus chuckled.

“I had some of his watermelon once at a work function he happened to be catering,” you continued. The very same work function Sylus had called you “besties.” Sylus really was your best friend though, you realized so suddenly your heart practically skipped a beat.

“Well, I’m glad that business is good then,” Zayne said.

You and Zayne then slipped into a casual conversation, catching up on the recent happenings in each other’s lives, while Sylus remained more of a quiet observer.

Actually, Sylus was debating on whether or not to kill (or seriously maim) your primary care physician.

Sylus would never admit to being jealous, but his chest tightened watching you speak to the doctor, hearing the way you laughed at his eerily similar dry humor. He knew you’d been childhood friends and had a long history, but it certainly didn’t help that the way Zayne looked at you was the exact same way Sylus looked at you. And he hadn’t missed the flash of longing in Zayne’s eyes when he’d first spotted your clasped hands at the counter. It was why Sylus had gone out of his way to introduce himself as your boyfriend, even if it meant speeding up his timeline with you a little.

However, Sylus couldn’t deny that Zayne’s role as your primary care physician was an important one, crucial even. He was a renowned cardiac surgeon and an expert in Protocore Syndrome, making him perhaps the only person equipped to help with your heart condition. So Sylus would let him live, because you would be upset with him if he didn’t, and because he was a valuable asset.

Finishing the last of his coffee, Zayne flipped his wrist, checking the time on his watch. “I’m afraid I have to get going now, my break is almost over,” he declared, rising from his seat. “It was nice meeting you Skye, and I’ll see you for your next check up soon, Y/N. No getting hurt in the meantime, okay?”

“Hey! I told you I was being careful!” you exclaimed.

Zayne gave Sylus a withering look. “It’s good to know there’s someone else who understands Y/N’s penchant for danger.”

Sylus recognized the comment for what it was, a white flag thrown at his feet.

Brow cocked and mouth tilted, Sylus picked it up. “Her recklessness knows no bounds.”

“Since when did this become a gang-up-on-Y/N session?” you questioned.

Both Zayne and Sylus chuckled.

“Thank you for the invitation,” Zayne said. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.”

“I’m sure,” Sylus replied.

“It was nice seeing you Doctor Zayne!” you called after him as he swiftly took his leave.

You and Sylus left shortly thereafter, going to the park you had mentioned to walk amongst the multicolored trees. The linkage dissipated on the way over, but Sylus never let go of your hand.

And now alone with him, your thoughts spiraled.

You couldn’t deny that you had feelings for him, you had for quite a while. You two had been spending a lot of time together recently, whether it was you frequenting Onychinus’s base and ruining your sleep schedule, or him staying over at your apartment and ruining his sleep schedule. But even so, you weren’t sure if Sylus felt the same about you, and now that he’d so casually introduced himself as your boyfriend, you didn’t know what to think.

“I think I see steam coming out of your ears, sweetie.”

You whipped your head toward him. “Why would you say that?”

He smirked. “You’re thinking very loudly. Tell me, what is it?”

It was hard to deny him when he spoke so softly, something he reserved for you and you alone.

“Why did you say you were my boyfriend?” you asked quietly, averting your gaze.

“Because it was easier than explaining our actual relationship,” Sylus said simply.

“And what, exactly, is our actual relationship?”

His brow quirked. “I was under the impression we were something far more than just boyfriend and girlfriend, unless I’ve misread the situation.”

You pulled him to a stop, gaping at him. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Of course I’m being serious, when have I ever not been?” Sylus tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Have I misread the situation, sweetie?”

It was rare to see Sylus nervous, if that was what you could call it.

You shook your head. “No, I just—I had no idea you felt that way.”

Sylus huffed. “Y/N, I told you that I adore you, that there is no love purer than mine, what else could I have meant by that?”

“I don’t know,” you murmured.

He brought your entwined hands up to his lips, kissing the back of yours. “Talk to me, kitten.”

“Are you saying you love me?” you blurted.

Sylus grinned. “I am,” he said.

“Then say it,” you demanded.

He tugged your hand and you fell into his chest. His free hand threaded into your hair and tilted your head up to look at him, into those mesmerizing red eyes.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said, his deep voice so tender it made your heart flutter.

“Sylus,” you breathed. You reached up and cupped his cheek, tears welling in your eyes. “I love you too.”

He huffed a disbelieving chuckle before pressing the most gentle kiss to your forehead. “We should’ve run into your doctor sooner,” he murmured against your skin.

You reared back, slapping his chest. “Don’t ruin our moment!”

Sylus only laughed in response.

Finally letting go of your hand, he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you impossibly closer. Your own arms twined around his neck, stretching on your tip toes to better maintain eye contact.

“So where does this leave us?” you asked.

Sylus shrugged a shoulder. “Where do you want it to leave us?”

You smiled. “Well, I guess you’re my boyfriend now, even though you never formally asked me to be your girlfriend.”

His lips twitched. “Would you like me to perform a grand gesture?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

“All right, kitten, then I hope you look forward to it.”

[puckstories]

Forever ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Reader is mentioned having curly hair/wearing glasses. Fluff. Kinda cringe but it’s a proposal so I’d consider that acceptable (: Established relationship. Not edited.

Summary; Quinn proposes

Word Count; 2k

Author’s note; Didn’t realize this is my second fic that takes place on the living room sofa, but it’s written so I’ll just dump it here. Would love to hear your thoughts if you have any + reblogs are appreciated. -Honey

Quinn had been captivated by you from the very first time you said his name. There was something about the way it fell from your lips—soft and velvety, with a subtle rasp that sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn’t just the sound of your voice; it was the way you spoke to him, with a warmth that wrapped around his heart like a favorite song. Every time you said his name, it made his chest tighten, his pulse quicken. And you said it often.

You didn’t rely on the usual pet names his past girlfriends had favored—sweet nothings like "baby" or "babe." No, you chose his name, always. When you called for him, it was, “Quinn, can you grab this?” or “Quinn, come here.” When you told him you loved him, you didn’t let the words hang abstract in the air. You made them personal: “I love you, Quinn.” Each syllable was deliberate, an anchor tying you to him.

It wasn’t long before he realized he couldn’t get enough of it. Just six months into your relationship, his mind began wandering toward something far bigger. He found himself daydreaming about the future—your shared future. He pictured you standing across from him, framed by flowers and sunlight, saying his name again, but this time in wedding vows that would bind you together forever. The thought of hearing you say, “I do,” in front of your friends and family was enough to leave him breathless.

You hadn’t just made him feel loved—you’d made him feel seen, known, and completely yours.

“Quinn.” Your voice cuts through his wandering thoughts, pulling him sharply back into the present. It’s not loud, but it carries—a perfect mix of warmth and clarity that only you could manage. He blinks, momentarily disoriented, before his gaze finds you.

There you are, a vision that steals his breath all over again. He can hardly believe his luck—that he gets to see you like this, so at ease, so unencumbered, and utterly captivating. You’re seated at the kitchen table, papers scattered around you in a casual chaos as you focus on grading. The soft, golden hue from the overhead light bathes you in a warm glow, making you look almost otherworldly.

His lips twist into a small smile, like he hasn’t already seen your outfit today—though, of course, he has. Worn sweatpants, and his old UMICH shirt, the one you stole and now practically live in while at home. Your curly hair is piled into a loose bun, and your glasses sit low on your nose.

It had been two months since he’d first thought about proposing—two months of tucking that desire away, hiding it behind everyday moments and careful smiles. He’d never been in this deep with a woman before. The idea of marriage had always felt like something distant, meant for other people. But now? Now it sat in the back of his mind like a quiet ache, present in every thought, in every small moment with you. Eight months together. Was that long enough? Was it too soon? He wasn’t sure. The last thing he wanted was to scare you off, to move faster than you were ready for, and somehow ruin this thing between you. It terrified him, the possibility of misstepping, of losing you. But it also terrified him to wait, to let too much time pass and risk you thinking he didn’t see forever with you.

These thoughts came and went, like tides he couldn’t stop. But it was moments like this—simple, domestic, and probably boring to anyone else—that hit him hardest.

"Earth to Quinn." Your voice rings out again, light and teasing, amusement flickering between your brows.

Quinn blinks, startled back to the moment, and clears his throat as though shaking off the thoughts had stolen him away once more. His gaze refocuses on you, a small, sheepish smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, baby. What is it?"

"You okay?" You ask, tilting your head. "I can hear your brain working all the way over here."

"Just zoned out." He says, with a dismissing shake of his head. He leans back against the armrest, running a hand through his hair to push it out of his face. "Yeah, just zoned out," he confirms, his voice low and a little distracted. "Sorry. Just... thinking about a few things."

You study him for a moment, noticing the way his teeth graze his bottom lip, and the way his hand lingers in his hair, like it’s searching for something to hold onto. You nod. "Wanna talk about it?"

His expression softens, the quiet earnestness of the question reaching into the place where that familiar ache still lingers. Almost instinctively, his hand stretches toward you—palm open, a silent invitation. He hesitates for just a breath, his fingers curling slightly as though unsure if he should follow through, before he nods. "C'mere a sec?"

You slide your glasses off and set them on the table, the quiet clink barely audible in the stillness of the room. Pushing back your chair, you cross the small space to Quinn. He’s waiting, his arms already lifting to pull you close the second you’re within reach. He tugs you down into his lap with an ease that feels like second nature, his thighs shifting apart instinctively to make room for you.

The moment you settle against him, his arms wrap tightly around your waist, and he buries his face against the curve of your neck. You feel the faint warmth of his breath on your skin as he exhales a deep sigh. The soft, sweet scent of you—the one he’s come to think of as home—floods his senses, easing some of the tension in his chest.

He pulls away, and leans his head back against the couch. For a moment, he just looks at you, his gaze lingering as though trying to memorize every detail, even though he knows he already has. The soft slope of your nose. The curve of your mouth. That small, almost invisible freckle just beneath your bottom lip—the one he always kisses when the warmth in his chest gets the better of him. His throat tightens, and he swallows hard, a nervous flutter building in his chest.

“What is it, Quinn?”

He takes a deep breath, his fingers brushing over your hips in gentle, absent strokes, the movement more reflex than thought. The rhythm steadies him, but only just. His mind churns, the weight of what he wants to say pressing hard against his chest. This is it, he thinks. He can’t hold it in any longer—the waiting, the second-guessing, the holding back. It’s all become unbearable. Whatever happens next, he has to let this out.

“Just thinking about us,” he begins, his voice quiet but steady. “Our relationship. How much I care about you. How lucky I feel to have you like this.” He pauses for a moment, like testing the ground beneath him before taking another step forward. “It’s been on my mind a lot lately.”

Your lips curve into a soft smile, the kind that makes him feel like gravity tilts toward you. "Yeah?" you say, your voice gentle, encouraging.

“Yeah,” he replies, barely above a murmur. His throat feels tight, his pulse hammering beneath his ribs, but he keeps his gaze locked on you. There’s something grounding about the way you look at him—like you’re holding the door open for him, not rushing him, just waiting. It gives him enough courage to keep going. “It’s just…” He exhales, his breath light and shallow. “You mean so much to me. More than I think I’ve been able to say out loud. And I keep thinking about what it would be like to make this permanent. To have this—us—be something that lasts forever.”

Your breathing hitches, the words catching you off guard, your chest tightening as his meaning begins to settle over you. Your eyes widen slightly, searching his face, and you can see it there—devotion, hope, and just the faintest hint of nerves. Your heart skips, and it feels like the entire room is holding its breath alongside you.

Quinn’s hands shift from your waist, moving up with slow, deliberate care. His fingers trace the curve of your cheek, brushing softly along your skin, his thumbs lingering just below your cheekbones. “Marry me?” he asks, the words soft, almost reverent, yet steady and sure in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s not a question tossed lightly into the air; it’s a truth he’s been holding onto, waiting for the right moment to share.

Your lips part, but for a second, no sound comes out. “M-Marry you?” The words tumble out unevenly, caught between shock and something else—something overwhelming and impossibly warm blooming in your chest.

“I want forever with you, baby,” he says, pausing for a moment before speaking again. "I know this is a shitty proposal, we're both at home in our pajamas, and I don't even have a ring yet, I just...I don't want to wait anymore. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life loving and taking care of you."

You swallow hard, your heart racing. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and a tremulous smile starts to curve your lips. “You… you want me forever?” The words are quiet, as though testing them out, wrapping your mind around the enormity of what he’s offering.

His lips twitch into a soft, almost shy smile, his forehead resting against yours now. “Forever and then some,” he murmurs. “If you’ll have me.”

A sudden, uncontrollable squeal escapes your lips, the kind you might have been embarrassed about in any other moment. But here, it feels perfect—pure, unfiltered joy. Before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning in, your lips crashing against his in a burst of energy and love. The kiss is messy, hurried, but it’s full of all the things you can’t quite put into words.

Quinn smiles against your lips, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he leans back against the sofa, taking you with him. The movement is unhurried this time, deliberate, as though he’s savoring every second. His hands settle firmly at your back, holding you close, like he never wants to let go. The kiss deepens briefly, his lips moving softly against yours, before the two of you finally break apart, breathless but smiling.

Your forehead comes to rest against his, your eyes fluttering closed for just a moment. His breath mingles with yours, warm and steady, and his thumbs brush tenderly along your sides as though grounding himself in the moment. You press your hands to his chest, feeling the rhythmic pounding of his heart, and it feels like it matches the erratic beat of your own.

“Yes,” you whisper, the word spilling out of you before you even realize it. Then it comes again, louder, stronger. “Yes, yes, Quinn. Yes!” The words are wrapped in laughter, your voice trembling with happiness.

Quinn exhales a shaky breath, relief and joy flooding his expression. His hands slide to your waist, his grip firm and steady, as his eyes meet yours. They’re shining now, soft but full of something deeper, something that makes your chest feel impossibly full. “Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice low and quiet, as though still needing confirmation, still needing to hear the word from you one more time.

“Yeah,” you say, grinning so wide your cheeks ache. “Forever, Quinn. I want forever with you, too.”

His lips curve into a broad, radiant smile—the kind that makes him look younger, freer, like every weight he’s been carrying has fallen away. He lets out a quiet laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear that,” he says softly, his thumb brushing along your cheek now. “You’ve just made me the happiest man alive, you know that?”

Tears prick your eyes, your laughter softening into something quieter, more emotional. You reach for his face, your fingers brushing against the rough stubble on his jaw. “I think we just made each other the happiest people alive.”

[thornescalling]

Have the bonus "I fucked up the blending mode" version because I think it looks pretty cool on it own!

As long as I live, they will not have you. Run.

[radiance1]

I have decided to continue this post.

It ain't gonna be much of a story but just me putting out my thoughts okay SO.

Damian walks around Gotham with purpose, why? To find Danny of course, after he was finally allowed out of the manor after he healed from their last encounter as Robin and Killer Croc's little follower. He finds Danny where he would normally.

In an alleyway.

They enter their usual song and dance, Danny throwing attacks and Damian redirecting, blocking and occasionally sending back one of his own before Killer Croc just crawls from a nearby sewer. Waylon questions why Damian keeps coming back to fight his nibling, and how Bruce Wayne just lets him go off to do what he's doing now.

Damian does not respond, instead he asks for Killer Croc's permission to take Danny out for today, leaving both mutants (He isn't quite sure if Danny is a mutant, but he has enhanced strength so, maybe) quite surprised. Killer Croc is a bit hesitantly, mostly because he doesn't want Danny out of his sight, but he also thinks it would be good for him to go out and interact with kids his age more.

Even if it's a rich kid.

So he agrees, and Danny gets to go along with Damian for the day and Damian? He doesn't know what to do actually, he came in fully prepared for a refusal and didn't plan that far.

So he takes Danny to a dog park. Then they get ice cream, and then he finds himself chiding Danny over his form and then they're now talking about animals.

And then both Danny and Damian get kidnapped while they were just walking. Which, incredibly rude and Damian doesn't like that he would have to wait for one of his siblings to come save the both of them when they're perfectly capable of its themselves.

But. Well, he has too.

Until Danny seemingly had enough, manages to get himself out of his bindings and throws the first punch, so Damian was obligated to help him at that point. Just as they were about to deal with the last few, Killer Croc busted through a wall and put the fear of Gotham into them.

Then Damian was freed (yes he did fight with his arms bound) he realized it was practically nighttime and he had to go home.

It made a headline, not surprising actually. But they questioned what exactly the relationship Damian, Danny and Killer Crocc had with each other. Not that he actually cared.

He had another, more proper, outing to plan.

Because he wasn't ever going to verbally admit it soon, but he sees Danny as a friend.