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elikajinnie · 3 months ago

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Was I Just A Bet? - P.J

P: Gryffindor!Jay X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, Misunderstandings, Hurt/Comfort, Feelings Realization.

Synopsis: At Hogwarts, you built a reputation for rejecting every romantic advance. Jay, a popular Gryffindor, asks you out on a dare.

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Ever since you were a child, you watched people fall in love—the way their eyes lit up around each other, the way they cared deeply, selflessly, doing anything to make the other happy. It was something you had always longed to feel for yourself. You wanted to experience love, to be someone's first thought in the morning and last before they drifted off to sleep. But as you grew older, no one ever stirred that feeling in you. You waited, hoped, but there was never anyone who made you feel truly seen, let alone loved. And with each passing year, the frustration built.

Eventually, you had enough.

You decided to renounce love, at least from any guy. "It’ll be better this way," you told yourself, over and over again, a mantra each time you passed a couple in the streets or saw friends paired off, hand in hand. Love wasn’t for you, and that was fine. There were other things to focus on, more important things.

Then, the day your Hogwarts acceptance letter arrived, you had allowed yourself to hope. Maybe here, in this world of magic, you could find your place. You could study, make a few friends, and graduate without the complications of love, without boys breaking your heart. It seemed like a simple enough plan.

But life had other plans for you.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

During your first few years at Hogwarts, you built yourself a reputation without even meaning to. Word spread quickly that you were untouchable when it came to romance. Your focus was on magic, your friends, and your studies—nothing else. You rejected every boy who tried to ask you out, and there were more than a few. Some asked you shyly, others with confidence, but your answer was always the same.

“No, I’m not interested.”

At first, your friends teased you about it, telling you to loosen up, to have some fun. But they didn’t understand. You weren’t interested in getting hurt, in wasting time on something that, in your eyes, had become trivial. You had seen enough of your classmates go through the highs and lows of relationships, and none of it appealed to you.

The rejections continued throughout your years. Some boys were persistent, believing they could be the one to change your mind.

They weren’t. Over time, people began to accept it. The offers stopped coming, and with them, the whispers about who might try next.

Your reputation solidified. You were the girl who didn’t date. The girl who couldn’t be won over. To some, that made you a mystery, an unattainable challenge. To others, it made you intimidating. Either way, it didn’t bother you. In fact, it gave you the freedom you’d always wanted. No more awkward conversations, no more rejecting people’s advances. You could focus on what really mattered: honing your magic, learning every spell and potion with a precision that set you apart.

But even as the castle echoed with rumors of your romantic disinterest, you couldn’t escape the moments that gnawed at the edges of your resolve. The fleeting glances in the Great Hall, the flutter in your chest when someone smiled at you just the right way—moments you forced yourself to bury.

By fifth year, no one bothered asking you out anymore.

And yet, despite the peace that should have brought, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. That even though you’d built this wall around yourself, there was a part of you that wondered what it would be like to let someone in.

It crept in late at night when the castle was quiet, and the fire in the common room flickered softly in the hearth. You’d sit by the window, watching the stars, your friends laughing in the background, and you’d wonder. Wonder what it would feel like to hold someone’s hand, to have someone look at you like you were their whole world, to be vulnerable with someone and not feel like you were losing control.

You always pushed the thoughts away, focusing on your studies or your friends, but the feeling lingered like a shadow. The life you'd crafted for yourself was solid, predictable, but there were cracks. You could feel them. And with every passing day, that nagging voice in the back of your mind grew louder, asking the same question over and over again:

What if you were wrong?

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

You were sitting in the Great Hall, laughing with your friends about something silly that happened in class earlier. The chatter of students filled the air, the clinking of cutlery and the low hum of conversation creating the familiar buzz of Hogwarts. You were completely unaware of the conversation taking place just a few seats down, a group of Gryffindor boys exchanging glances in hushed tones.

"I don't know what to do anymore, man. She won't go out with me," one of them, named Lucas, muttered in frustration, poking at his plate. His friends looked at him with a mix of amusement and pity.

"Maybe she just ain't interested," another, Kieran, said with a shrug, clearly stating the obvious.

"Nah, that's impossible. Who wouldn’t date me?" Lucas scoffed, running a hand through his hair like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

"Many people," a quieter voice added dryly, smirking. "Like her." He discreetly pointed in your direction.

You were oblivious, too caught up in the banter with your friends, smiling as you dipped a piece of toast into your soup. But the boys had their attention on you now, casting brief glances toward your end of the table.

“Bet she’ll date by the end of this year,” Kieran said suddenly, breaking the tension.

The others turned to him, eyebrows raised in surprise. “What?”

“I’m just saying," he continued. "No one stays single forever. Bet someone could get her to go out by the end of this year."

A third boy, Jungwon, shook his head firmly. “Guys, no. We’re not doing anything stupid. You know what they say about messing with people like that.”

"Yeah, don't be thick. We’re not pulling some sort of prank on her,” Kieran replied saracastically, though his eyes glimmered with a hint of mischief.

But Lucas, still stuck on his own bruised ego, leaned back in his seat and raised an eyebrow. “Okay, but let’s be real. Which of us would she even accept?”

There was a pause, and the group collectively turned thoughtful. No one spoke for a beat, as if they were sizing each other up. Then one of them muttered under his breath, almost as if he didn’t mean for anyone to hear: “Jay?”

All of their heads turned in unison to look at Jay, a quiet but undeniably popular Gryffindor, who was currently sitting across from them, completely absorbed in his meal. He had been oblivious to their entire conversation, minding his own business as he ate.

Jay had always been different from the others. Where the rest were loud and reckless, he was calm and thoughtful, the kind of person who didn’t seek attention but always managed to get it anyway. His sharp features and easy smile didn’t hurt either, making him someone who easily caught people’s eye, whether they wanted to admit it or not.

Kieran nudged Lucas. “You think he’d have a chance?”

“Maybe,” Lucas said, leaning forward. “He’s the only one who hasn’t tried.”

Jungwon rolled his eyes. “Because Jay isn’t stupid. He’s not going to go along with this.”

Before any of them could say more, Jay finally noticed the attention. He looked up from his plate, fork still in hand. “What?” he asked, sounding more curious than annoyed.

The others exchanged glances, unsure how to even start explaining what they had been discussing. Kieran, never one to shy away from a challenge, decided to go for it.

“We were just… talking about how you’re probably the only one who could get her to go out with someone,” he said, jerking his head toward your end of the table.

Jay followed the gesture, his eyes landing on you for the briefest moment before flicking back to his friends. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said flatly, turning back to his food.

Lucas leaned in, lowering his voice. “No, seriously. She’s turned down everyone. But you’re different. I bet you could—”

“Stop right there,” Jay interrupted, his tone now clearly annoyed. He put down his fork, his usually calm expression replaced with a frown. “You guys need to stop treating her like some kind of prize to be won. She’s not interested, end of story.”

The group fell silent, awkwardness settling between them. Even Jungwon seemed to agree with Jay’s sentiment, nodding slightly.

But Kieran, never one to back down easily, leaned back in his chair, smirking slightly. “What if she was interested in you though? Would you give it a shot?”

Jay hesitated for the briefest moment, his eyes flicking back to you once more. But instead of answering, he grabbed his bag and stood up. “I’ve got better things to do than play these kinds of games,” he said, and with that, he walked away, leaving his friends to stew in their own thoughts.

Unbeknownst to you, a ripple of tension had settled between the boys. But Jay’s words stuck with them, even after he’d left.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

The boys didn’t let it go.

The next few days, every chance they got, they found a way to bring you up in conversation with Jay. It was subtle at first—side comments, casual jokes—but when Jay continued to ignore them, they ramped it up.

"Come on, Jay, just ask her," Lucas said one afternoon while they were lounging in the common room. He had a tone of desperation in his voice, like this whole thing was his last shot at redeeming his bruised ego.

Jay barely glanced up from the book he was reading. "I told you, I'm not interested. Find someone else to mess with."

"She’s not gonna say yes to any of us," Kieran added, flopping onto the couch across from Jay. "But you? You've got a chance, man."

Jay sighed, snapping the book shut and fixing them with an exasperated look. "I’m not asking her out for you guys. What are you even trying to prove?"

The group exchanged glances. There was a beat of silence before Lucas blurted out, "Okay, fine. We made a bet. Happy now?"

Jay raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed. "A bet."

"Yeah," Kieran continued. "That someone could get her to go out with them by the end of the year. And look, if you do this, we’ll—" He paused, clearly trying to think of an enticing offer. "We’ll do anything. Name it, and it’s yours."

"Anything?" Jay asked, skeptical.

"Anything," Lucas confirmed quickly, leaning forward. "You want help with Quidditch practice? Done. Extra study notes for exams? You got it. Just name it."

Jay leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching them with growing amusement. "And what do you get out of it, besides winning a stupid bet?"

Kieran smirked. "Bragging rights, mostly. And maybe the satisfaction of knowing we finally figured out what she wants."

Lucas nodded. "And we’ll stop bugging you about it."

Jay let out a short laugh. "This is ridiculous. You realize that, right?"

Jungwon, who had been quiet for most of the conversation, finally chimed in. "It’s not like we’re asking you to date her. Just ask her out once, see what happens. You don’t even have to mean it. We just—" He shrugged. "We want to see if she’ll say yes to anyone."

Jay's expression shifted, his initial irritation fading as he considered their offer. There was no denying it—he could get almost anything he wanted out of this. And truthfully, he was curious. He’d never thought about you in that way, but the way the others talked about you, with that mix of fascination and frustration, made him wonder. You were untouchable to them, this mystery they couldn’t figure out. And as much as he hated the idea of using someone to win a bet, part of him was intrigued by the challenge.

"Anything, huh?" Jay repeated, making them all sit up a little straighter.

"Anything," Lucas echoed eagerly.

Jay was quiet for a moment, then finally, with a resigned sigh, he nodded. "Fine. But I’m not doing this for your bet. You guys owe me—big time."

Lucas grinned, slapping Kieran on the back. "Done. Whatever you want, mate."

Jay rolled his eyes, already regretting his decision. He wasn’t one to play games like this, but if getting them off his back meant asking you out once, it couldn’t be that bad, right? He just had to approach you, see what happened, and that would be the end of it. Simple.

But something about it felt anything but simple. You weren’t just some random girl, after all. You were smart, independent, and completely uninterested in dating. You had turned down every guy who had approached you, without even a second thought. And while the others were too focused on their bruised egos to see it, Jay could sense that there was more to your refusal than what met the eye.

As the group dispersed, leaving Jay alone with his thoughts, he found himself wondering—if he did ask you out, how would you respond? Would you see right through him, knowing it wasn’t genuine? Or would you surprise everyone, including him?

One way or another, he was about to find out.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

The days following their agreement were relentless. The boys wouldn’t let up, bugging Jay every chance they got about asking you out. Every time they passed him in the hall or caught him during meals, they’d throw out some comment about “the bet” or nudge him about “getting it over with.”

“You haven’t done it yet, right?” Lucas would say, leaning in with that expectant smirk.

“C’mon, it’s not that hard. Just ask her,” Kieran would add, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Jay did his best to brush them off, but eventually, it became clear that they wouldn’t stop until he went through with it. He wasn’t sure why he was so hesitant. Maybe it was the way they were treating it like a game, or maybe it was because you were different from the others they’d approached before. But either way, Jay knew he had to get it over with.

Then, one afternoon, the golden moment came. You were sitting by yourself in the courtyard, your bag leaning against the stone wall as you flipped through a book, your focus entirely on whatever you were reading. Jay, spotting his chance, took a deep breath and walked toward you, trying to push aside the strange nerves building in his chest. He wasn’t usually nervous around people, least of all girls, but something about this felt different. Maybe it was because he knew you wouldn’t be easily impressed. Maybe it was because, despite his intentions, he was genuinely curious about what you’d say.

As he approached, you looked up, your gaze meeting his. He saw a flicker of surprise cross your face, probably because you weren’t used to him talking to you. For a brief moment, Jay hesitated, but then he forced himself to speak.

“Hey,” he said casually, shoving his hands into his pockets.

You raised an eyebrow. “Hey.”

He could feel the weight of your stare, sizing him up in that same quiet, thoughtful way you always had. Jay wasn’t like the others who had come to you with grand gestures or awkward flattery. He didn’t try to impress you with rehearsed lines. Instead, he simply looked at you and said, “I know this is probably not your thing, but I was wondering if you’d want to go out sometime. Just… I don’t know, grab a butterbeer or something?”

For a moment, you didn’t respond. You just looked at him, your gaze steady, but Jay could tell you were actually thinking about it. You didn’t reject him immediately like you had with the others. There was something in the way your eyes flickered over him—taking in his composed, relaxed posture, the sincerity in his voice. It caught you off guard, maybe because he hadn’t come across as desperate or pushy. He was just… asking.

But eventually, after what felt like an eternity, you shook your head softly, a small, almost apologetic smile on your lips. “Sorry, Jay. I don’t really do the whole dating thing.”

Jay wasn’t surprised, but something in the way you said it made him feel like it wasn’t as easy for you to reject him as it had been with the others. There was a pause, and then you added, “But… thanks for asking.”

He shrugged, offering a half-smile. “No worries. Figured I’d give it a shot.”

And with that, he walked away, no drama, no hard feelings. He didn’t seem upset, just accepting. But as he left, you found yourself watching him go, your thoughts lingering on him longer than you expected. Jay was different from the others. He hadn’t made you feel pressured or uncomfortable. And while you had rejected him, part of you wondered if it might have been a mistake. You watched him until he disappeared from sight, a thoughtful look crossing your face.

When Jay finally returned to his friends, Lucas and Kieran were waiting, their eyes lighting up with anticipation. “Well?” Lucas asked, leaning forward. “How’d it go?”

Jay shrugged, sitting down on the bench beside them. “She said no.”

“That’s it?” Kieran frowned, like he couldn’t believe it was that simple. “You just walked away?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” Jay shot back, his voice calm but firm. “I asked, she answered. End of story.”

But his friends weren’t satisfied with that. Over the next few days, they kept at him, pushing him to try again. “Come on, Jay. You can’t just give up like that,” Lucas would say. “You’ve gotta try harder. She didn’t outright reject you, right? There’s a chance.”

Kieran would join in too, nudging Jay with a grin. “Maybe she’s just playing hard to get. One more try, and I bet she’ll say yes.”

Jay, however, had had enough. He shook his head every time, rejecting their ideas. “I did what I promised,” he said firmly. “I’m not doing it again. It’s done.”

But something had changed. Even though Jay refused to entertain their pestering, he couldn’t help but keep an eye on you more than before. He didn’t know why, but he found himself watching you when you were in the common room or when you passed by in the halls. He wasn’t interested in winning any stupid bet anymore, but there was something about you that had stuck with him.

You were different from what he had expected—stronger, more thoughtful. And now, every time he saw you, he couldn’t help but wonder what was really going on behind those quiet, steady eyes.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

It happened so quickly that you barely had time to process it. One minute you were walking down the corridor, minding your own business, and the next thing you knew, a strong gust of wind rushed behind you, practically shoving you into an empty classroom. The door slammed shut behind you with an unsettling finality.

You spun around, eyes wide, reaching for the handle, only to find it locked tight. Panic briefly flared in your chest, and you tried again, jiggling the handle harder this time. It wouldn’t budge.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath, giving the door one last shove before finally stepping back. That was when you noticed you weren’t alone.

Jay stood at the other end of the room, frozen in place, staring at you with wide eyes. He looked just as surprised as you were, a book in his hand and several parchment scrolls spread out across a desk near him. It was clear he hadn’t expected this any more than you had.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, still trying to wrap your head around the situation.

“I—uh—was just helping Professor Flitwick with some charms work,” Jay stammered, glancing around the room as if trying to figure out how you’d both ended up in this position. His brows furrowed, and he took a few cautious steps toward the door. “Did someone lock us in?”

You crossed your arms, sighing. “It feels like it.”

Jay tried the door, tugging at the handle with just as much frustration as you had, but it didn’t budge. After a minute, he gave up, turning to look at you with a resigned expression. “I guess we’re stuck.”

There was a beat of silence as the reality of the situation set in. There was no getting out anytime soon, and the room was completely empty except for the two of you. With a sigh, you walked over to one of the desks and sat down, resting your arms on the surface. Jay hesitated for a moment before following suit, taking the seat across from you.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The room was filled with silence, punctuated only by the faint sounds of the castle’s distant creaks and murmurs. Jay shifted awkwardly in his seat, glancing at you occasionally, while you stared at the desk, trying to figure out how to handle this.

Then, after what felt like forever, Jay cleared his throat. “So… this is awkward.”

You snorted despite yourself, glancing up at him. “Yeah, you could say that.”

There was a brief pause, and then Jay spoke again, more softly this time. “Look, I didn’t ask for this, and I’m guessing you didn’t either. But since we’re stuck here… maybe we could just talk?”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to humor him. But something in Jay’s expression—his genuine attempt to break the tension—made you decide to give it a shot. After all, it wasn’t like you had anything better to do.

“Alright,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “What do you want to talk about?”

Jay smiled, relieved, and for the first time since you’d met him, you saw a spark of warmth behind his usual laid-back demeanor. “Honestly, anything. You know, I don’t think we’ve ever actually talked before. Like, really talked.”

You shrugged, giving him a slight smile. “Not much of a talker, I guess.”

Jay chuckled, nodding. “Fair enough. But I’m curious. You’re always so put together, like nothing rattles you. How do you manage that? Doesn’t anything ever get to you?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. No one had ever really asked you that before. And certainly not with the kind of sincerity Jay was showing now. For a moment, you considered giving a vague, dismissive answer, but something about the quiet intimacy of the room made you feel like it was okay to let your guard down, just a little.

“I guess… I’ve learned not to let things get to me,” you said slowly. “People expect a lot, you know? So, I just stopped caring what they thought.”

Jay nodded thoughtfully, leaning his elbows on the desk as he listened. “That makes sense. But it’s gotta be exhausting sometimes, right? Keeping that wall up.”

You hesitated, glancing down at your hands. “Yeah… sometimes.”

You were quiet for a while after that, but the tension had eased. Jay wasn’t trying to pry, and you appreciated that. The conversation shifted into lighter topics, and soon enough, you found yourself laughing at one of Jay’s stories about a disastrous Quidditch practice that had gone hilariously wrong. It was easy, natural. He wasn’t trying to impress you; he was just… being himself. And you realized, much to your surprise, that you actually enjoyed talking to him.

The laughter died down, leaving a comfortable silence in its wake. Jay leaned back in his chair, a soft smile still lingering on his lips. And then, without warning, he looked at you with a seriousness that hadn’t been there before.

“You know, I wasn’t going to bring this up again,” Jay began, his voice quiet, “but since we’re stuck here, and you don’t seem to hate me…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly before meeting your eyes. “What if I asked you out again? For real this time. No bets, no pressure. Just… a date. What would you say?”

You could feel your heart racing in your chest as you considered his offer. Part of you wanted to retreat, to protect yourself like you always had. But another part—the part that had been curious about Jay ever since that first conversation—was tired of being so guarded.

So, after a long moment, you took a deep breath and did something you hadn’t done in years.

You smiled at him, genuinely, and nodded. “Okay. I’ll go on a date with you.”

Jay blinked in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected you to say yes, but then his expression softened into a warm, almost disbelieving smile. “Really?”

“Really,” you confirmed, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nervousness.

And just like that, for the first time since you were a child, you allowed yourself to step out from behind the walls you’d built. You didn’t know what would come next, but for the first time in a long time, you were ready to find out.

The conversation between you and Jay eventually faded into a comfortable silence, but the reality of your situation remained—you were still locked in the classroom. That is, until Jay suddenly sat up straight.

"Wait," he said, his face lighting up with realization, "I have my wand."

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned by how obvious the solution was. "You’ve had it this whole time?"

Jay rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, pulling his wand out of his pocket. "Yeah… sorry about that."

With a flick of his wrist and a muttered charm, the door clicked open. You stood up, crossing the room toward the door, but something caught your eye near the floor—your own wand, lying forgotten. You must have dropped it when you’d been shoved into the classroom. Picking it up, you felt a wave of relief wash over you.

“Nice work,” you said, flashing Jay a teasing grin as you stepped into the corridor. The castle was quiet now, most students in their common rooms or already asleep.

Jay walked out after you, looking a little embarrassed but smiling nonetheless. “I’ll do better next time.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Next time?”

Jay’s eyes widened, but he quickly recovered. “I mean… for the date. If that still stands.”

You found yourself smiling again, that rare, genuine smile you hadn’t used much in recent years. “Yeah, it still stands. We’re still on for butterbeer.”

Jay grinned, and for a moment, he looked more relieved than anything. “How about next weekend? Hogsmeade?”

You nodded. “Sounds good. The Three Broomsticks?”

“Yeah, perfect,” Jay said, his smile growing wider.

There was a brief pause as you both stood there, not quite knowing how to end the conversation, but eventually, you gave him a small wave. “See you then.”

“See you,” Jay replied, his voice carrying a hint of excitement as he turned and walked down the corridor, disappearing around the corner.

When Jay finally found his friends, they were sprawled out in the common room, looking like they were waiting for him. As soon as he stepped in, they all jumped up, expectant looks on their faces.

“Well?” Kieran asked, barely able to contain his excitement. “What happened?”

Jay leaned against the wall, a small, satisfied smirk on his face. “She said yes.”

The room erupted into chaos. Lucas threw his arms up in victory, and Kieran did a little celebratory dance. Jungwon clapped him on the back, grinning like mad.

“I knew it!” Kieran shouted. “I knew she’d say yes eventually!”

“Best day ever!” Lucas added, punching the air. “Jay, you’re a legend!”

Jay rolled his eyes, but there was no denying the grin on his face. Still, he held up a hand to quiet them down. “Alright, alright, keep it down. Let’s not make a big deal out of it.”

Kieran, who was practically bouncing on his feet, looked confused. “Wait, why? This is huge!”

Jay’s expression softened slightly. “I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want her to think it’s some big joke, alright? So, let’s keep it quiet.”

Lucas and Kieran exchanged glances before nodding. They owed Jay that much—after all, they’d bugged him relentlessly, and he’d finally succeeded.

“Fine, fine,” Kieran agreed, still grinning. “We’ll keep it quiet.”

Jungwon gave Jay a more serious nod of approval. “Good call, man. Don’t worry, we won’t mess it up for you.”

Back in your own dormitory, things went down a little differently.

As soon as you told your friends about the date, they exploded into a frenzy of squealing and excited chatter. You hadn’t even finished the sentence before one of them screamed.

“Wait, you said yes?!” your friend Eliza shrieked, her eyes wide with disbelief.

You nodded, watching as the other girls jumped up from their beds, surrounding you with beaming smiles.

“I can’t believe it!” Hannah exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “We thought you’d never say yes to anyone!”

Another friend, Layla, stared at you in shock. “You rejected Jay the first time, though. What changed?”

You shrugged, feeling a little overwhelmed by their excitement. “I guess… I realized he’s different from the others. He wasn’t just trying to ask me out because of some dare or whatever. He actually seems to care.”

Hannah squealed again, nearly jumping up and down. “This is amazing! You’re going to have so much fun.”

Eliza grabbed your hand, shaking it as if the excitement was too much to contain. “This is huge! You have to tell us everything afterward, okay? Every detail!”

You chuckled softly, feeling a little embarrassed by all the attention. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell you. But it’s just a date. No big deal.”

Layla shook her head, still smiling. “Are you kidding? It’s a huge deal! You’ve been saying no to everyone for years. This is… this is a breakthrough!”

The room buzzed with happiness, and while you didn’t say much more, you let them have their moment. They were excited for you, and deep down, you were starting to feel the same.

For the first time in a long time, you had let someone in, and instead of feeling vulnerable, you felt something else—something almost thrilling.

And as your friends squealed and planned outfits for your upcoming date, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself.

Maybe, just maybe, letting someone in wasn’t so bad after all.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

The news of your date with Jay spread faster than a wildfire through Hogwarts, much to your dismay. You had hoped it would stay between your close circle of friends and his, but that was clearly wishful thinking. By the time Monday rolled around, whispers followed you down the corridors.

People were talking—about you.

“Did you hear she went out with Jay?”

“She said yes? After rejecting everyone for years?”

“I thought she wasn’t into anyone… Guess Jay must be something special.”

You ignored most of it, focusing on your classes and trying not to let it bother you. It wasn’t like you hadn’t dealt with attention before, but this felt different. Now, instead of just admiring glances or half-hearted attempts to ask you out, people were actually speculating about your private life, and it was unsettling.

It didn’t help that some of the guys you’d turned down in the past were less than pleased to hear about your date with Jay.

One afternoon, as you were making your way to the library, you felt eyes on you again. It was a group of boys, some of whom you had rejected before. They were leaning against the stone walls in the corridor, their voices low but clearly directed at you as you passed by.

“Well, look who it is,” one of them muttered, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Guess she’s not as untouchable as we thought.”

You kept walking, trying to ignore them, but another voice piped up. “Yeah, I thought you weren’t into anyone. What, Jay’s better than us now?”

That made you stop. You turned to face them, your heart pounding in your chest. “It’s not like that,” you started, trying to stay calm. “Jay—he’s just…”

But before you could finish, one of the boys, a Slytherin you’d turned down last year, stepped forward with a sneer. “What’s so special about him, huh? You rejected everyone else, but he gets a free pass?”

You felt a flare of irritation rising in your chest. “This isn’t any of your business,” you said sharply. “I can go out with whoever I want.”

The Slytherin smirked, crossing his arms. “Yeah, we get that, but don’t pretend like you’re above us just because you finally said yes to someone. It’s a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”

Your stomach twisted with frustration, and you took a step back, wishing more than anything that you hadn’t stopped in the first place. Just as things started to escalate, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

“Is there a problem here?”

You turned to see Jay walking toward you, his expression calm but his eyes sharp as he glanced at the group of boys. The shift in the air was immediate. The guys who had been giving you a hard time suddenly seemed less confident, their smirks fading as Jay approached.

“Jay,” the Slytherin started, his voice faltering slightly, “we were just—”

“You were just what?” Jay interrupted, his tone steady but firm. He stepped closer, standing beside you in a way that felt protective. “Trying to make her feel uncomfortable? Or are you upset because she didn’t say yes to you?”

The boy opened his mouth to retort but quickly closed it, looking flustered. His friends were already backing away, clearly not wanting to get involved now that Jay was there.

“No, man, we were just talking,” another one muttered, shrugging as if the whole thing had been a misunderstanding.

Jay didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he turned to you and gave you a reassuring look. “You alright?”

You nodded, still a little shaken but grateful for his timing. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good.” Jay looked back at the group of boys, his expression unreadable. “I think we’re done here, don’t you?”

Without another word, the boys scattered, disappearing down the hall without so much as a backward glance. The tension in the air lifted, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Jay turned back to you, his demeanor softening. “Sorry about that,” he said quietly. “You okay? I didn’t mean to jump in like that, but it looked like they were giving you a hard time.”

You managed a small smile, feeling a surge of appreciation for him. “No, I’m glad you did. Thanks.”

He gave you a nod, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he spoke again. “Look, if anyone gives you trouble about us, let me know, alright? I don’t want you to feel like you have to deal with that on your own.”

There was something in his tone—genuine concern, not just for the situation but for you. It made your chest tighten in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “I will,” you promised. “Thanks, Jay. Really.”

He flashed you a small smile, the kind that made your heart skip just a little. “Anytime.”

With that, Jay walked you to the library, the earlier confrontation already feeling like a distant memory. You couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort in his presence, like maybe—just maybe—letting someone in wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

As you parted ways, you found yourself thinking about how easy it had been to accept his help. You’d spent so long keeping your walls up, but with Jay, things felt different. Natural.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

As the weeks passed, the dates with Jay became something you looked forward to—no longer something to be nervous about, but a time to relax and enjoy his company.

Jay had this way of making everything feel effortless. He never pressured you, never pushed for more than you were ready to give. Instead, he created a space where you could simply be yourself, something you hadn’t realized you craved so much.

One chilly afternoon, the two of you found yourselves in the Three Broomsticks again, sharing a butterbeer in your usual corner booth. The fire crackled nearby, casting a warm glow as snowflakes danced outside the windows. Jay was talking about something that had happened in Potions class—a small explosion that left half the class covered in purple goo—and you couldn’t help but laugh at his animated retelling of the chaos.

“Merlin, I wish I’d seen that,” you said between giggles, picturing the scene.

Jay grinned. “It was a disaster. But a hilarious one.” He took a sip of his butterbeer before giving you a thoughtful look. “What about you? Any crazy class stories? You always seem to have things together, though.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Oh, trust me, I’ve had my fair share of disasters.” You thought back to a particularly embarrassing Charms mishap during your second year, when your spell went wrong and sent your quill flying across the room, hitting a professor in the face. You told Jay the story, and his laughter echoed through the tavern, making you smile even wider.

It felt so natural, this easy back-and-forth between you. And it wasn’t just laughter. As the days passed, you started to open up about deeper things, the kind of things you had kept buried for years.

One evening, while walking back to the castle from Hogsmeade, the topic turned to your past, to why you had been so guarded for so long. The night was quiet, snow crunching under your boots as you made your way up the path.

Jay looked at you, his expression soft but curious. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but… I’ve always wondered. Why didn’t you want to date anyone before?”

You hesitated for a moment, but something about the way he asked—gentle, without any pressure—made it easier to answer. You took a deep breath, watching your breath form little clouds in the cold air. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to date anyone. I guess… I just didn’t trust it. I’d seen so many people fall in love and get hurt. And I didn’t want to be like that. Vulnerable.”

Jay was quiet for a moment, processing what you’d said. “I get that. But… not everyone gets hurt, you know? I mean, yeah, love can be risky, but it can also be worth it.”

You smiled softly, appreciating his perspective. “I’m starting to see that.”

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Jay had never been the type to get too caught up in feelings. He was easygoing, the guy everyone liked because he kept things light. When his friends had first dragged him into the bet, he went along with it more for the fun of watching them scramble than anything else. And yeah, he’d admit it—he enjoyed the perks of having them do favors for him, running around trying to make sure he didn’t give up too easily.

At first, it was simple. Ask you out, get you to say yes, and then maybe after a few dates, he’d call it quits. That was the plan. He didn’t expect to actually like you beyond the challenge. It was all supposed to be a joke, something to laugh about later with his friends.

But then the first date happened. And something shifted.

You weren’t like anyone he’d ever spent time with before. You were sharp, independent, and you didn’t let people in easily. He respected that. At first, he thought you were just closed off, that you had a wall around you because of past experiences. But during that first butterbeer, when you opened up just a little, he saw a glimpse of the real you—someone with layers, someone with a mind full of thoughts and a heart full of untold stories.

And it hit him—he liked you.

It had only been one date, and already, he felt a pang of guilt. He had no idea it would get this far, no idea that this wouldn’t be some simple, fleeting fling. And suddenly, his initial plan—dating you for the sake of a bet—felt like a dirty little secret. He hadn’t expected to care, hadn’t expected to enjoy your company the way he did.

But then came the second date. And the third. And each time, instead of feeling like he was closer to ending things, he found himself wanting more.

By the fourth date, he was all in. The guilt lingered, gnawing at him, but there was no denying it anymore: he was falling for you. Hard.

He started noticing everything about you—the way you smiled when you thought no one was watching, how your eyes sparkled when you talked about something you were passionate about, and the quiet strength you carried with you. Jay wasn’t sure how it had happened, but somewhere along the way, this had stopped being about the bet. It had become real.

One evening, while the two of you sat by the lake, watching the sky turn shades of pink and purple, Jay found himself thinking about all of it. About how wrong it was in the beginning, how his intentions had been shallow. But more than anything, he couldn’t stop thinking about how much he had changed since that first date. He had been pretending to care at first, but now… now he didn’t have to pretend at all.

He wanted to be with you. For real.

Sitting beside you, Jay turned to look at you, his heart heavy with unspoken words. He wasn’t sure how or when he would tell you the truth about how this all started, but he knew one thing for certain: he couldn’t lose you now.

“Hey,” he said softly, breaking the comfortable silence between you. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

You looked at him, curious. “What is it?”

Jay hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He wanted to confess everything right then, to tell you about the bet, about how it had all started as a game, but also about how real it had become for him. But he couldn’t do it. Not yet.

“Just that… I’m really glad we’re doing this,” he said, his voice sincere.

You smiled at him, a soft, genuine smile that made his chest tighten. “Me too.”

For a while, you both just sat there, side by side, watching the light dance on the water. The quiet seemed to settle in around you, creating a little bubble where it was just the two of you and nothing else mattered.

Then, a sudden cold breeze swept through, causing a shiver to run down your spine. You instinctively pulled your robes tighter around yourself, but it wasn’t enough. Without even thinking, you scooted closer to Jay, drawn to the warmth of his body. Your shoulder brushed against his, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, a contrast to the chill in the air.

Jay glanced over at you, noticing the movement, and a small smile played at the corner of his lips. “Cold?” he asked softly.

You nodded, rubbing your arms to warm yourself up. “A bit,” you admitted with a soft chuckle, trying not to focus too much on how close you were sitting now.

Without a word, Jay lifted his arm and draped it casually around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. The gesture was natural, as if it had been something he’d wanted to do all along. His warmth enveloped you, and you relaxed against him, letting the tension in your body ease.

“There, better?” he asked, his voice low, almost teasing, but there was a gentleness behind it.

“Yeah, much better,” you replied, leaning into him just a little more. The cold was still there, but it didn’t bother you as much anymore—not with Jay so close, his arm wrapped securely around you.

For a few minutes, the two of you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other’s warmth as the night settled in around you. It felt… right.

You glanced over at him, your gaze meeting his. There was something different in the way he was looking at you tonight—something deeper, more intense.

Neither of you spoke, but slowly, Jay shifted closer, his hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver up your spine, and your breath caught as his thumb gently traced circles on the back of your hand.

He looked down at your joined hands, then back up at you, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite place. "I’ve wanted to do this for a while," he murmured, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Your heart raced, and you swallowed, the tension between you growing thicker. “Do what?”

Jay didn’t answer with words. Instead, he leaned in, closing the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a tentative kiss. The world seemed to slow in that moment, the soft press of his lips against yours igniting a fire that had been smoldering for weeks.

You melted into him, your hand tightening around his as you responded to the kiss, a rush of warmth spreading through you. His other hand gently cupped your cheek, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, turning from soft and hesitant to something more urgent, more intense.

Jay’s fingers slipped from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer as his kiss grew more heated, more desperate. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that mirrored your own, and without thinking, you reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair.

A soft groan escaped Jay’s lips as you tugged lightly, and in response, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You could feel the heat of his body through your robes, the way his chest rose and fell with each ragged breath. His hand slid down your back, finding its way under your robes, his fingers brushing against your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Your head spun as the kiss intensified, and for a brief moment, you tried to pull back, needing air, needing to catch your breath—but Jay wasn’t having it. With a low growl, he pulled you back, his lips crashing against yours once more, more desperate than before.

“More,” he mumbled against your lips, his voice thick with want. “More.”

His hands roamed over your body, caressing you through the layers of fabric, as if he couldn’t get enough.

When you tried to pull back again, needing just a second to breathe, Jay’s grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into your waist as he pulled you impossibly closer. His breath was hot against your lips as he murmured, “Don’t stop. Please. Just… more.”

Your heart raced, your mind spinning with how much you wanted him, how much you needed him in that moment. Every time you pulled back, he was right there, pulling you in again, kissing you deeper, his hands exploring every inch of you as he whispered “more” over and over, his voice heavy with desire.

You didn’t know how long the two of you stayed like that—wrapped up in each other, kissing like you’d been starved for it, for each other. Time seemed to blur, and all you could feel was the heat of his body pressed against yours, the way his hands felt against your skin, the way his lips moved against yours with a need that matched your own.

When you finally managed to pull back, gasping for air, your foreheads rested together, both of you breathing heavily. Jay’s eyes were dark, filled with a longing that made your stomach flip. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at you, his thumb gently brushing against your swollen lips.

And then, in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, he murmured, “I’m falling for you. Hard.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest, and for the first time, you realized that the walls you had built around yourself weren’t just crumbling—they were gone.

“I think I’m falling for you too,” you whispered back.

Jay smiled softly, his hand still tangled in your hair as he pulled you in for another kiss, this one slower, sweeter.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

The library was your sanctuary—a quiet place where you could escape from everything. You were there to gather a few books for your assignment, your mind focused on Potions and Charms, anything to keep yourself productive. The familiar scent of old parchment and ink surrounded you, and the soft sounds of pages turning from students studying filled the space.

You were reaching for a book on a high shelf when you heard voices from the other side of the bookshelf. Normally, you would’ve tuned out background noise, but something in the conversation caught your attention. It wasn’t loud, but it was just close enough to make out the words.

"Is Jay really dating her?" A girl’s voice. The tone had a hint of disbelief, as if she couldn’t quite understand the idea.

Your fingers paused on the spine of the book as your stomach tightened. You told yourself it wasn’t worth eavesdropping. That you shouldn’t care. But something kept you rooted in place.

"Nah, he isn’t for real," a boy’s voice responded. The casual tone in his voice made your heart race. "He made a bet with Kieran and Lucas."

The words hit you like a blow to the chest.

You froze, your mind reeling. A bet. You stood there, motionless, feeling like the ground had just been ripped out from under you. The voices continued talking, but you couldn’t hear anything else after that. The buzzing in your ears drowned out everything else as you struggled to make sense of what you’d just overheard.

It felt like the world tilted, your thoughts racing as you replayed every moment with Jay in your head. Every conversation, every laugh, every kiss. Was it all part of a game? A cruel joke?

You didn’t want to believe it. But there it was—the truth laid bare by careless words spoken in a dusty corner of the library. It wasn’t supposed to hurt like this. You’d never let yourself get this close to anyone for this exact reason, but Jay had somehow slipped through the cracks of your defenses. And now, everything was crumbling.

The voices moved on, the conversation shifting to something trivial, but you remained frozen in place. Your heart pounded in your chest as anger and hurt swirled inside you, your thoughts muddled and spinning out of control.

Slowly, you lowered your hand from the bookshelf and stepped away, your head spinning. You needed air, space to think. You needed to be anywhere but here, surrounded by the suffocating silence of the library.

You pushed past the shelves and made your way out, the noise of students chattering and studying blending into a blur. The only thing you could focus on was the betrayal clawing at your chest, the feeling of being played—by the one person you had let in after so long.

The memory of Jay’s smile, his gentle touch, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world… Was that all part of the game too?

You thought back to that night by the lake when he kissed you for the first time, when he told you he was falling for you. Was that a lie too? Had any of it been real?

Your heart pounded harder with each step as the pain built, a lump forming in your throat. You needed to find Jay, confront him, get the truth from him directly. You deserved that much, at least.

As you rounded the corner into the courtyard, your eyes immediately found him—Jay sitting with Kieran and Lucas, the same ones who had apparently been part of the bet. They were laughing, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. The sight made your blood boil.

Without thinking, you marched over, the fury in your chest rising with every step. You could feel their eyes on you as you approached, the laughter dying down, replaced by confusion as they noticed the look on your face.

"Hey," Jay started, his voice light, as if nothing had happened, as if your whole world hadn’t just shattered.

You didn’t give him a chance to say more. "Was it a bet?" you asked sharply, your voice trembling with anger. You didn’t waste time, didn’t dance around the question. You needed the truth, and you needed it now.

Jay’s smile faltered, his expression shifting from confusion to concern. "What?"

"A bet," you repeated, your voice louder now. "Was I just a bet to you, Jongseong?"

His friends exchanged glances, and Kieran shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding your gaze. Jay’s face went pale, the blood draining from it as he realized you knew. You could see the guilt written all over his features, the way his eyes darted from you to his friends, as if searching for a way out of this. But there was no way out.

"Tell me," you demanded, your voice shaking with fury and hurt. "Tell me the truth, Jay."

He stood up, his hands held out in front of him as if to calm you down, but it only made you angrier. "It’s not—look, it wasn’t supposed to—"

"Answer the question!" You cut him off, your voice loud enough to make heads turn from nearby students. You didn’t care. The world could burn for all you cared in that moment. All you wanted was the truth.

Jay let out a shaky breath, his eyes filled with regret, but it was too late for that. "Yes," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "It started as a bet. But I—"

That was all you needed to hear. Your heart broke in an instant, the crack so deep it felt like it would never heal. The sting of betrayal cut sharper than any spell, sharper than any pain you had ever felt.

You took a step back, your entire body trembling with the force of your emotions. "You used me," you said, your voice cracking, the tears you had been holding back threatening to spill.

"No, it wasn’t like that," Jay pleaded, his eyes desperate now, stepping toward you, but you took another step back. "I swear, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. I didn’t mean—"

"But you did," you snapped, cutting him off. "You made a choice. You played with me like I was just some game, some prize to be won. And I fell for it. I fell for you."

The pain in your voice must have hit him, because Jay’s face crumpled, his hands falling to his sides. "I didn’t know it would turn into this," he said softly, his voice breaking. "I didn’t know I’d fall for you, too."

You shook your head, unable to believe anything he said now. "But it doesn’t matter, does it? Because I can’t trust you anymore. I can’t trust any of this."

Jay took another step forward, reaching out as if to touch you, to make you stay. "Please, just let me explain—"

You shoved him back, your hands shaking. "No. We’re done, Jay." Your voice was final, the weight of your words sinking into the silence that followed.

His friends, Kieran and Lucas, stood up, shifting awkwardly, guilt written all over their faces, but you couldn’t care less about them. You pushed past them, not even bothering to look back as Jay called your name, his voice thick with heartbreak.

"Wait!" he shouted after you, his voice cracking with desperation. "Please, just let me explain—"

But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You shoved through the crowd, the tears you had been holding back finally spilling over as you made your way through the courtyard, your heart shattering with each step.

Behind you, you could hear Jay’s friends trying to comfort him, but their voices faded into the background as you walked away, leaving him standing there, devastated and broken. But that wasn’t your concern anymore. Jay had made his choice, and now you were making yours.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

The news that you and Jay had broken up spread like wildfire, igniting whispers and speculation throughout Hogwarts. By the next day, it seemed like everyone knew, and yet, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought—it was your pain, your heartache, and no one else could feel the weight of it the way you did.

Your friends rallied around you, their support constant and unwavering. They sat with you at meals, made sure you were never alone in the halls, and listened when you needed to vent. They didn’t press you for details, only offering comfort and reassurance whenever the hurt became too much to bear.

But despite their kindness, there was a part of you that remained hollow, a wound that couldn’t be healed overnight. You’d loved Jay—deeply, unexpectedly, against all your defenses. And now, that love felt like a weight you couldn’t shake, like a burden you carried with you no matter how much you tried to push it down.

You focused on school, throwing yourself into your studies with a renewed intensity. If you could just keep busy, maybe you wouldn’t have to think about him—about how much you missed him, despite everything. You wouldn’t let this break you.

But every once in a while, when you walked past the places you used to sit together, or saw him from across the Great Hall, the hurt would flare up again, raw and painful. It took everything in you not to look back, not to let yourself fall into that sadness that lurked beneath the surface.

Jay, on the other hand, was struggling. The smile that once lit up his face had faded, replaced by a hollow expression that even his closest friends noticed. He hadn’t spoken much to Kieran or Lucas since everything came out—they knew better than to approach him, especially after the guilt of what they’d done. Instead, Jay gravitated toward the friends who had always had his back, like Jungwon.

But even around them, he was different. His usual charm, the confidence that once radiated from him, was gone. He wasn’t cracking jokes like he used to, wasn’t the center of attention like before. He was just… broken.

Everywhere he went, it seemed like there was some reminder of you. The places you used to hang out together, the sound of your laughter still echoing in his mind. He hadn’t expected to care this much. In the beginning, it had been a game—a bet that had spiraled out of control. But somewhere along the way, he had fallen for you. Hard.

Now, every time he saw you, it felt like another knife in his chest. He watched you from a distance, seeing you surrounded by your friends, trying to act like everything was fine. He hated himself for what he’d done, for the hurt he caused. He hated that he’d ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Jungwon would sit with him, trying to pull him out of his thoughts, but it didn’t help. Nothing did. Because all Jay could think about was you—how much he missed you, how much he wished he could turn back time and change everything.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

As the Yule Ball approached, the atmosphere at Hogwarts shifted. Excitement buzzed through the halls, a constant reminder of the impending event. Students adorned their robes in bright colors and practiced their dance moves, whispers of who was going with whom filling the air. You had initially planned to attend with your friends, but as the weeks passed, it became clear that they were all pairing off with their significant others.

One by one, you watched them receive their invitations, see their faces light up, and hear their laughter echoing through the halls. It was bittersweet, a reminder of how alone you felt, especially since your breakup with Jay. As the date drew closer, the thought of being a third wheel began to loom larger in your mind, making you reconsider going at all.

You walked out of Charms class, lost in thought about how to politely decline attending the ball. Maybe you could just stay in your common room with a stack of books, avoid the heartbreak of watching couples dance together while you nursed your own wounds.

But as you rounded the corner, your heart nearly stopped when you came face-to-face with a shy Ravenclaw, his cheeks flushed and his eyes darting nervously to the ground. He was a quiet boy you’d spoken to in passing but never really knew well.

"Um, hey," he stammered, scratching the back of his neck. “I was, uh… wondering if you’d like to go to the Yule Ball with me?”

Time seemed to freeze for a moment as you processed what he was saying. He looked genuinely hopeful yet equally terrified. You could see the way his hands trembled slightly, his expression a mixture of anticipation and fear of rejection. It was sweet, really. And it tugged at something inside you, a flicker of warmth you hadn’t felt in a while.

You hesitated, considering your options. On one hand, you could accept, and it would mean you wouldn’t have to be alone at the ball. But on the other, you weren’t sure if jumping into a date was the best way to move on from everything with Jay. Still, you didn’t want to shut yourself away completely.

After a long moment of silence, you decided that maybe going with someone new could be a step toward healing. “Sure,” you said, forcing a smile that felt slightly wobbly. “I’d love to go with you.”

His face brightened, relief washing over him. “Really? That’s awesome! I’ll, um, get us some butterbeers later to celebrate?”

“Sounds good,” you replied, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement.

As you parted ways, you felt a strange mix of emotions swirling inside you. You knew this wasn’t going to fix everything, but maybe it was a start. A small step forward.

But as you made your way back to the common room, you couldn’t shake the thought of Jay. You wondered how he was handling everything, how he was feeling about the ball. Would he be going? Would he be with someone else, smiling and dancing while you tried to enjoy yourself with a new date?

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

The night of the Yule Ball arrived with a flurry of excitement, and you could hardly contain your nerves. You and your friends gathered in your common room, laughter bubbling between you as you helped each other with last-minute touches. You slipped into your beautiful long-sleeved dress, the fabric hugging your figure just right and flaring slightly at the waist. The color complemented your skin tone perfectly, and the matching heels gave you an added height that made you feel more confident.

Your hair was elegantly pinned up, delicate flowers clipped in to add a touch of whimsy. As you applied the finishing touches of makeup, you glanced in the mirror and couldn’t help but smile at your reflection. You felt beautiful, ready for the evening ahead.

“Wow, you look stunning!” one of your friends exclaimed, making you blush.

“Thanks! You guys look amazing, too!” you replied, your excitement building.

Once you were all ready, you made your way out of the common room and down the winding staircase toward the Great Hall.

When you reached the entrance to the Great Hall, you spotted your date, the shy Ravenclaw boy, standing nearby in a sleek dress robe that fit him well. He looked nervous but flashed you a warm smile as he approached.

“You look incredible,” he said, his cheeks reddening slightly as he took your hand, guiding you forward.

“Thank you! You clean up nicely too,” you replied, your heart fluttering with the thrill of the moment.

As you stepped into the hall, the decorations took your breath away. Twinkling lights hung from the ceiling, and the atmosphere was alive with music and laughter. You could see groups of students dancing, chatting, and enjoying themselves, but your gaze was drawn elsewhere.

You scanned the crowd, your heart racing for a different reason now. You were searching for Jay.

You scanned the crowd, your pulse quickening as your eyes searched for him. The hall was alive with the shimmer of enchanted lights, the buzz of conversation, and the sound of music swirling in the background.

Then you saw him.

Jay stood with a group of friends, dressed in a clean, perfectly tailored suit. His hair was slicked back, the usual mess tamed into something more refined, which only made him look even more handsome. He looked every bit the heartthrob he was known to be—confident, sharp, and effortlessly magnetic. But what made your breath hitch was the fact that he was already looking at you.

Your eyes locked, and for a split second, the world around you seemed to blur. There was something intense in the way he looked at you, a softness in his gaze that made your heart skip, but also something else—a tension, a simmering heat. You followed his gaze as it flicked from you to your date, Eli, his eyes darkening just a shade. Was that… jealousy? You wondered, your chest tightening at the thought, the way his jaw clenched, and the subtle flicker of irritation in his eyes when they landed on Eli sent a confusing swirl of emotions through you.

The music shifted, signaling the start of the festivities. The champions were first to take the dance floor, swirling gracefully with their dates. You watched, trying to lose yourself in the celebration, but your mind kept wandering back to the boy standing across the room, who seemed to burn his way into your thoughts.

When the champions' dance came to an end, Eli turned to you, his expression warm and hopeful. “Would you like to dance?” he asked, extending his hand.

You forced a smile, pushing aside the jumble of emotions Jay’s presence had stirred up. “Sure,” you replied, taking his hand.

Eli led you to the dance floor, his grip gentle but firm as he guided you through the steps. The music was beautiful, the lights soft and romantic, and everything around you should have felt perfect. Eli was kind, polite, and sweet. He held you with a respectful distance, his movements smooth and practiced. He was everything you thought you wanted—until now.

Because as you moved through the motions of the dance, something was off. You tried to focus on Eli, on the moment, but your heart wasn’t in it. You looked at him—his bright eyes, his easy smile—and felt a pang of guilt. He didn’t deserve this, because deep down, you knew.

Your heart wasn’t his.

It still beat for someone else. For Jay.

You couldn’t stop yourself from glancing over your shoulder, searching for him again. And there he was, still standing with his friends, his eyes locked on you. But this time, the jealousy was more evident, etched into his expression as he watched you dance with someone else.

The realization hit you hard, like a wave crashing over you. You had tried to move on, to push Jay out of your heart after everything that had happened, but it hadn’t worked. No matter how much you wanted to deny it, your feelings for him hadn’t faded. They were still there, pulsing beneath the surface, undeniable and raw.

Eli spun you around, his hand warm against yours, but your mind was miles away. You couldn’t keep doing this. Not to yourself, and not to Eli.

As the song came to a close, Eli smiled at you, clearly pleased with the dance. But you couldn’t return the smile fully, not when you were so conflicted inside.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

You nodded, but it was a lie. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

He didn’t press, but the disappointment in his eyes was hard to miss. Still, he squeezed your hand, ever the gentleman, and led you back toward the edge of the hall. But as you followed him, your gaze drifted back to Jay once more, your heart aching with the realization of what you really wanted.

The Yule Ball began to shift into a more relaxed atmosphere as the night wore on. The formal dances gave way to a more carefree kind of celebration, with students letting loose and enjoying the music that filled the Great Hall. The tension of the earlier part of the evening dissolved, replaced by laughter and movement as friends grouped together on the dance floor.

You found yourself in the midst of it, surrounded by your friends, swaying to the music and laughing at the jokes they made. For the first time in what felt like ages, you allowed yourself to relax, to let go of all the stress that had been weighing you down.

Your friends were fully immersed in the fun, pulling you into their dances and twirling you around. It was hard not to get caught up in the energy of the moment. You danced without a care, letting the music drown out your thoughts and the laughter of your friends fill your heart.

But as much as you tried to lose yourself in the music, there was still a lingering thought in the back of your mind. Jay. You hadn't seen him for a while now, though you knew he was somewhere in the hall. It was impossible to ignore the way his eyes had followed you earlier, the weight of his gaze like a presence you couldn’t shake.

"Come on, have some fun!" one of your friends called, pulling you back into the moment. You smiled, pushing thoughts of Jay aside, at least for now.

You twirled around, your dress spinning with you as the music grew louder, the crowd of students around you caught up in the same carefree energy. For a while, it was easy to get lost in the atmosphere, to let the magic of the night sweep you away. You laughed, feeling lighter than you had in days, maybe even weeks.

The music thumped softly in the background as you spun one last time with your friends, a wide smile plastered on your face. The night had been more fun than you'd anticipated, and for a while, you had managed to forget everything that had been weighing on you. But after hours of dancing, you began to feel the tiredness creep in, your feet aching in your heels, and a faint dizziness from all the excitement.

You laughed, out of breath, and excused yourself from the group. “I need a break,” you said, flashing a sheepish grin. They waved you off with good-natured cheers, still caught up in their own fun.

Eli, your date for the night, noticed you leaving and approached you before you could disappear. You offered him a smile as he walked up, looking as polished as ever in his sleek robes.

“Hey, Eli," you began, your voice soft, "I just wanted to say I really appreciate you asking me tonight. It meant a lot, especially with everything going on—”

But Eli stopped you with a gentle hand raised. He smiled, though there was a touch of sadness in his eyes. “You don’t need to explain. I understand.”

You hesitated, feeling a flicker of guilt. “Eli, I—"

“It’s okay,” he said kindly, cutting you off again. “You’ve been through a lot, and I don’t blame you for still having feelings for him. You don’t need to apologize or explain yourself.”

His words were a relief, but they also made your heart ache a little. He had been so thoughtful and understanding throughout the night, and you had hoped you wouldn’t hurt him.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “For everything.”

He smiled again, the weight of understanding hanging between you. "Go on, then," he said, giving you a small, encouraging nudge. "Take the night for yourself."

With one last grateful nod, you left the Great Hall, the sound of music and laughter fading behind you as you made your way down the dimly lit corridors. The stone walls echoed softly with the distant noise of the celebration as you wandered further from the hall, needing space to breathe, to think.

Eventually, you found yourself in the courtyard. The cool night breeze washed over you, a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the packed hall. You inhaled deeply, letting the crisp air fill your lungs, and walked over to the fountain at the center of the courtyard.

You sat down by the edge of the fountain, taking a moment to collect yourself. Your fingers found their way to your hair, gently undoing the intricate updo your friends had helped you with. One by one, the flowers they had carefully clipped into your hair began to fall into your lap. You plucked them from the strands, watching as they floated in the water, drifting lazily across the surface of the fountain.

There was something calming about watching the flowers drift, their colors bright against the dark water.

As you sat there, you allowed your mind to wander back to the ball, back to Jay. You had seen the way he had looked at you, the jealousy, the regret—his emotions had been written all over his face. And in that brief moment when your eyes had met, something inside you shifted. You couldn’t deny it anymore. You had feelings for him, strong feelings that hadn’t gone away, no matter how hard you had tried to push them aside.

A part of you still hurt, still felt the sting of betrayal from what had happened. But another part of you—one that you were only now starting to fully acknowledge—wanted to fix things, to give him, and maybe even yourself, another chance.

You stared at the water, the ripples distorting the reflection of the stars overhead, and wondered what your next step would be.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Jay had just returned to the Grand Hall after a brief escape to the bathroom, hoping to clear his head and settle his nerves. The night had been overwhelming, seeing you with someone else and feeling the regret gnawing at his insides. As he re-entered the hall, his eyes immediately scanned the room, searching for you in the sea of dancing students.

But you weren’t there. His eyes darted between groups of people, hoping to catch a glimpse of your dress or your hair, but no luck. His heart sank. He quickly looked for your friends, figuring you’d be with them, but they were too deep in the crowd, completely absorbed in the festivities. A frustrated sigh left him as he slumped back into a chair by the side of the hall.

"Where is she?" he muttered under his breath, his mind racing with thoughts of what could have happened, why you had suddenly disappeared from the hall.

Jungwon sat beside him, quietly observing Jay’s anxious behavior for a moment before speaking. “She’s in the courtyard," he said, his voice calm but knowing.

Jay turned to him, surprise and gratitude crossing his features all at once. "Alone?" he asked, his heart pounding faster now.

Jungwon nodded. "Yeah. She seemed like she needed some space, but if I were you, I'd go talk to her. Now’s your chance."

Without a second thought, Jay pushed himself out of his chair and headed towards the courtyard. He didn’t stop to think about what he was going to say or how he’d explain himself. All that mattered was that you were out there, alone, and he needed to see you, to fix what had been broken.

When he reached the entrance to the courtyard, he saw you sitting by the fountain, your back to him, your head slightly bowed as you released the last few flowers from your hair into the water. The soft light of the moon bathed you in a pale glow, making you look almost ethereal. For a moment, he stood frozen, just watching you.

You looked so peaceful, but at the same time, he could sense the weight you were carrying, the conflict inside you. It pained him to know he had been the cause of it.

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Jay slowly walked towards you. The night air was cool, but he barely felt it—his focus was entirely on you. When he got close enough, he spoke softly, not wanting to startle you.

"Hey," he said, his voice gentle, almost hesitant.

You turned your head slightly at the sound of his voice, your gaze meeting his. For a moment, neither of you spoke. There was a tension in the air, thick with unspoken words and emotions. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, the regret etched in his expression.

“I... I was looking for you,” Jay admitted, stepping closer. His eyes flickered to the fountain where the flowers floated gently on the water, then back to you.

You sighed softly, your fingers playing with the edge of your dress. “I just needed some air. It was getting too much inside.”

Jay swallowed hard, nodding. He hesitated, unsure of how to begin, how to explain the whirlwind of feelings inside him. "I get it. The ball... everything, it’s a lot."

There was a pause, the air between you heavy with all the things left unsaid. You turned back to the fountain, staring at the drifting flowers, your mind a storm of thoughts. But Jay couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

“I never wanted things to end the way they did,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “I messed up, and I know I hurt you. But I never meant for any of it to happen like this. I didn’t expect… well, I didn’t expect to feel the way I do about you.”

You glanced at him, your eyes soft but still guarded. “And how is that, Jay? How do you feel about me now?”

He ran a hand through his hair, his voice shaking with honesty. “I’m in love with you.”

You stared at him for a moment, his words lingering in the cool night air. It was a confession that you had never expected to hear from him, not after everything that had happened.

Your heart raced as you took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. Could you do this? Could you let him in again, knowing what had happened?

“I…” You paused, your eyes flickering down to the flowers still floating in the fountain. “I love you too, Jay.”

The words spilled from your lips softly but with a certainty that surprised even you. The weight that had been pressing down on your chest for weeks seemed to lift, leaving a lightness in its wake. You had been holding onto this truth for too long, trying to deny it, but it was always there, waiting for you to acknowledge it.

Jay’s eyes widened in disbelief, a slow smile spreading across his face as he stepped closer. “You… you do?”

You nodded, finally looking up to meet his gaze. “I do. I was angry at you—hurt—but that doesn’t change how I feel about you. I tried to push it away, but it’s still there.”

Jay exhaled deeply, relief flooding his features. His happiness was so palpable that it warmed you from the inside. “I didn’t think I’d hear that from you again,” he admitted, sitting down beside you on the edge of the fountain. His knee brushed against yours, sending a familiar warmth through you.

There was a comfortable silence as you both sat there, processing the moment. Jay turned to you, his expression softening. “I need to tell you something. I never wanted to hurt you with the bet. It started as something stupid, something I didn’t even care about, but when I got to know you, really know you…” His voice faltered as he swallowed hard. “Everything changed. You changed everything for me.”

You gave him a small, understanding smile. “I know,” you said quietly.

Jay blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Jungwon. He told me before the ball. He said that you never meant for it to get so far, that you didn’t want to hurt me, and he thought I should know the truth from someone else before making any decisions.”

Jay’s eyebrows shot up. “Jungwon told you?”

You laughed lightly, the sound easing some of the tension between you. “Yeah, he did. He’s more observant than you give him credit for.”

Jay let out a short laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe that little sneak.”

You smiled warmly, feeling a sense of comfort that you hadn’t felt in a long time. “He told me what you said to him—that you realized you had real feelings for me. That you didn’t want to lose me over a stupid bet.”

Jay's expression softened. “I didn’t. I really didn’t want to lose you.”

“I know, Jay,” you said, your voice gentle. “And that’s why I didn’t walk away forever. I was hurt, but… I knew you didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”

Jay reached out, his hand brushing against yours. His fingers curled around yours, and you didn’t pull away. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “For all of it. I should have been honest from the start.”

You gave his hand a soft squeeze, feeling the sincerity in his words. “I know you are. But let’s not dwell on it, okay? We’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Jay’s eyes shimmered with gratitude as he smiled at you, his thumb gently tracing the back of your hand. “I don’t deserve you.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Maybe not, but you’ve got me anyway.”

His smile widened, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like everything was going to be okay. The hurt, the confusion—it was all fading away, replaced by something stronger, something more real.

“I love you,” Jay said again, his voice filled with warmth. “And I’ll spend every day proving it to you, if you’ll let me.”

You looked at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I love you too, Jay.”

As you gazed up at the sky, the stars twinkling like distant diamonds, you felt a sense of peace. You felt… whole.

But as you marveled at the beauty above, you didn’t notice that Jay was watching you instead of the stars. His eyes were soft, full of something deep and unspoken. He wasn’t in awe of the night sky—he was in awe of you.

Without saying a word, Jay reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand, his gaze never leaving your face. With a flick of his wrist and a subtle murmur, he cast a spell. You were so lost in thought that it wasn’t until you noticed movement from the corner of your eye that you looked down.

The flowers that had been floating serenely in the fountain began to rise, swirling around you like petals caught in a gentle breeze. Your eyes widened in surprise as the flowers danced gracefully through the air, forming intricate patterns before slowly weaving themselves into a crown.

Before you could fully process what was happening, the delicate crown of flowers gently settled onto your head. Your fingers instinctively reached up to touch it, feeling the softness of the petals against your skin. You looked at Jay, your mouth slightly parted in shock.

He was smiling at you—his signature smile, the one that always had a way of making your heart flutter. There was something different in his expression now though, something tender and full of emotion. He had never looked at you like this before.

“Jay…” you whispered, still a bit stunned by the beautiful gesture.

He slid closer to you, the space between you disappearing in an instant. His voice was low, almost reverent when he spoke. “You look even more beautiful now,” he said, his eyes flicking up to the crown before returning to yours. “But to me, you always are.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest, your earlier surprise melting into a soft smile. “That was… really sweet.”

He reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “I meant every bit of it.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the closeness, the intensity of the moment settling between you like a charged current. His touch lingered, and you could feel the soft rhythm of his breathing as his gaze fell to your lips. He wasn’t rushing, just savoring the quiet, the connection that had always been there.

The stars sparkled overhead, but it was nothing compared to the way Jay was looking at you now, like you were his entire world.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, you closed the distance between you. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the thrum of anticipation humming in the air as his lips inched closer to yours.

And then, without another word, his lips met yours in a kiss that was soft, tender, and full of everything unspoken between you. It was a kiss that erased the past, the hurt, and the misunderstandings, replacing them with something deeper. Something real.

The soft kiss between you and Jay slowly deepened, the tenderness giving way to a quiet urgency. His hands, which had been resting gently on your waist, tightened slightly, pulling you closer. You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, and it only made the moment more intoxicating.

Just as you thought things couldn't get more intense, Jay shifted, his arms wrapping securely around you as he gently lifted you up and placed you on his lap. The sudden movement caught you off guard, and you let out a squeal of surprise followed by a burst of giggles. Jay chuckled along with you, his forehead resting against yours as he peppered your lips and face with a series of playful, teasing kisses.

"Jay!" you giggled, your laughter echoing softly through the courtyard.

He grinned, his lips brushing over yours again before moving to the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, not missing a beat. “What? Can’t help it. You look too cute when you laugh,” he teased, his voice warm and full of affection.

You couldn’t help but smile wider as his kisses continued, your hands gripping the front of his shirt to steady yourself. For a moment, you were both lost in the playfulness of it all, the earlier tension replaced with something light and free. The sound of your shared laughter mingled with the night air, making it feel like you two were the only ones in the world.

When he finally paused to look at you, you noticed the smudges of your lipstick now staining his lips. “Jay…” you said, biting your lip to stop from laughing again. “You’ve got my lipstick all over you.”

“So?” he shrugged casually, still holding you close. “I don’t care.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re impossible.”

Jay grinned, his hands resting on your hips as he pulled you in for another kiss, completely unbothered by the lipstick now marking his face. “Yeah, but you love it,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a mix of teasing and sincerity.

You couldn’t argue with that. Your heart swelled as you kissed him again, deeper this time, more passionately. His fingers trailed up your leg, sending shivers through you as the kiss became more intense. You felt him smile against your lips again as his hands steadied you on his lap.

Your breath came in short, heated gasps when you finally pulled back, only for Jay to tilt his head, catching your lips again as if he couldn’t bear to be away from you even for a second. “More,” he whispered in a hushed voice, his lips barely leaving yours as he spoke.

You let out a soft laugh, your hands now gently running through his hair, pulling him even closer. “More?” you repeated, your voice light with amusement.

“Yeah,” Jay whispered again, his breathing heavy, eyes half-lidded as he gazed at you. “More.”

After what felt like an eternity of kissing, you finally pulled back with a soft laugh, your fingers tracing the faint lipstick marks that still stained Jay's lips. “Okay, okay,” you said breathlessly, gently cupping his face. “You need to wipe this off.”

Jay chuckled, his hands reluctantly loosening their grip on you. “Fine, if it bothers you that much.” He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his lips with an exaggerated motion, making you laugh again.

“Much better,” you teased, sliding off his lap with a soft smile. As your feet touched the ground, you smoothed out your dress, adjusting the fabric over your legs. You felt the cool night air once again, and without warning, a shiver ran through your body.

Before you could even react, Jay was already moving. In one swift motion, he pulled off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, the warmth of it instantly enveloping you. “Here,” he murmured, his voice gentle, “don’t want you to get cold.”

You smiled up at him, touched by his thoughtfulness. “Thanks, Jay.”

He shrugged as if it were nothing, but the small smile that tugged at his lips told you he was happy to help. “Anything for you.”

With his jacket snug around you, Jay slid his arm around your waist, pulling you close as the two of you made your way back toward the grand hall. The night air still carried a faint chill, but with Jay’s warmth by your side, you hardly noticed it. You leaned into him, resting your head lightly on his shoulder, and he welcomed you into his embrace without hesitation.

When you both stepped back into the grand hall, the atmosphere had shifted. The music was softer now, and there were far fewer people on the dance floor. Many of the students had already retired for the night, leaving only a handful still swaying to the music or talking quietly at their tables.

You glanced around, noticing that your friends were nowhere to be seen, but instead of feeling worried or out of place, you felt a sense of peace. It was like the world had shrunk to just you and Jay.

Leaning further into his side, you sighed softly. Jay’s arm tightened around you as he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and comforting.

“Yeah,” you replied, looking up at him. “I’m perfect.”

As the two of you stood together in the quiet grand hall, Jay turned to you, his eyes soft and full of affection. “Do you want to dance?” he asked gently, his hand already extending toward you.

You glanced around the hall, noticing how the crowd had thinned even further, the music slow and sweet in the background. It was the perfect moment, and you knew it. With a small smile, you nodded, slipping your hand into his. “I’d love to.”

Jay’s face lit up, and he led you to the center of the dance floor. His hands found their way to your waist as you rested yours on his shoulders. The two of you moved together slowly, swaying to the rhythm of the soft music. His touch was gentle, and there was a tenderness in the way he held you, as if he was still savoring the fact that you were back in his arms.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Jay murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t think I’ve told you that enough.”

Your heart fluttered, and you leaned closer to him, resting your head against his chest. “I think you’ve made up for it,” you teased softly.

Jay’s grip on your waist tightened slightly, pulling you closer as he rested his cheek against the top of your head. “I’m so glad I have you back,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the music.

You smiled, your eyes closing as you savored the warmth of his embrace. “Me too, Jay.”

(´ 3｀)

a/n: Jungwon is next! Then Sunoo, Sunghoon and Heeseung!

#enhypen fic #enhypen #jay fanfic #jay enhypen #park jongseong #park jongseong x reader #park jongseong x you #park jongseong imagines #enhypen jay #jay enha #fanfiction #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #fanfic #jongseong #hogwarts au

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kezzanza · 5 months ago

Text

EARNED IT.

Pairing: Jude x Girlfriend ! Reader Tags: Celebratory Sex, Established Relationship Word Count: 3.6k Content Warning: Smut, 18+ Jude celebrates winning his fifth trophy, the Super Cup, by fucking you.

Sex with Jude is amazing.

His strong body moves in harmony with yours, knowing exactly how to touch you to make you shiver with pleasure. His possessive gaze leaves no room for doubt or inhibition, piercing into yours, as if he could read your every desire and need. Each touch, each caress, each time he enters you, it’s as if he is claiming you all over again.

But after Jude wins a trophy, the sex is heavenly.

Jude strides to the edge of the pitch, a victorious beast of a man, his muscles rippling and damp with the sweat of triumph. He pulls you into an embrace, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he holds your body.

His eyes lock onto yours, you know what’s coming, you can see it in his gait, the way he moves like a predator—the rough post-win sex is as much a part of the win as the trophy itself.

You wouldn’t want it any other way—submitting to Jude after watching him dominating the game.

The ride home crackles with electric tension as Jude drives you back to his place. Every glance and fleeting touch hint at something known but unspoken between you. The air is thick with charged silence, each second drawing you closer to the inevitable passion you will share.

You step through the door of Jude’s luxurious penthouse, feeling as if the energy from the stadium still pulses through your veins. Jude, your boyfriend, the star of the game, is behind you, his presence a palpable force.

The door slams shut, and without a word, he spins you around in the entryway. The yellow light from the pendant above casts sharp shadows across his face. The warm glow highlights the contours of his cheekbones and the square jaw that had been clenched in determination just moments ago.

His strong arms, wrapping around your waist, feel grounding. Your heart races as his gaze roams over you. His eyes burn with a fiery intensity that surpasses the passion that you saw in him on the pitch.

“You've been my lucky charm tonight,” he says, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine.

You had been there through every moment—caring for him after training and encouraging him before the game. Your heart had raced in rhythm with the roaring crowd as he helped his team to victory. Pride surged through you when he was named ‘Man of the Match,’ especially as you wore his jersey—one he had personally given you—with his name written on your back.

Now, here you were, alone with him as the city lights twinkle below like a sea of stars. You step closer, your hands reaching up to cup his face, feeling the rough stubble against your palms.

“You were amazing.” you say, your voice soft yet filled with emotion.

Jude’s gaze turns intense, his eyes locked on yours with a dominant, smoldering heat.

“I dedicated that performance to you,” he whispers, his voice low and deep. “You deserve a prize for all your support.”

His hands pull you flush against him, his body warm and solid against yours. His gaze is like a predator's stare, and you feel yourself being pulled into his world—a world of raw, unfiltered desire. He leans in, capturing your lips in a short, hungry kiss that leaves you breathless and wanting more.

“When the whistle blew, all I could think about was you,” he confesses. “How I wanted to celebrate with you.”

Your heart races, overwhelmed by his words and the intensity in his eyes.

“I need you, Jude,” you breathe out. “I need to feel you.”

His hand is warm and firm as it wraps around yours, leading you through the entryway. You follow closely behind him, trying to keep up with his brisk pace, anticipation building with every step.

The kitchen is a stark contrast to the bright entryway you've just left behind. It’s bathed in only the dim glow of under-cabinet lighting.

Upon reaching, he presses you against the hard surface of the island, his body looming over you. The coolness of the marble island seeps through your jeans, a stark contrast to the heat emanating from his body.

Jude's hand rests gently on the small of your back, drawing you closer as he leans in for another kiss. You wrap your arms around his shoulders. His other hand lingers at your hips, tracing the curve of it before sliding up under your jersey.

His warm fingers brush against your skin, making you gasp softly. The kiss deepens, and you can't help but melt into him, his heat seeping into your very soul. The sound of your breaths mingling fills the space between you, the only noise in the otherwise quiet kitchen.

His hands roam further, exploring the contours of your body, as if he's trying to memorize every inch of you. You're lost in the moment, in the feeling of his fingertips all over you.

Jude's hands trail down your torso. His fingers undo the button of your jeans. He lowers the zipper, the sound echoing in the room.

With surprising gentleness, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your jeans and begins to tug them down. You feel the roughness of the denim give way as gravity takes over, pulling the fabric down to your ankles.

You lift one leg and then the other, helping him as he guides your jeans over your ankles, clinging to him as he drops the garment on the floor behind him.

Now, you are left in just your soft pink underwear and the jersey with his name on the back. His eyes darken as he took in the sight of you, his hands gently caressing your bare thighs. You look up into his eyes and feel yourself melting under his gaze.

“Kneel for me baby,” he commands, his voice a low sound that sends shivers down your spine.

Slowly, you obey, lowering yourself to your knees, hitting the cold black tiles with a soft thud. Looking up at him, you see the mix of triumph and hunger in his eyes, a look that both terrifies and excites you.

His hands reach into his shorts. The air is thick with tension, the kind that makes it hard to breathe. He pulls out his long and thick erection with practiced motions. His eyes never leave yours as he strokes himself, watching the play of emotions across your face—lust and need.

His cock, thick and hard, is a testament to his desire for you. You reach out to touch the warm length of him, feeling his pulse throb against your fingertips. You lick your lips, the hunger in his gaze making your heart race and your breath catch in your throat.

“Open your mouth,” he orders, his tone offering no refusal.

His hand slides into your hair, gripping gently but firmly, guiding your head forward. Jude groans, his head falling back as you stroke him, your fingers feeling the texture and the shape of him. You lean in, your lips brushing the tip, tasting him—the salty flavor ignites a fire within you.

His grip on your hair tightens just a fraction, a silent demand that sends a thrill of excitement down your spine.

Finally, you do as he says, letting your mouth fall open. He presses the head of his erection on your tongue. You close your mouth around him, your tongue exploring the familiar contours of his length. His hands guide your movements as his breath comes out in rough groans.

The taste of him fills your mouth and you find yourself lost in the sensation of sucking him. Your own need rises with each passing second, the fabric of your panties becoming damp with desire.

“Fuck, yes,” he growls, one of his hands gripping the counter as you take him into your mouth.

He’s huge, filling your mouth, stretching you, but you revel in it. His hips moved with a slow, steady rhythm that built with each passing moment. Your tongue swirls around him. Your lips are tight as you move up and down his length.

His hips thrust forward quicker, pushing deeper into your throat. You suck harder, taking him deeper, eager to submit to all of him, to be the source of his pleasure and release. Jude’s groans fill the room, and you know he's close, his body taut with the tension of release.

Suddenly, he pulls out, his eyes dark with lust. “Not yet baby,” he says, when he sees your confusion. “I need you cumming on my fingers first.”

The intensity of his gaze is overwhelming, igniting a fire that burns through you. You stand up, your lips finding his lips in a deep kiss. His tongue slides against yours. It’s a gentle yet demanding exploration that makes your knees weak.

Your hands reach for the hem of his jersey, slowly lifting it over his head. His skin was taut with muscle, evidence of the hours he spent on the field. You traced the lines of his chest, your fingers trailing the waistband of his briefs. You push them down and let them pool on the floor, leaving his muscular body bare.

His abs ripple with every breath he takes. The contours of his muscles tell tales of countless practices and games won. The light dusting of hair on his body travels from his chest to the V that points to his hips.

As the heat between you escalates, Jude's hand slides down your body, tracing the contour of your waist before dropping lower. His fingertips graze the waistband of your pink panties.

His eyes never leave yours as he says, "I love how you look in these," His voice is low and gruff with desire, sending shivers down your spine. “So innocent, yet so fucking tempting.”

You can feel your wetness seeping through the fabric, a silent declaration of your arousal. His fingers cup you through your underwear, his possessiveness making you ache for more, leaving you moaning breathlessly.

"Do you know how long I've been waiting to touch you?" he whispers, the question hanging in the air like a promise.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he hooks his thumb under the waistband, sliding it down and letting the fabric pool at your feet. Your gasp softly, unable to form words as his fingers finally make contact with your slick folds.

He groans at the wetness he finds. You can see his cock straining against his stomach, eager to join the intimate dance his fingers have started.

With the lightest of strokes, Jude's thumb grazes over your clit, sending a bolt of pleasure shooting through you. You moan, your knees buckling slightly, and he steadies you with his other hand on your waist, holding you in place as his thumb starts to circle with increasing pressure.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. “So wet just for me.”

Each pass over your clit sends waves of desire crashing through your core. You can't help but arch into his touch. He watches your reaction with hungry eyes and you know he's just getting started.

“I love seeing my name on you.” Jude admits, removing his fingers from your wet core. “But right now, I need to see you naked.”

Jude gently tugs at the hem of your jersey. You lift your arms as the fabric glides over your head, revealing the contours of your body.

Then, his lips are on you, making you gasp as he finds that sensitive spot on your neck. His hands move to your back, his fingers deftly finding the clasp of your bra, which yields to his touch with a soft click.

The cool air hits your bare skin. It is quickly replaced by the heat of his mouth as he bends down and his tongue flicks over your nipple, making you arch into him. His hands cup your other breast, thumbs teasing your sensitive nipples into peaks. You arch into him, a soft moan escaping your lips as he continues his exploration.

“Jude,” you gasp, your hands threading through his hair, holding him closer.

He moves his mouth to your other breast, his actions deliberate, each kiss, each nibble building the tension inside you. You could feel the ache low in your belly, a throbbing need that demanded release.

Jude seemed to sense it, his hand sliding down your body, his fingers finding where you are already wet and ready. He doesn't ask for permission; he simply knows. You moan, your head falling back as two of his fingers worked into you.

He moves slowly, deliberately. His fingers slide in deeper, filling you in a way that makes you feel vulnerable. Your breathing quickens, your pulse races, and you know that tonight will be one of those nights you never want to end.

His hands move expertly, finding your g-spot, his fingers building the pressure inside you. He seems to know exactly how to touch you, how much pressure to apply, and when to slow down or speed up. You gasp, your body arching towards his touch, your mind consumed by the pleasure he's giving.

"You like that?" he whispers, his voice a seductive growl in your ear.

You can only moan, your words lost in the whirlwind of sensation. His fingers delve deeper, hitting that sweet spot, and you feel the orgasm building, a wave threatening to crash over you.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice thick with desire.

You obey, your eyes locking with him. He watches you, his expression a mix of tenderness and raw passion. The sight of him, so focused, so intent on your pleasure, pushes you over the edge.

You cry out, your body trembling as your orgasm sweeps through you, leaving you breathless and weak. Your mouth forming a perfect 'O' of pleasure. Your breasts heaving with each panting breath you take.

But Jude isn't done.

He spins you around you, bending you over the counter, his body pressing against yours. You feel his hot breath on the back of your neck, his hands firmly gripping your hips as he pulls you closer.

He whispers in your ear, "You're mine," his voice a seductive growl that sends a thrill through your body.

Your heart races with anticipation, the room filled with the sweet scent of desire. He whispers your name, the sound sending shivers down your spine. You lean into his touch, as his mouth trails kisses along your neck, sending waves of pleasure that mingle with the lingering tremors of your climax.

You can feel his arousal pressing against your backside, insistent and demanding. His hands roam over your body, caressing every inch of your exposed skin, leaving a trail of fire wherever he touches. You arch your back, pushing yourself closer to him, silently begging for more.

The head of his cock nudges against your wetness, seeking entry, and you gasp as he slides into you with one smooth, powerful thrust.

The sensation is overwhelming, and you bite your lip to keep from screaming out his name. Your hands clutch the counter for support as he begins to move, his rhythm slow and deliberate, savoring every moment.

Each stroke fills you completely, stretching you to the brink of pleasure and pain. You know that he's holding back, keeping you poised on the edge, and the thought of what's to come makes your stomach flutter with excitement.

His grip tightens, and he pulls you back into him, increasing his pace, driving you towards another peak. You're lost in the sensation, the world around you fading away until there's only the two of you and the passion that fuels your every move.

Your breath hitches, and you moan, unable to hold back the sounds of pleasure that spill from your lips. Jude's breathing is ragged in your ear, his own passion evident in every pant and groan. You feel him swell inside of you, and you know that he's close.

You want to feel him let go, to be the one to push him over the edge. So, you push back into him, matching his rhythm, your bodies moving in perfect harmony. The tension builds, coiling tighter and tighter, until you hear him groan, filling you with his release.

You feel the intense, almost painful pleasure of your second orgasm wash over you, as if the first one wasn't enough to satisfy the ravenous beast that Jude has awoken within you.

Your muscles clench around him, milking every drop, leaving you both panting and trembling. You rest against the countertop, your body feeling like a deliciously stretched canvas of sensation, pulses of pleasure still rippling through you from your last two orgasms.

Your eyes are heavy, and the room is a warm, soft blur. You're about to drift into a peaceful post-coital slumber when Jude's voice, thick with desire, brings you back to reality.

“Come on baby,” he whispers, his voice edged with a hunger that hasn't yet been satiated. “Just one more round.”

The way he says it, the promise in his voice, makes you want to give in. He kisses you then, a kiss that starts out as a gentle request and quickly escalates into a passionate demand, his tongue coaxing yours into a dance that leaves you breathless.

His hand finds your waist, his touch rekindling the embers of desire that you thought had faded. You feel yourself respond, your body arching into him despite your earlier exhaustion. He notices, his grin growing as he kisses you harder, deeper.

“You're still with me, aren't you?” he murmurs, his voice a seductive purr.

You nod, your breath still ragged, your body humming with the remnants of pleasure. He smiles, a genuine smile, and you feel a surge of love for this man— passionate and who wears his heart on his sleeve, especially after a win.

And with that, he lifts you up, placing you on the counter, his body fitting between your open legs.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he commands, his voice back to its rough, dominant tone.

You do as he says, your legs locking around his waist. Your hands reach for his shoulders, guiding him to you as he positioned himself at your entrance.

He pushes inside you again, filling you inch by inch until you are stretched around him, full and tight, his hands firmly gripping your thighs.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours as he paused, letting you adjust to him.

You moan in pleasure, wincing at the soreness. “Fuck me,” you urge, your voice a husky command.

He does, his hips pulling back before thrusting forward, a steady rhythm that builds with each passing moment. Your body arches into each thrust, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

Your muscles quiver with each of his powerful thrusts, a delicious reminder of the two orgasms that have already claimed you. He's relentless, his eyes dark with need, as he drives into you, his rhythm unyielding despite your protests of exhaustion.

Each stroke feels like a battle between pain and pleasure, your body a canvas for his hunger.

He whispers, “Come on, baby, just one last time,” his voice thick with lust, and you know he won't be satisfied until he feels you come apart beneath him again.

Your heart races, your breath hitches, and you clutch his shoulders, bracing for the inevitable. The third orgasm begins to build, a crescendo of sensation that fills every inch of you, threatening to shatter you into a million pieces.

His movements grow more forceful, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. You could feel the coil inside you tightening, the pressure building, the need for release overwhelming.

“Jude,” you cried out, your body trembling.

“Come for me,” he whispers. “Show me how much you love this.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as the intensity becomes too much, evidence to the depth of pleasure he's coaxing from your weary body.

You feel the familiar rush of an impending climax, and you know this time, it'll be even more intense, a fitting end to tonight's victories.

Your eyes roll back in your head as your nails dig into his shoulders, desperately seeking purchase amidst the tumultuous sea of sensation. You orgasm as your body convulses uncontrollably, muscles tightening and releasing in rapid succession. Each stroke feels like a bolt of lightning, sending electric shocks through your core, making it impossible to distinguish where one climax ends and the next begins.

The room is a blur of sensation, the only thing in focus is the feeling of him inside you, the sound of your moans, and the wet slapping of skin on skin. The wave of euphoria is so intense that you can't help but scream out his name, the sound echoing off the walls.

Jude's grip on your hips tightens, his movements becoming more urgent, his breath hot and ragged in your ear as he whispers sweet nothings and dirty promises. He follows you soon after, his own release coming swiftly. His body tensing, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, his breath coming in harsh gasps.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths, the pounding of your hearts, the sense of completion, of fulfillment. As the waves of pleasure subside, he kisses away your tears, his eyes filled with awe and adoration.

“I love you,” he says, his voice soft, tender.

“I love you too, Jude.” you say, smiling.

Your body is spent yet satisfied. And you know that in this moment, in this intense, intimate moment, you are exactly where you're meant to be.

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham x reader #kesswrites

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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 1 year ago

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All in your head || Young President!Coriolanus Snow x reader

A/n: love this request!

Warnings: r is implied to be young, manipulative, controlling Coryo, if there’s anything else lmk

Wc: 564

Divider by @firefly-graphics

The grand hall was adorned with opulent decorations, an extravagant celebration befitting the fifth wedding anniversary of you and Coriolanus Snow. The air was filled with the scent of delicate flowers, and the soft murmur of the Capitol's elite mingled with the distant hum of the city beyond.

It was a spectacle of extravagance, but behind the façade of smiles and enchanting music, your marriage to Coriolanus was nothing more than a carefully constructed arrangement.

"This is ridiculous," you mutter to yourself, hands toying with your necklace as you hear a deep sigh beside you.

"Yeah well, you have no choice," he mumbled, adjusting his cuffs, preparing to step out onto the balcony for an interview broadcasted to all of Panem.

"Let's get this over and done with then," you huffed, smoothing down your dress with practiced grace before the doors opened, and you summoned a well-trained fake smile. Coriolanus, in keeping with the façade of a blissful marriage, rested his hand on your waist, his smile equally forced.

As the camera lights focused on the two of you, the citizens of the Capitol eagerly tuned in to the live interview. Caesar Flickerman, the charismatic host, beamed as he addressed the couple. “Ladies and gentlemen of Panem, we are honored to have Mr. and Mrs. Snow with us tonight!”

Applause erupted as you and Coriolanus exchanged a glance, a look perceived by others as one of love, though the reality was starkly different.

"Y/n, it felt like only yesterday we saw you graduating from the Academy, and now here you are, as gorgeous and powerful as ever as First Lady," Caesar complimented, leaving you slightly off-kilter-a reminder of the day you learned of your impending marriage to Coriolanus.

"Time flies, doesn't it?" You gracefully replied with a polite smile as Caesar chuckled. "Five years of marital bliss, how does it feel?" He directed his question to both of you this time.

You and Coriolanus exchanged a fleeting glance, a practiced smile plastered on both of your faces. "It's been an incredible journey," you replied, your voice measured.

"We've grown together and learned a lot about each other."

Caesar leaned in with a glint in his eye. "Speaking of growth, the citizens of Panem are curious— are there any plans for a little Snow on the horizon? Perhaps an heir to the Snow legacy?"

The questions about children were not new, but the pressure had been mounting over the years. Your father, a powerful figure in Panem, had orchestrated this union to solidify his influence, disregarding any consideration for your personal desires or compatibility.

The marriage had left you with an ache in your heart, and the absence of genuine connection with Coriolanus was palpable. Behind closed doors, conversations between the two of you were few and far between.

tense silence filled the spacious chambers, with occasional glances that spoke volumes but went unaddressed. The thought of children had become a looming cloud, casting shadows over your fragile union.

A polite chuckle escaped Coriolanus's lips, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of discomfort. "Ah, well, we're enjoying our time together for now. The future is unpredictable, but we're taking things one step at a time."

As the interviews continued, the speculation about Coriolanus's fertility surfaced. The whispers in the Capitol's high-society gatherings grew louder, comparing the size of your family to the apparent lack of progeny from the Snow lineage. It became a matter of public curiosity, and the pressure to produce an heir was now a heavy burden on Coriolanus.

Lounging out on one of the day beds, sunglasses perched on your nose, and a book in hand, you felt a figure towering over you. Your eyes move from the words on your page to the figure.

"We need to talk," he declared, his voice firm, as he offers you your robe to which your gratefully take and slip it on your body. The air hung heavy with anticipation as you reluctantly nodded. "Alright." You follow Coriolanus to his study where he closes, and locks the door behind you.

Raising an eyebrow at his odd behaviour he sits down with a loud sigh. You silently sit at one of the seats in front of his desk. Coriolanus took a deep breath, his gaze intense.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, waiting for him to clarify. “How do you propose we do that?” His eyes bore into yours as he spoke, his words carrying an unusual urgency. “Let’s have a child.”

The weight of his statement hung in the air, and you couldn’t hide the surprise etched across your face. “What?” you stammered.

Coriolanus’s jaw tensed, his resolve unyielding. “I said, let’s have a—” “I heard you,” you interrupted with a snap, frustration bubbling to the surface. “But you can’t just decide that on a whim. It’s not that simple.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I understand that, but the longer we wait, the more the rumors will grow. I can’t bear the scrutiny any longer. We need to put an end to this speculation, for both our sakes.”

The cold reality of the situation hit you—the marriage, the façade, and now the pressure to bear a child for the sake of appearances. You couldn’t deny the logic in his words, but the emotional chasm between you and Coriolanus seemed insurmountable.

“I can’t just bring a child into this world for the sake of quelling rumors,” you protested, your voice trembling with emotion. Coriolanus scoffed, “You can, and you will.” His harsh comment made you gulp, your mother’s words ringing in the back of your mind. “Obey your husband,” “Do what pleases him,” and so you did.

It didn’t take long for you to get pregnant. On your sixth wedding anniversary, this time, you held your nearly one-year-old son in your lap, about to announce that you were expecting again.

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dynamitegun · 5 months ago

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Can we acknowledge the fact that Commander Shepard memorized the names of the eight Alliance warships lost during the Battle of the Citadel?

Shepard: "The turians lost twenty cruisers, figure each had a crew of around 300. The Ascension, the asari dreadnought we saved, had a crew of nearly 10,000."

Khalisah: "But surely the human cost—"

Shepard: "The Alliance lost eight cruisers: Shen Yang, Emden, Jakarta, Cairo, Seoul, Cape Town, Warsaw, Madrid and yes, I remember them all. Everyone in the Fifth Fleet is a hero. The Alliance owes them all medals, the Council owes them a lot more than that. And so do you."

If you make the Paragon choice, ordering the Fifth Fleet in to save the Destiny Ascension it costs the Alliance dearly both in ships and lives, and Shepard never forgets this. They enshrine the names of the lost ships, the number of crew, as a reminder. That when called upon the System's Alliance was willing to go into harms way damn the costs.

A high cost it was.

...

O hear us when we seek thy grace

For those who soar through outer space

#Mass Effect #shepard #battle of the citadel #space battle #fandom showerthoughts #Mass Effect 2 #Commander Shepard

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 6 days ago

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Of Duty and Desire | Ominis Gaunt x Reader

Extra Long One-Shot

This is my first Ominis fic, I hope I do all you Ominis lovers proud :') The plot was heavily inspired by these (1, 2, 3) artworks by @tamayula-hl !!! (they literally create such gorgeous work, I fuckin swoon every time I see them ;.;)

Summary: After years apart, you are forced into a marriage with Ominis Gaunt, someone you once considered a close friend but who pushed you away after Sebastian's breakdown in fifth year. The rift between you has left years of unresolved tension, and on your wedding night, the two of you are forced to confront the fallout.

Words: ~15,700

Tags: Explicit Smut, Pureblood Politics, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Drama, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House

The Gaunt family estate loomed like a mausoleum under the pale light of the crescent moon. Its dark stone walls seemed to absorb the light, and the air inside carried a suffocating chill that no roaring fire could banish. Ominis sat alone in his room, the only illumination coming from a single flickering candle perched on his desk. The Gaunt family ring, heavy and ornate, turned slowly between his fingers.

Tomorrow, it would sit on your finger.

His chest tightened at the thought of the ceremony, the vows, the look he imagined you’d give him as you forced to say, I do.

He wished you still saw him the way you did all those years ago, back when you’d shared tentative smiles across the library table, before fifth year shattered everything between you. He’d thought you were remarkable then—fierce, clever, and endlessly loyal to the people you cared about. He still thought so, though the years had placed a wall between you.

A wall he had built.

His hands clenched into fists, the metal of the ring biting into his palm. He could still hear the echo of your argument, that fateful day when Sebastian’s descent into darkness had reached its breaking point. You had wanted to help him, to pull him back, while Ominis had been determined to stop him at any cost. The two of you had stood on opposite sides of a chasm, and in his frustration, his fear, Ominis had pushed you away.

But now? Now, you were to be his bride.

The marriage contract had been delivered two months ago, the parchment sealed with the Gaunt crest and bearing the oppressive weight of their expectations. You had no grand family name, no wealth or influence to rival the Gaunts, but you had something far more valuable: ancient magic.

Your family had no power to refuse the offer—not when the Gaunts were known for their ruthlessness. You’d been given no choice, and neither had he.

Ominis exhaled a shaky breath, setting the ring down on the desk with a soft clink.

The bitter irony was that you had been right about Sebastian all along, and Ominis had destroyed what you had years ago for nothing.

Ominis had doubted Sebastian—had believed that his obsession with dark magic would destroy everything and everyone in its path. But eventually, with time and a painful amount of humility, Sebastian had begun to heal. He had come back to them. He had proven himself capable of change, of redemption.

And you’d seen it all along.

Ominis swallowed hard, the guilt twisting his stomach. You’d begged him to give Sebastian a chance, to believe in the person he could be. But Ominis had been too blinded by his own fears to listen. His distrust had cost him Sebastian’s friendship for years. And worse, it had cost him you ever since.

He rested his head in his hands, elbows braced on the desk. The weight of it all was suffocating.

The memory of your expression when you’d arrived at the Gaunt manor two days ago lingered in his mind.

Even without the clarity of sight, he could feel the weight you carried. He’d “seen” the stiffness in your shoulders, the faint tremor in your hands as you’d clasped them in front of you, your head turning ever so slightly toward him as his parents greeted you. For a fleeting second, he’d felt your attention, a thin, aching tether between you.

But you hadn’t spoken to him. Not then, and not since.

What could he possibly say to make this better? “I’m sorry” was laughable at this point. He was sorry, of course—sorry for every cruel word spoken in the heat of fifth year, sorry for not trusting you, sorry for not preventing you from falling into the Gaunt nightmare—but no apology could undo the damage.

A knock at the door startled him from his thoughts. He straightened, smoothing his hair as if that would make any difference. “Come in,” he called, his voice steadier than he felt.

The door creaked open, and one of the Gaunt family’s house-elves stepped hesitantly into the room. “Master Ominis,” the elf began, its voice trembling, “your bride-to-be is in the garden, sir.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Why?” he asked, his throat dry.

“She—she is pacing, sir. She looks… upset.“

Ominis nodded, rising from his chair. “Thank you,” he said, though the elf was already retreating, bowing its way out of the room.

You were upset. Of course, you were. Why wouldn’t you be? Tomorrow, you were being forced to marry him and tie yourself to a family that cared only about what they could take from you. And worse, tied to him—a man who had pushed you away when you’d needed him most, who had no right to ask anything of you, least of all forgiveness.

But the thought of you pacing alone in the gardens, trapped in your own swirling emotions, was unbearable. Ominis didn’t know if he could say anything to help, but he couldn’t just sit here and do nothing.

He moved swiftly through the dark corridors, and when he reached the door to the garden, he paused, letting his wand hum faintly to map the space before him. He sensed the vast openness of the ahead, the night air cool against his skin, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and dying roses.

And there you were.

Your silhouette materialized in his mind like a shadow against the darkness. You were pacing, just as the house-elf had said, your movements quick and restless. It was a knife to Ominis’s chest, seeing the person he cared for so deeply reduced to this.

Care.

No, he thought bitterly, that wasn’t the right word. He loved you. He had loved you since before he even understood what love truly was. And that made it all so much worse.

Because you would never love him.

Ominis stood stiffly in the doorway. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too consumed by your thoughts and frantic steps that sent gravel crunching underfoot. But when he shifted his weight, the faint sound of his movement caught your attention. You stopped abruptly, your head turning toward him, your posture instantly stiffening.

“Ominis,” you said, your voice calm but sharp like the edge of a blade. “…Couldn’t sleep?”

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to answer. He recognized the tension in your tone, the way you carefully shielded yourself with polite indifference. It was the same tone you’d used with his parents when you arrived, the one where he’d sensed every ounce of resentment you’d tucked away beneath a mask of cordiality.

“No,” he said softly, stepping further into the garden. “I was told you were out here.”

“Of course,” you replied, your voice carrying a detached sort of humor. "Not allowed a moment of solitude, hm?"

Ominis flinched inwardly, his wand picking up on the subtle tremor in your hands as you folded your arms across your chest.

“I thought… perhaps you might want to talk,” he said carefully, his voice low.

“With you? No,” you replied quickly, brushing off the suggestion as though it didn’t matter. You turned your back to him. “Talking to you won’t help.”

Ominis winced but didn’t respond. The silence stretched between you, the night air growing heavier with each passing second.

“I’m sorry,” he said at length, the words feeling inadequate even as they left his mouth.

You laughed, soft and humorless, as you turned back toward the fountain. “Sorry,” you echoed. “Of course. And that makes it all better, does it?”

He took a hesitant step closer, his wand pulsing faintly to track the distance between you. “I mean it,” he said. “I wish things were different.”

“Do you?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder. ““Because last time I checked, you’re the one who pushed me away."

Ominis froze, the accusation cutting through him like a blade. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat.

You turned fully to face him now, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. “Do you think I don’t remember?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly with the weight of unspoken emotion. “The things you said to me? The way you looked at me, like I was… like I was the problem?”

“That’s not what I—” Ominis started, but you cut him off with a sharp laugh, one that lacked any real humor.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said, your voice quieter now but no less firm. “Nothing either of us says now will change anything. And tomorrow, we’ll stand in front of your family and say the words they want to hear."

You turned abruptly, your footsteps crunching against the gravel as you moved past him. “Goodnight, Ominis,” you said, your tone clipped and distant as you made your way back toward the manor.

He turned slightly, his wand picking up the blur of your retreating figure as you disappeared into the cold, sterile halls of the estate. The faint trace of your magic lingered in the air, turbulent and raw, and he hated himself for not being able to ease it.

~~~

Morning came like a thief, stealing away the fragile moments of sleep Ominis had clung to in the restless hours of the night. The Gaunt manor, usually oppressive in its quiet, was unnaturally alive with activity. House-elves scurried through the halls, their frantic movements punctuated by the clinking of silver trays and hurried whispers. His parents had spared no effort to make the day grand, though their motives were far from sentimental.

Even worse, his extended family had descended like vultures, eager to witness the union that would bind your ancient magic to the Gaunt bloodline. Even Ominis’s older brother, Marvolo, had returned from his work abroad for the occasion, his mere presence enough to sour the air. Ominis had always loathed Marvolo—arrogant, cruel, and every bit the model Gaunt heir their parents had hoped for. The rest of the family wasn’t much better. Aunts, uncles, and distant cousins he resented filled the halls, their haughty laughter echoing off the cold stone walls.

Ominis moved through the chaos like a ghost, his mind as numb as his steps. He had imagined marrying you a hundred—no, a thousand—times, but never like this.

In his dreams, you loved him back. Your smiles were soft and unguarded, your laughter warm, your hand reaching for his not out of duty, but out of choice. But those dreams had always been fragile, built on a shaky foundation of what-ifs and hope he’d never dared voice aloud.

You wedding band weighed heavily in his pocket, a cruel reminder of the vows he would unwittingly force you to take. He told himself he was doing this to protect you—that he was backed into a corner with no way out. It wasn’t a lie. His parents had made their expectations clear: defy them, and Ominis would pay the price. The Gaunts had always been dangerous, even to their own blood. He’d seen it with his older cousins, the ones who had been disowned or “disappeared” for daring to cross the family.

And that didn’t even encompass what they might do to you.

The sharp knock on his door startled him. Ominis straightened instinctively, brushing a hand over his hair as if readying himself for battle.

“It’s me,” Sebastian’s voice called through the heavy wood, rough but familiar.

“Come in,” Ominis replied, his voice steadier than he felt.

The door creaked open, and Sebastian stepped inside, his expression a mix of concern and irritation. He was dressed sharply, though his tie was slightly crooked—a detail Ominis would have pointed out if he’d had the energy to notice.

“You look like hell,” Sebastian said, crossing the room and leaning against the desk.

“I feel worse,” Ominis admitted, lowering himself into the chair by the window.

Sebastian tilted his head, scrutinizing Ominis with a sharpness that felt impossible to ignore.

“…You love her, don’t you?” Sebastian asked suddenly, his voice blunt and cutting straight to the point. He had never been one to dance around difficult questions.

Ominis let out a hollow laugh, his hands tightening on the arms of the chair. “What kind of question is that?”

“A simple one,” Sebastian said, standing straighter, arms crossed. “Do. You. Love. Her?”

Ominis sighed heavily, his head tilting back as though seeking answers from the cracked ceiling above. “You already know the answer to that, Sebastian,” he said, his voice low and bitter. “You’ve always known.”

“Humor me,” Sebastian pressed.

Ominis’s lips curled into a humorless smile. “Of course I love her. I’ve always loved her. Since before I even understood what that meant. And you know that. So why ask?”

Sebastian scoffed, fixing Ominis with an unrelenting stare. “Because you’re acting like this is the end of the world. You love her. And now you’re marrying her. She’s about to be your wife.”

Ominis turned his head sharply, his sightless gaze narrowing slightly. “My wife?” His voice rose, edged with frustration. “This isn’t a marriage, Sebastian. It’s a transaction. A cage.” He gestured vaguely toward the window, where the distant hum of laughter and footsteps filled the courtyard. “She doesn’t want this. And she certainly doesn’t want me.”

Sebastian didn’t flinch, his calmness almost maddening. “But you love her,” he pointed out again. “That means you can make something of this. You can try.”

Ominis let out a sharp breath, his hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Try what? To pretend that she doesn’t hate me?” He shook his head, his voice quieter now, but no less filled with anguish. “She does hate me, Sebastian. And why wouldn’t she?”

Sebastian frowned, his expression flickering with guilt. “You were scared. We all were. What happened back then…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t easy for any of us.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ominis snapped. “I made my choices. And now, she thinks I’m no better than my parents.” His voice cracked slightly, the weight of the words cutting deeper than he cared to admit. “She thinks I’m just like them, putting her through this. And maybe she’s right.”

“She doesn’t think that. You’re nothing like your parents,” Sebastian said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And if you’d stop wallowing in self-pity for half a second, you might see that she doesn’t actually hate you.”

Ominis scoffed, shaking his head. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” Sebastian said, beginning to pace the room with his usual restless energy. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you, Ominis. She’s hurt, sure. Angry. But hate? No.”

Ominis leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. “You’re imagining things,” he muttered.

“Am I?” Sebastian challenged, stopping in his tracks to face him. “You’ve spent years convincing yourself she hates you, but did you ever stop to actually talk to her about it? Or did you just decide she hated you because it was easier than dealing with the mess you made?”

The words hit their mark, and Ominis flinched. He couldn’t deny it. He had avoided you for years, too ashamed of his actions to face you properly. He had assumed the worst because it was safer than hoping for anything else.

Sebastian sighed heavily, glancing over at the ornate clock hanging on the wall. The ticking sound, once faint, now seemed to echo in the room like a countdown to inevitability. He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze flicking back to Ominis.

“We’re out of time,” he said flatly. “They’re going to be expecting us downstairs.”

Ominis didn’t move at first, his hands still gripping the arms of his chair. He looked like a man on the edge of breaking, and for a moment, Sebastian considered calling the whole thing off himself. But he knew that wouldn’t solve anything. This wasn’t a fight they could win—not here, not now.

“Come on,” Sebastian urged, his voice softer. “Let’s get this over with.”

Ominis exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with resignation. He stood, his movements stiff and reluctant, his fingers brushing down the front of his suit as though trying to compose himself. His family had ensured every detail of his appearance was perfect—he looked every bit the polished Gaunt heir, the image they demanded. But inside, he felt hollow.

Sebastian gave him a faint nod, adjusting his own crooked tie. “You’ll survive this,” he said with a slight smile. “Everything will work out.”

Ominis didn’t respond, his throat too tight to form words. Instead, he followed Sebastian out of the room, the sound of their footsteps mingling with the distant hum of activity that filled the manor. Every step felt heavier than the last, the anticipation building in his chest like a storm.

The courtyard garden had been transformed into a grand display of pure-blood prestige. Rows of white chairs lined the manicured lawn, and a narrow aisle flanked by enchanted, softly glowing flowers led to an altar at the far end. Ivy climbed the stone arch that framed the altar, its dark green tendrils twisting delicately around clusters of pale blossoms.

Ominis stood at the altar, his back straight and his hands clasped tightly in front of him, his wand tucked away in his sleeve. The suit he wore was immaculate, tailored perfectly to his tall, lean frame. But even as he stood there, a picture of composure, his mind churned with unease.

Beyond him, countless guests sat in waiting—pure-bloods from every corner of their miserable society, their presence a suffocating reminder of the world he had tried—and failed—to escape.

His extended family dominated the seats closest to the altar, their self-satisfied smirks and sharp whispers grating against his already frayed nerves. The Gaunts had arrived in full force, a parade of arrogance and entitlement, each one more intolerable than the last.

Ominis’s parents sat in the front row, their expressions masks of triumph. His mother, draped in rich emerald, surveyed the scene with quiet pride, while his father sat like a statue, his posture rigid, his face a cold, unyielding mask. And then there was Marvolo, lounging casually in his seat beside them, his smirk a permanent fixture as though the entire event were for his personal amusement.

Across the aisle sat the members of your family, their expressions far less composed. Your mother’s hands were folded tightly in her lap, her face pale and drawn as she avoided meeting anyone’s gaze, eyes flicking nervously between the guests and the altar.

The contrast between them and the Gaunts couldn’t have been starker. Ominis’s family were predators, their confidence unshakable, while yours looked like cornered prey. And you… you were the sacrificial offering, the tether between their worlds.

The low hum of chatter faded as the first notes of music filled the courtyard, soft and lilting yet as heavy as a tolling bell. Ominis stiffened, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. This was it. The beginning of the end. The melody floated through the air, a cruel, elegant herald of what was to come.

He couldn’t breathe.

The sound of footsteps against the stone aisle cut through the music, and Ominis’s wand pulsed faintly in his sleeve, mapping the space before him. In his mind’s eye, he saw them—two figures approaching the altar. Anne and Sebastian. The only two friends he had managed to invite to this sham of a wedding. His parents had objected, of course, but for once, Ominis had refused to yield. If they were going to strip away every ounce of choice from this union, he would at least ensure that two people who truly cared about either of you would stand witness.

Anne walked with quiet grace beside her brother, her head held high and her movements calm, even as the weight of the moment pressed down on her. She had always been your rock, and now, she looked every bit the part.

Sebastian, meanwhile, walked with his usual subtle defiance, his jaw clenched as though he were biting back a dozen remarks that would surely have caused a scene.

As the Sallow twins joined Ominis at the altar, the music softened, a momentary pause that signaled what came next.

And then, you appeared.

The air in the courtyard seemed to shift as the music swelled once more, drawing every gaze to the entrance. Ominis’s wand hummed, and for the first time in his life, he felt as though he could truly see.

Shapes and shadows sharpened in his mind, the lines of the archway and the glow of the enchanted lanterns framing you like a painting. Your figure materialized with unprecedented clarity, every detail irreversibly etching itself into his memory.

You were breathtaking.

The soft glow of the lanterns seemed to chase after you down the aisle, casting a warm, ethereal light as you stepped forward, arm looped through your father’s. Your gown was simple yet striking, its flowing fabric a cascade of soft ivory that hugged your figure just enough to suggest elegance without excess.

Your hair was swept into an elegant updo, soft tendrils framing your face and neck, accentuating the graceful curve of your collarbone. The tasteful touch of makeup enhanced your features without overpowering them, the faint flush of color on your cheeks and lips lending you an almost otherworldly glow. You looked every bit the part of a bride—refined, poised, and heartbreakingly beautiful.

Ominis’s heart twisted painfully. Despite everything, despite knowing how wrong this was, he allowed himself a single moment of cruel, fleeting hope. He imagined that this was real. That you had chosen this. That the soft shimmer of your gown, the elegance of your updo, the deliberate grace with which you moved—all of it was for him.

For a heartbeat, he believed it. That you had taken your father’s arm and walked toward him because you loved him. That your choice to stand before this crowd, to become his wife, was born of something true, not forced by the iron will of his family.

But reality was cruel.

He could feel it in the tremor of your hand as you reached the altar, in the absence of warmth in your fleeting glance as your eyes locked with his. There was no joy in your expression, no affection, only quiet resolve and resignation. You weren’t here for him. You were here because you had no other choice.

Your father released your arm hesitantly, his hand lingering for a brief moment as though reluctant to let go. His face was pale and drawn, his jaw tight as he gave you a faint nod. You stepped forward alone, taking your place across from Ominis.

He caught the slight hitch in your breath as the officiant spoke. It was subtle—so subtle that no one else would have noticed—but to him, it felt like a scream. He wanted to reach for you, to close the distance, to bridge the gap he had created all those years ago. But his hands remained at his sides, his palms clammy against the cool fabric of his trousers.

The officiant’s words droned on, his low, measured tone a blur in Ominis’s ears. He could barely hear it over the roaring in his chest, the heavy thud of his heartbeat as he focused entirely on you.

And then the moment came.

“Do you, Ominis Gaunt, take her to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

The words cut through the fog in his mind like a knife. For a fraction of a second, he hesitated, his throat tightening painfully. He could feel his parents’ gaze burning into him, his father’s unyielding authority pressing down like a lead weight. The crowd’s silence was deafening, expectant, suffocating.

His lips parted, and the words tumbled out before he could stop them, heavy and hollow.

“I do.”

The officiant turned to you, repeating the same question.

“And do you take Ominis Gaunt to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Ominis held his breath, his entire body tense as he waited for your response. The pause that followed felt endless, each second stretching into an eternity. For a moment, he thought you might refuse.

But when you spoke, your voice was quiet and steady, though devoid of any joy.

“I do.”

The words hung in the air, final and irreversible. The officiant’s voice rose again, completing the ritual with the formal pronouncement that sealed your fates.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Mr. Gaunt, you may now kiss your bride.”

Ominis froze.

How had he forgotten about this part? He’d imagined this twisted mockery of a wedding day a thousand times, and yet this moment—the one he had once dreamed of with such hope—had slipped through the cracks of his planning. The girl of his dreams was standing right there, so close he could feel the warmth of you, and now he was meant to kiss you.

His hands twitched at his sides, his breath catching in his throat as he forced himself to move. The crowd was watching, their silence heavy with expectation. His parents’ satisfaction was palpable, his extended family practically giddy at the spectacle. But all Ominis could focus on was you—the tension radiating from your frame, the subtle way your shoulders stiffened as you waited.

He stepped closer, his wand mapping the space between you. His hand hovered near your waist, uncertain, before finally settling there lightly. He could feel the delicate fabric of your gown beneath his palm, the warmth of your body through the material.

Ominis leaned in slowly, his heart pounding so loudly he was certain you could hear it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Not like this, not with the weight of obligation hanging between you like a curse.

With his eyes fluttering closed, his lips brushed yours in the faintest, most hesitant of kisses. As he expected, you were still—frozen, unmoving, your lips soft but lifeless against his. The kiss was chaste, obligatory, and for a moment, it felt like a dagger to his heart.

And then something expected happened.

You kissed him back.

Ominis’s mind went blank, his senses overwhelmed. It was subtle at first—a gentle press, a shift in the way your lips moved against his. But then it deepened, and the world seemed to explode around him. Fireworks erupted in his mind, a kaleidoscope of sensation, your warmth spreading through him like wildfire.

The taste of your lips, soft and slightly sweet, was unlike anything he had ever known. It was perfect. You were perfect. In that moment, everything else faded away—the oppressive weight of the crowd’s gaze, the suffocating expectations of his family, the years of distance and resentment between you.

His hands tightened instinctively at your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer, and he revelled in the curve of you beneath his fingers. It was everything, you were everything, he had ever dreamed of and infinitely more.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

You pulled away slowly, your movements deliberate, as though reminding both of you that the moment had passed. Ominis’s hands lingered at your waist for a fraction of a second before he let them drop to his sides, his fingers curling slightly as though trying to hold on to the ghost of your touch.

His breath was unsteady as he straightened, his mind reeling. You’d kissed him back.

Why?

Had it been part of the performance? A calculated move to play the part of the perfect bride? Or had it been something else entirely?

He didn’t have time to dwell on it. The officiant’s voice rose again, announcing the end of the ceremony and you were slipping your hand into his. Swallowing hard, Ominis led you back down the aisle.

The crowd rose to their feet, their clapping a dull roar in his ears as he walked with you at his side. Every step felt surreal, the moment between you still crackling like static in his chest.

He didn’t dare look at you. Not now. He wasn’t sure he could handle whatever answer your expression might hold.

But as the two of you passed beneath the ivy-draped arch, stepping into the unknown future that awaited you both, Ominis couldn’t help but wonder if, just maybe, that kiss had been real after all.

~~~

The reception had been nothing short of torturous for Ominis.

If the kiss at the altar had left him confused, the evening that followed only deepened the storm in his mind. Because from the moment you both entered the grand hall where the reception was held, you played the part of the happy bride.

You’d smile at Ominis, soft and convincing, allow him to hold your hand, to rest his palm lightly against the small of your back as the two of you made the rounds, greeting the guests who had gathered to witness your union.

You spoke to guests with grace and poise, weaving stories of your Hogwarts days into the conversation with ease. Tales of late-night library study sessions, Quidditch matches, and the occasional mischievous escapade were all recounted with a fondness that left Ominis reeling.

You spoke of those moments as though they had been golden—untarnished by the years of bitterness and distance that had followed. And for the guests, it was a perfect performance, a portrait of a couple deeply in love, bound not just by obligation but by shared memories and affection.

The guests were relentless in their attention, each one more insistent than the last in prying into your lives. How you met, what your future plans as a couple might be, when you fell in love, was it love at first sight.

Ominis had been stunned at how quickly you answered the last question. You didn’t miss a beat, your lips curling into a soft, polite smile. “Oh, absolutely not,” you said, your voice light with humor. “Our first meeting was… let’s say, less than ideal.”

His stomach twisted at your words, but you pressed on, the ease in your tone disarming the nosy crowd.

“He found me in his personal study spot,” you continued, glancing briefly at Ominis with a glimmer of something in your eyes that he couldn’t quite place. “I’ll never forget how furious he was.”

There were a few chuckles from the guests, and Ominis forced himself to smile faintly, though his mind was racing. He knew exactly what you were referring to. The Undercroft. But you’d never betray that secret, not even after all he'd done to you.

You went on, your tone growing softer, more reflective. “I thought I’d made a terrible first impression. And, well, I had.” A few more chuckles rippled through the group. “But a few days later, he apologized. He didn’t have to—he could’ve just ignored me forever—but he did. And...we became friends after that. It wasn’t easy at first. We’re both… stubborn.” You laughed lightly, the sound so genuine it felt like a blade cutting through the air. “But we figured it out.”

Ominis felt like the ground beneath him was shifting. These weren’t just pretty words spun to entertain the guests or to appease his family. This memory was real. Every moment you described was real.

In fact, he probably knew these memories better than you did, because he had held onto them as tightly as a drowning man clutches a piece of driftwood. They were the only part of you he’d been allowed to keep, and now, here you were, bringing them to life as though the years of distance and pain hadn’t fractured them beyond recognition.

“The moment I realized it was more than just friendship was not long after, right before Christmas,” you continued, your gaze growing distant as though you were looking back into the past. ��We’d spent the day shopping in Hogsmeade. The three of us—Ominis, Sebastian, and me.”

Ominis’s heart twisted at the mention of that day. He remembered it vividly, every detail coming to life in his mind as you spoke.

“It had started snowing that afternoon,” you continued, a soft smile curling at your lips. “We’d bought sweets at Honeydukes, browsed the shop windows, even picked up a few last-minute gifts. By the time we made it to the Three Broomsticks, we were freezing.”

The guests chuckled, and Ominis’s lips quirked into a faint smile despite himself. He could almost feel the icy wind again, the way your cheeks had flushed red from the cold.

“And then,” you said, your smile widening slightly, “Sebastian—being Sebastian—managed to spill an entire mug of butterbeer all over me. It was awful, I was absolutely soaked, sticky, and cold.”

More laughter rippled through the group, and Ominis felt a faint heat rise to his cheeks as he remembered the way you’d looked—your expression caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement as you tried to wring out your sleeves.

“But then,” you continued, glancing briefly at Ominis, “he gave me his coat.”

That was true. He had. Though Ominis hadn’t thought much of it at the time—he’d just wanted to make sure you were comfortable and warm. But now, hearing you speak of it, he realized maybe it had meant more than he’d ever understood.

“And not just that,” you said, your voice softening. “He left the Three Broomsticks, in the middle of the snowstorm, and went to Gladrags to buy me a clean set of clothes. He didn’t have to, but he did. And when he came back, he handed me the bag like it was the most natural thing in the world, like it wasn’t a big deal at all.”

Ominis’s throat felt tight, his hands clenching at his sides as he remembered the look on your face when he’d handed you that bag. You had been startled at first, your eyes widening as you glanced between him and the neatly wrapped parcel. Then you’d smiled—a small, genuine smile that had left him momentarily speechless.

“That was the moment,” you said softly, your voice carrying a note of vulnerability that struck Ominis to his core. “The moment I realized he wasn’t just my friend. That he was… more. That I loved him.”

Your words hung in the air, a quiet confession wrapped in the guise of a story for the guests’ entertainment. Ominis could feel every gaze in the room turn toward him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet any of them. His focus was entirely on you—on the way your voice had softened, the way your smile lingered just a fraction longer than it needed to.

Were you simply using a real memory to bolster your performance? Was this a carefully chosen story to charm the crowd? Or was there a flicker of truth buried beneath the polished delivery?

The rest of the evening passed in a blur for Ominis. The guests continued to press you both with questions, and you answered them all with the same ease and grace. He played his part, too. Smiled when he needed to, laughed when it was expected, but his mind was elsewhere, racing with memories of that day in Hogsmeade so long ago, of the way you’d looked at him then, and the way you’d spoken of it now.

By the time the reception finally came to an end, Ominis was exhausted—not from the physical effort of the evening, but from the mental and emotional toll it had taken.

And now, as the two of you walked through the opulent halls of the hotel where you would be spending your first night as husband and wife, the weight of it all was beginning to crush him.

The sound of your footsteps echoed softly against the marble floors, mingling with the faint hum of distant conversation and the soft rustle of your gown. The hotel was grand, each detail designed to impress, but Ominis barely noticed any of it. His focus was entirely on you—the way you walked beside him, close but not quite touching, your silence stretching between you like a chasm.

Finally, the two of you reached the door to your suite. Ominis hesitated for a moment, his fingers brushing against the ornate handle as he inserted the key.

Exhaling slowly, he turned the handle and pushed the door open. The suite beyond was as opulent as the rest of the hotel—richly furnished, with soft, glowing light and an enormous bed draped in luxurious fabrics. A chilled bottle of champagne sat waiting on a nearby table, two crystal flutes beside it.

The two of you stepped inside, and Ominis’s chest tightened as he shut the door behind you, the finality of the moment settling over him like a weight. Here you were. Alone with him, no audience, no expectations—just the two of you and the silence that neither of you seemed to know how to break.

You moved toward the corner of the room where the house-elves had neatly arranged your bags, the contents folded with meticulous care.

Without a word, you pulled a set of pajamas and your toothbrush from the bag, your movements quick and purposeful. Without meeting his gaze, you turned on your heel and headed straight for the bathroom. The soft click of the door closing behind you echoed through the stillness of the suite, louder than it had any right to be, and Ominis exhaled slowly, releasing a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

For a moment, he stood there, motionless, his fingers curling and uncurling at his sides. Then, with a quiet sigh, he began to loosen his tie, the fabric slipping easily from his collar. He tugged it free and let it drop onto the nearest chair before running a hand through his hair. The day’s events replayed in his mind like a loop he couldn’t escape—your words, your smile, the warmth of your laughter, and the kiss at the altar that had left him reeling.

It was too much.

Ominis moved to the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he sat heavily on the edge. He toed off his shoes, one after the other, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands came up to his face, fingers pressing lightly against his temples as he tried to push the chaos in his mind into some semblance of order.

But there was no clarity to be found. Only questions he was too afraid to ask and doubts he couldn’t shake.

The sound of water running in the bathroom was faint but constant, a reminder that you were just on the other side of the door. He wondered what you were thinking, whether the evening had left you as drained as it had left him. He wondered if you’d meant the things you’d said during the reception, if there was truth hidden in the warmth of your words, or if it had all been part of the carefully orchestrated performance.

More than anything, he wondered what would happen when you came out of that bathroom—if the silence would continue to stretch between you, or if one of you would finally be brave enough to break it.

With a heavy sigh, he sat up, his movements mechanical as he made his way toward his own bag to prepare for bed. He crouched down, his fingers brushing over the neatly packed contents until he found his sleepwear.

He stood, the soft fabric of his dress shirt brushing against his skin as he worked to unbutton it. His fingers moved methodically, one button at a time, but his mind was elsewhere—on you, still behind the closed door, and the way everything about this night felt wrong.

This wasn’t how a wedding night was supposed to feel.

It wasn’t supposed to feel so strained, so heavy. There should have been laughter, warmth, the giddy sort of nervousness that came with embarking on a new chapter together. Instead, there was unrelenting tension. A chasm of unspoken words and unanswered questions that neither of you seemed ready to bridge.

Ominis shrugged out of his shirt, letting it fall to the floor behind him as he reached for the waistband of his dress pants. He unclasped them, the fabric loosening around his waist.

And then the bathroom door opened.

The quiet click of the handle made him freeze, his hands stilling as he turned his head slightly toward the sound.

You stepped out, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

Without his wand, Ominis couldn’t sense the details of your expression, couldn’t see the way your eyes might have widened or the way your lips might have parted slightly in surprise. He couldn’t tell what you were thinking, how you were reacting, and it left him feeling unmoored.

The air between you felt charged, the silence stretching out like a thread pulled taut. He was acutely aware of his state—bare-chested, his dress pants undone and hanging low on his hips. He wondered what you thought of him—what you saw when you looked at him now.

He had an idea of his appearance, of course. His wand’s mapping magic had given him a sense of his own features over the years, an understanding of the angles and planes of his face, the height and shape of his frame. He had been told, more than once, that he was conventionally attractive—sharp, aristocratic features that bore the unmistakable stamp of his bloodline.

But those compliments had always left a bitter taste in his mouth. His pale skin, high cheekbones, and long, slicked-back blonde hair—all of it tied him far too clearly to the Gaunt family, to a legacy he resented with every fiber of his being. Even his tall, lithe frame, lean from years of discipline and sparring practice, seemed more like a reminder of his upbringing than something to take pride in.

And now, standing here in this charged silence, he couldn’t help but wonder what you thought when you looked at him. Did you find him attractive? Or did you see only the Gaunt heir—a pawn in the endless, suffocating game of pure-blood politics?

He had no way of knowing. And for a moment, he almost reached for his wand, desperate for the faint hum of its magic to ground him. But he resisted, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“Sorry,” you murmured softly, your voice breaking the silence. It wasn’t sharp or cold—just quiet, almost tentative.

“N-no,” Ominis said quickly, his voice low and uneven. He straightened slightly, his hands falling to his sides. “I—I should be the one apologizing.”

You didn’t respond immediately, and he could hear the faint rustle of fabric as you shifted, likely clutching your wedding dress tighter against you. “I’m finished in the bathroom, if you want to change in there,” you offered, your tone polite, carefully neutral. “Or… I can just turn around, if that’s easier.”

Ominis’s fingers twitched at his sides, his throat tightening. The absurdity of the situation struck him. You were married, bound by the vows you’d exchanged earlier that day, and yet you could barely manage to exist in the same space without this unbearable awkwardness.

“No, I’ll—I’ll use the bathroom,” he said, his voice tight. “Thank you.”

His toothbrush and pajamas in hand, Ominis disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. He set his things down on the counter and leaned heavily against the sink, exhaling a shaky breath.

The mirror above the sink offered no reflection, but he didn’t need to see his face to know what he’d find there—a pale, drawn expression, tension etched into every line. He let his fingers trail over the cool porcelain of the sink before reaching to splash cold water on his face, hoping it might clear his mind, if only for a moment.

He quickly changed into his sleepwear and brushed his teeth, though the routine didn’t do much to ease the tightness in his chest.

When he finally emerged, his hair slightly damp from the water he’d splashed on his face, he reached for his wand then stopped in his tracks. The bed, massive and draped in luxurious fabrics, was untouched. Instead, you had set up a makeshift bed on the floor using a collection of spare blankets and pillows.

You were kneeling beside it, smoothing out a blanket, and when you noticed him, you straightened, brushing your hands against the fabric of your pajamas.

“I thought…” you began, your voice trailing off as though you were unsure how to explain yourself. “You should take the bed.”

Ominis blinked, stunned into silence for a moment. “You… you don’t have to do that,” he said quietly, his voice laced with something that sounded almost like guilt. “The bed is yours too.”

You shook your head, the motion subtle but certain. “It’s fine. Really. I’ll be more comfortable here.”

Ominis stiffened, watching you adjust the blankets and pillows as though you could somehow make the situation less absurd. It struck him all at once just how wrong this was. It was your wedding night—a night meant for intimacy and closeness—and yet here you were, offering to sleep on the floor.

Did you hate him that much? That the idea of sharing a bed with him, even in the most innocent sense, was so unbearable?

He couldn't keep quiet.

“I’ll take the floor,” Ominis said, his voice quiet but firm. He stepped closer, his fingers tightening around his wand. “You shouldn’t have to.”

You looked up at him, startled for a moment, before shaking your head. “Ominis, it’s fine,” you said, your tone polite but insistent. “I’ll be more comfortable here. Really.”

“It’s not fine,” he replied quickly. “It’s wrong. You shouldn’t have to sleep on the floor—especially not tonight.”

“It’s not wrong if I’m choosing to,” you countered, folding your arms across your chest. “The bed is yours. I don’t mind.”

Ominis’s frustration began to bubble beneath the surface, his composure slipping. “You don’t have to pretend you’re fine with this,” he insisted, his tone growing sharper despite his efforts to keep it even.

“I’m not pretending,” you shot back. “I said I don’t mind, and I meant it.”

“Why?” Ominis asked, his voice rising slightly. “Why are we doing this? All this… politeness and decorum?”

Your expression shifted, your jaw tightening as you glanced away. “What are you talking about?”

“This,” Ominis said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “The careful words, the pretending that any of this is normal. Why are we bothering? Why are we talking to each other like strangers? There’s no one here to see it. No one to keep up appearances for. It’s just us.”

You stared at him, your expression unreadable. “Maybe because we are strangers, Ominis. We have been for years, haven’t we?”

Ominis froze, your words striking him harder than he expected. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. You didn’t look away, your expression steady but tinged with something he couldn’t quite place—resignation, perhaps, or maybe sadness.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” you pressed, your voice quieter now but no less pointed. “After fifth year, you made it perfectly clear how you felt.”

He flinched, his jaw tightening as your words sank in. “I was trying to protect you,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “From Sebastian.”

“Don’t,” you said sharply, cutting him off. “Don’t put this on Sebastian. This isn’t about him. This is about you.”

Ominis turned his head slightly, his throat tightening as the weight of your accusation settled over him. He couldn’t argue with it—not entirely. You were right. It was his choice to push you away, though at the time he’d convinced himself it was the right thing to do.

“So no, you weren’t protecting me,” you continued sharply, your voice rising. “You were punishing me.”

He flinched as though you’d struck him, his sightless eyes widening. “Punishing you?” he echoed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and pain. “Why would I—”

“Because you didn’t trust me,” you cut in, your voice breaking slightly. “You thought I was wrong. You thought I didn’t understand, that I wasn’t on your side. So you pushed me away and you’ve done it ever since.”

“No,” Ominis said quickly, shaking his head. “That’s not—”

“Then what is it?” you demanded, taking a step closer, your anger and pain spilling out in equal measure. “Because that’s what it felt like. That’s what it’s always felt like. And now—” Your voice cracked, and you took a shaky breath before continuing. “And now, you’re stuck with me.” You lifted your left hand, the Gaunt family ring reflecting the lamplight. “And trust me, I know this isn’t what you want.”

Ominis froze, the weight of your words taking a moment to settle. And then, he almost laughed. The absurdity of the idea that he wouldn’t want you—you of all people—was almost too much to bear.

He’d imagined it—dreamed of it, hoped for it in the quiet, unguarded moments of his life. For years, he had spent his nights picturing you by his side, your hand in his, your voice soft and full of laughter as you spoke his name. He had clung to the idea of a future with you like a lifeline, even though, due to his own stupidity, it was impossible.

“If anyone doesn’t want this,” Ominis said finally, his voice trembling as he spoke, “it’s you.”

You blinked, your expression shifting from anger to confusion. “What?”

“You’re right,” he said, his grip tightening on his wand as he forced the words out. “You’re right about everything. About what I did, about why I pushed you away.” He swallowed hard, his throat tight. “Even if I didn’t realize it, I did punish you.”

You stared at him, your anger softening into something more complicated, though you didn’t interrupt.

“I’ve given you every reason to hate me,” Ominis continued, his voice breaking slightly, “For what I did to you then, and for what my family has done to you now.” He gestured vaguely at the room around you, at the bands on your fingers, at everything that bound you to him against your will. “I… I know you hate me, and I accept that. I know you hate this—hate us—and I accept that too. But if you think for one second that I didn’t want this—that I didn’t want you—you’re wrong.”

You rose slowly from where you’d been kneeling, your movements deliberate, your frame tense. Your arms hung loosely at your sides, and your gaze settled on him, unreadable. Ominis didn’t move, didn’t speak. The silence between you stretched taut, heavy and unbearable, his breath shallow as he waited, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest.

Then, finally, you spoke, your voice quiet, almost hesitant. “So… you... don’t hate me?”

“No,” he said immediately, the word escaping before you’d even finished. “Never.”

You blinked at him, as though startled by his vehemence. For a moment, he thought that would be the end of it—that you would leave it at that. But then you took a step closer, your voice trembling slightly as you asked, “Then why did you…?”

You trailed off, but he knew exactly what you meant. Why did you push me away for years?

“Because I’m an idiot,” Ominis said, the words escaping him sharper than he intended. His voice cracked slightly as he exhaled shakily, lowering his head in a mixture of frustration and shame. “Because I let fear and pride cloud my judgment. And Merlin, it’s the biggest regret of my life.”

Ominis's throat tightened painfully, the words he’d held back for years clawing their way up to the surface. They pressed against his chest, demanding release, and for once, he didn’t push them down. What was the point? You were already married, bound by vows neither of you could escape—trapped in this twisted arrangement orchestrated by his family. There was no undoing it, no going back.

“Because... because I’ve always loved you,” he stammered, his voice faltering but steady enough to carry the truth. He lifted his head slightly, his sightless eyes turned toward you as though he could see the effect of his words. “Always.”

The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, and the silence that followed was unbearable. The room felt suffocatingly still, every sound amplified in the oppressive quiet. He could hear the faint rush of blood in his ears, a relentless pounding that seemed to echo his racing thoughts. Even the soft cadence of his own uneven breathing felt deafening, filling the space as though to taunt him with the vulnerability he couldn’t take back.

“I…” you began, your voice unsteady, but you trailed off again, clearly struggling to find the words. “You… loved me?”

“Love,” he corrected softly. “Present tense.”

Your breath hitched, and he could hear the faint tremor in it. “Why... why didn’t you ever say anything?”

He hesitated, his hands tightening at his sides. “Because I was afraid,” he admitted. “Afraid you didn’t feel the same. Afraid of what it would mean if you did. I didn’t want you getting tied up with my family—with the Gaunts. I didn’t want you dragged into… into this.”

He gestured vaguely around the room, his frustration with himself evident in the sharpness of his movements. “Not that it ended up mattering,” he added bitterly.

You were silent again, and Ominis felt the weight of your hesitation like a physical thing pressing down on his chest. He’d said too much. He’d gone too far. And now—

“I wouldn’t have cared,” you said softly.

"...Pardon?”

“I wouldn’t have cared about your family,” you said again, your voice a little steadier now. “I never cared about any of that.”

Ominis's heart twisted painfully at your words, the faint flicker of hope they ignited almost too much to bear. “You…” He stopped, his voice faltering as he tried to process what you’d said. "You didn't?"

“No. In fact, I don’t care,” you continued, your voice quieter now, almost shy. “Present tense.”

Ominis felt as though the ground beneath him had shifted, his entire world tilting on its axis as his mind scattered, his carefully constructed thoughts unraveling at the edges. Present tense.

The implications swirled in his mind, overwhelming and impossible to fully grasp. If you didn’t care—if you truly didn’t care—then what did that mean? What did it say about the way you felt about him now?

“You mean…” he began, his voice faltering as he struggled to form the question that had lodged itself in his throat. “You mean you still…”

You looked away, a faint blush coloring your cheeks as you clasped your hands in front of you. “What I mean,” you began quietly, your voice barely audible. “Is that I... I love you too.”

Ominis thought he might collapse under the weight of your words. His head swam, his legs trembling as if they could no longer hold him upright. It was too much—too good to be true.

Surely, he’d imagined it.

This had to be some cruel trick of his mind, conjured from the depths of years of longing and guilt. Perhaps he was dreaming, caught in that fragile space between sleep and waking where impossible things felt real. Any moment now, he’d wake in his cold, oppressive bed at the Gaunt manor, the warmth of your voice nothing more than a fleeting echo in the dark.

But the longer he stood there, frozen and breathless, the clearer it became that this was no dream. You were still there, close enough that he could feel the faint warmth of your presence, the soft sound of your breathing in the silence.

“You…” His voice cracked, his grip on his wand tightening as though it were the only thing keeping him upright. “You love me?”

“Yes,” you said softly, unable to meet his eyes.

Ominis shook his head slightly, as though trying to shake loose the fog clouding his mind. “You… are you sure?”

“Yes, Ominis,” you said again, this time with a small, amused smile. The warmth in your voice should have soothed him, but instead, it sent his heart racing even faster.

“You’re serious. You… you lo—”

The words caught in his throat as you stepped closer, your movements soft but deliberate. The sudden proximity sent a shockwave through him, and what he was about to say dissolved on his tongue. The world narrowed until there was only you—the warmth of your presence, the faint rustle of fabric as you drew near, the soft sound of your breath mingling with his.

And then you kissed him.

The contact was gentle at first, tentative, as though testing the boundaries of a moment that neither of you could take back. But the moment his mind registered what was happening, something inside him snapped. Ominis dropped his wand, the dull thud barely registering in the haze of sensation that overtook him. His hands found your waist instinctively, trembling as they settled against you, holding you as though you might disappear if he let go.

It was everything—more than he had ever dared to imagine. The taste of you, the softness of your lips against his, the faint sigh you let out as you pressed closer. You were all he could feel, all he could think about, and the overwhelming reality of it, of you, left him breathless.

When you finally pulled away, his chest heaved, his forehead resting against yours as he struggled to find his breath.

“That story…” he murmured, his voice low and uneven. “The one you told at the reception. About Hogsmeade. Was it… was it true?”

You pulled back slightly, just enough for him to sense the shift in your posture. He couldn’t see your expression, but he could feel the heat rising from you, could hear the faint hitch in your breath.

“Yes,” you admitted softly, your voice tinged with embarrassment. “It was true.”

Ominis felt his knees nearly give out at the confirmation, his grip on your waist tightening reflexively. “Merlin,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “All this time…”

He swallowed hard, his throat tight as the weight of everything settled over him. The years he’d spent aching for you, the nights he’d lain awake tormenting himself with what-ifs—it all seemed so absurd now.

“You really…” He trailed off, shaking his head as though he couldn’t quite believe it. “You realized then?”

“At Hogsmeade?” you asked softly, your voice still tinged with shyness. You hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yes... I did."

Ominis let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, his breath hitching as he shook his head slightly. “Because of some clothes?” he asked, the faintest trace of amusement coloring his voice. “Because I gave you my coat and bought you something dry to wear?”

"Sounds a lot less romantic when you say it like that," you mumbled, a hint of embarrassment coloring your voice. You glanced away, fidgeting slightly as though unsure how to explain yourself. “It wasn't just the clothes. I’d been falling you for some time, but I hadn’t really let myself acknowledge it. And then that day, it all just… clicked.”

His grip on your waist tightened slightly. “Clicked,” he repeated.

You swallowed hard as you cast your gaze downward. “You’ve always been… well, you, Ominis,” you began softly, your voice carrying a hesitant edge, as though you weren’t sure how much to say. “You, with your calm, your steadiness. Even when you’re angry, it’s controlled, measured, refined. It’s like you always know exactly what to do, like you were born knowing how to handle everything.”

He swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond to the quiet admiration in your voice. He’d spent so much of his life rejecting the parts of himself tied to his family’s legacy—the refinement, the composure, the quiet dignity that others associated with the Gaunt name. To hear you speak of it now, as though it were a part of him you valued, left him unsteady.

“And me?” you continued, your voice softening. “I’ve... I've never been like that. I’m messy. Emotional. I act too quickly and think too slowly. I’m… I don’t know. Chaotic, I guess.” You laughed softly, but there was no humor in it, just a quiet vulnerability that made Ominis’s chest ache.

“That’s not true,” he said quickly, his brow furrowing. “You’re—”

“What I’m trying to say is that you’ve always been my perfect opposite,” you continued gently, your voice carrying a faint edge of amusement. “My foil. You’re steady, and quiet, and level, and I’ve always felt like… like you even me out.”

Ominis’s heart twisted painfully at your words, the depth of your confession leaving him breathless. “You don’t need evening out,” he said softly, his voice trembling with emotion. “You’re brilliant just as you are.”

You gave a faint, self-deprecating laugh. “Well... that doesn’t change how I’ve always felt around you. Like you make me better. Like I can stand still and actually think when you're near.”

He was too overwhelmed to trust his voice, too unsure of how to put everything he felt into words. So instead, Ominis reached for you, his hand settling gently at the nape of your neck. And he held you there, his thumb brushing softly against your skin, his lips pressing a tentative kiss to your forehead.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was uneven, his voice quiet and raw as he asked, “Well, I’m here now. So… what are you thinking?”

You hesitated for a moment, your lips curving into the faintest smile. “I’m thinking…” You glanced toward the untouched bed before meeting his gaze again. “Maybe we can share the bed after all.”

"Is that so?" He murmured.

You nodded, your smile widening slightly. “Well, it’s a big bed. Plenty of room. And besides…” You reached for his left hand, spinning the wedding band around his finger. “You are my husband, after all.”

The words were light, teasing, but they sent a rush of warmth through Ominis that left him almost dizzy. He’d spent the entire day dreading what being your husband would mean, burdened by the weight of your resentment and his own guilt. But now, standing here with you, knowing you loved him, hearing you call him that—husband—filled him with an overwhelming, almost unbearable mixture of relief, joy, and hope.

Wordlessly, Ominis gently guided you toward the bed, his hand ghosted along your back. When you reached the edge of the mattress, he paused, his fingers brushing yours as he coaxed you to sit.

“Wait here,” he murmured softly, his voice warm and steady, though his chest was still tight with the weight of everything that had just happened.

Retrieving his wand from the floor, Ominis turned toward the small table where the champagne sat waiting, the chilled bottle glinting faintly in the soft lamplight. He reached for it with steady hands, though his heart was anything but calm. He needed the drink—something to take the edge off, to dull the sharp, almost unbearable clarity of this moment—the knowledge that you loved him, that he was about to share a bed with you not as strangers bound by duty, but as something far more significant.

Pouring the champagne into two crystal flutes, he turned back to you, carrying both glasses with a surprising steadiness for someone whose mind was in complete turmoil. Handing you one, he sat down beside you on the edge of the bed, closer than he’d dared to in years.

“To... new beginnings?” he offered softly, his voice carrying a tentative edge as he raised his glass slightly.

You hesitated for a moment, your gaze meeting his, before a small smile curved your lips. “To new beginnings,” you echoed, clinking your glass gently against his.

The crystal chime of the glasses meeting seemed to echo in the quiet room, a sound that felt impossibly delicate in the stillness between you. Ominis brought the glass to his lips, taking a small sip as his mind raced, the taste of the champagne crisp and cool against the tension still thrumming in his chest.

He inhaled deeply, steadying himself before speaking. “You looked…” His voice caught in his throat, hoarse and unsteady, and he cleared it softly before trying again. “You looked beautiful today.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and he could sense the faint blush that rose to your cheeks. “Ominis…” you began, but he shook his head, stopping you.

“I should’ve told you earlier,” he said quietly, his voice raw with sincerity. “You were… you are, the most stunning thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. I mean, um. Not that I can…” He trailed off, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “But I didn’t need to see you the way others do. I could feel it."

Your cheeks flushed faintly, and you glanced down at your own glass, swirling the champagne slightly as if to distract yourself. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice soft but genuine.

“I mean it,” he said softly. “You have always been beautiful. And today, seeing you in that dress… it felt like I was dreaming. I still feel like I’m dreaming.”

A deep flush spread across your cheeks, the warmth creeping down your neck as his words lingered in the air. You didn’t respond right away, instead lifting your glass in a swift motion and draining the champagne in one determined gulp. Ominis raised a brow at your boldness, his expression hovering between amusement and surprise. Before he could say anything, you leaned forward, stretching across his lap to place your empty glass on the bedside table.

The unexpected contact sent a jolt through him. His entire body stiffened, his breath catching in his throat as your warmth seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Sorry,” you murmured, glancing at him as you sat back.

“It’s… it’s fine,” he stammered, a rush of warmth crawling up his neck and settling in his cheeks. He gripped his champagne flute more tightly than necessary, the coolness of the glass a poor counterbalance to the fire you’d ignited in his veins.

“You seem… tense,” you remarked, your eyes narrowing slightly.

“Tense?” he repeated, forcing his voice to remain steady even as his grip on the flute tightened. “I’m not tense.”

“You’re holding that glass like it’s about to leap out of your hand,” you pointed out with a soft laugh, leaning in just slightly, your shoulder brushing his. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,” he said quickly, though his voice cracked slightly on the word.

You hummed softly in response, your amusement now evident. “If you say so."

Ominis turned his sightless gaze in your direction, his throat tightening as he tried to summon a reply that wouldn’t betray the chaos now swirling inside him. But you spoke again before he could, your tone as casual as if you were discussing the weather.

“By the way,” you said with deliberate slowness, “did I ever tell you that you clean up very well?”

He froze, his pulse thundering in his ears. “I… I’m sorry?”

“You,” you said simply, your gaze flicking over him again in a way that made his skin prickle with awareness. “In your suit earlier. You looked very handsome.”

Ominis’s face burned. He gripped his glass tightly, taking another long sip to buy himself a moment to think. “Th-thank you,” he managed.

“You’re welcome,” you said, a faint smile tugging at your lips. You leaned back onto your hands, the bed giving under your weight. "You really are very attractive, Ominis," you added softly, the undercurrent of sincerity that making his heart ache.

You’d never complimented him like that before, never indicated whether you found him attractive or not, and the revelation was dizzying.

“Why are you—why are you saying this?” he asked, his throat tight.

“Because it’s true,” you said simply. “And because I can.”

Ominis exhaled shakily. “You’re... you're very bold."

“And you are shy,” you replied, a playful glint in your eye as you tilted your head toward him. “I told you it’s a good thing we balance each other out.”

He wasn’t sure whether to be flustered or comforted by the ease in your voice. The warmth radiating from you, the teasing lilt in your tone, and the sincerity beneath it all—it was overwhelming, intoxicating.

“You’re relentless,” he muttered.

"Because you make it so easy." You explained smoothly.

Ominis cleared his throat, trying desperately to maintain some semblance of composure. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about."

You tilted your head, eyeing him. “Oh, I think you do."

Before he could respond, you leaned forward again, reaching past him toward the small table beside the bed. But this time, your free hand rested on his thigh for balance, the contact sending heat through his veins and a gasp threatening to pass his lips.

“Let’s see…” you murmured thoughtfully, your fingers brushing against a book as you pulled it toward you. “Huh. A bible. Why do hotels always have these?”

Ominis barely heard your question, his attention consumed by the weight of your hand on his leg, the warmth of your palm seeping through the thin fabric of his pants. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, as he tried—and failed—to focus on anything other than the proximity of your body to his.

“I suppose it’s tradition,” he managed weakly.

“Perhaps you’re right,” you mused, flipping the book closed with an air of exaggerated disappointment. “Though you’d think they’d leave something more interesting. A mystery novel, maybe.”

You shifted slightly to flip open the pages of the book, humming thoughtfully, but your elbow caught Ominis’s arm, sending champagne spilling directly into his lap, the cool liquid soaking through the fabric and clinging uncomfortably to his skin.

“Shit!” you exclaimed, sitting up quickly, your hand flying to your mouth. “I’m so sorry. Let me—”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, his voice strained as he tried to wave you off. “Really, I can—”

But you were already on your feet, grabbing a towel from the bathroom. Before he could protest further, you were kneeling in front of him on the floor.

“Let me help,” you insisted, your tone sweet but tinged with a something else that Ominis couldn’t quite place.

He stiffened further, his entire body locking up as your hand brushed dangerously close to the center of his lap.

“I-it’s fine, truly,” he stammered, his voice rising slightly in pitch. “You don’t need to—”

“Nonsense," you said lightly, shaking your head as you continued to blot the fabric. “It’s my fault.”

Ominis held in a groan, fighting to maintain even a shred of composure. Heat had already been pooling in his abdomen, a slow, insistent burn that now threatened to spiral out of control, but with your hands so dangerously close, with you kneeling before him, he felt as though his very sanity was slipping through his fingers.

His mind raced with a flood of thoughts—improper, indecent thoughts that he told himself he was far too much of a gentleman to entertain. And yet, he couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like to give in, to let go of the rigid self-control that had defined so much of his life.

He bit down on the inside of his cheek. “Y-you really don’t need to,” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly as he shifted, trying in vain to create some distance between you. “I can handle it.”

“No, no," you murmured, your dabbing movements now turning into wiping motions. "Let me help.”

Help. The irony of the word wasn’t lost on him. If anything, your proximity, your touch, was undoing him entirely. And what was worse—what truly horrified him—was the knowledge that the evidence of his attraction would soon become blatantly, inescapably obvious.

His breath hitched as your hand brushed closer—too close—and he couldn't handle another moment.

Ominis shot to his feet so suddenly that it startled you, his wand clutched tightly in his trembling hand. The movement sent the towel slipping from your fingers as you instinctively leaned back, your wide eyes snapping up to meet his.

The image that his wand painted in his mind was delicious and utterly disastrous: you, on your knees before him, your hair slightly mussed, your lips slightly parted, and those impossibly wide eyes staring up at him.

He clenched his jaw, quickly lowering his wand, but no matter how hard he tried, the image wouldn’t leave him. It was burned into his mind, vivid and unrelenting.

Ominis opened his mouth, but his words came out as a jumble of incoherent stammers. “I—I’m sure the house elves packed… something—uh—extra pants.” His voice cracked slightly as he gestured vaguely toward the corner of the room where their bags were stacked. “I should—probably just—”

He moved to take a step, desperate to escape, but then your hands were on his thighs, stopping him mid-motion.

"Running off on me, are you?"

"I—I just thought—"

You tutted and gave him a gentle push, coaxing Ominis to sit back down on the edge of the bed. He resisted for a moment, but your persistence, combined with his legs trembling beneath him, left him with little choice. Slowly, he sank back down, his hands gripping at the sheets.

“There,” you said softly, your tone soothing yet carrying a playful undercurrent that made his pulse quicken. “That’s better.”

Better? Hardly. Ominis was certain he’d never been in a worse predicament in his life. You were now kneeling right between his legs, your hands still resting on his thighs, the heat of your palms searing through the thin fabric of his sleepwear.

He was painfully, achingly hard now, pressed uncomfortably against the fabric, and he knew—he knew—you must have noticed.

How could you not? You were so close, on your knees before him, your face dangerously near to the source of his torment. He clenched his jaw, his hands tightening into fists as he tried to will his body into submission, but it was no use. The evidence of his desire was blatant, inescapable.

And then, as if the situation wasn’t unbearable enough, you tilted your head slightly, feigning an expression of concern.

“You can’t be very comfortable like that,” you said softly, your voice laced with innocence. “Your pants, I mean. All damp and cold.” The corners of your mouth tugged into the faintest hint of a smile. “Maybe you should just take them off.”

Ominis stiffened. He knew exactly what you were doing—knew you weren’t nearly as innocent as you were pretending to be. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to call you out. Couldn’t bring himself to break the fragile thread of tension strung taut between you. Because some part of him—some reckless, desperate part of him—wanted to see how far you were willing to push him.

“I—I think I’ll just wait until—”

You leaned in slightly, your expression soft and oh-so-kind. “Until what?”

Ominis exhaled shakily, his hands tightening into fists. “Until I’m alone.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Alone?” you repeated, tilting your head as though the concept genuinely puzzled you. “Why? It's just me... and I'm your wife now, aren't I?"

His wife.

He swallowed hard. “You… you are,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But that doesn’t mean—”

“Doesn’t mean what?” you interrupted, trailing your hands further up his thighs. “That you can’t be comfortable around me? That you can’t let me take care of you?”

“Take care of me,” he repeated hoarsely, the word catching in his throat as his mind spiraled. He knew exactly what you were insinuating, and it was driving him to the brink of madness.

“Isn’t that what a good wife does?” you asked softly, your voice lilting as though you were enjoying this far too much.

Ominis swallowed hard, muttering your name. “…This is a dangerous game you're playing."

Your lips curved into a sly smile, your gaze never leaving his. “Is it?”

He forced himself to take a steadying breath. “You know exactly what you’re doing.

Your smile didn’t waver. If anything, it grew wider, teasing and entirely too confident for his fragile composure. “And what happens,” you asked, “if I keep playing?”

Your hands trailed upwards and his entire body went rigid, his fists tightening so hard that his knuckles ached.

And then you did it.

Your fingers hooked under the waistband of his pants, your touch light as you began to tug. And Ominis's composure shattered, the remainder of his control finally giving way.

He reached out, his hands catching your wrists and stilling your movements as he leaned down, his sightless gaze locked on you.

“Enough,” he said, his voice low, dangerous.

You blinked up at him, your playful smile faltering for the first time, though your eyes still held a glint of challenge. “Ominis—”

“Enough,” he repeated, his tone sharper this time. “You wanted to play a game, did you? Let me show you what it feels like to lose."

Ominis stood slowly, bringing your hands with him, guiding them back to the waistband of his pants. His breath was heavy, his voice low and rough when he spoke. “You started this,” he murmured, his tone carrying a dangerous edge that sent a shiver down your spine. “Now finish it.”

Your eyes widened, your earlier confidence faltering as you stared up at him. “Ominis, I—” you began, but he cut you off, his fingers tightening just slightly around your wrists.

“You wanted to see how far you could push me?” he muttered. “Congratulations. You found out. Now take them off."

You hesitated, your playful bravado faltering. This wasn’t the careful, reserved Ominis you were used to. This was someone raw, unguarded, and utterly unyielding.

But you had pushed him to this point, hadn’t you? Teased and taunted, knowing full well what you were doing. And now, you would face the consequences.

Your fingers trembled as they hooked under the waistband of his pants, tugging at the fabric. The damp material clung stubbornly to his skin, and the tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to choke on, but Ominis revelled in it, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

After a moment, the damp fabric finally gave way, sliding down his hips and pooling at his ankles, and for a moment, there was only silence.

Ominis tilted his head slightly, his fingers trailing along your jaw. “No teasing comments, hm? Not so bold now, are you?"

“I…” You hesitated, your breath hitching. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to what?” he interrupted smoothly, his fingers ghosting along your skin. “Tease me? Push me? Make me want you until I could barely think straight?”

Your eyes widened, your lips parting in shock at his bluntness. He tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he took in your reaction.

“Because if that’s the case,” he continued, his voice dropping even lower, “then you failed. Now... where were you?"

He reached for your hands again, skimming them along his legs before hooking them into the fabric of his underwear. Your lips parted, a soft, unsteady exhale escaping as you gazed up at him.

“Go on,” he urged, his tone leaving no room for argument.

With a shaky breath, you complied with his demand, the fabric yielding beneath your touch as you began to tug it down past his hips and over the hard length of him.

Ominis’s breath hitched, his jaw tightening as he fought to maintain his composure. His one hand found your shoulder, the other tangling in your hair as you freed him from the confines of his underwear, the cool air of the room brushing against his heated skin.

He could feel your gaze moving over him, taking in every inch of his body. He didn't need to see her to know exactly what you were looking at. He could feel her hesitation, the quickening pace of your breathing, and it stirred something deep inside him.

"Like what you see?" His voice was low and rough. It wasn't a question so much as a challenge, a dare for her to speak the truth he already knew.

There was a pause, a moment where he could feel her nerves battling with her desire. Then her voice came, soft and trembling, yet unmistakably honest. "Yes. I… Ominis, you're... fuck, you're so big.”

Her words hit him like a spark to dry kindling, igniting a fire he could barely contain. A slow, wicked smile curled his lips as his confidence swelled at the admission. He let his thumb trace the curve of your jaw, the movement gentle even as his grip on your neck tightened slightly, coaxing you closer.

Your hands trembled against his thighs, and he felt you hesitate again. That flicker of uncertainty was intoxicating, drawing out the predator in him that wanted to take his time unraveling you.

"I don't even know if I can..." you whispered,

"Oh, you can," he said, his voice a mix of promise and challenge. "And you will. Open your mouth."

Your lips parted without hesitation, your trust in him making something primal surge within his chest. Ominis let out a low, satisfied chuckle as he guided you toward him with deliberate care. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with approval.

He could feel your breath ghosting over him, the slight tremor in your shoulders betraying her nervousness. But when your lips finally made contact, wrapping around him with warmth and softness, a sharp groan tore from his throat. The wet heat of your mouth was intoxicating, your tongue brushing against the sensitive underside of him sending jolts of pleasure rippling through his core.

He groaned, his voice low and gravelly, unrestrained. "God, you feel so good... yes, just like that."

His grip in your hair tightened, controlling your movements as he adjusted the angle with a firm but gentle tug. Each movement was controlled, his hips rocking forward slightly before pulling back just enough to keep you comfortable.

A low moan escaped him as your tongue flicked against the head of his cock, every slight drag of your lips sending waves of pleasure radiating through him like fire. His head tipped back briefly, a ragged exhale slipping from his lips.

"Relax your throat," he ordered breathlessly, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek. "Let me in. Let me feel you take all of me."

You responded instantly, a muffled moan escaping as you took him deeper, the vibrations sending a shockwave of pleasure through Ominis that left him teetering on the edge. His control slipped, and his hips jerked forward instinctively, driving himself further into the warmth of your mouth. The way your throat tightened around him, the way you surrendered so completely to his lead—it was undoing him, igniting a raw, primal need he couldn't restrain.

"I’m close," he breathed, his thumb brushing against your chin. "Keep going. Don't fucking stop."

Your kept pace, and every sensation sharpened, from the slick slide of your lips to the pressure of your tongue and the slight resistance of your throat.

Ominis's body shuddered violently when the tension coiled tight within him finally snapped, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as his hips pressed forward, forcing you to take his release. He groaned your name, his voice raw and broken, the sound laced with unrestrained pleasure as waves of his release surged through him. He felt you swallow, the rhythmic pull of your throat around him drawing out every last bit of his pleasure and leaving him utterly wrecked.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and uneven as he brushed his thumb gently against your chin, a subtle caress full of approval. “So perfect.”

His breaths came in uneven gasps as the intensity began to ebb, though the memory of your mouth on him lingered, searing itself into his mind. The slick warmth of you, your complete submission to him, was something he knew he'd spend his life chasing.

Finally, his grip loosened in your hair, and with a soft, wet pop, he pulled himself from your mouth, the absence of your warmth almost jarring. His legs trembled as he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, his body still buzzing. Yet, even in his post-climactic haze, his hands remained steady, tracing the curve of your jaw with a reverence that felt entirely at odds with the raw dominance he'd displayed moments before.

“Are you alright?” he asked breathlessly, tilting your chin up to brush his thumb over your swollen lips.

Your breath was shallow, quick, and he could feel the faint tremor in your body under his hands. When you didn’t immediately answer, his brow furrowed. He withdrew his hand and reached for his wand.

The image of you that materialized made his breath catch—your breathing ragged, your cheeks flushed a deep, fiery red, your lips parted as you struggled to catch your breath, your eyes glassy.

He breathed your name, his voice tinged with worry as he cupped your face again. “I—I didn’t hurt you, did I? Please, tell me I didn’t hurt you.” His fingers brushed your hair back, searching for any sign of discomfort, his unseeing eyes filled with an almost frantic need for reassurance.

You blinked slowly, as if coming out of a haze, and the smallest of smiles tugged at your lips. Your breath hitched, and when you finally spoke, your voice was rough and shaky. “No,” you managed,“No, you didn’t hurt me.”

He let out a shaky exhale. “Are you sure you’re alright? Please tell me the truth.”

You nodded, your unsteady, watery smile sending a wave of relief coursing through Ominis, the tension in his chest easing ever so slightly. But that smile—soft, trembling, and paired with the glassiness in your eyes—made his heart falter for an entirely different reason. He had pushed you close to your limit; that much was undeniable. The sheen in your gaze spoke of intensity, perhaps even moments of overwhelming vulnerability. And yet, the faint curve of your lips said it all—you’d liked it.

You had trusted him so completely, surrendered so fully, giving yourself over to him for his pleasure, even when it stretched the boundaries of your comfort.

It was a realization that hit him hard, an almost overwhelming surge of emotion he wasn’t prepared for.

But Ominis couldn’t allow himself to dwell on it now. There was something far more important to focus on—taking care of you.

Ominis inhaled deeply, centering himself as he rose from the edge of the bed. He pulled back the covers with a smooth motion and turned back to you, his expression softening as he reached for you. “Come here,” he said gently.

Reaching down, his arms slid around you, steady and secure, as he helped you up from where you knelt on the floor. One hand pressed lightly against the small of your back, the other brushing against your arm as he guided you onto the bed.

Once you were settled, he tucked the covers around you, his hands lingering for a moment, brushing along your arm before moving to your face.

“There we are,” he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair away as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’re alright,” he assured, though it felt as much for him as it was for you. “I’ve got you.”

Your voice, hoarse and barely above a whisper, cut through the quiet. “Ominis, you can stop fussing. I’m alright.”

He froze for a moment, his lips curving into a faint smile as a soft chuckle escaped him. “You’re alright, are you?” he asked, his tone a blend of teasing and disbelief. “You can barely speak. Forgive me if I’m not entirely convinced.”

You rolled your eyes weakly, the smallest of smiles tugging at your lips. “I mean it,” you said, your voice still raspy. “I’m okay."

He shifted closer to the edge of the bed as he adjusted the covers once more, making sure they were snug around you. “You need water," he decided, his brow furrowing slightly.

Before you could protest, he was already moving, locating a glass and filling it at the bathroom sink. He returned swiftly, slipping one hand beneath the back of your neck to help you sit up just enough. The other hand brought the glass to your lips.

“Drink,” he murmured softly.

You sipped obediently and he smiled softly, chest rising and falling with a quiet steadiness now that he knew you were truly alright.

"You were so good," he murmured, as his fingers trailed down to your jaw, tilting your face slightly upward. "Do you have any idea how amazing you felt?"

He leaned closer, his lips finding the flushed heat of your cheek, pressing soft, lingering kisses there, each one accompanied by a murmured word of praise. “So perfect,” he whispered between kisses, his voice low and reverent. "So well behaved."

His lips trailed to your other cheek, brushing against the soft skin as he continued. “It was overwhelming in the best way possible. The way you felt, the way you took me—it was more than I could have ever imagined.”

You hummed softly, the sound a mixture of contentment and satisfaction as his lips trailed across your flushed skin. A shaky hand lifted from beneath the covers, reaching out to find his cheek, your fingers trembling slightly as you guided his lips to yours.

The kiss was a whisper, soft and delicate, barely more than a brush of your lips against his. Ominis exhaled against your mouth, his breath warm and steady, a low hum of contentment escaping him as he leaned into you. His hand slid from your jaw to the nape of your neck, cradling you as his lips moved against yours.

Your lips barely parted from his as you whispered against them, your voice still raspy but filled with quiet conviction, “I love you.”

The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, Ominis stilled, as though trying to convince himself they were real. Then, his breath hitched, and he pressed his forehead against yours.

“I love you, too,” he murmured in return, his voice trembling with emotion. “Merlin, I love you so much. I always have.” He paused, his unseeing eyes searching for something he couldn’t quite articulate. “After everything, after all this time… I never dared to hope we’d find each other again like this.”

You smiled faintly, your thumb stroking his cheek as you closed the small distance between you for another kiss, your lips speaking what words couldn’t.

Ominis pulled back slowly, his fingers brushing through your hair one last time before he adjusted the covers around you. He slipped into bed beside you, his movements careful, his body naturally finding yours as his arms slid around you, drawing you close. Your head nestled against his chest, your breath warm against his neck, and he felt your heartbeat, steady and sure, beneath his hand.

As he held you, Ominis let his mind wander, reflecting on everything that had brought you both to this moment. The pain, the distance, the longing—it had all been worth it for this, for you. A soft, contented sigh escaped him as he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

As he closed his eyes, his grip on you tightening slightly in an unconscious promise to never let you go again, a single thought echoed in his mind: This is where I’m meant to be. With you. Always.

Divider Credit

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seoltzuki · 3 months ago

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nyc baby!

mina x fem reader

fluff, suggestive

gentle, fleeting, free, adoring, just wondering what life would be like as lovers in a normal world

a/n: self-indulgent bc nyc is a place i adore very much and i'm convinced that in my future life i belong there with my future lover xx (also title stolen from an old work of mine that was with seulgi instead)

Would we be happier in another normal life?

Mina sighs happily as she finishes up the New York Times mini crossword. She’s been on a roll with these ever since you landed, even sending you a screenshot during her Boucheron event.

You’re just about to slip out of bed to grab bagels from across the street when she suddenly whines, grabbing your arm and pulling you back with a pout.

“Needy,” you tease, sinking back into the sheets.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes playfully. “Funny coming from you. Don’t you remember last night?”

“You mean a couple of hours ago?” you reply, grinning. “I don’t think I was the needy one—you’ve left a number on me,” you say, pointing to the faint red marks on your neck.

Mina’s cheeks flush pink as she fumbles for a defense. "Well, it’s your fault," she mutters. "You sent me that picture while I was at the event."

You laugh softly. "It was literally just a good night selfie."

She groans, burying her face in the pillow. "You were in your robe, looking all cozy and good! What did you expect?"

You grin, leaning closer. "So, you admit it—you were the needy one after all."

Mina peeks out from the pillow, her cheeks flushed as she grins mischievously. “Fine, maybe I was,” she admits, her voice low and teasing. “It’s hard to control myself when my girl always looks this good.”

Her words send a rush through you, and before you can think, your lips are on hers. The kiss starts soft, but her fingers are already tangled in your hair, pulling you closer. The warmth of her mouth deepens the kiss, and soon, everything else fades away as you melt into her.

She shifts beneath you, tugging you on top of her as the kiss becomes more intense, her hands roaming over your back, making it hard to focus on anything but her touch.

When you finally pull away, breathless, your foreheads rest together, a grin spreading across your face. “I guess the bagels can wait.”

Mina laughs softly, her fingers brushing your cheek. “Definitely worth waiting for.”

~~~

After breakfast, the two of you wandered over to Bryant Park, sipping coffee beneath the trees, watching the city hum with life.

You spent the next hour window shopping along Fifth Avenue, admiring the elegant displays without any pressure to buy. There was only so much you could bring back home, but Mina’s eyes sparkled at every storefront, and you found yourself more captivated by her excitement than anything in the windows.

Now, you’re strolling through Central Park, hand in hand, the noise of the city fading away as you walk the winding paths. The soft rustle of leaves and distant laughter blend into the air as Mina leans into you, her arm wrapped around yours.

“So, you still want to head to DUMBO for the bridge view, right?” you ask, glancing at Mina over your sunglasses.

Her face lights up instantly. “Yes! Let’s call a taxi,” she says, already reaching for her phone.

“No way! Let’s do this right—let’s take the subway. The real New York experience.”

Mina hesitates, her excitement shifting to uncertainty as she raises an eyebrow. “The subway?” she repeats, a little unsure.

You give her hand a reassuring squeeze, so excited for the trip. “Yes! Trust me, it’ll be fun.”

She lets out a soft sigh, still unconvinced, but seeing the sparkle in your eyes, she can’t help but smile. “Fine,” she agrees, stepping closer. Her arm wraps around your waist, fingers lingering on your hip. “But only because you seem so into it,” she murmurs, pressing herself against your side, her warmth seeping into you.

You chuckle, your hand sliding to her lower back, pulling her in even tighter. “I promise, you won’t regret it.” You lean in, brushing a light kiss against her cheek.

~~~

The subway car sways gently as it rumbles along, packed with commuters and tourists. You and Mina are squeezed together in a corner, her warmth pressed against your side. Around you, the chaos of the subway unfolds: someone is doing chin-ups on the railing, drawing a few amused glances, while others are asleep in their seats or lost in music blaring from their speakers.

Mina leans in closer, her voice a whisper. “They’re staring at us.”

You glance up and muffle a laugh. “That’s because you’re staring at them, baby. Your sunglasses are see-through.”

Her cheeks flush with a hint of embarrassment as she quickly looks away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Shit! I didn’t mean to,” she hushes.

You give another glance at the two people across from you and something catches your eye. You squint and notice keychains with photocards. And that’s… Nayeon’s face?

"Onces…" you whisper to yourself, holding on to Mina’s hand tighter.

Just before you can tell Mina that they’re fans, she gasps and points at the window of the doors. You smile, enchanted by her reaction. She’s so cute as she admires the view of the city through the subway doors, as you pass over the Brooklyn Bridge. The contrast from the underground darkness to the stunning sunset hovering over the skyline is breathtaking.

"Baby, look! It’s beautiful!" She exclaims, hand over her mouth as she shakes you a little.

You sigh and nod, pushing your worries away. "It’s very pretty."

~~~

Later, you find yourselves sitting on a bench at Brooklyn Bridge Park, the quiet hum of the city settling around you like a soft blanket. The lights from the skyscrapers flicker in the distance, casting reflections on the calm waters.

Mina sits close, but you can sense something’s off. She’s fidgeting with her hands, her fingers twisting together in a nervous rhythm. You glance at her, about to ask what’s on her mind, but before you can speak, she breaks the silence.

“Do you think we’d be happier in another life? A normal one?”

You frown, confused. “What?”

She hesitates for a second, looking down at her hands before continuing. “I just… I wonder what it’d be like to live a normal life. Not an idol. No eyes on us all the time.” Her voice softens, tinged with a sadness you rarely hear. “I knew those people in the subway recognized me. I could see it in their faces. And I saw how you tensed up, too.”

You shift uncomfortably, realizing she had noticed your own worry.

She sighs, her gaze drifting out over the city. “I just wonder if things would be easier, better, without the spotlight. Without everyone always watching.”

You stay quiet for a moment, letting her words sink in as the city hums in the background. The weight of what she’s feeling lingers between you, heavy and familiar. You reach over and gently take her fidgeting hands in yours, giving them a soft squeeze.

“Mina,” you say quietly, your voice steady, “I know it’s hard. Sometimes it feels like the whole world is watching. But I don’t think another life would make us happier.”

She turns her head slightly, her eyes searching yours, but you continue before she can say anything.

“You’ve worked so hard to get where you are, and yeah, it comes with all this pressure, but it also brought so much joy. To you, to your fans, and to me.” You offer her a small smile. “You’re not just an idol. You’re you. And even though people recognize you, that doesn’t mean you can’t find peace or moments like this.”

Her expression softens, though the hint of doubt still lingers in her eyes.

“I know it’s not easy,” you continue, brushing a thumb across her hand, “but I wouldn’t trade this life with you for anything.”

Mina blinks, her eyes glassy as she bites her lip. She leans in, resting her head on your shoulder, her breath steadying. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she whispers.

“You’ll never have to find out,” you reply, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. “We’ve got each other. And no matter what, we’ll find our own kind of normal.”

I love you so much.

Mina squeezes your hand back, her fidgeting finally stopping as the tension melts away.

After a few more moments of peace, you nudge her gently. “Pizza?”

She lifts her head, blinking up at you before a small laugh escapes her lips. “Yeah,” she says softly, a smile finally breaking through. “Pizza sounds perfect.”

“And we’re definitely trying pineapple on it this time,” you add with a grin.

She scrunches her nose, groaning playfully. “Ugh, yuck… Fine, baby. But only because it’s you.”

"Yes! NYC baby!"

#twice x reader #twice imagines #twice scenarios #kpop imagines #twice smut #gg x reader #gg imagines #mina x reader

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venomgaia · 10 months ago

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do you ever set up your workspace and become some sort of brady bunch-adjacent hell

#driftoodles #bane kniaz (oc)#penumbra #miss rakna kadaki doesnt have a name yet ive literally just been caling her miss rakna/ milfna kadaki #bane is a runaway royal doubling as a scrivener/handler in the new world. he mains insect glaive/dual blades #his bit id that he loves mondter research but is terrified of monsters in practice including domestic ones like poogie #miss rakna is a 'widowed' 'wyverian' whos been working on evolutionary neuropteron temnoceran and carapaceon #she also studies elder dragons and rare toxins.#lobo's lore is the fifth fleet caught him after he fell out of the sky and into the ocean one stormy day (theory has it he was being >#> carried off by a rathalos) and they cant rlly figure out WHAT he is bc he walks like he's a wyverian but he only has the gait and ears #he gets paired with bane as a hunter/handler duo bc lobo doesnt have the patience for other handlers.#werewyvern....hes a charge blade/insect glaive main n is always surrounded by dracophage or fulgurbugs and doesnt know why #penumbra is a frenzy researcher :]#and yes bane is the only human in the group #i wanted to draw them in modern wear with rheir more monstrous traits #but realized miss rakna needs. more spidery aspects so im not too sure where to go eith her more monstery design #monhun #uuuh #wip #this is also set to not rebloggable i just wanted to show my wip and terrible workspace rn

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cryptid-called-ash · 2 years ago

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Let’s talk the Black Dragon Coalition.

Or, I’m tired and a little bored so it’s mhw time

Let’s meet some characters, for the sake of ease, we’re giving everyone names.

The hunter is Eltrys Nym Mulharaynd. He is 22 years old, half wyverian and from Pokke village originally. An archer by trade, Eltrys joined the guild after killing a barrioth that attacked the village, more accurately he was recruited by the guild. He can pass as human so long as he covers his ears. Eltrys is selectively mute, talking rarely and to a select few people.

The palico is Rayne. They’ve been with Eltrys since we’ll before either even thought of joining the guild. Prior to meeting Sun, Rayne was El’s main communicator.

The handler is named Sun-Rai Jessel, though Eltrys calls her Sunflower. She’s 19 when she travels to the new world. She took a liking to Eltrys very quickly, particularly after the shipwreck, and the two formed a brother-sister relationship. Sun is fluent in both common and wyverian sign, so acts as Eltrys’ translater.

The field team leader is Cambien Dalyn’Roth. Born and raised in the new world, Cambien doesn’t quite grasp certain old world concepts. 26 years old at the time of the elder crossing, what he lacks in experience, he more than makes up for with endless enthusiasm.

Excitable A-lister is Aiden Rand. A childhood friend of Eltrys, the two joined the guild around the same time. He juxtaposes Eltrys in nearly every way, cheerfully optimistic and talkative to the archer’s stoic silence. He knew Eltrys was have wyverian before the incident. He is madly in love with his handler (very much an r/the straights are okay couple).

New characters include:

Dervanin Mulharaynd, Eltrys’ father and his human parent. A guild hunter and an archer. He was wrongfully imprisoned when his wife was murdered and their home burned to the ground. He believed Eltrys, who was around 7 at the time, also died. The pair are eventually reunited, even if it is under rather shit circumstances.

Calaxco Quintyris. A wyverian originally of the third fleet, Cal got separated from the scholars during the accident that stranded the third fleet in the highlands and was presumed dead. In the time he’s been on his own, Calaxco has perfected taming monsters. He himself rides a legiana named Cryox.

Shivi, Aiden’s Palico. Objectively the goodest boy.

#the black dragon coalition #mhw #field team leader mhw #mhw handler #mhw hunter #mhw excitable a-lister #palico #the au library #monster hunter aiden #monster hunter world #wyverian #wyverian hunter #oc: eltrys mulharaynd of the fifth fleet #the sapphire star #original characters

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sbnkalny · 1 year ago

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Digilent

#TEXT #DAY 17 #The fifth Fleet's digilent efforts #we have learned

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niallerspayno · 14 days ago

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English Love Affair (frat boy Harry x reader) - Fic Request

Masterlist

Inspired by the song English Love Affair by 5SOS

Request for @purplekimijks: What began as a one-time fling quickly evolves into something more as you and Harry find yourselves seeking each other out for frequent, secretive hook-ups. As Ashton’s sister and a songwriter for 5SOS, the situation grows more complicated by the day. Will you and Harry continue with these fleeting encounters, or will you take the risk and make it something real?

Tags: frat boy Harry x reader, Ashton x sister!reader, smut with plot

Author's note: I unfortunately never really got into 5SOS, which is weird because I saw them open for 1D in 2013 and I'm Australian - just incase I get any details wrong about them

...

The tour bus hums beneath your feet, the steady vibration lulling you into a sense of rhythm as you absentmindedly scribble lyrics in your notebook. Life on the road with 5 Seconds of Summer isn’t always glamorous, but it’s the kind of chaos you’ve grown used to—probably a genetic thing, considering your brother Ashton thrives in it.

Being the band’s unofficial fifth member and go-to songwriter is a role you love. You’re good at it, too—helping the boys find the words to match their stories, giving them the push they need when inspiration runs dry. It’s fulfilling, creative, and keeps you close to your brother.

But if you’re being honest, it’s not just the music that keeps you here.

It’s him.

Harry Styles.

You don’t know when it started—maybe the first time you met backstage at some award show, his charm disarming and his dimples practically illegal. Or maybe it’s been brewing longer, a quiet fascination that finally burst into a full-blown crush when One Direction invited 5SOS to join their tour.

Now you see him almost every day. In rehearsals. At afterparties. Lounging around during those rare, stolen moments of downtime. And every time, you’re drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Not that you’d ever admit it.

It’s dangerous territory, crushing on someone like Harry. Ashton would lose his mind if he found out, and you can’t even imagine the chaos if the rest of 5SOS or One Direction caught wind. For now, you’re content to steal glances, laugh at his terrible jokes, and feel the thrill of his attention when his green eyes linger just a second too long.

“Daydreaming again?” Michael’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you glance up to find him smirking at you from across the lounge.

“Just working,” you say quickly, holding up your notebook as proof.

“Sure,” Michael teases, waggling his eyebrows. “Working on a song or working on Harry Styles in your head?”

Your face burns, and you throw a pillow at him. “Shut up.”

He laughs, dodging easily, and Ashton walks in, his expression suspicious. “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing!” you and Michael say at the same time, a little too quickly.

Ashton narrows his eyes, but thankfully, he lets it slide. “Whatever. We’ve got soundcheck in fifteen. Let’s go.”

You gather your things, your pulse racing as you follow the boys out. In the corridor, you almost run into Harry himself, who flashes you that devastating grin and holds the door open for you.

“Thanks,” you murmur, your heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it always does around him.

“Anytime,” he says, his voice low and smooth. His gaze lingers, just for a second, and it’s enough to make your thoughts spiral.

Yeah, this tour is going to be complicated.

…

The music thumps through the walls of the club, loud enough to make your chest vibrate. Ashton and the rest of the boys are deep into their second round of drinks, Michael and Luke shouting over each other about who can chug a beer faster. You should probably intervene before they make fools of themselves, but the atmosphere is charged, and you’re not in the mood to play referee.

Instead, you slip outside, the cool night air a welcome relief against your flushed skin. The alley is dimly lit, the sounds of the party muted as you lean against the wall and take a deep breath.

“You, too, huh?”

The familiar voice makes your stomach flip. You turn your head to see Harry stepping out of the club, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his black blazer. His hair is a little messy, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to give a teasing glimpse of the tattoos on his chest.

“Needed some air,” you say casually, though your pulse quickens when he walks closer.

“Same.” He leans against the wall beside you, close enough that his cologne—warm and woody—lingers in the space between you. “It gets a bit… much in there.”

You nod, unsure what to say. This is the closest you’ve been to him all night, and the awareness of his presence is almost overwhelming.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The sounds of the city fill the silence: distant cars, muffled laughter from inside the club, the soft buzz of a streetlamp overhead.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” Harry says finally, his voice low.

“Just tired,” you lie, forcing a small smile.

He looks at you, really looks at you, and you feel like he’s peeling back layers you didn’t even know were there. “You’re not much of a party person, are you?”

“Not really.” You glance at him, trying to keep your tone light. “But it’s a necessary evil when you’re on tour with two bands of extroverts.”

Harry chuckles, the sound soft and warm. “Fair enough. But you do it well. I’ve noticed you’re good at blending in when you need to.”

His words catch you off guard, and you turn to face him fully. “You’ve noticed?”

He shrugs, but there’s a glint in his eye that makes your breath hitch. “I notice a lot of things about you.”

The air between you shifts, charged with something unspoken. His gaze drops to your lips for a split second, and you’re sure he’s about to say something else, but he doesn’t.

Instead, you find yourself closing the gap.

It’s not planned, not even a conscious decision—just a moment of pure impulse. His lips meet yours softly at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. But when he pulls you closer, his hand brushing your waist, the kiss deepens.

The world fades away, the sounds of the city and the party melting into nothing as the two of you press closer. There’s a heat, a hunger, that neither of you bothers to hide.

When you finally pull back, breathless, Harry’s green eyes lock onto yours, and there’s a playful curve to his lips.

“Well,” he says, his voice low and teasing. “That was unexpected.”

You laugh softly, the sound nervous but giddy. “Yeah. It… it was.”

But neither of you moves to step away. Instead, he leans in again, his breath brushing your ear.

“Think you can keep a secret?”

Your pulse races at Harry’s question, his breath warm against your skin. You should say something—anything—but all you can do is nod, your body leaning instinctively toward his.

“Good,” he murmurs, his lips brushing just below your ear. “Because I’ve been thinking about this for a while now.”

His confession sends a shiver down your spine. The thrill of his words, combined with the tension that’s been simmering between you for weeks, pushes you over the edge.

“Harry,” you manage to whisper, but it’s less of a protest and more of an invitation.

He takes the hint, his hands finding your waist as he presses you back against the wall. His mouth captures yours again, this time hungrier, deeper, as if he’s been holding himself back and can’t any longer. Your hands slide up to his shoulders, gripping the soft fabric of his blazer as his body pins you in place.

The alley is quiet, the world shrinking until it’s just the two of you. His lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, skimming the sensitive spot just below your ear. You bite back a gasp, the sound catching in your throat, and he chuckles softly.

“You’re so quiet,” he teases, his voice a mix of amusement and desire. “I was starting to think I’d have to work harder.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him back to you.

He grins against your lips but doesn’t argue, his hands sliding down your waist to your hips. The pressure of his touch is firm, grounding, and you feel yourself melting against him.

“Let’s go,” he says suddenly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, his lips slightly swollen from kissing you.

“Go where?” you ask, your voice breathless.

“Anywhere but here.” He nods toward the club. “Unless you want to risk your brother walking out and catching us.”

The mention of Ashton jolts you back to reality for a split second. This is a bad idea—a terrible idea, really—but the way Harry’s looking at you makes it impossible to care.

“Fine,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “Lead the way.”

He takes your hand, his fingers lacing with yours as he pulls you toward the back entrance of the club. The thrill of sneaking off together sends a rush of adrenaline through you, and by the time you make it to his hotel room, you’re both laughing softly, your nerves tangled with excitement.

The door clicks shut behind you, and for a moment, you just stand there, looking at each other. The room is dim, the city lights filtering in through the window casting shadows on his face.

“You sure about this?” Harry asks, his voice low but serious.

You step closer, your hands sliding up his chest. “Are you?”

Instead of answering, he kisses you again, and this time there’s no hesitation. His hands are everywhere—your back, your waist, your thighs—pulling you closer, as if he can’t get enough. You stumble toward the bed, his jacket slipping off his shoulders and landing on the floor.

The backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you let yourself fall back onto the soft mattress, pulling Harry with you. His weight presses down against you, solid and warm, grounding you in this moment that feels both thrilling and inevitable.

His lips move against yours, hungry and sure, leaving you breathless as his hands slide under your top, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of your waist. The heat of his touch sparks a fire that spreads through your entire body, your senses heightened by the closeness of him—his warmth, his scent, the soft rasp of his stubble against your cheek.

“Are you sure?” he asks again, his voice lower this time, tinged with impatience and raw need. His green eyes are darker now, locked onto yours, the question more of a formality than anything else.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you pull him down to you, crashing your lips into his, fingers tangling in his hair as you take what you’ve both been craving all night. It’s messy, hot, and desperate, and you feel his groan reverberate against your mouth as he presses his body firmly against yours, pinning you to the mattress.

The shift is immediate. His hands are on you, rougher now, gripping your waist and sliding down to your thighs with a possessive strength that sends a jolt of arousal through you. He’s not gentle, and you don’t want him to be. You arch into him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he grinds his hips into yours, his hardness pressing against you through the thin barrier of clothing still between you.

“God, you feel so good,” he growls, his voice ragged as his lips trail down your neck, teeth grazing just enough to leave marks. You gasp, your body responding instinctively as heat pools low in your stomach.

“Harry,” you gasp, his name falling from your lips like a plea, and it only spurs him on. He yanks your shirt over your head in one swift motion, his hands immediately returning to your bare skin. His palms are hot, his touch firm as they slide over your curves, fingers digging in just enough to leave a sting that’s more pleasure than pain.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he mutters, his voice rough and breathless as he pulls back just enough to take you in, his gaze hungry and intense.

You don’t give him a chance to say more. Your hands move to the hem of his shirt, tugging it off him in a rush before your fingers are on his belt, working it open with shaking hands. He smirks, the sight of your urgency clearly fueling his own, but he doesn’t stop you, his eyes darkening as you shove his jeans down his hips.

He’s on you again, his body pressing into yours with a weight that feels overwhelming in the best way. His hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider as he settles between them, his lips crashing against yours with a bruising intensity.

Your head tilts back against the pillows as he moves lower, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of your chest before his lips trail lower, biting and sucking his way down. Your moan fills the room as he pulls your underwear down with a sharp tug, tossing it aside before his hands are on you again, exploring, teasing, claiming.

When he finally moves back up, his lips find yours again, rough and insistent, and you feel him against you, hard and ready. Your breath hitches as he presses forward, his hand gripping your hip tightly to hold you in place as he pushes into you with one slow, deliberate thrust.

The stretch is overwhelming, and you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders as your body adjusts to him. He stills for a moment, his chest heaving against yours as he curses under his breath, his control clearly hanging by a thread.

“Jesus, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice strained. But the pause doesn’t last long. He pulls back and thrusts again, harder this time, and the sharp cry that escapes your lips only seems to fuel him.

The rhythm he sets is relentless, his hips snapping against yours in a way that leaves you breathless. His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, tangling in your hair, pinning your wrists above your head as he takes you apart piece by piece.

“Look at me,” he demands, his voice rough, and you force your eyes open, meeting his gaze. The intensity there steals what little air you had left, and you feel the raw hunger in the way he looks at you, like he can’t get enough.

The room is filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, skin against skin, and the soft creak of the mattress beneath you. Every thrust pushes you closer to the edge, your body trembling beneath him as you surrender completely to the heat and intensity of him.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his lips brushing against your ear as he drives into you harder, his grip on your hips almost bruising. And in this moment, you don’t care about anything else—just the way he feels, the way he makes you feel, and the fire that’s consuming you both.

The tension in your body builds with every thrust, every roll of his hips, each movement pushing you further toward the edge. Your nails dig into his skin as your body tightens, every inch of you alive with the electric buzz of him, the heat between you. You can feel him, deep inside you, moving relentlessly, his breath ragged and harsh against your neck.

"Harry..." you gasp, your voice breaking as your body starts to tremble, your chest heaving with the effort to hold on. You’re so close, so close that everything else fades away, leaving only the overwhelming sensation of him and the burning need for release.

"Fuck, I know," he grunts, his fingers gripping your hips harder, his pace quickening, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps. His eyes are locked on yours, his face a mixture of concentration and raw desire. "Come on, baby. Let go."

And then, just like that, it snaps. Your body gives way, a wave of pleasure crashing over you, your breath catching as you cry out his name. The world tilts as you lose yourself in him, the intensity of your release leaving you breathless, your body shaking as it waves through you.

Harry’s movements become more erratic, his control slipping as he follows you, his own release tearing through him with a low growl. You feel him pulse inside you, each throbbing wave of his climax pushing you even further into the haze of pleasure, your body still trembling under the weight of it.

He collapses onto you, his chest heaving against yours, both of you slick with sweat, breathless from the overwhelming rush of it all. You lie there for a moment, both of you tangled in the aftermath, the room heavy with the echoes of your connection.

The silence between you is thick, the only sound the frantic beating of your hearts. His hand brushes against your cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin there as he raises his head to look at you. There's something almost apologetic in his expression, but also a glint of something deeper—satisfaction, maybe, or desire, or something you can't quite place.

"That was..." he starts, but he doesn’t finish. Instead, he presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment, before pulling away slightly to look at you again. "We don't tell anyone about this, right?"

You nod, your fingers lightly tracing the contours of his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble under your touch. "Yeah. No one," you agree, your voice still a little breathless, but with a steady resolve.

His lips curl into a small, almost mischievous grin. "But we can definitely do it again, yeah?" he asks, his voice lowering, as though testing the waters.

You can’t help but smile at the suggestion, your fingers running through his hair as you look up at him, the heat of the moment still lingering. "Definitely," you reply, your voice steady, the hint of a laugh in your tone.

He leans down to kiss you again, soft and slow this time, a promise of more, as both of you settle back into the bed, the world outside forgotten. The night stretches ahead, and in the quiet aftermath, there’s only the unspoken agreement between you—what happened stays between the two of you. But it’s not over. Not by a long shot.

...

You wake up to the soft light of dawn streaming through the window, the quiet hum of the city just beyond the walls of the hotel room. You’re tangled in the sheets, your body still warm from the night before, but there’s an underlying tension creeping in with the awareness of what happened. You blink a few times, the events from last night flooding your mind in vivid flashes—his touch, the way he kissed you, the way your bodies moved together, and the marks he left on you.

You feel his breath on the back of your neck before you even realize Harry’s awake. He’s lying next to you, his arm draped over your waist, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, looking impossibly calm for someone who shared such an intense experience with you.

Your eyes widen when you catch sight of the dark purple marks scattered across your neck, a line of them creeping down toward your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat as you shift slightly, trying not to wake him. Then your fingers trail down to your hips, where you feel the telltale pressure of his hand—the faint outline of bruises, each one a reminder of the night’s wild intensity.

Panic starts to creep in. You have to hide these. You have to figure out how to sneak back to your room without anyone seeing. You don’t even know why it’s bothering you this much; it’s not like you and Harry made any promises, not like anyone would find out. Still, the idea of the band—especially Ashton—finding out makes your stomach churn.

Carefully, you slip out of the bed, trying to make as little noise as possible, but Harry stirs slightly. You freeze, heart hammering in your chest, but he simply groans softly and rolls onto his back, one hand draped casually over his eyes, completely unfazed. His deep voice, laced with sleep, cuts through the silence.

“Morning,” he says, his tone as nonchalant as ever, like he hasn’t just turned your world upside down.

You bite your lip, trying to keep your composure as you stand near the bed, searching for something—anything—to cover the marks. Your mind races, fingers fumbling as you search for a shirt or anything that will help hide the evidence.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his voice low but teasing, not even glancing your way as he stretches. He’s acting so casually about it, like nothing out of the ordinary happened, like he doesn’t see the way you’re scrambling to cover up.

“Yeah,” you mutter, forcing a laugh, though it’s thin and awkward. You grab your shirt from the floor, pulling it over your head in a hurry. “Just, uh... need to go back to my room. Don’t want anyone to notice.”

Harry finally opens his eyes, his lips curling into a small, apologetic smile as he watches you. He sits up, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m sorry about that,” he says, nodding toward your neck and hips, where the marks are still evident. “I didn’t mean to leave them... though, you do look pretty fucking beautiful with them.”

You glance at him, surprised by his tone—genuinely regretful but also teasing, in that way only Harry can pull off. You try not to smile, but it’s impossible not to. The apology, even if wrapped in his usual charm, makes something warm stir in your chest.

“Doesn’t matter,” you shrug, trying to brush it off, even though you’re clearly bothered. You finish pulling on your jeans, quickly tugging the fabric over the marks on your hips. “I’ll figure it out.”

Harry slides closer, his hand reaching out to gently tug your chin so you’re looking directly at him. His expression softens, and he leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that’s much gentler than anything from last night—sincere, almost apologetic.

“Next time, I’ll be more careful,” he whispers against your lips, his breath warm against your skin. His thumb traces the side of your neck where the marks are, making you shiver. “But I’m not sorry for last night. That was perfect.”

You lean into him, kissing him back for a moment longer before pulling away. "You really have to stop marking me," you tease lightly, but you can’t help but grin. "People are going to ask questions."

He grins back, his lips curving into that devil-may-care smirk. “If anyone asks, we’ll just say we were... being friendly,” he says, his tone playful but laced with that same intensity from the night before.

You laugh softly, but there's a tightness in your chest that you can’t quite shake. As much as you want to be carefree like him, you know the reality of sneaking back to your room is a little more complicated.

“I’ve got to go,” you say, standing up quickly, suddenly feeling the weight of the situation. “Before anyone notices.”

Harry nods, his smirk never fading, his eyes still gleaming with that mixture of mischief and satisfaction. “Don’t worry, babe. I won’t tell anyone.”

You pause, glancing back at him as you reach for the door. “I’ll see you later.”

He leans back on the bed, his hands behind his head, looking completely unfazed by the chaos of the night you both shared. “You know where to find me,” he says, his voice casual, but there’s that familiar undercurrent of promise.

You slip out of the room, your heart pounding, your mind racing. The door clicks shut behind you, and for a moment, you just stand there, breathing in the cool hallway air. It feels like everything just changed, and you’re not entirely sure how to process it. But as you make your way back to your room, you can’t shake the feeling that this won’t be the last time Harry’s hands leave marks on your skin.

...

You walk into the breakfast area, trying to shake off the lingering tension from last night. Harry’s already sitting with a coffee, looking casual as ever. You meet his gaze, but the smile he gives you is knowing, making your pulse race for a second before you force yourself to act normal.

The rest of the band is chatting, and you take a seat, trying to ignore the burn of the marks on your neck and hips. Ashton’s eyes keep flicking to you, the silence between you palpable. You can feel the weight of his stare.

Liam, ever the conversationalist, breaks the tension with an innocent enough question. “Hey, what’s up with you two?” he asks, glancing between you and Harry.

Harry shrugs, cool as ever. “Nothing, mate. Just breakfast.”

You nod quickly, sipping your coffee, trying to seem casual. But Ashton’s quiet. He’s not buying it. His eyes flick to your side, where you shift uncomfortably. “You okay?” he asks, his voice sharp, before glancing at Harry with suspicion.

“I’m fine,” you snap a little too quickly, and Harry intervenes just in time, his voice smooth and easy. “We’re all just adjusting to the time change, right?”

Ashton hesitates but then shrugs it off. The conversation moves on, but you feel like something’s off.

Then Niall spots the marks on your side. “Hey, what’s that?” he asks, pointing. “New ink or something?”

Before you can answer, Louis leans in with a grin. “Bite marks? Who’d you go home with?”

You force a laugh, brushing it off. “Just some random guy from the club. It didn’t mean anything.”

Niall raises an eyebrow. “A random guy at the club? Didn’t expect that from you.”

You shrug. “Sometimes you just need to blow off steam.”

Louis teases more, but Ashton’s quiet, his jaw tight as he observes. “Sure,” he mutters, his tone colder. “Nothing.”

You feel the shift in the air, Ashton’s unspoken frustration hanging between you, but you stay silent. Harry gives you a small nod, his eyes locking with yours for just a second before turning back to his coffee.

The rest of the conversation continues, but you can’t shake the feeling that everyone knows—or at least senses—something happened. And you’re left trying to keep it together, even though the heat from last night still burns beneath your skin.

...

A few days have passed since breakfast, and things have shifted, though no one’s mentioned last night’s heat. The band is busy with rehearsals and interviews, and the air between you and Harry feels charged, like electricity just waiting to snap.

That night, after the show, you slip away from the usual after-party chaos. You need to clear your head, to get some space from the noise and the people, but the moment you step outside, your gaze lands on him. Harry’s leaning against the back of the venue, hands shoved in his pockets, watching the stars like he’s waiting for something—someone.

You’re not sure what pulls you to him, but you find your feet moving before you can stop them. When he sees you, that smirk appears, the one that you know so well, and his eyes light up.

“Thought I’d find you out here,” he says, his voice smooth but with a hint of playfulness.

You stop in front of him, the cool night air biting at your skin. "Couldn't sleep," you reply, your heart already picking up pace as he steps closer.

"Couldn’t sleep, huh?" He steps forward, his hand brushing against yours. The simple touch sends a wave of heat through you, making it impossible to ignore the tension between you two. “I think I might be able to help with that.”

The words hang in the air, thick with meaning, and without thinking, you close the distance between you. His lips find yours almost instantly, pulling you into him. The kiss is hungry this time, no teasing, just raw need.

His hands are on your body, pushing you against the cold brick of the building, his lips trailing along your jawline, down your neck. Every movement is deliberate, urgent. You gasp when his teeth graze your skin, a rush of heat flooding your veins. You can feel him hard against your stomach, and it makes you dizzy.

“Right here?” you ask breathlessly, your hands running over the muscles of his back, the tension in his body matching your own.

He looks at you, his green eyes dark and intense, a spark of mischief dancing in them. “Why not?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. “It’s just us.”

You don’t hesitate. With a quick move, your hands are tugging at the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one smooth motion. His skin is warm under your fingers, and your breath catches when his lips find yours again, harder this time.

You can’t keep up with the speed of it, the way he’s pushing you toward a part of the alley where the shadows swallow you whole. His hands move over your body, finding the zip of your jacket and pulling it down. Every touch, every movement sends you spiraling. There’s no waiting this time, no slow build-up. It's frantic, raw, like you’re both trying to chase the same thing.

You help him out of his jeans, the fabric sliding off his legs just as you pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside. The cool air hits your bare skin, but Harry's warmth, the heat of his body, is enough to make you forget the chill.

With a sudden, fluid motion, he lifts you up, pressing you against the wall as your legs wrap around his waist. His lips are back on yours, and you can feel the intensity building again, the desperation of it. You feel his cock against you, and a shiver runs through you at the feel of him, so close, so desperate.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders as his hands find their way to your hips, guiding you toward him. The way his fingers dig into your skin makes your heart race even faster.

The way he enters you, quick and relentless, takes your breath away. The world narrows down to the sensation of him filling you, the rhythm of his thrusts, the pressure in all the right places. You meet him with equal urgency, the rhythm between you sharp and frantic.

It doesn’t take long for the heat to build, for the world to go blurry and insubstantial. You’re caught in the force of it, lost in the way his body moves against yours, in the sound of his breath, his low groans as he pushes deeper.

It’s raw, fast, just what you both need to feel alive. The noise around you fades into nothing. All that exists is him—his touch, his body, the overwhelming heat that’s too much and not enough at the same time.

And when you reach the edge, when everything seems to come apart at once, you feel him release into you, his grip tightening as he lets out a low, guttural sound that makes you dizzy. It crashes over you like a wave, pulling you under, and you cling to him, riding the wave of pleasure until it finally fades.

You both stand there for a moment, catching your breath, leaning against each other for support. He places a gentle kiss on your forehead, still breathing heavily. “You good?” he asks, his voice soft but rough from the intensity of it all.

You nod, a smile tugging at your lips as you look up at him, feeling the aftermath of everything. You didn’t know it would feel this good—this easy, this undeniable. But it does.

“I’m good,” you reply, your hands still on his chest, feeling his heartbeat match your own.

He smirks again, leaning down to kiss you one more time, his lips soft now, slower, almost tender. "This isn't over," he murmurs against your lips. "We’re not done yet."

You pull back slightly, looking at him with a knowing smirk of your own. "I think we both know that."

...

A few days later again, and the night is loud, the music and chatter from the party blending with the thrumming bass of your own pulse. You're moving through the crowd, adrenaline pulsing, and you know exactly where you're heading. You don’t need to find him—Harry’s always in the same spot, tucked away from the chaos, waiting for the perfect moment.

You don’t waste time looking for him. As soon as you find him, you step into his space without hesitation. He’s leaning against the wall near the back of the venue, his eyes immediately finding you as you approach. The air between you thickens, a knowing tension hanging heavy in the seconds before you speak.

He smirks, his lips curling, but his eyes are dark with something more dangerous. “You alright?” His voice is low, deliberate, the edge of it making your pulse quicken.

You don’t answer with words. You reach up, your fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, and pull him into a hard, bruising kiss. The kind that burns, urgent and hot. No hesitation. No sweet words. You’ve had enough of waiting, of being passive.

Harry’s hands find your waist, but you don’t give him the chance to pull you closer. Instead, you shove him back, pinning him against the wall with your body. His breath hitches, and for a moment, you feel his control slipping.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “Not this time,” you murmur, your voice rough with desire. “I’m in charge tonight.”

Harry’s lips part, a flicker of something dark passing through his gaze. He’s caught off guard for a second, but the challenge only fuels him. He smirks, but it’s different now—almost predatory. “You sure about that?”

Without answering, you grab his wrist and tug him toward the back hall. There’s a small storage cupboard just around the corner, hidden from the rest of the crew. You reach it quickly, slipping inside with Harry close behind you, your back pressing against the cool metal door.

The moment the door closes behind you, it’s like the world shrinks to just the two of you. There’s no one around to stop it, no one to see what happens next. And that’s exactly what you want.

You waste no time, pushing him up against the shelves, the sound of metal scraping against the wall echoing in the small space. Your hands are on him instantly, pulling at his jeans, your mouth on his neck, the heat between you rising fast. There’s no teasing, no soft caress—just the immediate pressure of wanting him, needing him, right here, right now.

Harry’s hands come to your hips, fingers digging in as he tries to guide you, but you won’t let him. You’re not here for him to control. You kiss him again, harder this time, your hands undoing his belt, unzipping his jeans with quick, practiced movements. When you pull him free, his breath catches in his throat, and you feel him twitch under your touch.

“You think you can just take over?” Harry’s voice is low, rough, and it makes your pulse race even faster.

“You’re about to find out,” you respond, your voice steady despite the heat building inside you. You drop to your knees in front of him, not wasting a second before you take him in your mouth. It’s quick, sharp, the way you want it. His groan fills the small space, and you feel the way his fingers tighten in your hair, pulling you closer.

You know he’s holding back, fighting against the rush of pleasure, but you won’t give him the chance to regain control. You move faster, harder, your mouth working him while your hands hold his hips still, forcing him to take everything you give him.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, his voice strained, low. His grip on your hair tightens, his chest heaving as he struggles to stay in control. “You’re gonna make me lose it.”

You look up at him, meeting his darkened gaze, and you can see the struggle in his eyes. It’s almost like he wants to push you away, take the lead again, but he can’t. Not now. You’re too far in control. You pull away for a moment, and his eyes flicker to yours with frustration.

But before he can say anything, you grab his wrist and pull him into the corner of the cupboard. The cramped space forces you both closer, heat between your bodies rising by the second. You push him back against the shelves, your hands sliding over his chest before you drop to your knees again, taking him in your hand, guiding him where you need him most.

This time, there’s no slowing down. You lower yourself onto him in one quick motion, feeling the stretch of him fill you completely. The angle is different, sharper, and the way he groans under you sends a thrill of power through you. You move against him, setting the pace, your body riding him with the urgency of a fire you can’t put out.

His hands grip your hips, but you don’t let him take over. You fuck him harder, faster, feeling the pull of your body tightening with each movement. The sound of your skin slapping together fills the small space, your breath coming in quick bursts, matching the frantic rhythm between you.

“You feel so fucking good,” Harry mutters, his voice low and raspy as his hands grip your waist, pulling you even closer. He’s close, you can feel it. But you don’t stop. You drive yourself harder onto him, taking him deeper with each thrust.

The heat builds, pressure coiling tighter and tighter until, with one final, sharp push, you both come undone. The force of it takes you by surprise, your body trembling as you collapse against him.

You’re both breathless, sweaty, and still reeling from the intensity. Harry holds you close for a moment, his hands running up and down your back, trying to steady both of you. You pull back slightly, looking up at him with a smirk.

“You didn’t think I could take control, did you?” you tease, your voice husky with satisfaction.

Harry chuckles, his lips brushing your forehead as he presses a soft kiss there. “You fucking blew me away, love,” he mutters, his voice filled with admiration and something else—something you can’t quite place.

You smile against his chest, the rush of power fading as you both come back down. You’re not done, not by a long shot. But for now, you both stay there in the cramped storage cupboard, tangled in each other’s arms, letting the aftermath wash over you.

For now, it's just you and him.

...

The next day, you walk into your hotel room, exhausted from the day's events, only to find Harry waiting for you. The door clicks shut behind you, and before you can say anything, he’s there, stepping toward you with that same confident smirk on his lips. His eyes are dark, and his stance says it all—he’s taking control again.

You try to keep your cool, but your pulse is already quickening. You hadn’t expected him to follow you, hadn’t thought he would be here, but now that he is, there’s no denying what’s about to happen.

“Still thinking about last night?” he asks, voice low and teasing, as he reaches you in two strides.

You can barely find the words. All you can do is stare back at him, your body reacting before your brain can catch up. “I thought we agreed—”

“We did,” he cuts you off, his hand brushing lightly against your arm, sending a shiver through you. “But I think it's my turn again.”

His mouth is on yours before you can protest. It’s a demanding kiss, his lips parting yours with purpose. His hands quickly make their way to your body, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the heat of him, the hard press of his chest against yours. There’s no room for hesitation, no time to think. He knows what he wants, and he's making sure you know it, too.

“Take your clothes off,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to let you breathe, but his eyes never leave yours.

Your body moves almost involuntarily, your shirt falling to the floor as he watches, his gaze intense. There’s something about the way he looks at you now that sends a rush of heat to your core. You can feel your body responding before you even realize it, your breath catching in your throat as he moves closer.

With one swift motion, he pushes you back toward the bed, never breaking eye contact, his hands on your waist, guiding you down. You’re almost powerless against his grip, the way his hands are everywhere, touching, exploring, pulling you closer.

"Stay still," Harry growls as he hovers over you, his lips trailing down your neck. His touch is rough, deliberate, his hands gripping you like he owns you. You try to fight it, try to hold on to some sense of control, but it’s impossible.

His mouth moves to your neck, biting down hard enough to make you gasp, leaving marks, branding you in a way that only he can. "You’re mine, remember that," he mutters against your skin, before trailing his lips lower, down your chest.

Before you can fully process what’s happening, his fingers are at your waist, slipping under your waistband. You tense at the suddenness of it, but there’s no stopping him. He doesn’t give you a chance to breathe before he's moving, quickly and efficiently, pulling you closer, his mouth returning to your skin.

“Missed this,” he murmurs, his fingers sliding over your hips, his touch like fire.

He flips you onto your stomach before you can even react. His hands grip your hips, pulling them up, positioning you exactly the way he wants you. You brace yourself, knowing what’s coming. It’s not gentle. He’s not gentle. His hand smacks against your ass, hard enough to sting, and you gasp.

“Don’t move,” he growls, his voice rough as he enters you in one swift motion. The force of it makes you cry out, the suddenness taking your breath away.

He doesn’t wait. His thrusts are relentless, harsh, driving into you with a power that has your body shaking. There’s nothing soft about it. Nothing tender. It’s all control, all power, and you can’t help but give into it, letting him take you in a way that only he can. The bed creaks beneath you, his hand still gripping your hip with a bruising force, and the sound of his skin meeting yours fills the room.

He’s rough, pushing you to the edge, your body moving with his, the tension building in your stomach. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he mutters through gritted teeth, his pace quickening. The marks on your neck throb with every movement, the bites and bruises adding to the intensity. You can feel him everywhere, his hands, his mouth, his body against yours.

It’s not long before you feel the tension snap, your body clenching around him as you cry out, your release crashing over you. Harry doesn’t stop. He keeps going, chasing his own release, his grip tightening as he finishes with a low groan, his body shuddering against yours.

He stays inside you for a moment, his hands resting on your hips, before he pulls out slowly. You collapse onto the bed, breathless, the marks on your neck and hips still stinging with the reminder of what just happened. He doesn’t move away. Instead, he leans down, pressing a kiss to the marks he left, his lips lingering on your skin.

"Next time, don’t try to fight me," he murmurs, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll make sure you remember who’s in charge.”

You can’t help but shiver at the thought, your body still tingling from the aftermath. Harry pulls away, his expression smug as always, but there’s something in his eyes that tells you this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

...

The night air is thick with the promise of something to come, the city lights flickering below as the storm clouds gather above. You’ve been feeling the electricity between you and Harry all evening, the kind of tension that only seems to grow the longer you spend together. Tonight, something is different—there’s an undeniable pull that neither of you can ignore.

You’re in Harry’s hotel room, lounging on the couch, the hum of the city barely reaching your ears through the thick glass windows. Outside, the wind picks up, and you catch the first few drops of rain against the glass. You glance over at Harry, and your heart races at the sight of the mischievous grin that’s spreading across his face.

“You know,” he starts, voice low and tempting, “I’ve got a better idea than staying in here.”

Before you can ask, he’s already pulling you to your feet, his hand gripping yours with a firm urgency. The way his eyes glint with intent sends a thrill running through you, your pulse quickening. Without a word, he leads you to the door, and your stomach flips with the knowledge of what’s about to happen.

As you step into the hallway, the sound of rain grows louder, and Harry’s grip tightens around your wrist, guiding you toward a hidden staircase. “You’ll see,” he murmurs, a devilish smile tugging at his lips.

The air is charged with something unspoken, and as you ascend the stairs, you can feel the growing anticipation, your heart thumping in your chest. The storm outside is starting to pick up, a low rumble of thunder echoing in the distance. As you reach the rooftop door, Harry opens it, and the full force of the rain hits you—cold and sharp, the droplets crashing down as you step onto the wet rooftop.

The view is breathtaking, the city sprawled out beneath you, the sky above heavy with rain. You can hear the sound of water pounding against the pavement, but it doesn’t drown out the rush of your heartbeat as Harry turns to face you. His lips are on yours before you can even think, hot and insistent despite the cold rain soaking through your clothes.

“You’re crazy,” you murmur between kisses, your hands gripping his shirt as the rain drenches you both.

“You have no idea,” Harry replies, his breath hot against your ear. He pulls back for a moment, looking down at you with that smirk of his. “Let’s take this somewhere... a little more private.”

Without waiting for a response, he grabs your hand and leads you toward the far side of the roof, where a small, secluded corner offers some shelter from the storm. The wind howls around you, but the heat between you both only intensifies. Harry’s fingers work their way down your body, pulling you closer, your breath coming faster.

He presses you against the wall, his lips finding yours once more in a kiss that’s rough, desperate. His hands slide under your clothes, the cold rain making his touch even more electric against your heated skin. There’s no teasing this time—he’s all urgency, a desperate need that matches the pounding rain around you.

“Harry,” you gasp, your hands pushing his shirt off, “we shouldn’t be—”

But you’re cut off by his mouth trailing down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as his hands push you further against the wall. His words are muffled against your skin. “We don’t need to care about that now, do we?”

The adrenaline is coursing through your veins as you feel his hands tugging at your clothes, eager, impatient. The rain pelts down harder, drenching both of you, but it only makes everything feel more intense—more real. You’re soaked, and yet there’s nothing about the cold that can stop the heat building between you two.

He drags you up against him, his lips moving with feverish need, kissing you in the rain like it’s the only thing that matters. You can barely keep up as he lifts you, pressing you against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist as he pushes you further into the corner.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Harry mutters, his voice rough and low as he grinds against you. His hands roam, exploring, pulling you closer as if he can’t get enough. You respond with equal hunger, the rain streaming down your face, the world falling away as you lose yourself in him.

His lips trail down to your neck, biting into your skin, leaving a mark that’s sure to last. The cold rain and the heat between you are at odds, yet they make everything feel more electrifying. You can’t stop your own moans, your fingers tangled in his wet hair as you pull him closer.

“Harry,” you whisper, your voice breaking as he moves faster, more urgently, each thrust more demanding than the last.

With each breathless moment, you know this won’t be the last time you end up like this—caught between the madness of the storm and the chaos of everything you two are. You’re both drenched, but it doesn’t matter. The rain may fall, but it’s the fire between you that keeps you both burning, relentless, until the world outside seems to disappear.

...

A few weeks have passed since that first hookup with Harry, and the tension between the two of you has only grown. The encounters have become more frequent, more intense. Sometimes it feels like there’s no hiding what’s between you, even though you’re doing your best to keep it under wraps. Harry’s smirks have become a constant, and the moments when he looks at you with that knowing glint in his eyes have started to make your stomach flip every time.

The bands—5SOS and One Direction—have started picking up on it, though no one’s come right out and said anything yet. There’s an unspoken feeling in the air, a shift in the dynamic, but everyone’s too polite—or too unaware—to confront it directly. The only one who seems to have picked up on something more than the others is Ashton. He’s been quieter, his eyes lingering on you with that concerned look you’ve come to recognise. He’s your brother, and you know him well enough to know that he senses something, but hasn’t quite put his finger on it.

You’re sitting backstage, your guitar resting on your knee, the hum of voices and instruments in the background. You’ve been working on a new song—one that’s personal, raw, and a little too close to the truth for comfort. The lyrics have poured out of you, each word more revealing than the last. It’s about what’s been happening with Harry, about the passion, the uncertainty, and the way he makes you feel all at once. You’ve titled it “English Love Affair,” a playful nod to the chaos of your tangled situation.

It’s time to show the guys. The atmosphere is a bit lighter today, everyone milling around in a relaxed mood after a long rehearsal. You grab your guitar, your fingers hovering over the strings as you make your way to where 5SOS and One Direction are gathered. Ashton notices you first, giving you a small smile, though his eyes still hold that familiar concern. The others are scattered around the room, laughing, teasing, but there’s a flicker of interest when they see the guitar in your hands.

“Got something to share, love?” Louis calls out from across the room, his voice loud and playful.

“Yeah, she’s been working on something,” Niall adds, eyeing you curiously.

You take a deep breath, nerves fluttering in your stomach. You’d been writing for months, but this one—this one feels different. The song is about Harry. About all the emotions, the heat, the connection, and the chaos of what you two have been doing. You’re not sure if you’re ready to show them yet, but if anyone’s going to understand, it’s them. You know how to separate your personal feelings from your music, but with this song, it’s a little harder to mask it all.

“Yeah,” you reply, strumming a few notes to test the sound, “it’s... a new one.”

Ashton steps forward, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall. His eyes are on you, searching, but there’s a quiet understanding there, even if he’s not sure what’s going on. You meet his gaze, offering a quick smile before looking down at your guitar.

The guys quiet down as you start to play, the melody flowing easily as you strum the chords. Your voice fills the space, the words slipping out with a raw honesty that makes your heart race:

“It started on a weekend in May I was looking for attention, needed intervention Felt somebody looking at me With a powder white complexion, feeling the connection

The way she looked was so ridiculous Every single step had me waiting for the next Before I knew it, it was serious Dragged me out the bar to the back seat of her car”

As you sing, the room grows quieter. The words, the rawness, the honesty—it’s clear this is something personal, something deeper than the usual pop tunes they’re used to hearing from you. You continue, each verse building with the tension that’s been hanging between you and Harry:

“When the lights go out, she's all I ever think about The picture burning in my brain, kissing in the rain I can't forget, my English love affair Today, I'm seven thousand miles away The movie playing in my head of a king size bed means I can't forget My English love affair My English love affair”

The last chord rings out, and the room is silent for a moment. You lower the guitar, waiting for their reaction, your heart thudding in your chest. Ashton is the first to speak, his voice quiet but steady.

“So, what’s this really about?” he asks, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of concern and something else—something you can’t quite read.

You don’t know how to answer. The song is about him, but it’s not. It’s about the complications, the passion, the messiness of what’s been happening between you two. It’s about more than just sex—it’s about feelings, connection, confusion. But you know the guys won’t get that. They’ll just hear the lyrics, the heat, and they’ll know. They’ll know exactly what you’ve been hiding.

You hesitate for a second, then shrug, trying to play it off. “It’s just a song. You know, inspiration. Whatever comes to mind.”

But Ashton doesn’t seem convinced. His gaze sharpens, and you can feel him trying to decipher what’s going on. The others, though, are still taking it in, the intensity of the lyrics lingering in the air.

“I mean, it sounds like something... more than just a song,” Luke says, his tone casual but with a knowing look in his eyes.

“Yeah, you’re not fooling anyone,” Michael adds with a smirk.

You try to laugh it off, but Ashton’s stare is unwavering. He’s not buying it. He knows something’s up, and though he’s not pressing you for answers, you can feel the weight of his silence.

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just some fun lyrics.”

But in the back of your mind, you know that everything is far from just “fun” anymore. The song says it all, even if you’re not ready to admit it.

...

It’s late, long after the song reveal. The buzz of everyone’s reactions still lingers in the air, but you’ve distanced yourself from the others, needing a moment alone to process it all. You’re sitting in the corner of your hotel room, the soft hum of the city filtering through the window. The lyrics you poured out have left you raw, the reality of what you’ve been doing with Harry settling heavily in your chest.

Writing the song made you realize something you hadn’t let yourself acknowledge before: you want more. This—whatever this thing is between you and Harry—isn’t enough. It’s thrilling, electric, and addictive, but it’s not real. And you can’t keep letting it consume you if it’s never going to be anything more.

The knock at your door startles you. You already know who it is before you even open it. Harry stands there, leaning casually against the doorframe, his signature smirk in place. But there’s something more in his eyes tonight—a flicker of something softer, almost vulnerable.

“You were brilliant today,” he says, his voice low. “The song... it’s incredible.”

“Thanks,” you reply, your voice quiet but steady. You step aside to let him in, but as you close the door behind him, you already know how this conversation will go.

Harry wastes no time. The moment you’re alone, he steps closer, his hands finding your waist as his lips brush against your neck. “You know,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin, “I can’t stop thinking about that song. About you.”

You place your hands on his chest, stopping him gently but firmly. “Harry,” you say, your voice soft but resolute.

He pauses, pulling back slightly to look at you. His brows furrow, and you can see the confusion in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. “I can’t do this anymore,” you say, your words steady but heavy with meaning.

His hands drop from your waist, and he steps back, his expression shifting to something you can’t quite read. “What do you mean?”

You meet his gaze, determined not to waver. “I mean this. Us. These... hook-ups, the sneaking around. It’s not enough for me, Harry. Writing that song—it made me realize I want more. I can’t keep doing this if it’s never going to be anything real.”

Harry’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks like he might argue. But then he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You know how complicated this is,” he says, his voice quieter now. “With the bands, the press... everything.”

“I know,” you reply, your tone softer but still firm. “But that doesn’t change what I want. I can’t keep being this... secret. If you don’t want more, then we need to stop.”

The room feels heavy, the weight of your words hanging between you. Harry looks at you, his green eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right thing to say. But he stays silent, his hesitation speaking louder than any words could.

You feel your chest tighten, but you force yourself to stay strong. “I care about you,” you continue, “but I can’t keep pretending this is enough for me. So unless you’re ready to make this real, we go our separate ways.”

Harry’s gaze drops to the floor, and you can see the conflict written all over his face. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“I mean it, Harry,” you say, your voice breaking slightly. “I can’t do this anymore.”

He looks back up at you, and for a moment, you think he might say something—anything—to fight for you. But instead, he nods, a small, almost imperceptible gesture.

“Alright,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart aches, but you know you’ve made the right choice. You step back, giving him the space to leave, and after a long, silent moment, he does. The door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving you alone in the quiet room.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, your emotions swirling as you try to process what just happened. It hurts, but deep down, you know you deserve more. You deserve someone who isn’t afraid to love you out loud, someone who will choose you without hesitation.

And if Harry isn’t ready to be that person, then it’s better this way.

...

The greenroom hums with pre-show energy—chatter, guitar tuning, the low buzz of excitement. You sit on the couch, your notebook resting on your lap, though the words you’re scribbling barely register. The tension in your chest is suffocating. Since giving Harry your ultimatum, he hasn’t acted on it, and it’s tearing you apart. Worse, the teasing from both bands has started to escalate as they slowly piece things together.

“So, Y/N,” Louis calls out, his grin mischievous, “who’s the muse behind your little ‘English Love Affair’ masterpiece?”

Your head snaps up, heat crawling up your neck. “It’s just a song,” you reply quickly, forcing a light tone.

“Sure,” Niall drawls, smirking. “Except it sounds like someone’s been dragging you up staircases and kissing you in the rain. Pretty specific, if you ask me.”

Michael leans back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “And the sudden obsession with scarves? You trying to start a trend or cover up some marks?”

Liam chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Definitely the latter,” he murmurs, though there’s a flicker of concern in his eyes.

“I knew something was up,” Luke adds, his teasing smirk widening. “You’re glowing, Y/N.”

“Alright, alright,” Calum cuts in, laughing. “Who’s the mystery guy? Come on, spill.”

The room falls quiet as everyone turns their attention to you. Your heart pounds, panic tightening your throat. Before you can stammer out a response, Ashton’s voice cuts through the noise.

“That’s enough,” he snaps, his tone sharp and unyielding.

All heads swivel to him, the easygoing atmosphere evaporating. He pushes off the wall where he’d been leaning, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His eyes dart between you and Harry, narrowing as the pieces click into place.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Ashton’s voice is low, but the anger simmering beneath it is unmistakable.

Your stomach twists as the room goes deathly silent. Harry, sitting on the armrest of a nearby chair, stiffens but doesn’t look away.

“Ashton—” you start, your voice trembling, but he holds up a hand to stop you.

“Don’t,” Ashton says, his gaze locked on Harry now. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

Harry rises to his feet, his expression calm but guarded. “Ashton, I—”

“You’ve been sneaking around with my sister,” Ashton interrupts, his voice rising. “Sleeping with her behind everyone’s back? Leaving marks all over her? And now you’re stringing her along like she’s some casual hookup?”

Harry’s jaw tightens. “It’s not like that,” he says firmly.

“Oh, really?” Ashton’s laugh is cold and bitter. “Because it sure as hell looks like you’re screwing her over—physically and emotionally—while you figure out whatever it is you want.”

“Ashton, stop!” you plead, stepping forward, but Zayn gently places a hand on your arm, holding you back.

“Let them talk it out,” Zayn says softly, though his dark eyes are watchful.

Harry steps closer to Ashton, his voice tight but steady. “I care about her,” he says. “More than you can imagine.”

“Then why are you hurting her?” Ashton demands, his face red with anger. “You’re leaving her bruised, confused, and heartbroken, Harry. That’s not love—that’s you being a selfish prick.”

“I know I’ve messed up,” Harry snaps back, his composure finally cracking. “I know I’ve handled this all wrong. But I’m not using her. I’d never do that to her.”

Ashton scoffs, his fists clenching at his sides. “You already are. If you cared about her, you’d stop treating her like some dirty little secret and give her the respect she deserves. She’s not just some girl you can screw around with—she’s my sister.”

Harry flinches at that, the weight of Ashton’s words visibly sinking in.

The tension is suffocating, the room silent except for the heavy breaths of the two men squaring off. Finally, Louis breaks the silence with an awkward cough. “Well… this is fun,” he mutters, earning a glare from both Ashton and Harry.

“Ashton,” Liam says gently, stepping forward. “Maybe give them a chance to work this out?”

“There’s nothing to work out,” Ashton retorts, his eyes narrowing. “Harry knows what he needs to do. Either step up or stay the hell away from her.”

“Ashton, I can handle this,” you say, your voice trembling but firm.

Ashton looks at you, his expression softening slightly, though the anger in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I hope so, Y/N,” he says quietly. “Because you deserve better than this.”

He turns and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The echo rings out in the silence, leaving everyone in a tense, uneasy stillness.

Harry turns to you, his face unreadable. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice soft.

You nod, though your chest feels tight. “Are you?”

He doesn’t answer, his gaze dropping to the floor. Because the truth is, neither of you are okay.

...

The steady patter of rain against the hotel window is the only sound in the room as you sit on the edge of the bed, your legs crossed, your fingers lightly tapping the sheets. You’ve been staring at the door, thinking about everything that’s happened—the conversation with Ashton, the way he confronted you, and how much of your own behavior you’ve been running from.

When the knock comes, you know it’s him.

“Come in,” you call out softly, your heart thudding in your chest.

The door creaks open, and Harry steps inside, looking hesitant but determined. His hair’s damp from the rain, his jacket clinging to his shoulders. For a moment, he doesn’t move, just looks at you, eyes searching, waiting for permission.

He steps closer, his voice low when he speaks. “I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything. For the way I’ve been handling this... or not handling it.”

You don’t respond immediately, your mind racing with the weight of everything. You’ve been torn in so many directions lately, guilty for the way you’ve been playing this game with him, unsure if you were using him to fill a void, or if it was something deeper.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like you were nothing more than a distraction,” Harry continues, his voice thick with sincerity. “But I’ve been acting like I don’t care about you, and I do. I care about you more than I’ve let on.”

You take a slow breath, looking up at him. “I’ve been stringing you along too, haven’t I?” you say quietly, the guilt surfacing. “I let things go on like this—casual, no strings, knowing full well that I wanted more, but not giving you a chance to show it. I made it so easy for you to stay at arm’s length, but I don’t want that anymore.”

Harry’s face softens, and he steps closer, kneeling in front of you. His hands hover near yours before finally resting gently over them. “I’m glad you said that,” he admits, his voice thick with emotion. “Because the truth is, I’m scared too. Scared of what this means for us, for the band, for everything. But what I’m not scared of is you. I don’t want it to just be a fling anymore. I want this. I want you. For real. Not just when it’s convenient or when we’re sneaking around.”

Your heart flutters as you take his words in, your fingers curling slightly around his. You’ve heard him say things like this before, but now—this feels different. There’s no more running, no more hiding.

“I want that too,” you say softly, your voice steady, though a hint of uncertainty lingers. “But we both know this isn’t easy. I can’t keep doing this with you unless it’s real, Harry. No more games, no more keeping it quiet. If you’re in this, then I’m in it too. But I can’t keep pretending, not anymore. And if you can’t do that, then we’ll have to go our separate ways.”

Harry swallows, his gaze intense as he watches you. He’s not looking at you with the same playful glint as before. This time, it’s sincere, the weight of his words matching the look in his eyes.

“I’m in it,” he says quietly, nodding. “For real. I want you, Y/N. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work, to show you it’s real. I’m not backing down this time.”

You take a deep breath, your chest tightening with relief. There’s something so final about his words, something that makes you feel like you’re stepping into a new chapter.

“Okay,” you whisper, your hand reaching up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “No more pretending. We do this, or we don’t. But I’m not looking back.”

He leans into your touch, pressing his lips to your palm gently. “I don’t want to look back either.”

The moment stretches between you, the weight of the words still lingering, but now there’s a sense of peace—a promise that this, whatever this is, will be real.

You lean in, closing the distance, your lips brushing over his in a kiss that’s softer than the ones before, but carries the weight of something much more substantial. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“We’ve got this,” he says quietly, a hint of a smile curving on his lips.

The quiet between you both is comfortable, filled with an unspoken understanding. For once, there’s no rush. No expectations. Just the two of you, finally on the same page. Harry stays close, his hands gently brushing against yours as he leans back against the bed, pulling you with him. You settle into his arms, your body fitting perfectly against his.

The only sounds in the room are the soft rustle of the sheets and the gentle rhythm of your breaths. Harry’s fingers trace small circles along your back, as if memorizing the feel of you in his arms, and you do the same, your hand resting over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“You okay?” he whispers, his voice low, a little hoarse from the emotion of the conversation, though it still holds that warmth you’ve always loved.

You nod, lifting your head slightly to look at him. “Yeah. I’m good. It feels like… everything makes sense now. Like I’m not pretending anymore. Like this is real.”

His lips curl into a soft smile as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m glad,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I want you to know, Y/N, that this is real for me. All of it.”

The words linger between you both, but this time, they don’t feel heavy. They feel freeing. The quietness of the room feels like a safe cocoon, a place where nothing needs to be rushed, where there are no games, no pressure. Just the quiet rhythm of the two of you, finding comfort in each other’s presence.

You press your lips to his, gently, a soft kiss that’s slow and unhurried. It’s not about passion in this moment. It’s about connection. About feeling the weight of what’s changed between you both. The kiss deepens, but it doesn’t push for more—it’s tender, the kind of kiss that’s meant for taking your time, for savoring what’s just beginning to unfold.

Pulling back, you rest your head on his chest again, your eyes fluttering closed. His arm wraps around you, holding you close, and you feel the warmth of his body seep into yours, grounding you in this moment.

“Goodnight, love,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Goodnight,” you reply softly, your voice barely audible.

His fingers continue their gentle movements against your skin, and the steady beat of his heart becomes the rhythm that lulls you into sleep. The world outside the room feels miles away, and all that matters is the feeling of his arms around you, the peace of knowing that this—what you two have—is real.

You drift off to sleep, wrapped in the comfort of him, the quiet promises of the night hanging in the air. It’s the first time in a long time that you feel truly at peace, knowing that you’ve found something that isn’t fleeting, that isn’t just a momentary thrill. This is real. This is yours.

And as you fall asleep, the last thought in your mind is that you’re not just a fleeting part of Harry’s life anymore—you're something more. And for the first time, you believe it.

...

The next morning, the air feels lighter between you and Harry, a sense of calm settling over you both. The conversation from the night before has laid the foundation for something real, and while there’s still a part of you that’s nervous about what comes next, there’s no more uncertainty between you two. You know where you stand, and you know that this time, it’s different.

You’re sitting with Harry in the common area, trying to act like everything’s normal. You’re not hiding anymore, but the rest of the bands are still operating under the assumption that something’s been happening between you two for a while now. Their teasing comments have become more frequent, but there’s an undertone of curiosity that lingers.

Harry catches your eye across the room, his expression soft. He stands up, extending his hand toward you, and you know what’s coming. You take a breath, pushing aside any remaining nerves as you reach for his hand.

“Oi!” Louis calls out, noticing the two of you getting up. “Where are you two off to?”

Harry doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you closer, his arm resting around your shoulders as he walks you toward the others. The whole room falls silent as you approach, the energy shifting instantly.

Ashton’s eyes narrow on you both, but there’s a look of relief in them now, even if he’s still on edge. Niall raises an eyebrow, still unsure of what’s going on. Luke and Michael are watching carefully, their expressions unreadable but attentive. Calum glances between you and Harry, a quiet smirk tugging at his lips as he folds his arms. You glance at the floor, feeling the weight of their eyes on you as Harry gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“We’ve got something to say,” Harry begins, his voice steady but there’s a slight tension in his jaw, as if he’s bracing for their reactions.

You take a deep breath, your nerves a little more palpable now that you’re in front of everyone. This feels like a big moment—like things are finally being put out in the open. You’ve kept this secret for too long, and now, there’s no turning back.

“We’re together,” you say softly, your voice clear but quiet. “For real this time. Not just... whatever it was before.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then the reactions come fast.

“Oh, thank god,” Niall says, a grin spreading across his face. “You two have been dancing around this for ages. About time you made it official.”

“I knew it,” Louis adds with a smirk. “You two were always making eyes at each other. It was only a matter of time.”

Harry laughs, his hand tightening around yours. “Yeah, well... we had to figure things out first. But now we’re here.”

Ashton crosses his arms, his expression a little more guarded. He’s trying not to smile, but you can tell there’s still a hint of protectiveness in his eyes. He looks at Harry, then at you. “I just want you to know, Harry,” he says, his voice low, “if you hurt her again, I won’t hesitate. You’ve got one chance to make it right.”

Harry nods immediately, without hesitation. “I know, man. I won’t hurt her. I care about her too much for that.”

The tension eases a bit, but Zayn and Liam exchange looks, their expressions still weighing the situation. Zayn’s lips curl into a small smile, but he remains quiet. Liam gives you a warm look, the faintest glimmer of approval in his eyes. It’s clear he’s not against this—it’s just new territory for everyone, and a lot has changed in the time since the last time they saw you and Harry together.

“So, we’re all good then?” Niall asks, a grin still on his face.

You nod, squeezing Harry’s hand tighter, your voice steady now. “Yeah. We’re good. We’re not hiding anymore.”

It feels like a weight has been lifted from your chest, like everything is finally falling into place. It’s not perfect—it’s never going to be—but it’s real. And for the first time in a long time, you’re not running from it.

Ashton looks at Harry one last time, then nods, a little less tense than before. “Alright. I trust you.”

Harry’s face softens, a grateful look crossing his features. “Thanks, Ash.”

The atmosphere in the room shifts, and suddenly, it feels like things are less complicated. Everyone’s starting to come to terms with it, the unspoken questions beginning to fade away. For the first time, there’s no judgment, no tension. It’s just you and Harry, and the rest of the band, finally adjusting to the new normal.

Luke looks at the two of you, a knowing smirk on his face. “Alright, alright. So when’s the wedding?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “Not that fast, mate.”

Michael laughs, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, but at least it’s not a secret anymore.”

Calum chuckles, nudging Luke. “Maybe they’ll invite us to the wedding. They’ve been keeping us on the edge of our seats for far too long.”

The banter continues, but there’s a sense of ease in the air now. No more secrets, no more uncertainty. And as Harry pulls you close again, his hand resting on your shoulder, you feel like this is just the beginning. This time, it’s real. And you’re ready for whatever comes next.

#harry styles x y/n #harry x reader #frat boy harry #harry styles x reader #harry x you #frat boy harry x you #one direction fanfiction #5sos fanfic

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