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lowkeyerror · 1 day ago

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Our Soul

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Notes: Requested, soulmate au, mostly fluff, like the smallest dash angst maybe

Summary: When searching for coven members, Agatha finds her soulmate. Her nerves about the woman being involved only grow when The Witches' Road turns out to be legit.

An: Sorry the request took so long, I did simplify it a bit I hope that it's still enjoyable.

Masterlist

Agatha made a mistake. The moment she had looked into Y/n’s eyes, she was sure of it. She’d always thought finding her soulmate would be this horrific thing. That the description of having your soul intertwined with someone else's sounded painfully, boring, and wasteful. Yet when she had it all wrong.

It was the soft pull of a flower to a summer breeze. It was if something warm finally reached her freezing soul. The souls were translucent with glowing specs shinning inside. Agatha’s, dark purple like her magic; Y/n's, golden like the tint of her irises sparkling in the sun. They twirled up together, two halves becoming one whole. Then they lay flat, into a singular form.

She visualized it, beautiful, all encompassing, and complete. However she was still horrified in some ways. She glanced at the paper with Y/n’s name scrawled across it and then back at her. It was too late to take back the offer. The way that Y/n's wyes lit up at the mention of the road was impossible to miss.

She’d have to do something about it. There was no way she was going to let her end up like the rest of the people on the list. Y/n dying was nowhere in Agatha’s plans.

Y/n made a mistake. She was sure of it when Agatha’s hand pulled her down on to the road. The way her mind had called Agatha’s hand a perfect fit for her’s. The entire reason she had agreed to come in the first place was now jeopardized. All because of Agatha’s illustrious blue eyes, her cunning smile, and the warm softness of her hand in yours.

She was here to find her soulmate. That’s all she wanted from the road. Yet here she is swooning over Agatha Harkness, known most for her treachery. It felt like she was failing her one true love.

When Agatha stops abruptly at the last step, Y/n crashes into her. Agatha is quick to tug at your wrist, pulling you back into her, rather than tumbling backwards.

“Are you alright sweetheart?”

Y/n watches Agatha’s eyes scan over her, worry easily perceived. The younger woman respond with a loose nod. She was being pulled in by the current of Agatha’s crystal-esque eyes.

“Yeah,” is all she can manage to say.

She smiles slyly knowing she had Y/n flustered. Agatha doesn’t let go of her, the older witch’s pull persisting. The older woman doesn’t trust this road. She knows it isn’t real, that this shouldn’t be happening. Whatever this is, she wouldn’t let it claim you.

While she takes charge of the others, Agatha never strays far from you. She felt like she had to protect Y/n. After the road’s first test Agatha knee she was right. Mrs. Hart was dead, and everyone was shaken up about it. Especially Y/n.

As everyone walks away from her body, Agatha falls in step with Y/n.

“How are you holding up?”

Y/n’s gaze stays on the ground she shake her head slightly, as if she expects a thought to fall out, “I don’t know.”

“Is this your first time dealing with that kind of thing?”

Y/n tilts her head, “Agatha we’re hundreds of years old. I’m no stranger to death or dead bodies. It’s just… been a long time.”

“Right.”

“Why’d you bring her?” Y/n couldn’t help but ask.

Agatha fumbles for an answer. The truth being that she didn't think things would go this far. This was supposed to end in the basement. She would’ve stolen everyone’s powers then manipulated Mrs. Hart’s memories and she would be none the wiser. She was intended to be a placeholder not a carcass.

Y/n watches Agatha carefully wondering what kind of lie she would tell, how the woman would spin the story. Instead she sees a small dip in the character Agatha was always playing.

“I didn't think she'd get hurt,” it’s a small, but honest truth.

Agatha was scared of the woman’s response. Perhaps Y/n would call bullshit and turn on her. Everyone was always so quick to point a finger at her. She had been taking the blame since she was a child all that time ago. So it would be nothing new to her.

“I believe you.”

Y/n doesn't know why she said it. She didn't plan on responding, but something inside of her was begging her to speak. It was another flaw in her eyes, wanting to bring comfort to Agatha. The woman that was distracting her from her soul mate.

Agatha is fighting the urge to question why you believe her. She didn't deserve your trust. She’s staying to begin to believe she didn't deserve Y/n. Yet that didn't necessarily matter anymore, their souls were already intertwined.

“We should try summoning another green witch,” Y/n suggests.

It causes a bit of commotion in the group, but with no choice left, they try it.

“M’lady.”

When Rio Vidal comes crawling out of the ground Agatha lunges at her. The rest of the group is stunned by their clear complex past. Agatha’s not the only one who reacts to The Green Witch.

Y/n’s eyes widen, “Oh no.”

When Rio sees Y/n she turns away from Agatha. She stalks towards the woman, cautiously taking Y/n’s hand in her. With a charming smile she presses her lips to the backside of the younger witch’s hand.

“Mi vida.”

Agatha watches with her jaw nearly on the floor. The blush on Y/n’s face told her everything she needed to know.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Rio drops Y/n’s hand, “What? I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd come by, help out.”

“So are you a green witch?”

Before Rio responds Y/n cuts her off, “As green as it gets, let’s keep moving.”

“I like that idea,” Agatha seconds that and begins to walk off, Y/n trails behind her.

The rest of the coven eventually joins.

“So... you know Rio too?”

Agatha keeps her gaze straight ahead, “Yup.”

Y/n let’s out an amused huff of air, “Seems like we know her in the same way too.”

“It does look that way. I gotta say, I would've never guessed she was your type.”

“At one point in time I thought she was my soul mate. You have to admit under all that cunning is someone so tragically lonely, but eternally beautiful. I always doubted that love would exist without fear of her."

Agatha knew what the girl really meant when she said ‘her'. Death had an air of beauty about her not only in appearance.

“Rio is everything you said, but you forgot to add irritating,” Agatha adds.

Y/n laughs at her, “Always showing up at the most convenient times for herself. Which just so happens to be inconvenient to everyone else.”

“I can't believe you thought she was your soulmate.”

Y/n looks away bashfully, “Well you must’ve too all things considered.”

Agatha disputes the statement instantly, “I never really bought into the whole soulmate thing.” She takes a moment to look into Y/n’s eyes, “At least not until recently.”

“Why not?”

“Agatha didn't believe in any of those kind of happy ending fairytale like romances sweetheart, just not in her character,” Rio steps in between the pair to get in on their conversation.

“Something to do with you maybe?” Y/n shots at Rio.

Rio gasps in faux-shock, “No, I’m the perfect wife. Right, my love?”

Agatha rolls her eyes, “Ex-wife, current thorn in my side.”

“Aww she’s so grumpy without her magic, Y/n. She’s usually a much more cheerful spirit.”

“Fuck off,” Agatha starts walking faster.

She reaches over Rio, to grab Y/n’s wrist pulling her along in a similar way she did down the road in the first place.

Whatever conversation that was going to play out died upon seeing another trial. By the look on the witch ‘s face it was obviously Alice’s. The outfits, the rock band, the grunge of it all was a bit fun at first. Yet the fun never lasts in these things, especially when threatened by a generational curse.

The ballad was once again the key to the trial. Almost reminiscent of your way onto the road, singing the ballad helped Alice defeat her curse. However it was not without a cost, as Teen had some how gotten injured.

The responsibility fell on a group. A second trial and second death was looming over the group. The care and distress in Agatha’s movement was stark contrast to what had happened when Mrs. Hart died.

Y/n couldn’t help it as she silently asked Rio if it was the boy’s time. Lady Death stood silent, pensive, as if she herself was gauging the situation. Then she shook her head.

It was during this time that his wound was healed. Though he lay unconscious, it was general consensus that he'd be alright. While this placated the others, Agatha was not leaving his side.

The rest of the coven went to set up camp for the night. Y/n knew she wasn’t obligated to stay with Agatha and Teen, but she wanted to.

Whatever Agatha was feeling, for once it was plain on her face. The moment was fragile, something Y/n was mindful of as she sat quietly next to Agatha.

“Have you ever lost something so pivotal to your existence that without it, you no longer feel whole?”

“My brother,” Y/n’s gaze lingers on Billy.

“Do you… have you seen him in other people?”

Y/n nods, “Sometimes I can’t help it. I see someone that looks like him or likes the things he likes or acts like him, but they’re not him.”

Agatha turns her attention to Y/n. The far away look in her eye makes the older witch move close to her.

“What happened to him?”

Y/n’s bottom lips curls up into her mouth, “I happened.”

Agatha’s hand finds it’s way on top of Y/n’s. The younger witch intertwines their fingers. Y/n lets out a large breath, trying to center herself.

“My son,” Agatha whispers. “I see Teen and I see the kind of boy that mine could’ve grown to be .”

“Agatha,” Y/n says her voice softly.

Agatha clears her throat, “Let’s go see what kind of camp they’ve set up.”

She stands abruptly, but makes sure to extend her hand to the other woman. Y/n takes the help to stand. Agatha is reluctant to drop the girl’s hand, but she does. That doesn’t keep the woman away from her. Y/n walks close enough that their arms brush as the walk to camp.

When both sit, the other’s are full of laughter, reminiscing about their battle scars. Agatha shows off her's and the rest give her a roar of laughter that she didn’t expect.

The laughter dies down as Rio talks about having a scar. Something that both Agatha and Y/n know to be false. The younger of the pair can’t help, but glare as Rio spins a tale of a woman. Someone that Y/n knows to be Agatha.

A trick to rile the woman up. It works as Agatha storms off. Rio tries to go after her.

“I think you’ve done enough,” Y/n stands to stop her.

Rio raises her hands in defensive before gesturing them in the direction Agatha ran off in, “By all means then, you go after her. Just remember at the end of the road, your soulmate will be waiting for you.”

“Fuck you Rio,” Y/n goes after Agatha.

She finds Agatha just standing in a field. Y/n approaches her, moving to stand in front of Agatha. The powerless witch doesn’t look at her.

Y/n takes Agatha’s face in both of her hands. Agatha’s expression has a million facets to it. Sorrow, regret, anger, but most prevalently Y/n sees a plea.

“Death has a nasty way of lingering doesn't she?”

A single tears slides down Agatha’s cheek. Y/n wipes it away with her thumb.

Her laughter is shaky, “You didn't have to come after me.”

“Agatha, I wanted to be here,” Y/n reassure her.

“I don’t deserve you,” she leans into Y/n’s touch.

It’s like Y/n’s says it to herself when she speaks, “ I decide what I deserve.”

Agatha’s crystal blue eyes meet Y/n’s, “And what about your soulmate?”

“This isn’t about that.”

Agatha’s holds Y/n’s in place against her face, “What if it is?”

Y/n’s eyebrows furrow, “What are you saying?”

Agatha steroids out of the woman’s hold. Her hands move wildly as she talks, “Don’t you feel it? When we locked eyes, I saw our souls mixing. I know that you're too good for me. I’m this no good evil hag, with a reputation that makes dictators seem like saints. I don’t deserve to have a soulmate, especially one as good as you.”

When Y/n looks into Agatha’s eyes she feels it. She sees what Agatha saw when they first met. Their souls coming together, in what is certainly the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

Tears form in Y/n’s eyes. She strides over to Agatha, again cupping the woman’s face in her hands. Y/n smiles through her tears.

“I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

A smile fights it's way onto Agatha face, “Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

“Agatha I’ve dated the physical embodiment of death. I don't care,” Y/n tucks a piece of Agatha’s hair behind her ear.

“I’m no good-”

Whatever Agatha had planned on saying didn’t matter to Y/n. The younger girl plants her lips on Agatha’s firmly. The older woman melts into the kiss the words dying on her lips.

“You’re good to me,” Y/n breathes out as the kiss ends.

Agatha hugs Y/n’s waist, keeping her close. Their foreheads rests against each other. The brunette’s eyes slowly open. There’s fire behind the blue orbs

“I will be, I promise.”

The road wasn’t finished and Agatha had yet to regain her power. However, she already felt more complete with Y/n in her arms. A part of her restored upon connecting with her soulmate.

#lowkeyerror #agatha harkness #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha harkness imagine #rio vidal #billy maximoff #agatha all along

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tapenbreak · 2 days ago

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𖦹. “𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐏𝐄.” —(𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐍𝐄𝐘)

𖦹. — 𝐬;𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. losing a stupidly made bet has its consequences, it seems. oh, what a moron he can be. although, too late to back out now, is it—dearest whitney? a nice , round 5.0k words.

𖦹. — 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 . . . younger, therefore underclass man whitney who thought it was such a nice idea to suggest a bet, only to lose in the process, ‘first’ kiss, whoever lasts the longest wins, quite tame, actually—in comparison, though it’s mostly unspoken yearning. fat, puppy crush on upperclassman!reader (amab) that may or may not be worse.

𖦹. — 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬, doc? : “I’ve wanted to stretch this on further than intended, but I got something else planned for this fucker, so never mind. I’m not all that fond of this one since it’s quite more heavy on the feelings than actions, but to each their own.”

Alright, so, let’s supposedly say that he’s already somehow impulsively roped himself in an intangible mess due to an irrefutably dumb bet he’s made on the spot with you, none the wiser—of course. Inexplicably caught himself in a sticky, spider web akin to a precarious trap most starving predators would’ve predictably laid bare for their meddling preys to eventually sink into and—would y’a look at that, like the actual dumbass he can seldomly be, he can’t possibly hope to back out now, can he?

No, no, because y’see—if Whitney were to humiliatingly do such an idiotic thing, then surely that’d just be directly admitting to that irritatingly pretty face of yours that you were apparently correct all along. Not that you are, fuck no. Like that’d ever occur in a million goddamn years, you intolerable bastard. God, that being his sole intention from the pure beginning to crudely wipe that frustrating smile plastered upon your. . . ugh, cherry perfect lips whenever the delinquent-in-the-making merely happens to be in your tedious presence.

Or is cruelly teasing him till he’s unabashedly grown hotter in the fullness of his blazing cheeks a conclusive hobby of yours? Probably, considering your blatant sadism when it comes to endlessly poking fun at someone until they’ve inevitably snapped dead in your face before you oh, so innocently claim that it was simply a meaningless joke. Mindlessly shrug the entire ordeal off as if it were meant to be truly nothing more than an obsessive overreaction on his part. Yeah, yeah—motherfucker, well he’s got a precious one-liner for y’a, also.

“Bet I could.” Confidently proclaiming with an overly arrogant tone that you notably took seriously due to the aforementioned circumstances for some unspoken reason. And that, you see—was specifically when the blonde irreversibly dug himself in the depths of a narrow pit which he can’t possibly climb out of now. So, fuck it, alright?? Fuck his sheer idiocy and muddling arrogance that’s shamelessly come forth to screw him over right in the balls for having previously accepted a seemingly doable suggestion.

Uh huh—‘doable’, he said. Cuz’ it’d be so irresistibly, fucking ‘easy’, another moron in his cocky mind chimed along in turn. Speaking of apparently ‘easy’, maybe next time, think twice before actually acting upon your stinging urges to uselessly prove someone else, like your shitty upperclassman, by the way—wrong, huh. Ever thought of that? No, ‘course he truthfully didn’t consider it thoroughly beforehand because it’s Whitney, the stubborn, hard-headed bully of a underclass man we’re namely speaking of here, after all.

Slippery, sliding slope doesn’t truly begin to particularly cut it either, honestly—yeah, he’s gone and undeniably fucked it up, this time for sure. Hasn’t he?

Hence why his clammy palm is currently placed atop your rather. . . uh, firm chest which he’ll never be outwardly uttering out such an exceptionally odd statement unless he inherently wishes to never live it down till the day he literally dies. That is, including this one ceaseless thought incessantly creeping within the remnants of his blurring mind—about how annoyingly nice the dizzying scent exuding from the warmth of your nearby proximity is. Shit, are those your natural pheromones too? Cuz’ he’s already going fuckin’ crazy from a mere unsuspecting whiff like a bitch in heat. Not to mention, the mind-boggling fact of being comfortably perched along the neat spreading of your thighs for his slimmer legs to settle upon, intimately hook themselves around your hips like a delicate lifeline solely intended to be unperturbed for the remainder of this intimate encounter. And no, this isn’t remotely on purpose, goddamn it—get your filthy head out of the gutter, you pervasive freak. It’s not like that, okay? Just. . . give him a moment, pretty please.

And perhaps at best, a generous minute you’d so graciously offer the blonde to discreetly adjust the sweltering heat that’s come forth to prettily stain his face in a similar crimson manner along with its unending path downwards and—well, y’know. . . below, there. Hardening cock certainly stirring with peeked interest at the subtle press of your laidback figure securely held against his own, shit. . . admittedly, smaller one. Sometimes, the considerable size difference shared amongst you two really does get to him in an albeit, fucking degenerative way. Enough so to inwardly curse at how utterly unhelpful that provoking detail was to the pulsing blood swiftly rushing down to his impatient length—hah.

Fuck, there’s no way this is realistically happening, right—but, it is, dammit. All due to prideful banter that may or may not have unreasonably translated to blatant flirting between you both despite his general lack of interest to other surrounding assholes slightly older than him in age.

Listen, you’re just tolerable enough where he doesn’t inevitably blow a sensitive nerve in return to some mild pestering on your end while simultaneously beating his dumb, idiotic self for regarding you in such high esteem—and yeah, that does include the sheer awed admiration visibly apparent in each of his movements. Intricately foolish in every one of his subtle gestures in hopes of successfully imitating your usual mannerisms, coincidentally catch your straying gaze to finally rest upon his uncharacteristically starving own.

Hell, the fucker even went through the irritating trouble of having the delicate muscle of his slippery, pink tongue wholly pierced for the sake of you possibly taking notice of it. Gleaming bud prettily flashing back towards your reflected, half-lidded gaze partially hidden by fluttering lashes, boringly snuffing in light interest at the sudden sight of it all. Taking notice, huh? That, you offhandly did, but merely for a few meddlesome seconds before eventually sinking back into your settled routine, as per usual. Well, said system of vaguely appreciating the sheer extended lengths he pathetically forces himself to endure in an unending pursuit of altering his appearance befitting of the ‘wilder’ types you habitually go for—due to something along the lines of, what’d you say again? Oh yeah, ‘they’re funnier to mess with when they lose their tempers, is all’—sickening asshole that you are, and still, remaining his unchanging crush nonetheless.

Although, whether or not he truthfully vocalizes that childish adoration akin to how a little brother would towards his elder one—is probably not ever fucking happening. As he still retains some semblance of pride to selfishly keep to himself, too. Don’t you forget that either.

Which is reasonably why despite the lurking remnants of embarrassment sourly creeping within the tensed coils of his tummy, a tightly-knitted cousin of shame, mind you. There’s still indisputable trepidation that traverses throughout the length of his shivering, curved spine; deepens his barely concealed smugness at having you like this. Because finally—fucking finally, has your shortly lived attention lastly settled upon the blonde’s awaiting own as purely intended.

‘Course, knowing your blunt self that either chooses not to attentively read the tense atmosphere currently residing within the spacious room or being merely oblivious to it, altogether—you eventually break that pleasurable silence with a singular insistent reminder or rather, a query to snap him out of this shit show. Ah, always the annoyingly persistent one when it comes to waiting for him to defy your set expectations, aren’t ya?

“Something the matter?” Sweetened voice of yours seamlessly passing through the foggy murk of his momentary daze by the slightest tilt of your head in a questioning motion. Still, remaining conscious that there’d be no such thing as worrisome concern on your part considering the utter bastard that you openly are and, yet—the persistent indication that this will be. . . obviously, nothing more than some meaningless wager whose sole intent is to be ultimately fulfilled in the end, leaves an exceptionally sour taste in his closed mouth.

Yeah, something’s the matter, alright—and he’s just about to recklessly give in to that sugary tone lest it weren’t for the automatic switch in your previously gentle inquiry, abruptly interrupting him from slipping out some mumbled confession in turn.

“Say, are you actually chickening out on me now? Is that it, Ney-Ney? Cat got your tongue and you actually can’t do it after all, can you?” Hah—again with that shitty nickname that bears no remote significance besides literally getting on his fucking nerves whenever, which you do impressively possess the sheer knack to repeatedly do so. Uh-huh, he’s gotta hand it to y’a.

It’s like the second you tentatively part your open lips to randomly speak—does his incessant yearning to restlessly press his starving lips against yours immediately shift instead, to this seething urge to meanly tug upon the strands of your hair like an angry kitten scratching at its owner. Oh, way to ruin the goddamn mood, dumbass.

“Will you shut up? I’m tryna concentrate here, but your fuckin’ mouth keeps on talking and talking and—ah, hey! Can you quit it and keep still for just one second or does the thought of sharing spit with your shitty underclassman actually turns you on that much?” Perverted bastard. Blearily aware of his shoddy excuse at some backhanded lie or whatever, as though you wouldn’t easily see through those tactics you’ve come to know of. Particularly becoming defensive once he’s ceremoniously brought back into a difficult corner and shit, you just can’t help but to gleefully tease him for it, can you?

Noooo, of fuckin’ course not! Must be solely imprinted in your bastardized nature to be so thoroughly insufferable at this point, huh? So much so that he’d desire nothing more than to tortuously crane your neck further to then—give forth to a salivating glimpse of your surely vulnerable neck for his glinting fangs to dreadfully sink into, greedily paint its pristine surface a melding velvet instead as pure revenge.

Because that’s entirely what it is, not some other bizarre, obscure fetish of this mean delinquent. Poorly hidden away in the withering depths of his unexplored memories or y’know. . . numerous times he’s come close to almost slobbering all over your veiny dick along with a generous amount of drooling, translucent spit to coat it with. And shit—he’s predictably derailing once more without meaning to.

Judging by the molten pupils that steadily expand in face of this less than desired situation, at most. Evasively trail towards whatever seemingly unimportant spot is etched amongst the boring surface of your bedroom’s blank walls in a futile attempt to soothe the pumping blood presently coursing throughout his thin veins. More or less, yeah. That’s all there is to it, so can you like, eventually cease with the constant staring on your end or something?

“I think you’re lying.” Unexpectedly bringing him out of his overly distracting fantasy for a stuttering second by flashing that signature grin of yours that’s only seeming to be confidently growing by the second, and—double fuck! You’re totally seeing through his barely concealed ploys, aren’t you? “I think you actually can’t do it and you’re just tryna play coy with me right now.”

“Wha—?“ Unsure wether to plainly deny your unjust statement that may or may not unfortunately ring true, regardless of if he painfully insists the opposite or to take actual offense at the likely suggestion that he doesn’t have the fucking balls to go through with it. Sure, sure! He totally can!! Albeit, a minute was all he scarcely asked for—despite it being way more than a single minute having passed, so don’t trample on the boggling nerves occupying the swelling of his drying, bobbing throat.

But before then, your indecently mocking voice somehow slips past the aforementioned comment Whitney was oh, so ready to renounce—because that’s all you ever do, managing to conveniently earn the upper hand in either situation, no matter the contextual circumstances at play. And damn you for it, too.

“See, what I think, honestly—I think you’re nothing more than a pussy who’s all talk and no bite, really. Too fucking dumb to even properly lie to me about it, too. Cuz’ the thing is, you actually haven’t kissed anyone for real yet, have you?” Inwardly flinching at the abrupt scorning on your part since sure, you’re one mean asshole sometimes, specially with others hopelessly clinging to your sides—but, not with him, no. Preferring to play the part of the considerate, older brother figure that’ll happily follow along to his unsatisfied whims.

So, strictly speaking, being unusually harsh on him without any spoken warning shouldn’t be so disgustingly hot to him nor heavily affect the thrumming blood rushing below to his leaking cock. Further dampen the already present, sticky stain against the now tarnished fabric of his trousers, but fucking shit—does it so. Like those untrained masochists, better put freaks, he regularly bullies on the daily, savagely snickers at for squirming beneath the hardened heel of his shoe. Idiots, is what they are.

Yeah. God, it’s so utterly, fucking filthy.

And funnily enough, here he is—shamefully experiencing that same warmth of degeneracy for being caught in his puzzling act, yet simultaneously thrilled at the various consequences that await for doing so.

“I don’t—“ Fuck, fuck, fuuuuckkkk!!! Mere sentences shouldn’t be humiliatingly failing on him now and neither should the withering breath pitifully falling forth from between his lips left agape—be this fucking telling of the unforeseen reality at bay. “. . . —I don’t know what you’re talking about, really—“

“Sure, you don’t. Then, you must also not have a single goddamn clue as to why you’re leaking like a fucking girl all over my lap right now too, huh?” Instinctually knowing better than to wearily spare a glance downwards since, well. . . yeah, about now—your not-so-precious jeans are notably soaked in the melding evidence of his unspoken arousal if nothing else, but did you fuckin’ have to truly word it like that either? Doesn’t necessarily lessen the sheer absurdity of the unbecoming predicament the delinquent practically pranced himself into like he hilariously owned the place or something.

Unfortunately, here’s to learning the harsh narrative that things, when seamlessly played out in the narrow space of your head—don’t invariably turn out the exact same as foreboding reality itself, do they?

Dumbass, he should’ve seen it coming the second he carelessly chose to lie to your face to begin with.

“Fuck, it’s not like tha—“ And there goes his irreparable mistake altogether, knowing fully well that it is indeed like that, if nothing else. Since it’s always been, every single time—without a literal, precious fuckin’ second to scarcely spare—you, you, and you solely. Plus sincerely speaking, he would’ve undeniably chosen for it not to be this way instead, y’know??

Not have his usually unaffected body so effortlessly react in face of your own, whether it’d be the discreet breaths of yours teasingly brushing along the rim of his blazing ears whenever you get the distracting urge to whisper some unimportant gossip during class.

Truly, do you feel the absolute need to remain so unbearably close in his personal space at times? To the point, it has him dizzyingly peering downwards to his clenched fists that greet him in turn. Too goddamn cowardly to steal a glimpse from below lest he realized the shockingly near proximity you’re both collectively sharing, without you bearing the slightest bother, too—and automatically curses as sweating palms land upon your chest and has you barely stumbling back. Cuz’ shit, the blonde’s downright terrified of the increasingly hasty beat of his annoyingly straining heart stuttering against the firmness of his ribbed cage. Fuck. . . it might as well be leaping out at a certain point, although he acknowledges he appears more like some dreadful lunatic if he were to audibly yell at some minor touches.

Reminiscing upon such pointless bullshit won’t necessarily get him anywhere and it’s not like he does it willingly either, no—not when your hand is now currently gripping at the shape of his gaping jaw. Actually, when the hell did you supposedly manage to get ahold of him like this when he wasn’t in the brightest of moments to do so? Momentarily caught off guard by the sudden press of your fingertips digging in the softened surface of his flesh, albeit with no sense of care in the fucking world as you habitually do with the majority of your things. Which, shit—doesn’t mean he’s the equivalent of your outright property since if that were the case, he’d most likely blow an imploding fuse as he knows it, and you certainly do know it, too.

As that was the initial plan presently swirling throughout the mumbling mess of the bully’s mind—only to be swiftly interrupted by a lingering kiss your. . . shit, annoyingly soft lips tenderly placed amongst the crimson hue that is his heated face—too dizzyingly close for his liking, near the mere corner of his pursed mouth. Frankly speaking, he has no clue what to make of this other than the likely scenario that you’re borderline amused by this and fuckin’ toying with him like your other various stress balls, as per usual.

“Earth to Whitney. I’m still tryna’ speak to you, but I guess you’re too far gone thinking about us sucking on each other’s tongues or something like that, am I right?” Drawling out lazily as though, you’d bear no semblance of interest for this little game of cat-and-mouse you collectively play on the daily basis and if not for that slight, adorning glint in your gaze—maybe he would’ve stupidly fallen for that easily concealed facade altogether, too. But no, he does know it’s a selfish thing of yours, or rather. . . some intricate fetish would be a better word to scarcely describe this sheer high you get from witnessing the gritting of his teeth, fluttering eyes narrowing in mere irritation. To say, it’s progressively building into something else until he’s undeniably pissed at your continuous mockery—that being, what others around you call ‘salacious flirting’ or something like that. Sheesh, he holds no importance for random spectators at your school besides you two.

Uh-huh, isn’t that what they refer to it as? ‘The boy likes to tug at the girl’s pigtails to draw her attention, after all!’—yet, he’s no squealing girl swatting at your insistent touches, is he? Fuck no. Truly, it’s nothing like that. However, sometimes with the way you constantly pinch and prod along the bruised surface of his perched figure atop your own, patiently await his expected curses like an anticipating dog wanting to be scolded. . . Well, can’t say it looks like anything else other than apparent sexual tension. Unsure whether or not he should be seldomly pleased at that somewhat late realization or temporarily concerned as to how you treat your usual girlfriends—or boyfriends, sometimes, that come and go like the blowing wind. Not to say, he treats any of his disposable sluts any better, either.

Eh, shit. No time to necessarily delve further in something he isn’t meant to supposedly poke at, is there? Yeah, cuz’ frankly speaking—he’s always been the goddamn impulsive type that’ll do as he pleases, expectant of yours truly to follow along to his baseless whims.

“Let’s quit with the bullshit already and do it, I don’t got all day to be sitting here on your lap like your prissy bitches.” Yup, yup. Carelessly ignoring the minor and important aspect that he cleared up his busying schedule regardless of his friend’s muttered pleas—going on and on about something at the shady pub that’s down the farthest street in this shit town. Oh right, he didn’t remotely listen to what those fuckers had to honestly say so, here goes that. Discreetly swishing at the messied strands of platinum blonde hair partially obscuring his vision, huffing at its burdensome concealment until he’s face to face with you. Almost clumsily bumping the curvature of your two noses together in an impatient haste to interlock each other’s lips in a. . . what others call it, huh; shitty, goddamn kiss.

However, rather uncharacteristically—he silently waits instead, hazy pupils traversing lower to where your curled up lips are solely a melding breath away from his dumbly hanging own. Maintaining eye contact like this. . . till your foreheads are nearly pressed along one another like this, inwardly shuddering at your unwavering focus upon his straying eyes. Gosh, do you seriously wanna fuckin’ do this with your eyes open or something, like a freak would??

“If you say so, Ney-Ney. I’m sure you wouldn’t wanna be kissing a boy either, huh. I’ll try to make it nice for you as best I can.” Ever the oh, so charming type that tries to accommodate to the blonde’s ill tempered tantrums, aren’t ya? Uttering so forth in an unspoken promise even if actually, he wouldn’t wanna be sharing spit with anyone else other than you. Whether he ever eventually admits it or not is an entirely different story, though.

Wordlessly so, he lets you do as you joyously please, at your own steady pace—‘course, which is to trace the softened pad of your cushiony fingertip along the sharp line of his tightening jaw. For it to ultimately land to where his chin awaits your yearning touches, brief moments of lingering contact to subconsciously gawk at in desolate secrecy. Y’know, how a drooling puppy would when awaiting its sweet treat; which he’s not, at all—no. Especially not your questionable pokes as you childishly peer to the side, rub soothing circles across the nape of his tensed neck as if to ease him into this, all the while idly playing with the shortened strands of hair settled there.

“Slacken your jaw for me, will you?” You gently order in a. . . shit, soft lull and he doesn’t like to be commanded around neither, but he calmly does so regardless. Solely to get it over with, nothing else extra that’s simmering deeply in the background. Especially not the unspoken crush he withholds for you whether you’re both mutually conscious of it or not, well—regarding how exceptionally cunning you tend to be that you can seamlessly read through him like a tattered heap of pages thrown atop your lap—yeah, maybe it’d be arrogantly dumb of him to assume otherwise, huh.

Plus it’s not like the delinquent here, is particularly used to his usually pursed lips wholly parting in an expectant nature for yours to plant featherlight kisses against. Since they’re generally brought up in a dismissive scowl for all to wearily witness—either when passing him in the hallways as his snarky laughter resounds with each echoed step, or the occasional glimpse of his shadowed figure sneaking between deserted alleyways, is seen.

Which, he would’ve indeed protested in stingy opposition at your insistent need to meticulously comb through the glistening locks of his hair. Sure, if it didn’t feel so damn good. . . to have your cupping palm carefully easing him into this, gradually melting in the imprinted shape of your entangled limbs settled together, atop this pillowed bed. One used thumb lightly nudging across the pouty flesh of his bottom lip in a silent gesture of the familiarity both shared between the two of you as your face nears closer to his. Intimately inspecting at the accumulated saliva that drips forth from the other’s open maw, nearly suckling at the intruding digit that is the continuous rub of your curled finger pressed across his drooling tongue. ‘Course, you gotta get a whole mouthfeel of its heated sensation before ultimately—diving in, don’t you?

“Yeah, there we go. . . You’ll be a good boy for me, won’t you—pretty boy?” It’s meant to have him inwardly seething towards this blatantly obvious taunt of yours, openly scorn at the unwanted nickname he’d like to jab at until that irritating grin of yours disappears altogether.

And shit, did he really want to—nothing more than that, honestly. But, he’s immediately interrupted from doing so once you’re ceremoniously covering the cushiony surface of untouched lips with yours, instead. Utterly pissed at himself with how easily it eases up from the experienced brush of your tongue inviting itself in its warmth depths. Those same arms that’d stubbornly stick to his sides like it’d never leave such a place either; now finding themselves to be clutching at the wrinkled fabric of your shirt draped along your reassuring back. Instinctually arching in your enclosed ones in return, loosely held around the width of his waist to absently pinch at in humming thought.

Fuck, fuck. . . fucking shiiittt. Was a kiss always supposed to be this mind-numbingly good that he’s out here losing all utter senses besides taste and touch? Neither struggling against the sudden weight of his eyelids shutting themselves in favour of greeting pitch darkness—goddamn it, not if it’s your mouth is perfectly made for his to mold against.

Even more so as an unwanted keen resembling that of a trembling prey, just about ready to be wholly devoured by the predator looming above its eventual demise—slips past previously sealed lips. Ugh, dammit. . . and here he is, upper lip wobbling in response to the added stimulation of your slippery tongue sliding against his own. Nearly wavering over the tempting option to hurriedly scratch along the delicate skin of your neck and—ah, speaking of, he’s gotta have a fixation with that bobbing throat of yours or something, shit. In some vain attempt to signal the sheer suffocation overtaking him from having his mouth crudely stuffed in repeated fucks of your impatient own, practically devouring his breathy moans in musing delight.

Accompanied by shuddering breaths collectively intermingling into one steady beat that’s bound to hurriedly quicken if he somehow keeps this one up, stretches it any further lest he doesn’t obviously get it over with soon. Which is the actual prime objective here! Don’t get him wrong! The sole plan, here—he’s intricately envisioned in the deep receding of his mind is to prove you wrong of his so-called loss, either way.

Quite literally, if it weren’t for the intolerable amount of pride residing within the swelling of his heaving chest—caught up against your own effortlessly casing over him; he’d have already done so, by now, without the slightest trace of hesitation.

But, y’know. . . It’s proving to be quite difficult for no reason whatsoever to necessarily pull away as he’s originally intended to do so. Partially disgusted by his own weakness when it comes to you and ‘course, it has to be solely you to wholly encase him like this. Whether or not it’s through plain obliviousness of his muddled protests swiftly concealed by your lips covering his own—or maybe, the sheer stubbornness of the mere possibility of letting him out of your sight. Either way, the numerous kitten scratches he’s subconsciously leaving along your treaded skin isn’t letting up itself.

Because even as he somehow manages to draw further backwards, your mouth instinctually follows his in return. As though the absurd thought of him teetering away from your emboldened grasp isn’t one to remotely ponder upon due to its ridiculousness, and neither is the way you both ultimately fall onto the bouncing mattress in a heaping mess with a resounding oomph! Although, he’s suspecting it was his quick-witted gesture of dragging you downwards—to where he’s predictably atop of, that landed you two in this precarious position.

“M-Motherfucker, you didn’t even give me a chance to catch my breath.” It’s rather an uncharacteristically petulant complaint than it is a fitting scolding on his part. Peering from underneath messied hangs that do oh, so well to conceal those narrowing eyes of his when he desires to. Yeah, they’re especially useful when it comes to evading your zeroing gaze hovering right above his own—like you’re actually surprised he hasn’t attempted a punch in your stirring guts for suddenly taking the lead like that.

“Hmm, was the kiss that unpleasant for you?” Pouting sorrowfully in response to the aforementioned statement like such a thing would potentially hurt your veiled sentiments, altogether. ‘Course, he knows better than to ceremoniously cave in to that pitiful nuzzle you offer along the crook of his neck since the thing is, your amusement of things comes first and foremost.

“Eh, don’t know. Why don’t y’a take another try at it and I’ll tell you how much you suck at it then.” It’s a tainted falsehood, at most—however, for the sly grin of pearly teeth flashing in your direction and the renewed sense of competition that swells within your chest at the provoking taunt. Well, he supposes that it’ll be worth the excuse so that his tongue better remembers the melding taste of your own upon one another.

And maybe, he’ll garner a measly chance to actually win this time. Rarely catch you off guard during one of those make-out sessions that are bound to grow more frequent, one way or another.

Though, it’s unlikely. Huh. You never do give him the chance to do so when it comes to your bets, do you?

Fucking prick.

#uuughhhhhh upper class man reader never misses and I’d like to do more of him next time #but I’ve got other things planned so this is as much as you’ll get out of me #at least princess liked it after proofreading it so I’ll take that as a win #need to learn the method of shutting the fuck up so I can stop yapping in my writing so much #though don’t think that’s happening any time soon haha ^^#dol #degrees of lewdity #whitney the bully #whitney dol #dol whitney #degrees of lewdity whitney #whitney degrees of lewdity #top male reader #dom male reader #character x male reader #x male reader #male reader #— R-RATED TAPE FOUND #I keep forgetting the fucking tag dedicated to my writing but this’ll be the one for now

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wandaslovey · 7 hours ago

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more wandanat thoughts !!

this may or may not be tmi - idc

i’m ovulating rn and it’s got me thinking nonstop about <inspection kink>

imagine you’re ovulating, your panties all wet even though you haven’t been thinking naughty thoughts. you’re aware of the sticky feeling between your legs all day - a constant reminder that your body was preparing you to be bred.

you knock on the door of one of your girlfriends home office doors - peeking your head in to see how busy the sokovian seemed. wanda peers up from her laptop, noticing your pouty face as you peek in through the crack of the now open door.

“what’s up, love bug?” she asks you sweetly. this was only the first time you’d knocked on her door today, so she was still feeling patient with you. you narrow your eyes, your lip curling into a deeper pout as you push the door wide open and walk over to her desk.

wanda is immediately more attentive, taking metal note of your current nonverbal state. “come here, honey,” she scoots her chair back from under her desk, holding her hands out in invitation for you to sit on her lap. you crawl over her legs, settling on her thighs as you face her, your brows still drawn together as if you were frustrated about something.

“what’s the matter, baby?” she smooths a gentle finger over the space between your eyebrows, trying to smooth out the frown lines. you let out a long exhale, your eyes glancing down to your core. “‘m wet..” you mumble and shift uncomfortably to the side, feeling the stickiness continue to smear across your pussy. you groan, huffing slightly as you were becoming increasingly hyperaware of the discharge collecting on your panties.

wanda furrows her brow, a little confused at your apparent frustration at being “wet.” she starts counting the days back in her head, trying to remember the days date. realization dawns on her face after a few moments, a slight mischievous grin touching her lips. “ahh, i see. is my little girl all wet and sticky for her time of the month?” she grins wider as she notices your displeasure at her own amusement.

“hmm, can mommy check? i want to see how wet you are.” she caresses your cheek with the palm of her hand, fighting the urge to kiss the pout off your lips. you nod your head at her question, already shifting off her lap so you could pull your sweats down. as you stand before her, wanda takes her time untying the string around the waistband of your sweats, pushing them down your hips and legs along with your panties. she taps on your thigh, signaling you to step out of them as the bunched material gathers at your ankles.

as the cool air hits your core, you feel your walls clench around nothing, your arousal catching up to you now.

“hand mommy your panties,” she commands in a soft voice. you bend down to retrieve them, your cheeks flushing a shade of pink as you can see the creamy discharge gathered on the material. you hand them to her, making a small attempt to ball them up in order to hide the evidence. wanda takes it from you, holding them so the wet patch of discharge is exposed, sitting in the palm of her hand. “ohh my, look at all of that stickiness, baby. no wonder you were so uncomfortable, hmm?” she coos with faux empathy, only too eager to tease you about this. you flush an even deeper shade of red, your cheeks flaming from the blood pooling in your face. before you can make a whine of protest, she balls up your panties in her fist and stuffs them into her pocket.

“here.. let me check this too.” she guides you closer to her with a firm hand on your hip. she uses her free hand to push your thighs farther apart before drawing one finger up your slit. your knees buckle a bit, the stimulation only continuing to fuel your arousal. you whimper as she gathers as much wetness as she can with her two fingers, sliding them in slight back and forth motions around your hole before pulling her hand back to inspect the ‘damage.’

wanda smiles, biting her lip as she spreads her two fingers apart, the discharge remaining connected by a thin string. you whine, your fingers wrapping around the wrist on her hand that was holding your hip. you felt so embarrassed, standing here half naked as she reverently inspected the wetness on her fingers. her eyes meet yours and wordlessly, she lifts her fingers up to her mouth, sucking the digits clean. as soon as she swallowed, her fingers returned to your cunt, gathering more of the discharge/arousal mixture. “such a mess you made.. so wet and sticky..” she muses, licking her lips as she watches her own fingers easily slide up and down your slit. she makes sure to pass over your clit a few times, watching your hips buck into her hand. she chuckles at your eager body, using her hand to still your hips after a moment.

“i want you to go show tasha how messy you are. go on and knock on her door and show her,” she encourages, turning your body back towards the door to her office to exit. you obey without a word, feeling very obedient and compliant today.

you walk across the hall and enter natasha’s office without even knocking, eager and hoping she would take care of your little problem. natasha’s eyes zip up to yours as you approach her swiftly. she doesn’t miss how you’re only wearing a shirt, your naked cunt on display as you walk until you’re standing right before her.

“and just what can i do for you, little girl?” she grins, eyeing you up and down with a level of appreciation that only made you more aroused. truth be told, natasha knew what you were in here for. knowing her wife and also knowing it was your time to the month (she tracks your cycle with an app on her phone), she half expected something like this.

“mommy wants you to check me,” you offer simply, placing a hand on her shoulder to steady yourself as you spread your legs apart for her.

you had come a long way since being too shy to even think about getting undressed in front of them. now you were completely shameless about your nakedness. it was exactly what wanda and natasha were hoping for. there was no need for you to be ashamed of your body in front of them.

“oh? here let daddy see,” natasha holds onto your hip in a similar manner as her wife had, running a finger through your now dripping slit. she hums in approval, the fingertip of her pointer finger dipping inside your wet hole. “all nice and sticky..” she eases another finger in, now slowly pumping two fingers inside of you.

“you know something, detka? daddy knew you were gonna be so wet today.. i was waiting for you to come into my office.” she speaks to you in a normal tone, as if she wasn’t currently finger fucking you. your grip tightens on her shoulder, pitiful whimpers passing through your lips.

she continues. “daddy’s been packing your favorite strap all day, just waiting to breed you.” you let out a shrill whine at that, rutting your hips into her hand. she chuckles amusedly at your reaction, her thumb now circling your clit. “you want my cock baby? you want daddy to breed you?” you nod your head vigorously, already panting from the effort it was taking for you to fuck yourself onto her fingers.

she removes her fingers from your heat, scooting her chair further back and standing up, already beginning to unbuckle her pants. “turn around,” she juts her chin out, her voice already sounding more gruff. you turn around to bend over her desk and are only a little surprised to see that wanda was standing silently in the doorframe, watching the scene unfold before her.

wanda walks over towards the desk, her eyes so intent on hers, you wouldn’t dare break eye contact. as you’re now bent over the desk, tasha’s hands smoothing down your body, wanda lifts your chin with her fingers, holding your head firmly in place.

“mmm, look at mommy while daddy fucks you.”

#wandanat smut #wandanat x reader #wandanat #wanda maximoff x smut #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff x smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #natasha x you

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messenger-of-babel · 1 day ago

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Jason Todd Who...

Summary: Thoughts about your relationship with Jason Todd.

Word Count: 1.6K

Notes: So this was supposed to come out a few days ago to maintain a 'one post a week' baseline, but my hometown kinda flooded, everyone got evacuated, I came back to work and my office building managed to flood and catch fire in the span of 24 hours. I'm still fine though! Currently splitting time with writing, work, and drying things out. Stay safe out there!

Love RiRi <3

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Thinking about a Jason Todd Who…

Has no idea how exactly he got into a relationship with you. Well, technically he’d like to call it a situationship, since neither of you have decided to put a label on it yet. He’d helped you out post patrol one evening, Bruce doing his head in as usual. He didn’t plan on drinking that night, but he still pushed open the door to the bar, hoping he could at least chat to James, the bartender, if he was on that night. It turns out that James was, in fact, on shift and currently occupied in the back corner near the pool table. His ears switched into overdrive hearing the ruckus, the years of vigilante training making his senses kick in keenly to try and respond. That’s when he saw you, being restrained by James and pool cue in hand.

Thinking about a Jason Todd who…

Laughs to himself as his first response to seeing a bar fight, your opponent curled on the ground from where you had jabbed him with the cue. When his eyes met yours, your form wriggling in James grip, he was oddly delighted to see the challenging glare you sent to him. After about twenty minutes of exchanged words and threats of security, James lets you go and you sit at the bar, fingers tapping the wood in irritation.

“You shouldn’t drink if you get angry, you know.” He grins, following your shadow to the bar and leaning on the nearby stool.

“I’m not drunk.” You defend, eyeing him up and down. “I made that decision completely sober.”

Jason’s eyebrows raise. “Oh, really? Do tell me what he did to deserve being attacked then.”

“He was being an asshole.”

Yeah, Jason was going to like you.

Thinking about a Jason Todd who…

Calls it a relationship to himself silently after a while but is still too nervous to say it in front of you. What if you didn’t think about it the same way? What if you were platonically getting coffee together every Thursday? That you only held onto him that tight when you rode with him because you were worried about falling off? That you were just friends that crashed in the same bed after a night out? He couldn’t help the flutter in his chest and the grin he wore so easily when you were around. He didn’t realise how much baggage he wore on his shoulders until you showed up and he felt like he could lift his neck for once. He knew he was fucked up, dying and coming back would do that to you. Yet he didn’t notice how the heaviness of it kept his eyes trained on the pavement, neck craning under the weight.

Yeah, Jason really liked you.

Thinking about a Jason Todd who…

Dreads you coming over to meet the family, protesting the entire time. Not only because it was pouring outside meaning he had to take the car (meaning he couldn’t feel your arms around him), but because he still doesn’t know what you are. He’s been meaning to clear it up with you, wanting to ask so desperately, but every time that he’s tried the words catch in his throat. Like he’s back to being Robin, the young boy now trapped in a body way too big for him. So instead he just tightens his hands on the steering wheel, lost so deep in his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice the lovestruck glances you steal from the corner of your eye, or the nervous playing of your hands in your lap.

Thinking about a Jason Todd who…

Is completely taken aback when you announce yourself as his partner at the door when Alfred asks who you are. His brain blanks out, just staring down at you with a wider than usual glance. His hands are frozen to his side, unsure of what he could do. What to even say. The old man just smiles when Jason flicks his gaze to meet his grandfather figure, the old man’s eyes crinkling in mirth.

“Then welcome in. Master Dick and Tim will be delighted to hear it.”

You smile so easily, so effortlessly as you take his hand and lead him into his own home (or ex-home as he liked to call it).

God, he liked you.

Thinking about a Jason Todd who…

Scowls when he sees Tim pay Dick a $20 under the table as you introduce yourself again, his older sibling figure sending him a shit eating grin as he pockets the cash in his front jacket pocket. He doesn’t miss the way that Bruce’s eyebrow twitches up curiously as you say you’re his partner, before that critical gaze flicks to Jason, silently asking if the information is true. He gives a short tense nod, and the billionaire grips his chin in thought before running a hand over his face.

That makes a flare of anger peak in Jason, but he squashes it down for the sake of Alfred and the dinner he worked so hard to wrangle everyone in for. You’re too distracted introducing yourself to Steph and Duke to see the critical glances Bruce sends you, the duo more than eager to engage you in conversation. He hates the way that Jason can feel the gaze of Bruce bore into his cheek, like he was trying to carve a his own bat-shaped scar next to the white ‘J’. He hated that gaze. The gaze that he could feel before he was told to ‘take it from the top’ or to ‘do another set’. The gaze he used to try and thrive under when he was younger, pushing himself to the limits in the hope that it would soften up if he excelled. The gaze that felt like it was doing nothing but waiting for him to mess up, so it could devour him with sharp teeth and harsher words. He knew Bruce didn’t approve. Jason knew he didn’t care.

Jason liked you too much to let Bruce scare away his chance of happiness.

Thinking about a Jason Todd who…

Has his breath stolen the moment you kiss him in the car. He feels like he’s drowning, but it’s the most blissful torture he’s ever experienced as you lean across the car console to cover his lips with yours.

“You were distracted at dinner.” You murmur softly when you pull away. Jason has to blink the stars from his eyes, his scarred hands twitching to rest at the back of your neck and pull you to him again.

“I was just lost in thought, that’s all.” He says back, fighting the tremor in his voice. Once again he feels like a young boy piloting a hulking, clumsy body, his mind and muscle out of sync. You hum in response, not fully taking his answer.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped, calling myself your partner.” Your murmur after a slight tense silence. “I should have asked first.”

Jason swallows thickly. “I don’t mind.” He says quickly, a little too quickly if he was honest with himself. “I’m happy to try, I mean, if you want that.”

You smile, the sight that makes his chest flap. Like he had said the funniest thing imaginable, your sparkling gaze focused all on him.

You liked him.

Thinking about a Jason Todd who…

Holds nothing back as soon as you two become an actual couple. He’s doing what he can (albeit it clumsily) to keep you around. He’s mostly mimicking other relationships he’s seen, readings articles on how to be a good partner late at night. He knows to be himself, he’s not an idiot. He knows that you would scold him if you saw the things that he was doing, but he couldn’t stop. He had had relationships before you, of course. Yet the difference this time was that this was you, and he wasn’t going to risk it going sideways the same way the others had.

The biggest thing he had found was trying to keep you away from the other side of him. The side that donned a mask when the sun went down and staked out rooftops with a blue and black spandex clad chatterbox, and a caped brat. It had been easily enough when you were apart, but now that you were living together in his little apartment, it was getting harder and harder to sneak out of your arms at night and crawl back into them in the morning. He cursed the fact that you were a light sleeper, leading him to nearly being caught one too many times. He knew that you were getting suspicious, but keeping your reservations to yourself in the morning.

Bruce still didn’t like you, even more so now that you were closer to Jason’s true side than ever. But maybe Bruce did like you. That was a thought that plagued him, preventing him from falling into the sleep he so desperately needed after a long patrol. You were curled into his side, chest rising and falling softly.

Maybe Bruce did like you, and he was trying to protect you. Trying to keep you away from the potential heartbreak of losing him, which was a constant threat in this line of work. Maybe he was trying to keep you from being harmed, something that Jason feared constantly about having you close. Maybe Bruce was trying to save you because he did like you, and Jason was condemning you by being with you.

You move slightly when he shifts, eyes flicking opening groggily. Your normally bright eyes are cloudy with sleep, and you meet his gaze.

“Jay?” you mumble.

He grins softly, calloused fingers brushing a piece of hair from your forehead.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Maybe Bruce did like you.

But Jason loved you.

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bigbigpushes · 2 days ago

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Memorable Shift

Working in a busy ER, Ashley realised that she really should have known better than to work a full shift at thirty seven weeks pregnant, but they were short staffed and she had wanted one last day of work before she went on maternity leave.

Her back had been aching all day, contractions happening irregularly, but she hadn’t even considered it might have been the start of labour, this was her first pregnancy and she knew the odds, given that she was on her feet constantly she has assumed it was more false labour.

She was in the middle of treating a trauma patient when she had felt something pop within her, the sound of a splash heard even over the chaos of the room. “Ashley…” she shook her head as a nurse tried to get her attention, wanting to focus on helping their patient before she worried about herself.

“How long?” She looked up then, knowing the no nonsense tone in the voice of her department head meant she needed to answer. “Achy all day, I didn’t realise the contractions were coming regularly until just before, thought I had more time.” She explained, watching as the room was cleared, the patient being taken to surgery as she was guided to sit on a stool. “I thought I had more time.” She insisted, tensing as she felt her uterus tighten, trying to breathe through it, intense pressure already building between her legs. Her baby was coming fast. Faster than she could have ever anticipated.

She took a deep breath as the pain passed, thinking back on the last few hours. “I can make it up to OB. If we go now, I’ll be fine.” As much as Ashley loved working in the emergency room, she didn’t really want to deliver there.

Her wishes to get out of the ER were foiled almost immediately after she had finished talking, another contraction striking as she had been about to stand, forcing her to sit back down on the stool, she didn’t even realise when she had begun to push until she heard Ben, her best friend amongst the other doctors counting to ten. “I’m having the baby down here, aren’t I?” She asked with a resigned sigh once the pain ended. “I’m afraid so, can’t risk you giving birth in the elevator.” Ben told her with a reassuring squeeze to her shoulder.

The breaks between contractions grew shorter and shorter, she hadn’t realised they had been so close together before her water had broken, too focused on doing her job to really notice. She was taken to an exam room, the trauma room a mess from their last patient and to provide her with some much needed privacy.

“Ughhh, owwww!” She groaned as her abdomen tightened, the situation was far from the birth she had planned but there was no time for that now. “Ben, please hold my hand?” Ashley asked shakily, relieved when her friend quickly did as she asked.

The pressure only grew, with each contraction she couldn’t stop herself from giving small pushes. She was already at a ten and as the current contraction gripped her, she didn’t resist the urge to really push. “Hhhhnngh!” She grunted, feeling as the head slipped further through her birth canal, her vagina opening as the head began to crown.

She panted through the burn, waiting for another contraction so she could push again. And push again she did, bearing down, her grip on Ben’s hand tightening as she pushed, the head quickly popping free. “Oh, that feels weird!” She said as she caught her breath, the baby turning inside of her. “Take a look, mom.” She heard the doctor delivering her child say before she glanced at the mirror set up between her legs, getting the first glimpse of her baby.

There was a smile on her face as the urge returned and soon she was pushing once more, grunting through the effort of getting the shoulders out, the baby then feeling as if it just slipped out, the room filling with his tiny cries as he was placed against her chest.

“Hi! Oh hello there, gorgeous.” She whispered softly to her son, tears of joy falling down her face, even Ben beside her was teary as he looked at his honorary nephew. Ashley looked away for a moment, smiling at her colleagues before looking back to her little boy. It was safe to say she was definitely on maternity leave now.

#birth fiction #birth kink #fpreg

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justwinginglife · 2 days ago

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Playing the Player

Short little piece I wrote for our king Gen Narumi because I couldn't stop laughing thinking about him playing a cozy game (as a cozy gamer myself). God, he'd be so much fun to play with.

“I’m not playing your boring farming game.” Gen crossed his arms stubbornly. When he saw your unbudging expression, he shook his console at you, emphasizing the fighting game that was currently on the loading screen. “I play games that are interesting.”

You stared at him, unamused.

He frowned. “I mean it, I’m not playing your game. You can’t make me.”

You raised a brow at him, still silent.

He swallowed. “I don’t think I’d like it anyway… I mean, what is there to even do?”

“I’m glad you asked.”

–hours later–

“You MISSED the bug! It’s flying away! Don’t just stand there, run after it!”

Gen’s brows furrowed in frustration. “I’m going, I’m GOING! It won’t get away from me again!” He practically broke the joystick, edging it forward as his character chased the animated bug in circles. Finally, he triumphed and captured his prize. He turned to you, presenting the screen proudly, like a little kid waiting for a gold star.

You smiled at him, ruffling his hair. “Nice job. You got a big one too.”

A grin spilled across his face. “See, I told you that this game was no problem for me!”

You frowned suddenly. “But your crops are dying.”

His eyes shot open. “What do you mean, where??”

You pointed to an area in the background, where the plants he’d sown in game only two days ago were plainly wilting for all to see. “You forgot to water them, didn’t you?”

He glared at you. “I wouldn’t forget something like that!” He bit his lip as he thought about it more. “I…okay…so I might have been busy in the mines, BUT I WAS FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE, OKAY??”

“Uh-huh. Maybe you just suck at this game, Gen. Maybe you shouldn’t play anymore.” You said nonchalantly.

His eyes narrowed and his lips puckered into a slight pout. “I don’t suck! Just you watch, I’m gonna have corn growing AND wheat AND potatoes and it’s going to be AWESOME. It’s gonna be even better than your farm, just you wait!”

You bit back a laugh. Gen Narumi was no match for reverse psychology.

The moment this new farming game was announced, you knew you were going to make him play it with you, and the moment you saw it release, you set your plans in action. You knew he’d be a stubborn bastard about it in the beginning, but even the “big and strong” Captain of the First Division wasn’t immune to your methods of persuasion. He was your boyfriend first and foremost, and you knew how to get to him better than anyone else.

You smiled to yourself as you logged onto your own console, settling in beside him as you joined your co-op world.

He’d occasionally nuzzle against your shoulder as he gamed, or massage your feet while he watched cutscenes play out, but what you loved the most was his ongoing dialogue while he played.

“Babe. Babe. BABE. How did I LOSE a heart with Penelope?”

You peered over at his screen. “Wrong dialogue choice, sweetie.”

His brows furrowed. “The fuck you mean, wrong dialogue choice??”

“She doesn’t like what you said, simple as that. Give her a gift and she’ll be fine.”

“Alright, alright.” He raced back to his house, rifling through his chests to find something -literally anything- of worth to give her. When he finally presented her with a shiny rock, he frowned at the screen again. “I lost… ANOTHER HEART???”

You stifled your laughter. “She doesn’t like rocks, babe. Try a flower.”

Pouting, he made the pathetic journey back to his house to retrieve a flower. He was about to leave, but then hesitated at the door. He gazed over at you. “Um… what kind of flower do you think she’d like?” He asked shyly.

God, he was adorable. “The wiki says she’s into sunflowers.”

He smiled. “Thanks, baby.” He kissed you before unloading the rose in his character’s inventory and opting instead for a sunflower. When he made his merry way back to the NPC and then cursed to heaven and hell because he couldn’t gift her something twice in one day, you couldn’t contain your laughter anymore. He glared at you and mumbled something under his breath about how you could’ve told him that would happen and how he was taking back that kiss he gave you.

“Just for that, I won’t have your back anymore when we go fight in the forest. You’re on your own, you can say goodbye to getting the legendary sword.” He grumbled.

You pouted. “Aww, come on, baby. Don’t be like that. You know you love me, you wouldn’t leave me stranded and helpless in a monster ridden forest, would you?”

He was silent.

“Baby.”

Still silent.

“I’ll help you catch that rare fish?”

His eyes lit up. “Fine, fine. Let’s get you that damn sword.”

After months of playing together, stealing time in between training sessions, after long days at work, and even on transit to missions farther away, the thing that finally brought your lengthy playthrough to its end was him marrying you in game. As he watched your character walk down the aisle, he suddenly began to think about what it would be like to marry you. To spend the rest of his days like this, snuggled up on the couch beside you, teasing you, letting you tease him, feeding each other snacks as you gamed together. Maybe even teaching your future kids how to game. And then suddenly it was all too clear to him.

He had to marry you.

That was his happy ending.

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @ouiouimochi @minasfwoopyponytail @inkytypewriter

#kaiju no. 8 #narumi gen x you #gen narumi x reader #narumi gen x reader #gen narumi #narumi gen #han's library

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fanonical · 2 days ago

Note

Did you ever get my ask? I asked about what to do when a child loves something by a problematic author. How do you go about telling them if they’re too young? SHOULD you tell them? I’m talking about current 10 year old HP fans and children who like the Coraline movie. What do we do when it’s them and not adults? We forget about the target audience too much when we talk about things like this as if it were exclusively childhood nostalgia of Millenials/Gen Z

For fuck's sake, I didn't want to rise to the bait here, but this is making me mad because it's such a straw argument, so fuck it, I'm taking the bait. For context, this is anon's first ask:

Anon, first off, you are responding to a post that is five years old and about a subject that we pointedly do not post about anymore, and that alone makes me think you're not responding in good faith, but whatever.

Look, I work in a fucking library. We have HP books. If a child comes up to me and asks 'hey where's the HP books' I am not going to a) kick them in the face, b) tell them they're an idiot or c) refuse to answer. I am going to tell them where the fucking HP books are. I don't put them on displays I make, but I don't censor them, because we are legally not allowed to censor books in the library.

But I guess you're asking more if this is a kid who's in my life, as opposed to a kid who I just kinda come across. So, okay, I have a 9 year old neighbour whose family are friends with mine, we play video games together occasionally when her mum and dad need someone to watch her. And this kid reads books! And this kid reads fantasy books.

If I was seriously talking to her about the HP books, I might tell her about JKR! I would say something like 'I used to like the HP books, but then I learned that the author said some really nasty things about trans people like me. Now I don't like them so much any more.' And we could have a conversation about that, you know! I've talked to this kid about transphobia in terms that are appropriate for her age. We've had discussions about gender before. I think she'd listen to me, and form her own fucking opinion about it! 'I don't like the author of the HP books because she has said some nasty things' is a concept you can communicate to a five year old.

But also like. You're kind of acting like by taking away HP from this (hypothetical in your ask) kid they don't have any other books. Which...isn't true? If all copies of the HP books disappeared off the face of the earth tomorrow, kids would be reading other stuff, as they are currently reading other stuff! My 9 year old neighbour is a huge Jacqueline Wilson fan, she loves the Daisy Meadows rainbow fairy books. I want to introduce her to the Morrigan Crow books. We could get retro and start introducing kids to the Edge Chronicles, I fucking loved those books. Artemis Fowl. A Series of Unfortunate Events. There are so many other book series for kids in this world. I work in a fucking library! I can tell you that the kids are into Tom Gates, Dogman, Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Percy Jackson, Babysitter Club, Dork Diaries, and (exasperated sigh) David Walliams books, based on a sample size of every kid I encounter at work. I get asked for all of them far more than I do for HP, actually.

I don't think you'd be ruining every kid's lives by taking away One Series from them. (Particularly not one that's losing some relevancy every day - and I mean that in the sense that it's not an ongoing series, the last book came out in 2007. Nearly 20 years ago. For a nine or ten year old, that's almost double their entire life.) And I don't think you necessarily would be taking it away from them to say 'hey this is the reason I don't like these books'. I trust your average ten year old to be able to have a reasonably mature conversation. You're making it sound like they're all Oliver Twist holding out their gruel bowl saying 'please sir I only read one book'.

Anyway. All this to say, I think kids have the ability to have conversations about media. And there are other books in the world. So, no, taking HP or Coraline or whatever away from kids is hardly snatching candy from a baby. Kids are smarter than you think.

#Ask #Anon

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mixelation · 1 day ago

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✨blood covenant✨ fic preview ->

for those of you that missed it, @tozettastone, @waffliesinyoface and i all agreed to do a blood covenant challenge where we write OC/character fics.

here's the potential first chapter of mine, which is OC/Minato

****

I’m going to fuck up that guy’s whole life, is the only thought in my mind as I leap through the trees.

Every time I come down on a new branch, my right thigh screams in protest. It screams again as I come back up, hurling myself as ungracefully as a new genin to my next landing. WHat’s left of the fabric of my leggings is hot and sticky with blood.

But, dear reader, I have advice for you: if you want to kill a medic, make sure you make a killing blow. Don’t just leave her for dead and assume she’ll crawl off and die like a good girl. I know, if you’re a megalomaniac with an ego the size of Hokage Mountain, this will seem tempting, to leave her to wallow and suffer while you go off to do something more important. Do not do it.

I’m not Shisui, I thought furiously, pausing in my sloppy run as the temple I was aiming for came into sight. I’m not just calling it quits and giving away my eyes. Fuck off, Danzo.

I lean against the trunk of the tree, panting heavily. Through the branches, I can see the curving roof of the temple. There are a lot of old abandoned buildings out here, dotting the forests of Fire Country, and this one doesn’t stand out as special. I only knew where it was because I’d previously found it by happenstance, and I only recognized it as important by chance knowledge. I have never been inside before.

Pausing my run was a mistake. The loss of momentum means that I am abruptly and painfully aware of how shaky and weak my legs feel. I make a clumsy jump for the forest floor and have to turn my landing into an embarrassing roll.

If anyone is following me, they’re far enough behind that I can’t sense them. I can see the spiral emblem on the door of the temple, the carved wood smoothed and faded with time. I limp forward confidently, using my left hand to push more healing chakra into the hole in my leg, which I would generously describe as “gaping,” but is definitely less gaping than when Danzo had stabbed me.

I’ll get both his legs, I think as I push open the temple door. Ugh, it’s going to scar!

The movement of the door tosses an enormous amount of dust into the air, making my eyes water. The air smells stale and musty. The windows are boarded up, and only a few sickly strands of moonlight illuminate the innards of the Uzumaki temple.

I have to stop my healing to activate my sharingan. I can usually do both at once, obviously, but I’d been running on nothing but adrenaline and spite for too long, and my body currently doesn’t contain nearly enough blood as it should. I’m starting to get dizzy.

The sharingan does nothing to enhance color vision, but with it I only need the smallest source of light to make out the contents of the temple clearly. There are some hanging scrolls and abandoned, rotting furniture, which I ignore. My eyes go straight for the rows of masks hanging across the back wall.

I limp into the temple. When forming this half-made plan on the way over, I’d had some trepidation about identifying which mask is the one I want, but looking at them, I know instantly.

It’s not that the mask looks extraordinary or that my sharingan can pick up something special. The mask appears to be nothing but wood: paint peeling just slightly with time, a grinning demon’s face with curling horns, a jeering smile on its lips. Nothing is peculiar about its craftsmanship, and my sharingan can detect no jutsu or chakra on it.

And yet, to look into its eyes, is to see the inevitability of your own death.

A hint of fear tingles up my spine. A bad omen, my superstitious mother would have said. A warning to my most primal senses that this is a power not to be taken lightly.

I step limp forward anyway.

It’s fine. I’ve been staring down the inevitability of my own death for over two decades. The feeling still makes my blood run cold with terror, but it’s a feeling I’m used to. This is my last chance at defying fate.

I pull the mask for the wall and lift it to my face.

If you kill me, I think at the mask, make sure you bring those assholes down with me, will you?

xXx

Dear reader, here is what you need to know about me.

My name is Uchiha Renka. I was raised by a great aunt after both my parents died in the Second Shinobi War. My hobbies include reading, baking, and dabbling in make-up and fashion. After a lot of study and hard work, I have passed most medic-nin competencies and work mainly in the hospital.

I am a painfully normal sort of young woman, as you can see. At least for a ninja. I work my shifts, and I treat myself to a new book once a week. The most scandalous thing I do, aside from occasionally going out on state-mandated missions that sometimes include various types of murder, is that every once in a while I go out drinking with my girlfriends, and even that isn’t too scandalous. The rowdiest I get is wearing unique shades of lipstick. We even have a three drink maximum. I did not do anything to merit the fucking headhunt after me except exist as an Uchiha.

And… well, okay, I’ll admit something, just between us. Another thing you should know about me is that, even if my main goals in life are to not die, to help people at the hospital, and then to go home and read a good book over some hot tea on my balcony, I do have a bit of a fatal flaw. It’s nothing more than a basic Uchiha family trait, really:

I am just a teensy-weensy bit vindictive.

It got me into trouble a few times growing up, but it’s really nothing too bad. It definitely wasn’t enough to make me deserve the absolute clusterfuck you just read about. You make one mistake, and next thing you know, your boss is calling you a vile woman and a disgusting, cowardly failure and trying to kill you.

Well, fuck him, honestly. I’d survived everything up until him, and I’m not going down without a fight.

I wasn’t one hundred percent sure how the shinigami mask worked when I put it on. When I’d decided to try it, I thought I could maybe use the shinigami to chuck Danzo and-slash-or “Madara” into the afterlife for good. My second choice was to bring back Tobirama and have him tell off my enemies and maybe my clan for… whatever the hell they were doing.

Honestly. All I want is to sit in my patio chair with a blanket and read…

I vomit up the Fourth Hokage instead.

I know. It sounds gross. I know. But I’m not making any of this up. I put on the mask, and it’s like the shinigami is inside me, and then inside of the shinigami was this horrible squirming feeling. I want it out. I need it out.

I throw up. It feels awful, worse than any vomiting session I’d had before, my whole body retching. The mask falls off my face.

Then the Fourth Hokage is standing in front of me.

Reader, I assume that you are coming into this story with certain expectations for how pulling a soul out of the shinigami’s stomach should work. Well, toss those expectations. You’re basing them on people who knew what they were doing. I’m just one innocent little Uchiha.

Namikaze Minato appears before me in a white funeral kimono, folded neatly right side over left, a white band with a triangle over his forehead around his head. Clearly instead of a fighting-fit Hokage like I expected, I’ve grabbed him… right out of the grave…?

He turns to me and blinks rapidly, like the sun is in his eyes, despite it being the middle of the night. Reader, this man is handsome. With this wide, dazed expression, he looks like a confused male model, not the most lethal ninja in history.

My throat feels raw. I open my mouth to speak but can’t. His eyes move away from me like he hasn’t quite registered that I'm there.

He pats himself down absent-mindedly, his hands going down his chest and stomach like he’s surprised they’re there. I watch as his brows furrow a little as his hands approach his hips. Then he reaches down to his right thigh, his fingers moving toward the inner part of the front. He presses down.

I scream. It’s like someone has stuck their fingers directly into my thigh wound. Pain completely cuts off all my thoughts and I finally topple over completely.

I’m aware he’s moved over to stand over me, although my vision has gone white with pain. His gait is uneven, something of a limp. I fumble for my wound, pressing numbing chakra into it. Danzo had clearly been aiming for the femoral artery to make me bleed out, and I’d fixed it up enough to not endanger my life, but it still hurt.

There’s no new damage to my wound, even though that definitely felt like that should have ruptured something.

I feel the Fourth Hokage squat next to me, and his hand comes down over mine, pressing gently against my wound. It’s not enough to hurt this time, not with the help of the healing chakra numbing the nerves, but it increases the pressure over it markedly.

“Huh,” he says.

“What the fuck,” I croak out, and dust on the floor gets in my throat and eyes and makes me have to fight back a cough.

He removes his hand. Then, even though he’s clearly not touching me, I feel a pinch on the back of my hand.

“Ow,” I say accusingly, and then give into the coughing fit.

“You can feel that?” he asks, sounding surprised.

He waits patiently while I sit back up, coughing again. He seems completely unrushed and unbothered, watching me with extreme interest. He doesn’t have the slightest idea what’s going on.

I stare back at him. I’m clearly a wreck. There’s dust all in my hair now, flooding my nasal passageways and making me sneeze. Between the sharingan and having to use Mystical Palm again, my head is swimming and my arm is barely strong enough to hold me up.

He holds my gaze despite the active sharingan, studying me like he’s never seen another human face before. Brave man. But maybe being dead for eight years makes one brave.

Or… who am I kidding? He’s the Yellow Flash. He probably thinks he could kill me before I could cast a genjutsu.

(I think he couldn’t. But I’m obviously not going to test this theory unless I have to.)

After a few moments in which I let out several unsexy, wheezing breaths, he turns away from me and picks up the fallen shinigami mask.

“So that’s how you did it,” he says, flipping it around in his hands. “I’m remembering now… I think I was hoping someone would come for this, at first, or another tool to let me pass on properly. But then… I forgot…” He frowns, deeper this time. “I forgot a lot of things. How long has it been?”

“Since you died?” I say. “Eight years.”

“Only eight?” he repeats and absentmindedly scratches the side of his face. I cannot feel this on my own face, I notice. Perhaps we can only share pain. “It felt so much longer, with nothing to see or feel or do…”

His head turns up, and it takes me a few moments of concentration to realize Danzo’s cronies have finally caught up with me. He hadn’t immediately sicced any on me, as he’d confronted me himself and then left me for dead. But likely he’d sent a team to confirm I’d actually died, and I hadn’t exactly covered my trail.

The Hokage doesn’t look worried, just mildly curious.

“They want to kill me,” I say, unsteadily getting my feet under me in preparation to stand. “I… you have to help me. You have to help Konoha.”

He turns his eyes back on me, and they still have that look of mild curiosity, like he’s watching a television show he doesn’t understand the plot to.

“Why do they want to kill you?” he asks.

“It’ll take too long to explain,” I say. “Please.”

I had thought that summoning the dead meant you got to control them. This doesn’t appear to be how it works. Instead of getting up to kill the team of ROOT agents outside, Minato tucks the shinigami mask into his white kimono and then leans over me to set his hand on my shoulder. A second letter, we’re on Hokage Monument, overlooking the village.

“Wow!” Minato says, standing over the village with hands on his hips. “It’s been so long… look at all those lights…”

“Can we please focus?” I ask. I’m still squatted on the ground, and I don’t have the strength to stand casually. I fall back on my butt.

Minato looks pained as he pulls his attention away from the view.

“Right, right, the fate of Konoha or whatever…” he says, sitting cross legged in front of me. He smiles widely. It’s a beautiful, inviting smile. “Now you have time to explain it to me.”

xXx

When I graduated the Academy a little over ten years ago, Konoha was still at the height of war. I’m sure you’ll hear more about that if you stick around.

Back then, I knew of Namikaze Minato because he was one of the Jounin sensei for our cohort. I never spoke to him, but I’d seen him talking with my sensei sometimes. Sometimes I had to talk to Obito about Uchiha related things, and he’d waved at us once or twice from a distance.

My very first real impression of who he was came from an Iwa-nin.

I don’t really like talking about this part of my life, but I want you to trust me, so I’ll be open. When I was thirteen, my team was captured by Iwa. Everyone but me was killed. I was only spared because I had some medical training, and they agreed to let me live in exchange for healing their wounded.

One day I was treating a man with a nasty burns across his entire body, and he suddenly grabbed my wrist, which was all bruised up from being tied when I wasn’t actively healing people.

“You’re one of those Konoha floozies?” he asked. His eyes were unfocused from pain.

I didn’t say anything. Speaking rarely ended well. His grip on me tightened and I winced. I’m always surprised by how strong some people can stay, even when they’ve been beaten half to death.

“Do you know the Yellow Flash?” he asked. “My whole platoon… all of them, gone in an instant…”

He gibbered on and on for several moments, eyes wide. He’d been towards the outskirts of his platoon’s camp when Minato had showed up, which was why he’d had the few precious seconds to realize what was happening.

“We’re supposed to flee on sight,” he said, his whole body shaking. “What they don’t tell you is that once you see him, you’re already dead.”

“You’re alive,” I said diplomatically.

“I used a suicide jutsu, tried to blow myself up,” he said. “I should have died. I would have preferred it, if he’d killed me…”

The man did eventually pass from his wounds. There hadn’t really been much I could have done. Even Tsunade herself probably couldn’t have saved him.

They punished me for it anyway. When I was sitting in the prisoner’s tent, cheek smarting from where the commander had slapped me and stomach growling from reduced rations, I thought about what the man had said.

Once you see him, you’re already dead.

That was the first time I’d really understood the sheer power that a singular ninja could have.

xXx

One reason I think Konoha loved their Fourth Hokage so much, is that he’d go out and kill countless enemies, and then he’d come home and look and behave like the protagonist from a shoujou manga. He was devastatingly lethal, but in everyday interactions, he just had a way of making you feel safe and valued.

Sitting in the cool breeze breeze on Hokage monument with him smiling back at me, it’s not hard to confess to him what had been happening. The planned coup, the proposed counter massacre, the way I’d been caught up in it all. I cry a few times. Beautifully, I might add. I’d practiced in the mirror.

I might be… a little vane. That’s not important right now, though.

Minato nods along with a thoughtful look on his face, more like he’s watching a TV show than listening to a poor woman explain that his village is exploding. It feels off. I hope he’s appreciating my show, at least.

“There’s also…” I turn my face so he can see my flawless profile, staring out over the village. The lights below twinkle in the night like always. There’s really no sign of my entire family— including me— potentially being wiped out tonight.

“There’s also the masked man,” I say.

Minato blinks, his expression suddenly snapping into focus. He frowns at me.

“The masked man?” he asks.

“He claims to be Uchiha Madara,” I say. “He’s obsessed with me. He approached me, saying he’ll help me if I volunteer for the massacre–”

Minato stands, turning towards the village again. In his white kimono fluttering in the breeze, he almost looks like a Hokage again.

“I think…” he starts. “I think I want to kill him. I was angry about him, before. I can’t quite remember…”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, a twinge of hysteria teasing at the edges of my mind. I try to stand, but my head is dizzy and my injured leg gives out.

Minato turns to me, absentmindedly patting at his own leg.

“This is really annoying,” he says. “Why are we connected?”

“I don’t know,” I snap back, the hysteria bleeding into my voice. “Of course you want to kill the masked man.” I want him to kill the masked man! That’s the whole point! “He’s the one who killed you and your wife.”

His eyes widen.

“Ah…” he says. He sticks out his bottom lip. “I really missed Kushina, the first hundred years…”

“You’ve only been dead for eight!” I screech back at him. Honestly, what was the point of summoning the deadliest ninja in history if he’s a basket case?

I get to my feet for real this time, grasping at the loose pieces of his kimono to pull myself up. He makes no move to intervene, but he also doesn’t help me. Instead he pouts down at me, wincing when I put my weight on the injured leg.

“You have to help,” I say. “Or I will throw myself off this cliff, and we’ll both find out how much pain an undead man can feel.”

He catches my elbow as if to stop me, face still all pouty. It’s a cute look, except that I want him to be a cool leader fixing all my problems!

“Don’t do that,” he says. “Look, I’ll help you. I spent hundreds of years with nothing but the dark pit of the Shinigami’s stomach, thinking about how I wanted to kill the masked man.”

I don’t correct him on his time period.

He smiles brightly at me. “And the Uchiha coup is an easy fix!” he says. “I’ll just do what I did last time.”

“Last time…?” I repeat. I had no idea there’d been a “last time.” What on earth…?

“Mm, they tried this when I was Hokage,” he says. “What did I do again… wow, look at this tree…”

Red autumn leaves flutter off a scraggly tree a few meters away. Minato watches them in the breeze intently, like he’s never seen leaves before.

“Hokage-sama,” I half yell, yanking at his kimono sleeve. “You can look at all the trees you want later.”

“Oh,” he turns back to me. “Right. Last time, I just put one of my Hiraishin markers on their heir. Fugaku’s son… what was his name… anyway, I put a marker on him, and said if the Uchiha tried anything, I’d simply kill their precious child.”

He beams at me. I stare back, mouth unfortunately gaping. It has to be a very unsexy look, but I can’t help it. I’d assumed… I’d assumed there had been no problems under the Fourth, that the Uchiha had been fine and at peace under him, and that he’d be able to make them see reason…

“We can just do that,” he says, cutting through my anxiety spiral. His smile gains a reassuring quality. “I already have the marker in place. We can take the child hostage to make them back down, easy-peasy.”

“N-no,” I sputter out. “We can’t do that. Uchiha Itachi… Fugaku-sama’s first son is dead.”

#blood covenant #my writing #renka is a liar

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boybandbaby · 10 hours ago

Text

Start Over (Evan Buckley x Fem!Reader)

word count: 2233

warnings/tags: exes to lovers, alcohol, being half naked, flirting, tears, as always if i missed anything let me know

note: do yall prefer when writers add summaries or without?

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

You’re stood outside Buck’s apartment in a warm colored dress, heels in your hand and jacket lost somewhere at the reception.

It’s been four months since the breakup and you haven't been to his apartment since you came by to collect your things three months ago.

You’ve knocked twice already and a third time would only make you feel more sad and pathetic. Your cousin’s beautiful but extravagant wedding had only added to the months of heartbreak.

Buck was supposed to be there at your side tonight. Instead of dancing with your family and having a good time, you answered too many questions about where Buck was or how he was doing. You lied to everyone stating that he just couldn’t make it due to work.

Only your close family knew that you weren’t together anymore. You wanted to keep it that way. But what you really wanted was to be with Buck, back in his beefy arms and kissing his pretty lips.

After your third drink and no luck warming up in crisp the fall air, you’d made the slightly drunken decision to see him. Though you lost your jacket, you still had the important items in your purse including your phone. With sloppy thumbs, you’d called an Uber and landed at Buck’s apartment.

It’s two am and you’re not sure why you thought he would be up or even home. He’d either be at work or out with friends and family or worse, on a date.

You shake the thought from your head and take a deep breath. Pulling out your phone and opening the Uber app again, you feel tears in your eyes. You should’ve called him first instead of showing up. Would he have even answered or wanted to see you?

Your bare feet stick to the hallway floor, grounding you as you sway. You’re able to use this as an excuse as to why you haven’t left his doorstep yet.

You hear two noises at the same time, the sound of the Uber app notifying you that a driver has accepted your ride request and another chime signaling someone has exited the elevator on your current floor.

You’re already embarrassed and don’t want one of Buck’s neighbors seeing you camped outside his apartment. You finally find the strength to pull yourself away from his door, telling yourself you don’t get a second chance with him.

“Y/n?” His voice is slurred and his cheeks are flushed. He’s stumbling as quietly as he can towards you and his door. “Are you okay?”

“Are you?” You point to his shirt. It’s wet around the neck line and chest. You’re not sure if it’s sweat, alcohol or both.

He looks down, laughs, one of your favorite things about him, and runs his hands over his wet shirt. “Yeah, too many shots, I think.” He hiccups and burps.

“I was just leaving, I’m s-sorry for showing up like this.” You apologetically smile and wave bye as you begin to pass him.

“Hey, don’t go.” His fingers brush your bare arms. “You look really pretty. How was the wedding?”

“You remember?” Your hand covers his as he holds onto your bicep.

“Yeah, of course. I still had it in my calendar. I kind of spiraled when I got the notification this morning.” He shrugs. “Do you want to come in? Sober up, warm up? Are you hungry?”

“Yes please, to all three.” You nod and let your hand fall.

Buck's hand caresses your arm, down to your fingers and grabs the heels from your hands like he always used to on date nights. He searches his pockets for his keys and jingles them around his pointer finger when he does.

“Please excuse the mess.” He fumbles to open the door and ushers you in.

“Wow, so messy Buckley.” You laugh, looking around the familiar apartment.

“I think I still have a shirt or two of yours if you want to get changed. You know where everything’s at.” He sets your heels down by the door and locks it behind him.

“I thought you returned everything back to me?” You turn to him, rubbing your arms up and down as he flicks the kitchen light on.

“Did you? I seem to be missing the bracelet I got you for Valentine’s Day last year.” He raises a brow before pulling out a pot and filling it with water.

“That was a gift! That was not going to be returned to you and please don’t tell me you have the black shirt with the embroidered frog on it from that one trip to the zoo." You defend.

“I do.” He smirks.

“I’ve been looking for that everywhere!” You gasp, laughing as you approach him in the kitchen.

“I figured once you couldn’t find it you’d come back and we’d work things out.” He reveals.

“You always could’ve dropped it off at my apartment if you wanted to see me so bad.” You nudge his shoulder.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me.” His tone is not joking anymore and he quiets down. The apartment is quiet save for the traffic outside and the slow rising boil of the water on the stove.

“I would’ve.” You admit.

“You could have it back?" He says, voice lifting at the end.

You can tell he doesn't want you to have it back by the way he offers it. “No, no. You keep it.”

“What are you going to wear then?”

“This.” You look down at your dress.

“As pretty as you look in that it’s not practical to sleep in.”

“When have I ever been practical.” You both laugh.

“I miss this, I miss us.” He admits.

“Me too.” You sigh. You're not ready to dive into your breakup. At least not yet. “Hey, can I use your shower?”

“Yeah, of course. You need any help in there or?”

“Real cute, Buckley. You can help me up the stairs to get my shirt.”

Buck nods and sets the box of pasta down on the counter. His hands find your hips as he helps you up the steps. “You sit.”

He rummages through his drawer before tossing the shirt to you and a pair of sock. “Do you want a pair of sweats or something?”

“No, this is good. Thanks, Buck.” You’re not moving to head back down stairs so he sits beside you. “New bed set?”

“Yeah. Story is too long and gross to discuss.” He shrugs. It’s too embarrassing he thinks. He made himself so sick the first couple of weeks apart, he had no choice but to throw away the bed set. It was one you’d bought him anyway and it hurt to much to sleep in.

“It’s okay if I stay the night, right?” You hope he says yes. Cuddling with him would make everything okay again even just for the night.

Buck normally would be a gentleman and offer you the bed while he took the couch but he misses you too much. He does turn his back as you strip out of your dress and stays that way when you're ready to head downstairs.

Buck stands two steps below you as you hold onto his shoulders. You guys guide each other back downstairs and he helps you start the shower. “Food should be done by the time you get out. We’ll eat then sleep?” You nod and smile up at him as you sit on the toilet seat. “Call me if you need anything okay?”

You nod and wait for him to exit before peeling the towel off of your body and then your undergarments. You step into the warm water and rinse everything from the night and past 4 months away.

Buck settles in the kitchen, stirring the noodles as the water boils. He hopes this isn’t a one night event and that you’ll leave his life after this. He sees it in your eyes though. You long for him the way he does for you. He feels it in the way you're still comfortable around him and the way you don't hold any malice after your rough breakup.

You’d both ended things as they just got too hard. Busy schedules, too many fights, not enough time spent together creating good memories. He thinks that things can be different this time. He knows the mistakes and how he can try to help prevent them this time.

You’re out before he realizes, padding towards him. He can’t keep his eyes off your bare legs as you approach the kitchen and sit at the counter.

He begins to drain the noodles. “Do you want something to drink?” He calls out.

“Can we share?” You answer his question with a question. He laughs and nods.

“You gonna come and help me carry these up?"

“I’m half naked.” You point out.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” He smiles.

“Fine but no peeking.” You hop off the stool and attempt to pull your shirt down.

Buck has already served two bowls of pasta and the biggest cup of water he could find. He stabs the pasta with forks and hands you a bowl. “You go up first mister. I don’t need you looking at my butt.”

“How am I going to make sure you don’t fall?” He cheekily states.

“I’ll hold onto you with my free hand.”

“Okay, fine, that works.” He grumbles, you having bested him.

You hold onto his waistband as you follow him up the steps. He turns around as you run under the covers to cover your legs. He really is a gentleman.

You both sit in silence as you eat, sharing small glances and giggling when you meet each other’s eyes. It’s almost as if you’d never broken up.

You yawn and place your half eaten bowl onto the nightstand. Buck holds the cup of water to your lips and watches the way you gulp the liquid down. You wipe your chin with the back of your hand. “Can we cuddle?”

“Of course.” He smiles and sets the bowl and cup on the nightstand, quickly. He's just as eager to be in your arms as you are his.

You shuffle under the covers as he stands to undress. The damp shirt is pulled from his body and he shuffles out of his jeans. It’s not long before he’s under the covers with you.

His heart is pounding the more he realizes he’s going to be this close to you again. You’re already turned to face his side and watching his every move.

“Goodnight, y/n.” He whispers.

“Night Buck, thank you for letting me in.” You whisper back.

“Thank you for coming by.” He smiles.

Your hands find his under the covers and you give them a quick squeeze.

His eyes squeeze shut as he can feel your breath on his face. It's a mix of alcohol and pasta sauce, matching his. He's straining himself so he doesn’t try to kiss you. He’s wanted to kiss you the moment he saw you at his doorstep. Your eyes are open and you watch to see if he’s sleeping. He’s not and you can tell by the way his eyelids twitch.

“Buck?” You mumble.

“Mhm?” He hums back.

“I miss you.” You confess. “A lot.”

He opens one eye, “yeah? I miss you too.”

“Do you even think we could be together again?” Your voice is small and it breaks his heart but your words give him hope.

“I do.”

“What do I need to do to make things work again?” You bring his knuckles to your lips.

“I think we need to work together to make things work this time." He emphasizes the we. He doesn't want you blaming yourself for the fallout.

“I’m sorry I didn’t try harder.” You sigh, words coming out wobbly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t communicate better.” He supplies.

“I know I made a lot of mistakes. I don’t want to do that again.” You cry.

“We both made a lot of mistakes but if we’re both willing to not make them again, I think we could work.”

“I think so too." He wipes the tear from your cheek and traces his finger down to your lips.

"Can I kiss you now?" He shyly asks. You laugh all watery and snotty while nodding. Buck pulls you into him. You're both hot under the covers as your bodies mold together. The kiss is hard and desperate but it's perfect. You lay quietly in each other's arm until you both fall asleep. By then it's nearly 4 in the morning and you're knocked out cold.

You're both so slumped that you don't hear the key in the lock downstairs. “Buck, you forgot your damn phone in my car.” Eddie calls out, closing the door behind him. The apartment is quiet as he enters and he shoves his key in his pocket.

He trudges up the stairs to bother a sleeping Buck but freezes in his tracks when he sees you two curled up with each other. His eyes widen and he wonders how this came about considering Buck didn’t have his phone.

He settles on the idea that you’d come to see Buck on your own. His worries from last night of his broken hearted best friend are gone as he sees that he’s right where he’s supposed to be. With you.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

#911 abc #911 x you #evan buckley x reader #911 x reader #evan buckley x you #evan buckley x y/n #evan buckley

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upperstories · 2 days ago

Note

(this is about the post homophobic tumblr won't let the gay men be in the tags.)

WAIT THOSE MOTHERFUCKERS ARE MEN. I THOUGHT THEY WERE WOMEN!!!! I THOUGHT T HE PEOPLE I FOLLOW WERE POSTING CUTE OLD LADY YURI BUT IT WAS CUTE OLD MEN YOAI???

I am the dog mitski bet on.

The characters Hector and Capochin from go by he/him pronouns and refer to themselves The Bizzyboys! So i defer to them as old men.

That being said, they also come from a game where most of characters don’t subscribe to a gender binary. There’s a lot of characters that appear to be trans, non-binary, gender-fluid, so on. Canonically, here’s a character that bi-gender, another character who uses it/its pronouns—I could go on.

Basically I’m just trying to say that I don’t think the gender themselves is important. Hector and Capochin can be toxic old woman yuri or old man yaoi.

I have my own headcanons for what their genders are but I’ll keep them under the cut since they’re just headcanons.

Spoilers!!! Kinda!!!

I honestly believe that the Bizzyboys can be more than one gender, but they don’t understand how to use more than one kind of pronoun.

They understand gender can be expressed in any shape or form, regardless of their personal biology, and are satisfied with how they present themselves, but they just think using only he/him and boys to refer to one another is easier and use it as a catch-all.

Inspekta/Hector and Capochin, in my eyes, are both afab trans men who refuse to bind or top surgery or go in HRT. Names are an important part of being in the Bizzyboys, and they’re both refugees from another dimension that is equivalent to Hell in this universe, so I think they were subjected to transphobia back in the Drain and chose their current names.

Patty is genderfluid, presenting femme but preferring he/him. If he hangs out with Razz more often, I could see him embracing she/her pronouns, but it’d get a bit confusing. Since he’s the youngest, I think he’s one of the few Bizzyboys born in the Grove and not the Drain, seeking to join the crew as a form of inclusion rather than obligation, so he’s grown up a more accepting livelihood of gender expression. It also might explain why he’s the first to break off from the Bizzyboys and stand up to Capo.

Alexei is gay cis man but in a “I don’t really care what I’m perceived as” kind of way. Just prefers comfy clothing and good food.

Bananathaniel is also an afab trans man who got top surgery at Hobbyhoo and wants to be perceived as a man. I could see him, Alexei, and Grujaja being from The Drain but immigrated to the Grove after Hector ascended and established roots for refugee camps. I don’t think there was just One Mass Exodus, I think there were several smaller ones over time, which were made much easier once Hector became a god.

Grujaja is intersex, but is too anxious to really care either way or out too much thought into it yet. I could see him being the most recently immigrated to the Grove and possibly hypersensitive to the sunlight (The Drain is at the bottom of the ocean don’t @ me).

Vibiano is non-binary preferring he/him, but prefers to dress either way. Like Patty, he’s native to the Grove and doesn’t care so much about what people think of him. The gender presentation isn’t the thing that’s most important to him—so long as he dresses fabulously and designs his own outfits, that’s all he cares about.

Anyway. Poses. Enjoy my headcanons!

#great god grove #great god grove spoilers #the bizzyboys #headcanons

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carpenoctxrn · 2 days ago

Text

a hoax, a bait, a challenge (Ominis Gaunt x fem!reader) Part 2

Disclaimer: mentions of face-sitting, boob-job, horny Ominis, horny reader.

AN: Okay I think I will do one more part. And yes I like making Ominis obsessed with the reader because I like them possessive...

Word Count: 8426

Masterlist

Ominis Gaunt strode through the library, his wand tapping lightly against the floor with the faint click-click-click that echoed in the quiet room. The sun bathed the far corner in golden light, his preferred spot, where the rays would warm his back as he worked through the labyrinth of notes and textbooks. But as he approached, something felt… off.

Someone was sitting in his seat.

He sighed. “Sebastian? Why aren’t you in class?” he called out, setting his stack of books down with a deliberate thud.

“Didn’t feel like it,” Sebastian replied lazily, his mouth half-full of an apple as he flipped through a worn tome.

Ominis ran his fingers over the chair next to him before sitting, exhaling sharply. “Why am I not surprised?” he muttered, his tone tinged with exasperation. “Please, keep yourself entertained. I have actual work to do, and I’d rather not get swept into one of your scandals today.”

“Scandal?” Sebastian asked with mock offense. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t,” Ominis retorted, already busying himself with his textbook. His wand traced the Braille like enchantments on the page, one hand gliding across the text while the other jotted notes in impeccable handwriting.

For a while, the only sounds were the scratching of quill on parchment and the occasional crunch of Sebastian’s apple. But then, from somewhere behind them came the unmistakable sound of giggling.

Ominis stiffened. “Merlin’s beard, that’s distracting,�� he muttered, his jaw tightening as the laughter grew louder.

Sebastian smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Sounds like someone found this month’s issue of Haughty Witches and Naughty Snitches,” he said, the amusement clear in his voice.

Ominis paused mid-sentence, his brow furrowing. “The what now?”

“Oh, come on,” Sebastian said, sitting upright with sudden enthusiasm. “You remember the first time we found a copy? Fourth year, I think it was. Or was it third?”

“I’m choosing not to dignify this conversation with a response,” Ominis deadpanned, his focus snapping back to his notes.

“Don’t give me that look, Ominis. It’s a natural part of life,” Sebastian said smugly.

“Yes, Sebastian, I agree that sex is a natural part of life,” Ominis replied coolly, “but a woman performing pull-ups with her-” he hesitated, his face turning pink, “...her assets out is not.”

“She was doing a challenge! That takes skill, Ominis. Skill and dedication,” Sebastian said, shaking his head at his friend, making his blind friend feel as if he doesn’t recognize talent or dedication.

“Speaking of challenges,” Ominis said, his tone suddenly lighter, “did you know I’m currently participating in one myself?”

Sebastian straightened, intrigued. “Oh? You? Participating in a challenge?”

“Yes. My dear girlfriend bet me that I couldn’t keep my hands off her for a week. Naturally, I countered with the same bet. She’s convinced I’ll cave first,” Ominis said, the corners of his mouth curling into an amused smile.

Sebastian stared at him for a long moment before placing a solemn hand on his shoulder. “Ominis, you’re going to lose.”

Ominis blinked in surprise. “What? That’s absurd. If anyone has self-control, it’s me. Between the two of us— ”

“Stop right there,” Sebastian interrupted, leaning closer with an almost pitying expression. “Ominis, do you remember two months ago when she left for three days?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Ominis asked, already growing defensive.

Sebastian’s smirk widened. “You turned into a bloody menace. You walked straight into a Quidditch match, while it was in progress, just to Accio the Snitch and blow it to bits. Your excuse? ‘The first years were making too much noise.’”

“Well, they were— ”

“It was their first win of the season! They had every right to cheer!”

Ominis opened his mouth to retort, but Sebastian wasn’t finished.

“And let’s not forget the second game of the season. You were all smiles, eating stale popcorn with a pleasant expression because she was sitting right there next to you. Coincidence? I think not.”

“That’s just basic decency, Sebastian. Good company should always be appreciated,” Ominis said, lifting his chin in defiance.

“Sure, sure,” Sebastian said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Except Imelda swears she saw her limping that day, and according to her, you’re quite the—how did she put it—‘big guy.’”

Ominis froze. His quill stopped mid-dip into the ink, and a scarlet blush crept across his face.

Sebastian grinned wickedly. “Face it, Ominis. You’re doomed.”

“And why is my handsome boyfriend doomed?” Her voice chimed from behind, soft and lilting, but carrying just enough edge to tease. The sound made both boys pause, but it was the warmth of her touch that pulled Ominis’ attention completely. She slipped up beside him, her presence as familiar and comforting as the sunlight streaming through the library windows.

Ominis felt the heat creep up his neck as he turned toward her, his cheeks tinged pink, a rare sight on his typically pale, freckled complexion. Unless of course when they otherwise occupied in their relationship, Ominis never blushed. “My love, you’re out early,” he said, his voice softer now as he stood and reached for her.

She came to him effortlessly, as if drawn by some magnetic pull. He placed his hands lightly on her waist, her hands sliding up to rest on his neck. The kiss she gave him was quick and light, yet it lingered in his mind like the taste of something sweet.

“You can thank Garreth for that,” she replied with a small laugh as she slipped into the chair Ominis had already pulled out for her, ever the gentleman.

Sebastian raised a skeptical brow. “But you weren’t even in Potions,” he pointed out, his tone a mix of confusion and amusement.

“True,” she admitted, smoothing her robes as she sat. “But unfortunately for everyone in Divination, there’s tea, and Garreth Weasley has an endless supply of recipes in that head of his.”

Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head. “Of course he does. That boy would turn a funeral into a brewing experiment.”

As the two chatted, her fingers drifted toward Ominis’ hand resting on the table. It was a habit of hers, one Ominis adored. She would absentmindedly trace the lines of his palm or run her fingertips along his knuckles. Only this time, it was different.

Her fingers found his fingers—the same two that had been intimately acquainted with her last night. She trailed them with deliberate strokes, her touch feather-light but undeniably intentional.

Ominis froze. His mind betrayed him, conjuring vivid images: her flushed face, her breathless gasps, the way her doe eyes locked with his as she-

“Are you alright, Omi?” she asked sweetly, her hands sliding up to rest on his neck. The coolness of her touch made him jump ever so slightly, jolting him from his thoughts.

Her tone was syrupy, laced with mischief, and he knew- oh, he knew - she was doing this on purpose.

Sebastian, sharp as ever, leaned forward with a wicked grin. “Yeah, you’re looking a little… flushed, Ominis,” he teased, drawing out the last word.

Ominis’ jaw tightened. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Sebastian?” he bit out, his dead eyes boring into his friend with a sharpness that could cut glass. Even without sight, Ominis’ piercing gaze was enough to make Sebastian straighten, a shiver running down his spine.

“All right, all right. Don’t get your knickers in a twist,I’m leaving.” Sebastian stood, still chuckling as he grabbed his half-eaten apple and the tome he’d been leafing through. “Though I do need to find Weasley and ask how he pulled that off.”

“Check the Divination classroom,” she called after him, her tone perfectly pleasant. “He’s probably still cleaning up the mess.”

“Noted,” Sebastian said with a wink before sauntering off, his laughter echoing faintly as he disappeared among the shelves.

The moment he was out of earshot, she turned back to Ominis, her movements quick and deliberate. The soft strands of her hair brushed against his cheek as she did, sending a shiver down his spine.

“So,” she said, her voice low and teasing as her smirk spread wide. “Why are you doomed, Ominis?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in defeat. “I was hoping you hadn’t heard that part.”

“Oh, but I did,” she purred, leaning closer, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “And I want to know everything.”

“Sebastian thought the challenge assuming,” Ominis spoke truthfully as he began gathering his books and quills.

“He thinks that I don’t have the capacity to regulate my emotions without…” his word halted as his actions did so “release.”

Ominis’ voice was smooth, steady, and entirely too composed. It caught his girlfriend off guard, especially since she was expecting the usual hint of rosy embarrassment to bloom on his pale, freckled cheeks. Normally, the mere whisper of anything remotely intimate, specifically involving him, was enough to send his carefully curated poise toppling faster than a tipsy Prewett on a broomstick.

This time, however, there was no such reaction. Instead, Ominis spoke with a calmness that unsettled her, as if he had mastered some secret she wasn’t privy to.

Her eyes flicked up to his face, searching for any trace of the usual pink hue or flustered demeanor, but all she found was his characteristic serene expression. She hesitated, suddenly unsure how to respond. “Oh,” she mumbled, her voice quieter than she intended, as she clutched his notes close to her chest. Basically embracing it to herself.

Ominis suppressed the smirk threatening to creep onto his face, savoring her rare moment of uncertainty. He didn’t press, letting the silence stretch just long enough to leave her wondering before he reached for his heavier books.

As they rounded a corner, their sides brushed together in that effortless way they always did when walking side by side. Ominis leaned just slightly closer, his movements subtle, as though the proximity were accidental. But it wasn’t.

His nose caught a whiff of her familiar scent; something soft and warm, with a hint of lavender. He breathed in a little deeper, savoring the way it wrapped around him, filling his lungs like a comforting charm. The corners of his lips twitched upward.

He loved her. Every little thing about her, from her laugh to the way she fit so perfectly beside him. And while he didn’t mind losing their playful wager it didn’t stop him from relishing moments like this. Moments where he could get the upper hand, even if only for a second.

“Sebastian,” he began, his tone light and conversational, “is wrong about most things. This time is no different.”

The casual dismissal caught her attention, and she glanced up at him with a raised brow, only to find his expression completely neutral. His delivery was so nonchalant it was impossible to tell if he meant the words or if he was simply trying to get under her skin.

Before she could form a response, Ominis tapped his wand, sending the library door swinging open with a practiced ease. He stepped aside, gesturing subtly for her to go first.

“After you, my love,” he said, his voice dipping just slightly into a warmer tone that sent a shiver down her spine. It was her who was now basically turning red.

Her steps faltered briefly as she passed through the doorway, her mind racing to decipher whether he was teasing her, challenging her, or simply enjoying her confusion. She turned her head to glance back at him, and though his unseeing eyes remained forward, the faintest smirk played at his lips.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that Ominis was toying with her. It was subtle, in the way he spoke and carried himself, but she knew him well enough to notice. Her thoughts drifted briefly to the time she had confessed something… unexpected.

She had told him outright that his gentlemanly nature turned her on more effectively than a Lumos charm lit up a pitch-black corridor. The shock on his face had been priceless. “These are the bare minimum,” he had said, looking genuinely baffled by her declaration. She’d replied in her own way—by dropping to her knees and showing him just how much she appreciated his “bare minimum.” That memory still lingered, vivid and unshakable.

Before she could get lost in those thoughts, she cleared her throat, the flush rising in her cheeks betraying her composure.

“Are you all right?” Ominis asked, his voice warm and amused. He didn’t need to see her to know exactly why she sounded so flustered.

“Something in my throat,” she muttered, hoping he wouldn’t press further.

Ominis chuckled softly but didn’t comment, choosing instead to savor her bashful tone. He loved these moments, where her sharp wit gave way to sweet timidity.

As they reached the doors leading outside, Ominis suddenly turned the other way, heading toward the familiar path leading to the Slytherin dorms.

“Omi,” she called after him, quickening her pace to catch up. “Lunch is this way.”

“Yes, love, I know,” he replied calmly, his wand tapping lightly against the stone floor. “But I thought it’d be wise to drop off my supplies before dinner.”

She caught up, falling into step beside him. “And?” she pressed, sensing there was more to his diversion.

“And,” he added, a faint blush dusting his pale cheeks, “I have a gift for you.” His tone softened, and his unseeing eyes seemed to gleam with something that made her heart flutter.

Her curiosity ignited instantly. “What is it?” she asked without hesitation.

Ominis laughed at her eagerness, the sound light and genuine. “You’re impatient as ever.”

“I’m just a curious girl,” she mumbled, a slight pout forming on her lips as they continued toward the dorms.

And then the questions began. “Is it white?” she asked, tilting her head in thought.

“I wouldn’t know,” Ominis replied smoothly, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

“Oh, right,” she muttered with a grin. “You’re more blind than first years helping Garreth brew potions in exchange for those god-awful crude magazines.”

Ominis chuckled, shaking his head. “A generous comparison, but I like to think I’m slightly more competent than they are.”

She giggled, but her curiosity wouldn’t let up. “Can you touch it?”

Ominis gave her a look before he raised an eyebrow “Like most gifts i give, yes you can.” he spoke softly trying not to showcase his notorious Gaunt annoyance at stupidity.

If Sebastian had been the one to ask such an absurd question, Ominis knew exactly how he’d respond.

“Sebastian,” he’d say in his most exasperated tone, “sometimes when you speak, you force me to believe that you fell off your broomstick and hit your head on every branch of the Whomping Willow.”

His girlfriend couldn’t help but giggle at the thought. ��I guess that was quite the ‘Sebastian question,’” she quipped, clearly amused by her own joke.

“You guessed correctly,” Ominis replied with a chuckle, shaking his head as he imagined Sebastian’s affronted face. The conversation dissolved into soft laughter, and for a time, their walk fell into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the quiet hum of her voice.

It was a tune Ominis recognized—a jaunty melody she must have picked up from one of the castle’s many eccentric portraits. Specifically, a portrait named Salamander.

Salamander was a younger-looking wizard, forever captured in the prime of his life, whose painting hung in a hallway near the Astronomy Tower. Despite his best efforts to rise above petty feelings like jealousy, Ominis couldn’t stop the irritation bubbling up at the sound of that blasted tune.

“Mind changing the tune, love?” he asked as they rounded another corner, keeping his voice calm and even.

“Sorry, Omi,” she said, her tone light and unbothered. “I was just talking to Mander about constellations and how stars change over the centuries. We had quite the conversation. At first, he thought it was because the Earth is flat, but I explained why that’s not true.”

Her voice carried on, animated and carefree, as if she didn’t notice Ominis stiffening slightly beside her.

He wasn’t hearing anything after the word Mander. Mander. She’d given him a nickname.

His jaw tightened. Nicknames were a rare and precious thing, and the only two men privileged enough to have them were Ominis Gaunt himself and Sebastian Sallow. And now now this Salamander had joined their exclusive club? His thick brows twitched as her cheerful recounting of her conversation went on and on and on about that irritating portrait.

“He sounds absolutely delightful,” Ominis said finally, his tone tight as he worked to keep his jealousy at bay. “Though I suspect he must’ve been dropped as an infant—several times, at least.”

She didn’t catch the bite in his words. Instead, she smiled, trotting a little faster to keep up with his suddenly longer strides. “Oh, he’s wonderful, Omi. And he’s a poet!” she added with a bright enthusiasm that only made the knot in his chest tighten.

“He wrote me a poem about how my eyes remind him of the stars,” she said, her voice dreamy. “It was soooo beautiful. I wish I could remember it word for word.”

Ominis’ grip on his wand tightened imperceptibly, and his jaw clenched so hard he thought it might crack. Of course this Mander had written her a poem. Of course, it had been about her eyes. He was a painting, for Merlin’s sake, an inanimate object! Yet here he was, swooping in with flowery words and lofty metaphors.

“How… poetic of him,” Ominis managed to say, his voice strained as his long strides carried them faster toward the dorms.

She glanced up at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “You’re walking so fast, are you all right?”

“Perfectly fine,” he replied curtly. “Just eager to get back.”

Her confusion melted into a soft smile as she caught up to him, slipping her arms into the crevice of his elbow. “You’re adorable when you’re in a hurry, you know that?”

Ominis faltered slightly at her words, his tense expression softening. He exhaled, his lips twitching upward into a small, reluctant smile. His strides now matching her pace.

“Adorable, am I?” he asked, his tone lighter now.

“Absolutely,” she teased, squeezing his hand. “Though I still think Mander would have something to say about it.”

His smile froze. Mander again.

Ominis swore that painting would be moved to the darkest, most forgotten hallway in Hogwarts before the week was out.

Before Ominis could fully plot where Salamander’s portrait would meet its unfortunate relocation, Leander Prewett’s voice rang out, startling both of them.

“Oi! What are the lovebirds up to?” Leander called, swaggering over with a smirk as he glanced between them.

She turned toward him, blinking in surprise. “Leander,” she greeted, her tone curious. “What do you want?”

“Nothing much,” he said, eyeing them with a grin. “Just wondering if you two are up to anything interesting.”

“Oh, you know,” she said breezily, her lips twitching into a mischievous grin. “Just making Ominis jealous of Salamander.”

Ominis stopped dead in his tracks, his expression shifting from mild annoyance to full-blown betrayal. His pale freckled face twisted into a scowl that screamed, How dare you.

Leander frowned, clearly baffled. “The painting?” he asked, his brow furrowing as he tried to connect the dots.

“Exactly,” she replied, giving a small, conspiratorial nod.

Meanwhile, Ominis’ frustration simmered just below the surface. “Can we help you, Prewett?” he snapped, his tone sharp and utterly devoid of patience.

“Oh, not you, Gaunt,” Leander said dismissively, waving a hand as though Ominis wasn’t even there. “I need your girlfriend.”

Ominis’ grip on his wand tightened, but before he could respond, Leander reached into his robe and produced a neatly wrapped package. It was wrapped in black, silk-like paper and topped with a bright yellow bow.

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued, and took the package from him. “Who’s this for?” she asked, turning it over in her hands before noticing the name written in tidy handwriting. “Imelda?”

“Of course,” Leander said, puffing his chest out slightly as if proud of himself.

Her lips twitched, and she leaned in closer to inspect the gift. “Oh, Poppy’s going to have a field day with this,” she murmured under her breath, more to herself than anyone else.

“What was that?” Leander asked, leaning forward, his confusion deepening.

“Nothing,” she said smoothly, slipping the package into the deep, enchanted pocket of her robe with a quick flick of her wand. “I’ll give it to her when I see her.”

“Thanks,” Leander said with a satisfied nod. “And make sure to tell her it’s from her secret admirer, yeah?” With that, he turned on his heel and sauntered off, clearly proud of his efforts.

As soon as he was out of earshot, her face split into a wide grin, her mind already racing with the chaos this would undoubtedly cause.

Ominis, still by her side, tilted his head toward her. “What’s the smirk for, love?” he asked, his tone curious as he guided them back toward the path leading to the dungeons.

“Oh, nothing,” she said, though her voice was laced with amusement. “Just thinking about how karma works.”

Ominis arched a brow but didn’t press further. They walked in companionable silence, their steps muffled as they moved through the shadowy halls. The air grew cooler as they descended, and the torchlight flickered faintly against the stone walls.

She glanced around, noticing the path they were taking. Her grin widened when she realized he was sneaking her into his room. Ominis was weaving through the less-traveled corridors to avoid detection, leading her deeper into Slytherin territory.

“Ominis,” she whispered, her tone playful, “are you sneaking me into the boys-only dormitory?”

Ominis smirked, a rare, devilish gleam lighting up his pale features. “Perhaps,” he replied smoothly, his voice low and teasing. “We could not go, if you wish to not receive your present?”

She laughed, her voice soft and melodic, and slipped her hand into his. “Okay, okay I’ll bite,” she said, squeezing his hand gently as they disappeared into the shadows.

The light echoes of their footsteps became a comforting sound in the abandoned hallway, the tune she hummed now was one from a candy from honey dukes. Ominis forgot the name of the candy but he knew exactly how it tasted in her mouth.

As they ascended up towards the dorm and made some quick and swift turns at the corner. The pair finally at ease as they entered Ominis and Sebastians shared dormitories.

“Go sit on my bed love, I will come back with the gift.” Ominis said as he set his study books on his study table before heading towards his closet. Opening it his suits and robes are all hanging. All looked pristine.

HIs girlfriend was seated on his bed as she observed his figure. The light from the lantern nearby illuminates his feature in a glow that mimicked the setting rays of sunshine. His pale skin and platinum hair looked ethereal. His features are so soft and delicate.

“Here it is,” he said as he picked up a neatly folded stack of clothes.

“What is Omi? What did you get me?” His girlfriend asked, now more excited than ever.

He chuckled at her enthusiasm, knowing very well that he really should just give him the gift than making her wait.

As her hands held on to the delicate and soft fabric of silk her eyes widened.

“This is lingerie, Ominis!” She said as she looked at him.

“Yes it is my love, keen observation.” Ominis spoke as his eyes had a flutter of tease and amusement in it.

“Well Ominis I am unsure if you heard me correctly yesterday but yo-” Before she could reiterate the rules of the challenge Ominis interrupted.

“There is no rule against gift giving.” He said softly as he sat on his study chair. His mind materialises the image of the girl looking at him rather than the lingerie in her hand.

“..I suppose.” She mumbled as she felt the fabric slip and soothe her fingers with its coolness.

“What color is it my love?” Ominis asked.

“It’s black.” She said with a smile on her face as she appreciated the intricate lace and all.

“I figured it since it smelt of ink and lavender. That's why I bought it, it reminded me of you.” He said with a slight pink on his face.

An idea streamed its way inside his girlfriend's head.

“Hmm.. it’ll be a shame for me to wait a whole week before I could wear such a thoughtful gift.” She said teasingly.

Ominis raised an eyebrow before asking “What are you getting at love?”

“I think I would like to wear this now, Omi be a dear and turn around would you please?” she asked with a smile.

“I believe that is a violation of the rules you set upon us.” He said feeling as if his gifts may have backfired.

“There was nothing about getting naked in each other's proximity.” She said softly as she came closer to where he was seated.

She placed her hands on his thighs, as she kissed his lips softly. The intimate action was welcomed. Her lips captured him in a slow kiss as if to say thank you.

“Thank you for the gift Omi,” she whispered in her ears before she kissed it.

Ominis just kept turning red. His body felt hot and his mind felt fuzzy.

What was he thinking? He brought the hottest girl he knows into his dorms, to give her lingerie as a gift all the while he is participating in a challenge with said girl of celibacy for a week.

He practically dug himself the hole for him to lie in.

“Turn around Omi,” she said in a voice feigning annoyance. As she walked over to the bed, her back to the boy behind her, she began to undress.

Her rob was the first to hit the ground below her, then her tie, then her white shirt. And Ominis felt his heart skip a beat as she came into her mind. Now clad in her skirt, socks and shoes but her back was naked. His little minx of a girlfriend forgot her bra. Then came time to take off her skirt and Ominis couldn’t help but hold his breath. He felt the familiar rush of blood through his body, the familiar knot in his throat, and the knowing heat that brewed in his stomach.

He was getting aroused.

“You know I was scared that I would be late for breakfast, so I just didn’t wear my knickers or my bra.” She said casually as she took off her skirt. Bending over a bit. The image of her supple skin glistening in the light came into view and Ominis finally realized what he was challenging himself to not do for a week.

He basically challenged himself to not caress her soft meaty thighs as he buried - no he can’t. He can't reminisce about what he can’t do, because then he will do it. Yes he had great restraint in the outside world but this was his dormitory for heaven's sake. He is sure that he has tainted this room more than Sebastian, and that is a fact.

Another image invaded Ominis’ mind— his girlfriend standing before his mirror, adorned in the black silk panties that clung a little snug to her hips, the delicate lace tracing patterns against her soft skin. She reached behind her, fingers expertly hooking her bra into place, completely unaware of the absolute torment she was putting him through. Her ponytail had come undone, and now her hair cascaded over her shoulders, teasing him further as it brushed against the swell of her chest.

“This looks so cute!” she gushed, turning from side to side to admire herself in the mirror.

Ominis’ chest felt tight. His mind had short-circuited. He was staring— gaping, really— his cheeks flaming red as his body grew unbearably warm.

This was supposed to be her latest attempt to seduce him, a move in their ongoing game to see who would cave first. But she had gotten completely sidetracked, too busy admiring the gift to remember her mission.

"Isn't it, Omi?" she asked, spinning toward him with genuine excitement.

He barely managed a reply. “Ye-yeah,” he croaked, stepping forward until he was right behind her. She was still admiring the way the silk hugged her when he lightly placed his hands on her hips.

In an instant, she turned and pressed soft, giddy kisses to his lips.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” she murmured between each peck, her warmth sinking into him, her scent, mallowsweet and vanilla, wrapping around him like a spell.

It was too much.

The familiar weight settled low in his abdomen, his body betraying him in a matter of seconds. His cock pressed insistently against the fabric of his robe, a physical reminder of just how little control he had when it came to her.

And the worst part? It had taken nothing for her to unravel him. She could have been wearing a jester’s costume, and he still would have felt the same. Because it wasn’t about the silk, or the lace, or the way it clung to her curves.

It was her.

Her laugh. Her scent. The way she felt. The way she felt about him.

And Merlin, was he a mess for her.

“Are you okay, Omi?” she asked, blinking up at him before following his gaze down.

Her lips parted, and a slow, mischievous smile crept onto her face. “Oh… does someone need help?” she teased, voice dipping into a knowing lilt.

Ominis froze. His grip on her hips tightened ever so slightly, his throat dry as he struggled to maintain some semblance of composure.

"That's j-just a normal reaction," he muttered, his voice low, warm against the side of her face.

A shiver coursed through her, her skin erupting in goosebumps at the sound of his voice. She swallowed hard, but it was too late— her body had already responded before her brain could catch up.

She let out a soft, broken whimper.

And suddenly, the dam broke.

Ominis pulled her flush against him, his mouth crashing onto hers with a desperation that left them both breathless. His hands were in her hair, on her waist, on her, kneading, feeling, memorizing the way she melted into him. Her hands were just as eager, slipping beneath his robes, pulling at his clothes with a feverish need to feel him.

"I told you, Imelda, I don’t- WOAH!"

Sebastian’s voice cut through the haze like a blade.

They froze.

Ominis turned so fast he nearly knocked her over, planting himself in front of his barely-dressed girlfriend as Sebastian and Imelda stood in the doorway, both looking thoroughly entertained.

From behind him, she let out a tiny squeak, grabbing onto Ominis' robe as she gladly hid behind his taller frame.

Sebastian’s smirk stretched across his face as he crossed his arms. "Well, well, well. Looks like it’s time for you to pay up, Reyes."

Imelda groaned, already pulling out a small satchel of gold. "I had more faith in you, Ms. Hero of Hogwarts," she grumbled.

"Wait!" she called from behind Ominis, making both intruders pause.

"What?" Imelda asked, clearly irritated.

"You didn’t lose, Imelda. We didn’t do anything besides some light making out," she said matter-of-factly before nudging Ominis. "Right, Omi?"

Ominis blinked, his mind still racing, his body still aching. But he forced himself to nod, his face burning. "She’s correct."

Sebastian sighed dramatically. "Fine." But his smirk didn’t waver.

She took the opportunity to grab her robe and wrap it around herself before stepping forward. "Why are you two even here?" she asked, pulling the fabric tightly around her as she stood next to Ominis.

"Sebastian said he didn’t have my Potions book-"

"Which I don’t!" Sebastian cut in quickly.

"Which he clearly does," Imelda deadpanned, as she picked up her book from the study table in front of them.

Ominis pinched the bridge of his nose. "As joyous as this reunion is, may I suggest you both leave so we can become a bit more… decent?"

He was amazed his voice didn’t waver.

"Five minutes," Imelda said before dragging a still-grinning Sebastian out with her.

The door shut. Silence fell.

"Soooo…" she started, pulling off her robe as she knelt to gather her discarded clothes.

Ominis swallowed hard. "Yeah."

She stood, slipping into her uniform with swift, practiced movements, casting a few quick spells to smooth out the wrinkles. Ominis did the same, knowing full well she’d fix his uniform properly in just a moment.

As expected, she turned to him, smoothing down his collar with gentle fingers. "I guess I really shouldn’t be worried."

Ominis raised an eyebrow. "Worried? About what?"

Her lips curled into a smirk. "About losing."

Ominis let out a soft chuckle before settling his hands on her hips, pulling her just a little closer. "I made a miscalculated decision," he murmured. "One that will not repeat going forward, my love."

And before she could respond, he tilted her chin up, brushing his lips over hers. His tongue traced the bottom of her lip before he pulled away— just a little tease, a taste of what was to come.

Her breath hitched, but she laughed, threading her fingers through his. "I really adore the gift, Ominis. I think I’ll wear it when I’m getting my way with you."

His grip on her hand tightened. "You’re a menace."

She giggled, tugging him toward the door. "And you love it."

Imelda and Sebastian leaned casually against the stone wall outside Ominis’ dorm, waiting. As soon as the couple emerged, Sebastian’s smirk deepened.

“So,” Imelda began, falling into step beside them as they made their way toward the quad. “Are you two planning to spend your nights in the Room of Requirement this week?”

Ominis frowned. “What for?”

Sebastian snorted, already knowing where this was going.

Imelda rolled her eyes. “Your lovely girlfriend explained the full terms of the bet, Gaunt. No wanking your willy, no flicking your bean— so wouldn’t it only be fair to spend the nights together as well? I mean, it’s not like you two haven’t done it before.”

Ominis opened his mouth, then promptly shut it.

She had a point.

His girlfriend hummed in thought before glancing up at him, amusement flickering in her eyes. “That does seem fair, doesn’t it, Omi?”

A pause. Then, begrudgingly, he sighed. “Fine.”

So it was settled.

Tuesday came and went without incident.

They both remained on their best behavior, though that wasn’t to say the tension wasn’t there; because it was.

Normally, Tuesday nights in the Room of Requirement were spent brewing potions, tending to plants, and— more often than not— tangled up in each other’s arms before bed. But not this time. Not with the bet hanging over them.

So instead of their usual routine, she sat behind him, fingers kneading into his back, working out the tension he refused to acknowledge.

Ominis knew she was up to something.

The moment she offered a massage, he had braced himself for torture - a slow, teasing descent into madness. But that wasn’t what happened.

There was no deliberate shift in her weight to press against him, no featherlight touches skimming too low, no sultry whispers against his ear.

Just her hands. Just steady, firm movements that should have lulled him into a state of relaxation.

And yet, he was more tense than before.

His muscles were coiled tight, his body on high alert, because none of this made sense.

She was supposed to tease him. Tempt him. Drive him over the edge until he cracked under pressure. That’s what he had prepared for.

Instead, she had done nothing.

Just as the unease was beginning to get to him, her hands stilled.

“I’m tired,” she murmured, shifting beside him onto her side. “I think I’ll stop here.”

He tensed further, waiting for the catch. But there wasn’t one.

She yawned, stretching languidly before curling up comfortably against the open space beside him.

“Goodnight, Omi.”

Her voice was sweet, too sweet, and when he turned his head toward her, he could practically hear the smirk in her tone.

Ominis lay rigid, mind spinning.

This was a trap.

It had to be.

But as the minutes stretched on, her breathing evened out, soft and steady. She had actually fallen asleep.

What the hell was she playing at?

She knew him too well.

She knew that if she had teased him, he would have resisted, fought back just as hard. But this? This was calculated.

Keeping him on edge. Keeping him confused.

And Merlin help him; it was working.

At some point during the night, Ominis succumbed to sleep. His body had finally relaxed, muscles no longer wound tight with tension. And when he woke, he felt, strangely, well-rested.

Except… something was off.

The warmth beside him had shifted. Her body had gravitated closer in sleep, her presence so familiar now that he could feel it even without touching her. He reached for his wand instinctively, letting the vibrations fill in the image his sight could not provide.

And Merlin, was it a sight.

Her hair spilled across the pillow like spilled ink, a chaotic mess around her peaceful face. Her lips were slightly parted, a faint line of drool escaping the corner of her mouth, completely unbothered in her slumber.

His mind drifted lower, tracing the delicate silk of her nightdress, short, because she preferred it that way. The thin straps had slipped from her shoulders, and with them, the fabric had shifted— too much.

His breath hitched.

One perfect breast had spilled free, soft, inviting, rising and falling with every slow breath she took.

Ominis clenched his jaw, swallowing against the immediate heat rushing through his body. But it was too late; his cock had already responded, painfully stiff, throbbing against the constraint of his underwear.

A low groan slipped from his lips as he felt the unmistakable dampness of precum leaking from the tip.

This was unfair.

She had done nothing, and yet here he was— wrecked.

Ominis stood abruptly, grabbing a fresh towel before making his way to the bathroom, his body aching for relief. The moment the door shut behind him, he let out a sharp breath, pressing his palms against the cool porcelain sink.

This was hell.

It wasn’t unusual for him to wake before her— she always slept longer, comforted by the familiar sounds of his morning routine. But today? Today, he needed to get away before he did something reckless.

He turned the knobs, letting cold water cascade over his overheated skin. The shock of it sent a shiver through him, pressing him back against the chilled stone wall. His cock was still hard, still leaking, and he hated how easy it was for her to do this to him.

Even now, his mind betrayed him.

The boat house.

Her.

The way she had pressed her tits together, slick and warm, dragging him between them before wrapping her lips around him. The way she whimpered, the way her tongue had—

Fuck.

Ominis' jaw clenched. His hips had jerked involuntarily, searching for the pleasure he refused to grant himself.

He gritted his teeth.

No.

Not here. Not like this.

The pressure in his abdomen coiled tighter, a slow, agonizing burn. He needed more—but he wasn’t going to lose.

He quickly turned the water from cold to warm, hoping to reset his thoughts.

It didn’t work.

Because now, the warmth reminded him of her, of the way her body pressed against his, the softness of her skin, the heat pooling between her thighs as she whimpered against him.

Ominis groaned, gripping his aching length for just a moment before yanking his hand away.

Am I really this weak?

Do I have no resolve?

Precum dripped onto the tile, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

This was supposed to be his damn solace.

Disgusted with himself, he shut off the water, stepping out of the shower still hard, still frustrated beyond belief. He wrapped the towel around his waist, gripping it tighter than necessary, willing himself to calm down.

And then— she walked in.

Yawning as she stretched, her silk nightdress hitching up just enough to reveal the soft underside of her ass.

Ominis nearly whimpered.

Instead, he swallowed his groan, his fingers twitching at his sides as she moved past him.

Completely. Unbothered.

This was unfair.

She grabbed her toothbrush and handed it to him with a small smile. “Good morning, Omi.”

He forced himself to take it, shoving it into his mouth before he could say something pathetic.

She started brushing her teeth, her voice muffled through the bristles. “You don’t take hot showers. What changed today?”

His grip on the sink tightened. “Nothing.”

Liar.

His wand was in his pocket, and despite himself, he couldn’t stop it from registering the details of the room; the way her breasts bounced as she brushed, the way her thighs pressed together slightly as she leaned over to spit—

Salazar, have mercy.

“Whatever you say, Omi.” She moved to wash her face, her voice still deep with grogginess, completely unaware of how utterly undone he was.

Or maybe…

Maybe she knew exactly what she was doing.

When she stood straight again, water dripping down her neck, he was certain—

He needed to put his mouth on her.

But she didn’t give him the chance.

“I’m going to take a shower-” She paused, hesitating. He could hear the shift in her tone, could practically feel her catching herself before saying something dangerous.

He exhaled slowly.

She had almost invited him in.

Instead, she cleared her throat. “Never mind. Will you wait for me before breakfast?”

Ominis shut his eyes for a moment before replying, "Yes."

She disappeared into the shower, leaving him half-naked, painfully hard, and more frustrated than ever.

He stomped back into the room, dragging his robes on with more force than necessary.

The door opened again, and he heard it-

The rustle of fabric. The soft zip of her skirt. The quiet snap of buttons being fastened.

And then… nothing.

Ominis turned slightly, waiting.

She always teased him when getting dressed. She always made a show of slipping into her uniform, always brushed against him in passing.

But today?

Nothing.

When she finally emerged, she was fully dressed—plaid skirt, vest, tie neatly knotted, socks pulled perfectly into place.

And Ominis?

Ominis felt betrayed.

Where was the game? Where was the seduction?

She sat at her vanity, combing through her hair as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

His mind raced.

Why isn’t she teasing me?

What is her play?

Isn’t she frustrated?

She hummed in thought, posing with different hairstyles before glancing at him. "Do you think I should leave my hair down today?"

Ominis barely processed the question.

When he didn’t answer, she huffed. “Omi, I want your opinion.”

He let out a slow, measured breath, gripping the edge of the bed. "Whatever makes you happy, my love."

She rolled her eyes. "That’s not an answer."

Neither was hers.

She was dodging the game, changing the rules, and it was driving him insane.

She finished combing her hair, and then–

The scent of mallowsweet filled the air.

Her perfume.

The last step of her routine.

Ominis sat stiffly, his cock still aching beneath his trousers. His body was begging for relief, and all she had done was get dressed.

She hadn’t flirted.

She hadn’t touched him.

She hadn’t even tried to seduce him.

And yet, she was winning.

His grip on the bed tightened.

He didn’t know what her plan was.

But he was starting to realize one very important thing,

He might actually lose this bet.

----

She liked to think she was winning. That her calculated restraint was driving Ominis mad with frustration.

But the truth?

She was suffering just as much.

She missed everything; the weight of him pressed against her, the slow grind of his hips, the way he groaned so sweetly whenever she had him in her mouth. Ominis was addictive, a drug she could never get enough of, and now? Now she was deprived.

Her body knew it.

During class, she was restless, her legs bouncing beneath the desk, fingers twitching against the parchment as she forced herself to focus. But it was impossible. The minutes dragged, each second more unbearable than the last, because all she wanted, all she needed, was to find Ominis and kiss him.

Just a kiss.

Something small, something innocent.

But still intimacy.

By midday, she was desperate, anticipation coiling in her stomach as she made her way to lunch. She could almost see it; Ominis waiting for her at their usual spot, his head tilted slightly toward the sound of her approach, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

But then a note arrived.

Ominis had sent word that he’d be spending the afternoon helping Sebastian and Anne with Potions. He wouldn’t be meeting her for lunch.

Her stomach dropped.

The devastation was instant, a wave of disappointment crashing over her so strongly that she froze in place. She knew where they’d be; the library, but she couldn’t just show up. That would be desperate.

So instead, she forced herself to stay away.

She tried not to think about him.

Tried not to think about the ache between her thighs, the way her body responded just from missing him.

But it was impossible.

Because she felt it with every step she took; the warmth slicking her inner thighs, the way her body wept for him, not from need or stimulation but from something deeper, something worse.

I miss him.

Not just his touch. Not just the sex.

Him.

Her mind drifted.

The first time Ominis had pinned her down and insisted— begged— for her to sit on his face. How nervous she’d been, worried she’d suffocate him, but he hadn’t cared. He wanted it. He wanted her.

And when she had finally given in?

He had pulled her down harder.

She had never been worshiped the way Ominis worshiped her. Never known that kind of devotion, that kind of intensity, until him.

Oh, fuck.

Her thighs pressed together, instinctive, but it wasn’t enough.

She needed him. Now.

Lunch forgotten, she wandered the castle grounds, hoping the cold air would settle her, but it only made her feel worse. Being outside without Ominis next to her felt wrong, felt lonely.

She didn’t even care about sex at this point.

She just needed him.

She didn’t think twice as she marched toward the library, entering with determined steps. But Ominis wasn’t there.

A pout pulled at her lips.

She spent the next twenty minutes searching, feeling ridiculous, before she finally checked the Potions classroom.

And there he was.

Beautiful. Frustrating. Hers.

He stood at the front of the classroom, methodically guiding Anne and Sebastian through the steps of brewing a Pepperup Potion. A punishment from Nurse Blaney for being caught stealing potions, and instead of detention, they had been assigned one hundred Pepperup Potions to make.

Cold season was approaching, after all.

She didn’t care about any of that.

“Ominis!” she gasped, rushing toward him, ignoring the startled looks from the others as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Hard.

Too hard.

But she didn’t care, because his lips were on hers, and that was all that mattered.

The moment was over in seconds, but she felt it everywhere— her lips tingling, her skin buzzing, her heart racing.

She pulled away just as quickly, breathless.

Ominis let out a low chuckle, his smirk unmistakable. “Couldn’t stay away, could you?”

She scoffed, lifting her chin. “No, I could. I just came here to meet Anne.”

Anne blinked, confused. “…Me?”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I was going to ask if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade today.”

Anne gave her a knowing look before smiling apologetically. “I can’t. I promised Natty I’d study for Transfiguration with her.”

A beat of silence.

Ominis smirked. “Caught in your lie.”

Her stomach flipped, heat creeping up her neck as his tone— so smug, so satisfied— sank into her skin.

Because he was right.

She had lasted half a day without him before completely unraveling.

And the worst part?

Ominis knew it.

---

By Wednesday night, Ominis and his sweet, infuriating girlfriend had made it to yet another night of self-control.

They were in bed, both immersed in their respective readings. Ominis lay propped up against the pillows, his wand hovering lightly over the pages of his book. He was clad only in silk sleep pants, having forgone a shirt; his preferred way to sleep. The air in the room was cool, but his skin remained warm, his body always carrying heat.

And she?

She was struggling.

She had been glancing at him for the past half hour, barely retaining any of the information from her Dark Arts History reading. How could she focus when Ominis was lying next to her like this? When his defined chest was exposed, when the gentle rise and fall of his breathing made his muscles shift just enough to distract her?

Tension wasn't thick, but it was there.

It had settled between them like an unspoken understanding; the constant awareness of each other's bodies, the quiet acknowledgment that one wrong move could unravel everything.

She sighed softly, finally giving up on her book. Closing it, she placed it on her nightstand before shifting closer, curling into Ominis’ warm side.

“Let’s cuddle, Omi.” Her voice was soft, sleepy, as she nuzzled against his bare chest.

A low chuckle rumbled through him. He set his book aside, adjusting easily to accommodate her, his arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her against him.

“You’re so needy.” He teased, his lips brushing against the top of her head.

She hummed contentedly, one leg lazily slipping over his. “Says you.”

His chest vibrated with quiet amusement, his fingers lazily tracing circles along her exposed thigh.

Ominis was always warm, always steady, and right now, she felt safe; wrapped in the scent of him, surrounded by his presence, his touch, his breath.

For a moment, she let herself just be, breathing in the stillness.

Neither of them spoke further.

Neither of them had to.

The End.

Give me feedback and lmk anything else.

Also I'm just asking who do you guys want to win?

Masterlist

#x reader #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy ominis #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #dividers by pommecita #x you smut #hogwarts smut

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