#ominis gaunt x reader

[galaxiasgreen]

🍭☀️A Cruelty Vivid and Sweet

Slow burn angsty Ominis x F!Reader [T-Rated, 11.5k words]

"You're... beautiful," he whispered. A croaking huff emerged from your lips. "Flatterer. You don't know what I look like. I could be ugly. As ugly as a troll, for all you know." "Impossible." He reached up, drew the back of his fingers across your cheek. "Your soul is too beautiful for the outside not to match."

In which, with Sebastian imprisoned and you battling your own demons, Ominis tries to win back your affection.

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8. Flirtations

Most of the train ride to Hogwarts, he was mercilessly alone.

The demons of last year still haunted him. Sebastian was in Azkaban, Anne was gone, you had mental battles to overcome. He was recovering from the wounds of his losses, all of them, having stricken his mortal flesh to bloodied pulp. Nothing could happen that was worse than last year, and that was the only thing that staved off his anxieties about sixth year. About going back, pretending everything was fine.

About his newfound isolation in this terrible, cruel world.

After the Hogwarts Express left the station in York, the compartment door slid open as he was reading, trying to distract himself. That aura of power wafted inside at once.

"Hello, Missy."

"Good afternoon, Ominis." She sounded well. "May I?"

"By all means."

He did like solitude, introverted as he was, but he also appreciated that Missy had come to keep him company when his thoughts were threatening to engulf him. Missy settled her belongings – then immediately unbuckled her bag, taking out a book of her own.

"We didn't get much chance to talk during the trial. I suppose Sebastian told you I was working on an appeal? I've been scouring through old case records lately."

"Missy," he said, "it's not even the first day back."

"I'm aware. Now, I've made some decent progress—"

"And I'm certain Sebastian told you that you shouldn't dedicate all your free time to appealing his case."

The book clapped shut. "I argued about that with him."

"I'll bet you did."

"You agree that it was unfair."

"It was," he said, "but we also have school to focus on, our lives. Don't spend the entire year trying to free him. Otherwise you'll end up like him last year, searching for that cure."

Missy hesitated. Then, "Yes, all right."

Her and her Slytherin ambition. He had to admire it, at least. Sebastian had a good person fighting in his corner.

They exchanged usual small talk. Her summer, it turned out, had been mostly spent between her new lodgings in the Yorkshire Dales – Professor Fig had bequeathed his cottage to her in his will – and Hogsmeade, from where resided many of her friends who'd helped her prepare material for Sebastian's trial. It was thanks to them, she said, that Sebastian wasn't imprisoned for life.

"I visited Hogwarts when I was there, too," she said. "I met with Gibby a few times."

Inevitably your name came up – and always, with Missy, with that wily undertone.

"I take it she's on board?"

"With Natty and Garreth," she paused, "and Leander."

It filled him with a distinct sense of embarrassment that you could bear to be around Leander Prewett more than your old best friend.

"Ominis—"

"I'm glad she's settling back into normal ways," he said, cutting her off.

Thankfully, she left it at that.

This year promised to be a turning point in his life. His old friendship group was fractured beyond repair, and without Sebastian, Anne, and you, he had no one in which to find safety and comfort. He would be alone, lonely. There was Missy, of course, but she had plenty of her own friends – the caverns were proof of that – and that left him adrift, too late to start making new connections.

At least, that's what he thought, ten days into term.

"Hey, Gaunt!"

Ominis perked up. The Great Hall had emptied after lunch – he was thumbing through his Arithmancy textbook before the class when the bench groaned next to him.

"Garreth," he said, apprehensive. "What do you want?"

"Nothing at all," said Garreth; he sounded genuinely cheerful. "I noticed you were alone and thought I'd say hello. What are you reading?"

"Theories of Numerology."

"Sounds dreadful."

"It's actually riveting," Ominis said, deadpan, "and I'd quite like to get back to it, if you have nothing else to say."

If Garreth was offended at his bluntness, he didn't sound it. "If you must know, I did actually want to ask about the trial. I was surprised at what you said about Sebastian – the first parts, when you answered their questions, was that written for you?"

Ominis furrowed his brow. "Yes."

"Parents, I presume?"

"Yes."

"Ooo. Nasty."

"You really waited this long to ask me about Sebastian's trial?"

"Hey, I'm not afraid to admit I'm slow, and my aunt's got me helping this Ravenclaw girl with Potions, so what little brainpower I have is already being drained." Unfortunately he only sank further into the table, making no attempt to leave. "Don't suppose you've done the History of Magic essay?"

"... You mean the one due tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"I'm not letting you copy it."

"Damn— I mean, right, that's fine."

And though it pained him to say it, he mumbled, "Gibby is excellent at the subject. She will help you. Quite likely will let you copy from her, too, though you didn't hear that from me."

"Oh, er, yeah," said Garreth. "Thanks."

Ominis was silent.

"Well," and the boy clapped him on the shoulder. "See you around? Er, not literally, of course. You know what I mean."

He skedaddled. That, Ominis thought, was suspicious. Tellingly his first thought was that Leander had sent him to spy, but no, that was ridiculous. Leander may have vied for your affections, but neither would he stoop that low, nor was he intelligent enough to think of such an idea.

Yet it was a puzzle Ominis couldn't finagle, and Garreth continued to pester him like that for the next few weeks. He was no Sebastian, but they carried themselves similarly – bright and bold and chomping off more than they could chew. Together they were a dynamic duo of troublemakers, especially in Potions, but whilst Sebastian was like a storm, Garreth was more like a restless sunbeam on a balmy spring day.

"I think it's nice," said Missy to him, one frosty weekend morning in October, when most people were out of the common room. "That you have a new friend."

Ominis leant back on the high-backed chair. "He's not my friend. He wants something, I just know it. Homework, or potions ingredients."

"He's my friend," she remarked. "I can vouch for him. He's a genuinely good person."

"I'm sure he's delightful."

"It can't hurt to have more friends, Ominis, have an open mind." She cleared her throat. "Which... brings me to something."

"More trial research?"

"No." She moved her chair closer and, to his surprise, cast the Imperturbable charm, creating a bubble that blocked out all sound. "I have something I'd like to tell you. About ancient magic."

He put aside his textbooks. "And that is?"

"I can see it around you. Around the others, too, that came to the caverns."

His awareness shifted then, as if trying to sense it floating around him, but when he felt nothing out of the ordinary, his lips buttoned.

"Is it... bad?"

"No. Mere wisps, really, but it's been there since the repository. I know I should've told you earlier, but with everything going on, with Fig and Gibby and Sebastian ..." She cleared her throat. "I've been hearing things, seeing things a lot since then, too."

"How so? What are you seeing?"

"Memories, from centuries ago. During the Tudor period."

His brow furrowed. "Was that not..."

"When Isidora Morganach was alive? Yes. I... I believe these are the memories and emotions of the students she stole from."

Which now lived in her body.

"That does not sound healthy."

"It's been harmless."

"So far." He tapped his wand on his thigh. "You absorbed a great deal of that magic. How do you know it will not... overwhelm you?"

"I don't. Without Fig we know very little about this magic I possess. I'm learning about it as you are." That wasn't an answer, but she seemed aware of that. "I'm only telling you because— I suppose I'm looking for solidarity."

"I can hardly provide solidarity for something I don't understand," he said, then added, "I won't tell another soul about it."

"Thank you. I mean that, sincerely."

That did beg the question, though. Why had her strange ancient magic attached itself to him? To the others? Was it simply because they'd held her when she absorbed the repository? Was it his own ancient magic, waking from inside him?

"If the visions worsen," he said, "let me know."

"I shall. In return, I want to help you with something."

Intrigue surfed through him, and he reclined, easing again now that a lightness had returned to her voice. "What could the Hero of Hogwarts help me with?"

"Well, since you seem reluctant to do anything yourself," she said, with a lilt of teasing, "I thought I would help you in winning back Gibby's affection."

His stomach knotted. This conversation had taken a turn he did not like.

"There's nothing to win back."

"If you're not careful, she's going to fall into Leander Prewett's arms and never look back."

The thought filled him with rage, yet he said, "It is what it is," because whomever you chose to spend your time with was your decision.

"There you go again," said Missy, exasperated, "sounding as if you've already given up."

But she couldn't possibly understand how crushing it was to know that you couldn't bear to be near him for very long, nor alone. That every conversation was stilted and awkward, like four years of friendship no longer mattered. That you didn't touch him or hold him or tease him anymore, because the pain was too great. A pain he hadn't been quick enough to stop.

"What do you possibly suggest I do?" he dared to ask. "Because right now being in my mere presence distresses her."

"I'm suggesting," said Missy, "that you court her."

He almost – almost – laughed.

"Court her? That is lunacy."

"Why? You can't tell her she's pretty, no, but you can compliment her, engage in flirtations with her. Gibby is a hopeless romantic. She will melt."

"But she— she doesn't like me that way."

"I know you're blind, Ominis, but you're not, you know... blind."

He knew that. The Amortentia, for one, proved him wrong. But that was a long time ago.

Missy was gentle now. "Fight for her. Charm her. Earn her affections back."

He sat up. "You're forgetting something key. I come from a family of anti-Muggle supremacists, for whom the word disapprove does not do justice."

"Remember what I said? Forget them. Do it for you. You'll regret it if you don't at least try. And if you need some help along the way, I'll be there." When his expression crumpled, she merely added, "You deserve some happiness too. And, well, the boy I like is in prison, so all I can do right now is help you."

He let out a single, sad chuckle. What a pair they made.

Fine, then. That day he resolved he would try, would fight for you. But he would also guard his heart, and yours. He was not prepared to offer his love only to have it stolen away again – by fate, by family, by whatever else came careening his way. He was not at the point where he felt like he could give all of himself.

He had been shattered too many times, and had not yet recovered from the last blow.

Flirtations. A word that filled him with dread. Over the course of the first three months, you didn't speak more than you had to during class. That was okay, you needed space, and he needed time to think about a strategy. How did he plan to win you back? How could he court you, when he was your ruin? He thought back over the years, picking apart moments, no matter how fleeting, that he could use to help.

Like that time he discovered your ultimate dream.

"Happy birthday!"

You squealed when he, Sebastian and Anne, plus Adelaide, Arthur and Evangeline, jumped out from behind the pillars by the pond in the Transfiguration Courtyard.

"I-It's not my fourteenth birthday until the holidays!" you said. Your arm was still in a sling from the bad fall you'd taken from a tree.

"We know that," said Evangeline. "But since we're never at school during your birthday, we thought we'd celebrate early! Have a picnic!"

"I'll take credit," said Sebastian, preening. "It was my idea."

"Then I sorted the food," said Anne. "And the picnic, and telling everyone..."

"Yeah," said Adelaide, laughing. "Really, Sebastian didn't do anything."

"Snitches," muttered Sebastian, but there was no real scorn there.

They all gave you presents, mostly sweets, but also a necklace, from Adelaide, and a new blouse, from Anne. Sebastian divvied out the food – sandwiches, flasks of tea, cakes, tarts, fruit, bread and cheese and a cheeky bottle of wine Arthur managed to procure from the kitchens. Ominis nursed a glass as you chatted.

"This is so fun! On my actual birthday my parents just let me off chores – although once, when I was nine, my papa took me to the panto!"

"Panto?" asked Sebastian.

"Pantomime, you know, a theatre production for children? It's usually at Christmas, but that year they did one in summer. You... don't have that?"

"Obviously not," he said, laughing.

"You mean, ohhhhh no we don't!" At the silence, you cleared your throat. "Sorry, sorry, Muggle joke."

"Mark another for the Gibberish Vocabulary," he mused. "What else are we missing from the Muggle world?"

"That's a big question," Arthur laughed. "Do you really trust Gibby to answer it?"

"Excuse me, I was raised Muggle, unlike you," you said indignantly, trying to peel a banana with one hand. "You can ask me, but you'll have to be more specific."

Adelaide peeled it for you before giving it back. "If you weren't a witch, what school were you going to go to?"

"School? Oh, no, I wasn't going to go to school! I was lucky I knew how to read."

A collective sweep of surprise went through them all, Ominis included.

"I was going to help my papa run the confectionary," you said brightly. "And my mama was going to teach me embroidery and needlework, cooking and cleaning..."

"So, what?" Sebastian asked, incredulous. "So you could... become a housewife?"

"Yep!"

"That sounds horrible," said Anne.

"Oh, well," you seemed embarrassed, "it's not so bad, really. Women can't own property—"

"What?" roared the girls.

"— so I was going to learn those skills that would make me useful around the home. Then when I married, the confectionary business could continue under my husband's name, but secretly I would run it, of course."

For some reason, that made his lungs squeeze.

"Gibby," said Adelaide, "that's awful."

"Yeah!" Evangeline protested. "Why can't you own the confectionary?"

"It's just— not how it's done."

"I'm glad you're a witch," she said stormily. "Now you don't have to follow such stupid rules."

You chomped on your banana, silent, and Ominis detected a hint of shame.

"Is it also true," Sebastian said, "that boys and girls can't be seen alone together?"

"Adult men and women, yes," you said, mouth full. "You have to have a chaperone, and if someone catches you alone together, it can cause a big scandal. The woman is seen as—" you whispered the word, "promiscuous."

How absurd. Ominis frowned. "Just being alone together means the woman is wanton?"

"And what about the man?" Evangeline asked hotly.

"Not the same for men."

"That's ridiculous! Why does Muggle society hate women?"

"I don't know. Every time I send a letter home, I have to remind my mama that magical folk have different rules. She lost her marbles when she found out I was socialising with three boys." You sighed. "The wizarding world is very, erm, open-minded. There was a lot of stuff I had to learn, but there was also a lot of stuff I had to unlearn, too."

There was something to be said about being raised in the magical world. At least, as a man, Ominis had rights no matter which side, and you... well, he was glad you were given an opportunity to grow into yourself, better than the Muggle world could offer you.

Sebastian clasped your shoulder then. "We're glad you're with us, Gibby." Then he gasped, comical. "Oh no, your virtue! I have thoroughly besmirched it with one touch on your shoulder!"

"Scandal!" Anne cried. "To the gallows!"

And even though you laughed, he noticed it didn't quite reach its normal, song-like inflection. He unravelled the conversation in his head as the topic moved on, and realised that perhaps, in your ideal future, you did want to become a housewife, you did want to run the confectionary with your husband after your father was gone. No magic or witchery had ever changed that.

Was that still what you wanted? Is it something you still want? To run your family business, to have a husband and a family to call your own?

Is that something he can ever hope to give you now, after everything?

And would you ever want that role to be given to him?

"The mistletoe discriminates for no one!"

A day before the start of his sixth year Christmas holidays, he received an invitation to a secret Christmas gathering of Missy's that evening, after the feast.

He'd wondered where such a gathering could take place – Professor Black was quite against them – but the instructions were unclear, only to meet on the seventh floor above the Charm classrooms. Missy had been reluctant to give too much detail when he queried her that day, but supposedly, opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, there was a vast room she'd been using as her own private space. It only opened for her, and what she needed.

"Well," she muttered, "that's what I've told the others I've invited. The room will open to anyone if only they ask for it. I'm only telling you because I know you won't tell everyone."

After all these years, Hogwarts still found ways to surprise him.

She'd invited only the people who had joined her down in the caverns last year, plus you. A private party; for once it was nice to relax, be off-guard. Did Ominis like everyone there? Certainly not. Amit Thakkar was a know-it-all, Everett Clopton an annoying prat, Garreth Weasley was still suspicious, and Leander Prewett – well, he needed no explanation as to his intense dislike for that prick.

But did he trust them all? Did he trust them to keep secrets that weren't theirs to share? He was surprised to find he did.

Most importantly, he could trust that, around them, he could be seen with you.

It was an eclectic room to suit Missy's eclectic taste. The others talked of furniture that didn't match and strange design choices. It smelt like polished wood, flora, the acridness of a boiling cauldron and, oddly enough, animal food, though the latter came from the gateways to outside domes – what Missy called vivariums – where she kept beasts she'd rescued from poachers. She spent some of her evenings trying to nurse the creatures to full health before rehabilitating them in the wild.

As Ominis accustomed himself to the place, Natsai and Nerida added decorations, Poppy and Adelaide brought in food. Everett was in charge of entertainment and brought games to play. And Garreth had been into Zonkos for an enchanted mistletoe, which jingled above the heads of two random people, only ceasing in exchange for one thing.

"I would literally rather die than kiss you."

"This is just a test run, Imelda, and you're already being overdramatic."

"It's your bloody mistletoe and it's already caught you!" She tried to swat the thing, but it danced out of reach. "Ever thought what it would do for people who don't want to kiss for personal reasons? Like, an aversion to physical touch?"

"... Are you averse to physical touch?"

"Not unless it's a punch in the gob," she said, "which seems pretty tempting right now."

"Come on, where's your Christmas spirit?" said Garreth, though his voice rattled nervously. "It doesn't have to be a proper snog, and I know you'd rather I be a girl. Just a swift kiss to the head will do."

Ominis chuckled into his flute of wine. He and Missy were sitting at a nearby table, soaking in the atmosphere as the party had begun in earnest. A gramophone was lilting a jaunty tune between the humdrum of cheer. Reluctantly Imelda kissed the top of Garreth's head, making retching noises as she did, and the mistletoe stopped its jangling, though she promised to hex him if it caught her again.

"Any change to your visions?" Ominis asked.

"None," said Missy. "If anything they've been rather refreshing distractions from building Sebastian's appeal. The Wizengamot refuse to reply to my letters."

The door edged open, followed by a flurry of timid steps. Yours, late. A great cheer arose when you entered; usually you were wowed by magic you had never seen before, and a secret room was perfect for you – but you made no noise of wonder, only a shy "Hello," in acknowledgment. Missy slipped off the chair to greet you warmly – but you didn't hug, he noticed. Not anymore.

Most of these people, after all, you'd seen in your nightmares.

"Merry Christmas, Ominis," you said. Everything hung between you, a great echoing chasm. "I came to say goodbye."

His chest gave a painful lurch. "You're going home for the holiday?"

"Yes."

Disappointment eroded his ease.

"The train doesn't leave until tomorrow morning," Missy said. "I insist you stay for a little while."

"I have to pack."

"You're a witch," he reminded. "It'll take you seconds."

You were quiet, and he could tell you hadn't forgotten this rather important fact. You were simply looking for a polite excuse to escape. He turned back to the table, forced himself to drink.

"What Ominis means," Missy said, and he could feel her glaring, "is that there's plenty of time before curfew, should you wish to stay."

"I-I mean... would... you mind? I just... want to get used to being around all of my friends again."

"Of course I wouldn't mind. Stay for as long as you feel comfortable."

So Missy got you a drink – pumpkin juice – and let you linger by the door, enjoying the atmosphere but never fully involved, trying to peel back more and more of the curse, one moment at a time. It pained him to sit so far away from you. He was the wallflower, drawn to the sides, to the quiet corners. You, on the other hand, loved parties and socialising. Very often, you were the life of them, playing the games, eating food, talking non-stop, encouraging madness. Not this nervous creature, afraid of participation. Not someone who found the presence of so many people overwhelming.

You stayed on the sides, away from everyone, as Natsai set up a smaller version of Summoner's Court. Almost everyone played – even Ominis himself, roped into a game when Leander made an off-hand comment that he could, surely, 'beat the blind bloke' (Ominis won, naturally). They drank in-between – Everett had secured a keg of Firewhiskey – and it was clear most of the sixth-years couldn't handle their alcohol.

As Ominis was on his second glass of wine, Leander staggered towards you. The worst of it was, you didn't flinch or push him away.

"It's nice to see you back at parties, Gibs," he said, clearly finding some Dutch courage. "I'm glad you're getting better."

"Thanks, Leander," you said sweetly.

"Am I— too close to you right now? Do you want me to step back? Sorry, I really don't want to spook you."

To Ominis' surprise, and infuriation, you let out a giggle. "You're okay where you are. Just don't fall over. I don't think I'm strong enough to catch you."

"Wow. Were you always really short?"

"I think you're just really tall."

"Like a tree!"

Like a troll, Ominis thought.

Nerida slipped into the chair next to Ominis then, fiddling with her wand. "I think Everett jinxed my robe. I can't seem to stop swinging my arms every time a new song comes on."

"Sounds like something Everett would do," he murmured non-committedly.

He'd missed what you said next, but it made Leander thunder with laughter.

"Good to see no curse stops the legendary Gibberish Vocabulary."

You harrumphed. "It's not the Gibberish Vocabulary. It's true. Take any object and put -ed at the end. Congratulations, you've turned it into the Muggle word for drunk."

"Bottle?"

"You're completely bottled, Leander."

"Wand?"

"He's wanded up, all right."

"Robe, then?"

"I'm absolutely robed."

"I don't know, that last one was shaky, Gibs." He laughed again. "You sure you're not... pulling my leg?"

Then it came. The jingle of mistletoe.

Directly above your and Leander's heads.

Ominis almost sprayed wine everywhere. Your banter and teasing he could just about handle. But you and Leander kissing?

"The mistletoe has chosen its next—!" Garreth halted. "Oh. Ah."

"Bum," Leander said, and to his credit he did sound embarrassed. "Hey, Garreth, I think we should make an exception for Gibs. You know, curse and all..."

"I can speak for myself." You took a breath. "It's all right."

All right? It was absolutely not all right. You were still readjusting to these people being in your life. A kiss was— too much, too fast. Ominis' grip on his glass tightened, and he made to get up, complain on your behalf, you were just being nice after all—

"Oh, well," Leander cleared his throat, "can I kiss you then?"

There was some pause. The jingling continued.

"Yes," you said, "okay."

Then he heard the kiss on your cheek.

Crack. The flute's stem snapped, spilling wine everywhere, and Ominis hissed. The mistletoe ceased as Nerida squeaked.

"Oh, Ominis, careful! Reparo!"

He purged the liquid as the glass repaired itself. The shards had cut into his palms, and quickly he dabbed a napkin to staunch the bleeding. It came away sticky.

No pain, however, could subdue the rage incinerating him right now.

Leander was entirely all too pleased by the time Ominis tuned back in. "You have nice cheeks. Really soft."

"Thanks," you said prettily. "You— have nice lips."

Ominis gritted his teeth. Was a jinx too much? Perhaps a small hex then? Or one little Blasting curse? Leander could take it, surely. Throttled by temptation, he resisted all urges as you both continued to chat, perfectly content.

"I saw you break your glass. Are you all right?"

Missy, at his side. "I'm fine," Ominis said, drawing his ear away. "I'll cast Episkey when the bleeding stops."

She laughed softly. "I wasn't referring to your hand." She leant close and whispered, "That happening at the same time those two kiss? Definitely not suspicious."

He discarded the napkin onto the table before leaving. "I'm not having this conversation."

He didn't cast a Healing charm in the end – the pain was a welcome distraction from his aggravation. The kiss seemed to have broken the ice for you, and for the first time, you spoke to people willingly, not just Leander but your other friends as well. Ominis switched to pumpkin juice – clearly the wine was doing terrible things to his head – and continued to linger at the sides, mood souring. He listened intently when Leander was speaking, if only to glean something from him. Weaknesses, maybe. What on earth did Prewett have that you found likeable? The boy was a bully, abrasive and vain. Of course Ominis had no idea what he looked like, but there had to be something appealing there, as his soggy toilet seat of a personality couldn't possibly have won you over.

He massaged his temple, plying the low ache forming in his skull. Flirtations. Courtship. As the boys played Exploding Snap, he found another seat in the corner of the room, brooding miserly over the idea. He had no idea how to flirt, no idea as to the subtle machinations of showing affection without showing too much. Your voice was enthralling, your personality like sunshine, everything about you so pleasant that he was drawn to you helplessly.

He just he couldn't imagine saying that. To your face.

A body slipped into the chair next to him. He didn't recognise your timid gait – but your scent was still the same, and his heart notched in speed. Heartening to know that, after everything, you still clung to strawberry laces, sweet as memories.

"Have..." You trailed off, then tried again. "Have you heard from Anne?"

You initiated. That was good.

"Not since a few days before your curse was broken." Which you already knew about. He hadn't heard from her since, but, well, he was no longer worried for Anne anymore.

"I hope she's okay. What... happened to your hand?"

"Oh." He cleared his throat gruffly. "I broke a glass."

"Too much wine?"

"Hardly. I was just—" He fished for the word. "Inept."

"Let me see."

He swallowed thickly and offered his hand. You traced the fine clotted wounds, your touch feather-light, drawing a luxurious heat to his cheeks.

"Shall I heal it?"

"If you want."

He felt your wand tip press to his palm. "Episkey." The pain vanished, and he was upsettingly aware that you were probably wondering why he didn't just do that himself. "Be more careful, okay?"

"Usually I'm the one saying that to you."

"We ought to swap places from time to time. Keeps life interesting." A note of amusement threaded through you. "I've never seen you drunk."

"And you never shall."

"Is that a challenge?"

"It's a promise."

A soft chuckle. "This is nice. Just— bantering and teasing. Do you ever miss first year? When it was just... me and you and Sebastian and Anne, and we didn't have to worry about goblins or curses or— evil family members?"

He traced the tip of his finger along the rim of the glass, and admitted with sad clarity, "I miss it every day."

You sounded sad too. "Now there's only two of us."

"Well," Ominis said softly, "better than only me."

Imelda's booming laugher cut off your meek reply – shortly followed by the jingling of mistletoe. Ominis inclined his attention to his left.

"The mistletoe discriminates for no one!" she jeered. "Yeah, taste of your own damn medicine, isn't it?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Garreth groaned. "Look, Everett, you're a nice chap and all—"

"Frankly I'd rather kiss a troll," said Everett, miming sickness.

"Hey, I won't judge whatever you're into."

You giggled beneath your breath, which made Ominis smile. They did kiss, on Everett's forehead – only because Garreth couldn't see his precious Galleons wasted like that – but after that he stuffed the mistletoe in a jar on the mantelpiece.

"Well, erm," you cleared your throat. "It was nice to see you."

"You're going already?"

"I've... had enough excitement. I get— anxious easily, now."

That made him clench his glass. "I see."

"Well, you don't." He must've made a stony face, because you said, "That was a joke. Just to show... we're okay, both of us. I'll... I'll see you after Christmas, all right?"

You stood and made to go, and by instinct he stood as well.

"Stay."

"What?"

"Over— Christmas," he said, trying not to stumble. "Stay. Please. I— don't want to be alone this holiday."

There was some emotion in your voice he couldn't identify. "You won't be alone. Missy is staying too."

"Yes," he said, breathless, "but she isn't you."

Was that a flirtation? He had no idea. You inhaled a long breath, seeming to contemplate this – seriously reconsider. His heart leapt with hope.

"I can't, Ominis," you said, and it was a sharp prick to deflate him. "I'm sorry. It's— I'm not over it all yet. I can't— be alone with you."

"You saw your family in your nightmares, didn't you?" he questioned in a rush. "Why do you think it'll be easier—?"

"It won't," you said, insistent. "But I haven't spent a lot of time at home for the past year and I miss them—"

"You miss me. You said so."

"You're different, okay?" you snapped. "You're being really unfair right now."

Because, the thought pierced him, I miss you too.

But he didn't say it. He couldn't.

Something smashed – glass. Garreth swore.

"Garreth!" Imelda cried. "You stupid—"

"Merlin's left arsecheek, I know, I'm clumsy! Finite Incantatum!"

But the spell missed, probably because he was too drunk to stand straight. Ominis turned towards the commotion, not understanding what was happening—

Jingle, jingle. The mistletoe belled above his head.

And yours.

"Whoaaa, okay, we have to leave this one!" slurred Garreth. "Get in there, Gaunty boy!"

Under the mistletoe. With you.

A flush overwhelmed him as the mistletoe jingled again, expectant. He didn't know what to make of your absolute silence. You were amused, and more than a little flattered, when you were caught with Leander, but now you were with him.

"Garreth," he said steadily, trying to remember he and most of the others were so drunk they couldn't tell face from arse. "I will not force Gibby to do anything—"

"I can speak for myself, you know," you said, that same edge to your inflection.

He didn't move. Neither did you.

"S-So— but—"

"What?"

Damn it, he was flustering. "You don't want to kiss me."

"You're talking over me again." Your ire bloomed something in his chest. "Just— say it, if you want to say it. You don't want to kiss me."

That could not have been further than the truth, but damn if he was going to say it, show it in front of all these people. "I— if it will stop this infernal jingling..."

A coward's answer, for certain. Still, the whole room was cheering, whooping, encouraging them, which only made his traitorous heart worse. Finally he turned to you, schooling his face into something more composed.

"Listen, I'm sorry for what I said. I do know I'm... different to you, and you're still accustoming to being around me, but if you are even slightly uncomfortable—"

And as sudden as a flash of lightning, you had closed the gap between you, and your lips were on his cheek.

Soft, sweet, seducing.

He barely had time to register it before you were stepping away again, and the jaunty mistletoe ceased. This made everyone in the room cheer like some great hurdle had been overcome. The feeling of your lips lingered.

And it made his insides scream.

"There," you mumbled. "Now you can stop talking over me."

Deep longing crashed through his chest, clammed his tongue. Too dazed to reply, he simply stood there, motionless and stiff. Do something. Say something! But he couldn't. His internal wiring had fizzled out in the same moment the breath left his lungs.

"Right," you blurted, "I— I really have to go now. So, erm, have a nice Christmas. Everyone."

And you were scurrying away, back through the door. Gone.

It took a second for the rest of his body to catch up. For his heart to race at the speed of a train, for the blood to rush to his cheeks. He'd had to endure listening to Leander kiss you, but this made up for it a thousand times over.

And then, regret.

Why didn't I kiss you back?

Someone nudged him then. Garreth.

"Damn, she ran straight out. How bad do your cheeks taste, Gaunt?"

"If you don't stop that bloody mistletoe, Weasley," Ominis muttered, "I will turn your insides into outsides."

"Duly noted. Finite Incantatum!"

This one he didn't miss. The mistletoe dissolved.

The partying resumed like nothing had changed, of course. No one mourned the mistletoe, and the consequences of such a kiss. The way it consumed Ominis' thoughts, so much that he had to find a seat immediately, massage his temple, resist the urge to touch his cheek.

"You seemed to enjoy that."

Ominis scowled at Missy's tone. "Not another word."

But she chuckled beneath her breath. It was vaguely sinister. "Very strange how Garreth happened to trip into the glass, and the mistletoe happened to choose you and Gibby, isn't it?"

"... You are evil."

"I'm a Slytherin," she corrected. "Merry Christmas."

It was certainly a Christmas, and though a kiss from you was a priceless gift, a moment he would cherish, he'd more describe the two weeks holiday as strange. The day itself had been fine – fun, even, when Missy gifted him some cologne ("So you actually start smelling attractive." "A simple I thought this smelt nice would've sufficed."), and he gifted her a loud pocket watch (for no reason other than to stop her sneaking up on him), and they played Summoner's Court in the snow.

On Boxing Day, however, he was accosted in the Slytherin common room, an arm looping through with his. If it weren't for his brain processing the girl's scent – champagne and vintage fur – he might've flinched.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Ominis," crooned Dorothy Ellingboe, his cousin once-removed. "You're coming with me."

"To where?"

She didn't say, only dragging him out to the faculty tower. His thoughts ran rampant when they reached the door to the staff area. Had he been caught with you? Had Missy's secret been exposed? He could tell by the mighty bounce in her step that she knew something he didn't.

When they pushed into a sitting room, hearth blazing, Ominis' reluctance tripled.

"Ah, there you are."

He recognised this voice too, Dorothy's haughty mother. Much like Dorothy herself, she had a slight force to her words – full of a barely-concealed malice. Once a Gaunt, always a Gaunt, no matter how distant.

"I've brought him as requested," said Dorothy, and she set him down on the sofa.

"What is the meaning of this?" he enquired, not quite politely.

"We're merely making rounds, Ominis," said Mrs Ellingboe coolly. "There's something I'd like to hear for myself. Your parents tell me you have the ability. So, pray tell, how is your Parseltongue?"

Only until she'd finished did he realise she'd spoken entirely in the snake's language. His stomach twisted. Dorothy was silent at his side, but he could tell she was waiting, as her mother was, to test him.

"Fine," he replied, forcing out the guttural tongue. Always ready, as he'd feared. "Is that really the only purpose of this visit?"

"Parseltongue is a dying art," his cousin hissed. "It is important to speak it frequently, so as to make sure the language does not die."

"It is not a language you can learn," he said, remembering Sebastian's words in the Scriptorium. "It won't matter whether I speak it frequently or not."

"You have a sharp tongue, boy," she said, not without a small amount of amusement. "You ought to not to bite a hand that feeds you."

He had no idea what that meant. He kept as far away from the Ellingboes as possible.

"So?" Dorothy asked – in English. "Does it meet your standards, Mother?"

"Yes," she replied. "It is legitimate."

He stood. "If that's all, I shall take my leave."

"Very well."

He almost didn't want to return to the common room, knowing how easily he was buttonholed. What in Merlin's name did she and his family want to test his Parseltongue for? Was she sent by his own parents, prodding once more at the strength of Slytherin's blood? Some inane test about his legacy or whatever nonsense Marvolo liked to parrot?

She didn't bother him again for the rest of Christmas, a small relief. Missy didn't know what to make of it either, when he shared it. So the January term began anew, and on the fourth day in, he was surprised to find a note in his pocket.

Meet alone? Undercroft, 8pm.

G

This was no small feat. It had been eight months since you'd woken, and not once since had you requested alone time with him. He was more than a little relieved, and nervous, to meet you there. He washed and dressed and was in the Undercroft at exactly eight, knowing you would likely be late.

But a moment after he arrived, the gate lifted.

"Hello, Ominis," you greeted shyly, coming over.

He studied your voice, as he always did. You sounded... better.

"Hello, Gibby."

"You're... wearing something?"

"Clothes, funnily enough."

"No, I mean— is that cologne?"

Merlin. He'd probably put too much on. "I got it for Christmas. From Missy."

"Aw, that's kind of her."

"Not so when she tells you that you smell."

You laughed, right from your chest – an inkling of your old self.

"You don't smell. She was teasing... I think."

"One can never be sure with her."

"But— it is nice, really," you said sweetly. "It suits you."

You didn't sit close anymore, and he remembered that day after he argued with Sebastian, when you had comforted him, head on his shoulder. All he could smell back then was strawberry laces. Those days were gone, but he was grateful you were here at all, even if not in close proximity.

You shared what you'd been up to over Christmas. You were again forced to readjust to your parents and all three of your loud brothers, who didn't quite understand the parameters of your curse. Acting as if everything was okay, however, seemed to help you around them – because they had little knowledge of the magical world, and how cruel it could truly be.

"I also received a proposal. Well, an informal proposal, I suppose."

His lungs knotted. "From whom?"

"The baker's son, Timothy Spink. I've known him my whole life."

Ominis loathed him already. "Oh?" he said with forced nonchalance.

"Technically he just reminded me about a promise we made when we were children. Do you remember Muggle courtship rules? Neither of us want the fuss and bother of going to church and meeting eligible partners. So he asked seriously if we could marry each other when we're both older. I said I'd think about it."

"And will you? Think about it?"

"Maaaaaybe."

"Don't tease, Gibby."

"Why? Doesn't Mrs Spink sound fetching?"

"Dreadful, actually." He raised his chin. "You deserve much more than a marriage of convenience."

You quietened, and he couldn't tell what you thought about that.

"I suppose it does sound rather dreadful, doesn't it?"

That brought him an amount of relief he could not quantify. He told you about his Christmas, mostly relaxing with Missy, poring through law books to see any loopholes in Sebastian's sentence, practicing spells they'd need for their N.E.W.T. classes. He also told you about his unfortunate encounter with Dorothy.

"Parseltongue?" you questioned. "Why's she testing your Parseltongue?"

"I don't have the faintest idea."

"Hmm, well," you mused, "it is a very cool ability, to speak to snakes."

You must've been thinking back of the Scriptorium – the first time he'd used the ability in years, and the first time he'd used it in front of you.

"It's not something to boast about," he murmured.

"You said it was associated with Dark wizards."

"Yes, because only Slytherin's descendants have the ability."

"But the language itself, it's not bad, is it? Like, you don't want to kill a bunch of Muggles after you speak it?"

"You shouldn't joke about that."

"I'm not."

His lips pursed. "You cannot uproot its history so easily. It is bad."

"But that's like when my brother Connor tried to teach me Welsh swear words. The whole Welsh language isn't bad because of it, is it? Parseltongue is the same." You hummed. "Say something nice."

"What?"

"In Parseltongue. Say something nice. Like... the sun feels good on my skin."

His brow crumpled, but he obliged. "Very well. The sun feels good on my skin."

"Was that so evil?"

When he spoke the language in the Scriptorium, it was a deep betrayal of his personal values, an abomination, used to access Dark Magic and hurt you and coax Sebastian into eventually using the Unforgivable Curses. When he spoke it to Dorothy's mother, it was a means to an end, an escape for her scrutiny, a test of the legacy he bore. But such an innocent phrase... there was nothing sinister in it, only in the way it sounded. Only in the way he perceived it.

"I suppose not," he hedged.

"Say something else," you said, eager.

He rubbed his temple. Now he'd opened the floodgates. "Such as?"

"I'll guess!"

A game, then? He smirked, and was gratified to hear you laugh in return.

"Othinuisss haunthh hassshith hssssiet."

"Hint?"

"A common way for me to greet someone new."

"Hmm... 'Nice to meet you'?"

"No. I said My name is Ominis Gaunt. Othinuisss haunthh is my name in the tongue."

"Othinis haunts hashith hissiet!"

He snorted. "Slytherin just rolled in his grave."

"Good." Your enthusiasm was palpable. "Again!"

"A simpler one, then." He knew what to say. "Hithhy."

"'Gibby'?"

"Correct."

"Hithy hashith hissiet!"

"Not hithy. Hithhy."

"That's definitely what I said."

"There's more emphasis on the h sound. You said the equivalent of Jih-BIH, rather than Jih-BEE."

You giggled, falling back against the floor. "It's so amazing that you can just say it. You didn't have to learn it, or its rules. It's just... programmed into your brain."

He sobered. "Into my bloodline, you mean."

You sat up, voice gentle.

"A language is a tool, Ominis. It can't be inherently bad. It's only in how you use it."

There was truth to that, and to hear you say it made him feel... lighter.

"I know you don't like it very much, and this might not mean anything to you," and you shied, "but I think it's— it's really— well, it's kind of... attractive when you speak it."

He flushed from tip to toe. His hissing was attractive? He had to turn away from you then, fearing his expression was too hopeful, too desperate. Stop blushing, fool, but it was impossible, when you'd outright confessed it to him. When you brought back the memory of you under the mistletoe, the smell of you in the Amortentia. You, in everything.

How he wished he could kiss you now.

"I— ahem." He cleared his throat noisily. "That— I think—" Merlin.

"Ominis."

It was infuriating not to be able to read your expressions as easily as you read his. He faced you, and with startling awareness, realised you were crawling over to him.

"Sebastian and Anne are gone now," you mumbled, "but you're still here, and I know you always will be, so... thank you. Thank you for... being my friend."

You'd said that to him before, a long time ago now. He thought he'd changed, his past catching him unawares, his family thumbing away compassion and joy bit by bit, his future looming over him, promising sweet rot, but to think that after everything, you still believed in his goodness...

The memory of Christmas fluttered back to him.

"I missed you." It came out as an injured admission. "I have missed you every day for the last two years."

Your silence was foreboding.

"It's funny," you said quietly. "Sometimes I look at you and— see that horrible version of you, torturing me, enjoying it. Sometimes I see you and my breath catches in terror." His chest throbbed painfully. "But then... memories of everything before come back, and you say things like that, and... I remember that behind a wall of stone, you guard a heart of gold."

He felt it on his pinkie finger then – your own, brushing his. He almost flinched, the suddenness startling him. Then came that rush of adrenaline, as potent as lightning. Your finger intertwined with his daringly, and he responded, turning his palm over, letting you lace your hand with his.

And there you were, both of you, sitting in the Undercroft, holding hands.

"This is the most I can do for now," you whispered.

He smiled. Caught his breath.

"This is enough."

You continued to meet in secret like before. Your touches were brief like before, too. Shy and awkward. Sometimes Missy invited you and him, and Garreth, to her magical room. On your worst days you declined. On your lesser worse days you simply did revision to the sounds of the beasts roaming in the vivariums, barely saying a word. That was okay. You couldn't give yourself wholly yet, and he was prepared to wait.

He would wait an eternity, if it meant he could be yours again.

By the end of spring, he had gained much more courage, and so had you. You talked for hours, you teased one another, and you laughed, laughed so hard sometimes tears came out of your eyes, and his. Once you fell asleep against his shoulder, and he stayed with you the whole night, if only to allow you a semblance of peace as the workload ramped up and the year drew to yet another close.

Still he thought of that moment under the mistletoe. Still, he was tormented by his stupor and hesitation.

"Did you enjoy it?" he asked you in May. "Kissing Leander during Missy's party?"

"What's brought this on?"

"Just curious."

"Ominis Gaunt," you said, sly, "do I detect a hint of jealousy?"

"Absolutely not. That would require me to admit he has something I don't."

A dulcet laugh. "If you must know, yes, I did enjoy it. When you and I weren't talking, he was so kind to me, and it was confusing. It... it still is..."

Ah.

"But," you mumbled, "I also enjoyed kissing you. Even if you didn't."

It brought breath back to his chest. Don't dare hope. He wouldn't allow it. He grappled the last strings of his resolve and braced himself.

"I did want to kiss you. Very much."

You went silent. It seemed to last for hours.

"But you didn't."

"No."

"Why?"

His jaw tightened. His very own nature, was why. His very own, real fears.

Still, time had granted him wisdom and hindsight, and he was determined to show you that he was yours, and he would certainly not let bloody Prewett beat him at anything. He reached forwards, tangling your fingers with his.

"Will you allow me to make it up to you?" Gently he guided your fingers to his lips, hovered there in wait as a gasp slipped from you. "Say you will offer me this small forgiveness. Please."

A pause that felt as long as a sunrise.

"Okay."

So he placed a soft kiss to your knuckles. You made a noise that thrilled his blood, and he smiled and pressed another, just to hear it again. You were a distraction, a dazzling distraction, and despite everything going on in his life, despite the threat of his family, a persistent bad smell with the slow bubbling of his affections, he allowed himself to succumb to it. To be swept away by you.

Distracted he was, that mere days before his mock Potions exam he arrived at the laboratory completely forgotting he'd had homework.

"What's with the face, Gaunt?" Garreth asked.

All year, and still Garreth hadn't let up. Suspicion teemed through him.

"Nothing that concerns you," he said brusquely.

"Come on, don't be like that. What? Forget your homework, or something?"

Merlin, he was easy to read. For you he would accept it, but Garreth Weasley? Ugh.

He felt parchment brush the tips of his fingers.

"Here," said Garreth.

"What is this?"

"Oh, sorry – forgot you can't read it. I'll dictate."

"What is this?"

"My Potions homework."

Ominis scrunched his face. "Are— you letting me copy from you?"

"Yeah, and you better hurry, because Sharp will tear us new ones if he discovers—"

Instead, Ominis levelled his wand at Garreth's throat. Rather extreme, when he thinks about it now. Alas, his suspicions had come to a head, and Garreth had it coming eventually.

"Why?"

"Are you seriously threatening me for offering to help you?"

"Enough with this," he snapped. "You've been hanging around me being annoying all year, and I have no idea why."

"I do not annoy," said Garreth. "I pester."

"I don't care what synonym you use. Why are you trying to get into my good graces? It's insidious and I cannot figure out what your grand scheme is, so you'd better tell me the truth or so help me—"

"Merlin, Ominis, not everyone is out to get you." Garreth pushed the wand tip away from his neck. "Gibby put me up to it. There."

It was so shocking Ominis went predatorily still.

"What?"

"Gibby. She asked me on the first day back if I could keep an eye on you. Well. Not keep an eye on you, so much. Specifically she asked if I could keep you company in all the classes we share."

He was so colossally flabbergasted he didn't speak.

"Not out of malice, I swear," said Garreth. "It was just— she couldn't stand being around you much, after the curse, and she worried you'd be lonely."

He had been. Was.

"She thought, if anyone could be an amazing, charming proxy friend, it would be me, and I agreed, because one can never have too many friends." He imagined Garreth grinning. "For what it's worth, you're actually all right. Not the stick-in-the-mud that I thought. Though you definitely have angst-ridden, Slytherin issues."

"How kind."

"It is, I am." But when Ominis didn't return its lightness, Garreth only sighed. "Don't be mad at her, all right? She was looking out for you."

He had no idea what to feel. He wasn't some baby that needed looking after, but he knew, when it came to you, you never condescended. It was with the purest intentions that you sent Garreth after him, and that alone made his heart blunder.

"I'm surprised you agreed," he said, lowering his wand. "You have conflicted interest in this, no? Since your best friend is Prewett?"

"Hey, you two can have your pissing contest as much as you want, I'm staying out of it. I just did a favour for a friend."

And although he was loath to admit it... he appreciated the thought.

"Well... thank you."

"You're welcome."

"However, if you tell anyone about this arrangement, I will ensure my face will be the last you ever see."

"Hahah. Funny." But when Ominis only smiled, Garreth said, more desperately, "That was a joke, right?"

He had no intention of letting Garreth into his inner circle, his most trusted companions. Friendship took time to build, and he would rather die than frolic to class with a Gryffindor at his side. But he let up a little on his bluntness, even when Garreth annoyed him by way of being... himself.

He intended to discuss this development with you.

Along with other things.

You'd swooned about the view from this particular balcony once. Far away from Hogwarts and on the edge of Hogsmeade, it was not at all convenient to get to, but a sunny June day between exams, cold enough to need a jumper, warm enough to enjoy the sun on his face, seemed like a good time to take advantage of the distance. There was little chance you'd be interrupted. Little chance you'd be caught.

"I found out about Garreth."

Braced on your arms beside him on the stone bench, you went utterly still.

"Oh."

"Mmm, oh."

"Are you mad?"

"A little," he admitted. "You needn't have worried about the state of my social life, let alone meddled with it."

"I'm sorry. After Sebastian, I didn't want you to be alone."

He let out a single chuckle. "Loneliness and I are old acquaintances, Gibby. I would've survived. And I have Missy."

"But you're genuine friends with Garreth now, right? He's really nice."

"He's tolerable."

You playfully shoved him. "Ominis."

"Going behind my back to get me a friend is rather cunning of you, I must admit. A little Slytherin rubbed off on you, Hufflepuff?"

"Considering you called Garreth tolerable and not ingratiating, insipid, or troublesome, I'd say my Hufflepuff has rubbed off on you, Slytherin."

He smiled. "Suppose I wouldn't mind keeping a little of you for myself."

He laughed when you stammered. Flirtations. He had to admit he was getting quite good at it. He stood then, fuelled with courage, and took your hand to pull you up.

"Dance with me."

"Dance?" you said, incredulous. "Now?"

"Of course."

"There's no music."

"There doesn't need to be."

"But— I can't—"

"Everyone dances, Gibby."

He smiled, thinking on a memory long ago. Perhaps you were thinking about it too.

"All right," you said softly.

You took his left hand and shoulder, he took your right hand and waist. Your closeness was dizzying, but he forced himself to focus, to sway. He was unfortunately familiar with more complicated dances from all the parties his parents had dragged him too, but this was a simple box-step, one you picked up on easily.

"Ow. You trod on my foot."

"I'm sorry, I can't see where they are. Though they must be rather large for me to step on them."

Your blustering gasp made him chuckle. "How dare you! I have delicate, ladylike feet, thank you very much! Not like your massive clod-hoppers."

He smiled wickedly. "Well, you know what they say about people who have large feet... they have other large body parts, too."

"W-What?"

"Hearts, of course."

"Oh, Ominis!"

"Your mind clearly went elsewhere." He let out a husky laugh. "How terribly unladylike of you, Gibby."

"I have two older brothers," you snorted. "Of course my mind went elsewhere!"

He slowed the pace, drawing you closer, and that intoxicating scent of strawberry laces eclipsed all else.

"Indulge me," he mumbled. "What of mine were you thinking about?"

"Nothing at all," you said, feigning disinterest. "I was, in fact, just thinking about someone else's large body parts. Someone beginning with Lee and ending with ander."

Oh, you were evil.

"You'd better be talking about his heart."

"I would not refer to anything else, of course," you said slyly. "But let's not talk about him anymore."

Merlin, that you said that gave him butterflies. It was the last push of courage he needed to lead you, step by step, until your back was against the stone bannister, and there was only the two of you on the precipice of the world. Between the wind sluicing around them, all he could think, feel, taste, touch, was you. Your sweetness was in full bloom, and he stepped as close as he dared, until you were mere inches away, your breath mingling with his.

"You're... beautiful," he whispered.

A croaking huff emerged from your lips. "Flatterer. You don't know what I look like. I could be ugly. As ugly as a troll, for all you know."

"Impossible." He reached up, drew the back of his fingers across your cheek. "Your soul is too beautiful for the outside not to match."

Your breath hitched.

"Ominis..."

"I'm in with love you, Gibby." He said it before he lost his nerve. "I— I've been in love with you for years."

But your hands slipped from his grasp. You ducked beneath him, and you were away, too far for him to sense you.

No, no, no.

"No, it's— it's not you, I promise," you said quickly. "I-I just... I'm really overwhelmed right now. Emotionally."

He bit back the sting. "I-I'm sorry—"

"Please, don't be—"

"I shouldn't have said anything—"

"Would you let me finish?" He chastened. "I— feel strongly about you too, but I just— I can't give you an answer right now. It's complicated. I'm complicated."

"Then take the summer to think about it," he said, trying to salvage the situation. "Think on it. On us."

"I don't expect you to wait for me."

"I think you underestimate how long I would wait for you."

You let out a hysterical laugh. "Stop saying things like that. It just makes you more attractive."

"That is the idea."

You quietened, sweet. "I'll think on it during the summer. Promise."

It fuelled him on the train home.

Your Hufflepuff friends were with you, and so was his heart, linked now to yours no matter whether you rejected his affections or not. He, on the other hand, sat with Missy until York. Naturally he told her of what had happened, and she was perfectly proud of him, confident he would come back in seventh year with you on his arm. He didn't want to hope, of course, but the fantasy of it was too appealing not to.

Then, when she disembarked, he was alone. And it was... okay.

His personal house-elf Pip accompanied him on the carriage ride from King's Cross. Ominis took the time to rebuild the walls around himself, to compartmentalise his emotions for the next six weeks. He was seventeen now, a man. Soon this charade would be over, and he would be free. My family are the disgrace. Not me. Aunt Noctua's inheritance had come through, and now he had some money to his name, he was waiting, biding his time as the interest built up and he graduated Hogwarts, to move out of the Gaunt estate and never look back.

However, when they arrived at the house and he took his first step inside, something about the place smelt different. Wrong. He didn't get the opportunity to pinpoint what exactly it was when his father pulled him roughly into the eastern receiving room.

"Your inheritance," he said, forgoing pleasantries and greetings. "We have need of it. You will depart to Gringotts in the morning and see it transferred."

The insolence. "You have already dipped into my funds, Father," Ominis reminded tersely. "The rest is mine."

"You dare to disobey me again, boy?"

He yanked his grip free. "Noctua named me in the will. I will not insult her memory by giving it all to you."

"That money is crucial," his father hissed, "for our survival."

And Ominis realised then. That smell... it was of nothing. Not dust nor fabric nor polish for silver. It was simply air, and the general damp musk that emanated from the manor walls. He palmed his wand, realising all too late that the room was nearly empty.

"What— where is everything?"

"Sold. We've hit some hard times, financially. The filthy council keep sending Mudbloods to harangue us for taxes."

"What of Marvolo's fortunes?" Ominis said, incredulous. "Or Grimsley's? Raven or Lenore's?"

For the first time ever, he heard real remorse from his father.

"Gone. Squandered."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Yours," he barked with contempt. "If you hadn't condoned the Sallow boy's actions last summer, we might still be respected. We're the laughing stock of high society now. No one will do business with us." It was absurd to even think that was remotely true, but his father didn't give him the opportunity to retort. "If you wish to avoid seeing our family in ruin, you will send the money at once."

Of course, when Ominis went to Gringotts the next day, he made especially sure to withdraw only a few, pitiful Galleons for his father – and transfer the rest to another vault entirely.

Things were different after that. In the haze of summer nights, he overheard his father raging, drunken, about the unfortunate circumstances to his house-elf Ratch – usually with a belt. Their London residence was reclaimed to cover some of the debts. Marvolo ignored all letters from the council, arguing on the front lawns every week with a Muggle councilman named James Riddle. Even Ominis' possessions were later sold, ornaments, trinkets, his entire book collection, braille texts he'd spent years gathering. It was a wonder they didn't move out entirely or sell the abundance of land they possessed, including a spot of forest further back on the grounds, but his parents were stubbornly attached to the premises, having housed generations of Gaunt offspring, and downplayed their troubles when invited to parties.

Ominis hadn't realised how deeply in trouble they were. Selling odds and ends would do nothing; it couldn't go on. When he suggested to Marvolo to palm off Slytherin's locket and the Peverell ring, Marvolo hissed back with a feral sort of possessiveness.

"There are no Galleons worth these. I would never sell them."

So they lived relatively modestly, with only their small army of house-elves any indication of their former wealth. The only thing that kept him from losing his mind altogether was the thought of you, and he was counting the days until school began again, when he could see you once more.

In August, he was invited to his last pure-blood affair before the term began.

He thought it would be the same as the others, this time a private dinner at the austere Ellingboe estate in Cambridgeshire. Ominis had dressed in his formal wear – the only formal garb he possessed now, the rest having been shilled off – and wordlessly followed his parents to the living room. Only he found it immediately unusual, and suspicious, when Marvolo, Grimsley, Raven and Lenore crowded around the fireplace as well, bickering as they Floo travelled to the Ellingboe's fragrant drawing room. The senior Ellingboes greeted them.

"Welcome, welcome! Just in time. The Malfoys are already seated. Come along!"

Marvolo petted Ominis' shoulder, an amusing gesture considering they were the same height now.

"Behave tonight, little brother."

"Don't I always?"

Ominis' suspicions heightened when he shadowed his brother's steps, and found himself in a stifling dining room, the hearth set to blazing, the musk of lacquered wood like an acrid lemon. The chairs scraped back as the three Malfoys rose in greeting – Edwin, his wife and, unfortunately, Peregrine.

"Come, sit!" coaxed Mr Ellingboe, Dorothy's stout father. "And here, we have a place especially for you, Ominis."

Right next to Dorothy. He resisted the urge to gag as she leant over to him.

"You wore that ensemble last party."

"My apologies," he said without sorrow. "I can't see what I choose."

"That will be the first thing to change."

"What? My lack of sight?"

"Your lack of wardrobe."

She didn't elaborate, but worry stirred in his gut. One more week. Then he'd be back at Hogwarts with his friends, with you. He could endure the snide remarks and disdain until then. He'd been doing it all summer, what was seven more days?

After the first two courses were served, and Ominis survived the painfully stilted conversation with Dorothy, Mr Ellingboe rose to his feet at the head of the table and raised his glass.

"Thank you all for coming today. As the new school year is soon to begin, it is with great enthusiasm that we usher in the next generation of pure-bloods, destined to continue our glorious lineages for many years to come."

Ominis withheld a snort.

"Today, my speech comes with a special announcement. My wife and I are pleased to celebrate the momentous joining of two powerful wizarding lines." Mr Ellingboe dinged his glass. "The betrothal of my beloved daughter, Dorothy... to Ominis Gaunt!"

All of Ominis' disgust drained at once.

No. It cannot be.

"The wedding will take place on Dorothy's seventeenth birthday, next August." Mr Ellingboe brimmed with self-satisfaction. "A toast to the Gaunt name! May this esteemed bloodline prevail for generations to come!"

But as glasses clinked aloft, Ominis realised he had not misheard. He had not conjured falsities, nor woken from a cruel nightmare.

And despite it all, despite everything, he laughed. It wasn't a demure one, either – this was a big, belly-deep, uncouth guffaw that would've made you so proud.

"You cannot be serious."

It rendered the table to utter silence.

"You think this is amusing, boy?" muttered Dorothy's mother.

"We're deadly serious," snapped his father, switching to Parseltongue, and it was like the food he'd eaten had rotted in his stomach. "We have arranged an advantageous match to secure the future of the mighty Slytherin bloodline. You ought to be grateful."

Are they pathologically insane? "But Dorothy— she's my cousin!"

"Once-removed! And an exquisite beauty, not that you could appreciate that."

That seemed to appease Mrs Ellingboe, as she huffed in triumph, and the last of Ominis' mirth fell away.

This... this was real. He was betrothed. They wanted to marry him off to his own cousin, because—

"You don't have the ability, do you?" he realised, speaking to Dorothy in clear-cut English, the only language she could understand. "You cannot speak Parseltongue."

"It doesn't matter whether I can speak it or not, because our children will." Her shame was buried by contempt. "I hope your seed is strong, future husband, because I plan on having at least five."

Nausea bowled through his horror. No, no, no. His chair scraped noisily as he stood. "E-Excuse me."

Without waiting for dismissal, he fled the dining room on unsteady feet. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't care. Suddenly the very walls seemed oppressive, burrowing into him, stealing the blood from his veins. His lungs rejected air. His hands quaked. He stumbled into an empty drawing room, narrowly missing a house-elf, slammed the door shut and crumpled onto the nearest chair.

And when he was quietly, mercifully alone... Ominis wept.

Please like/ reblog/ comment/ share if you enjoyed <3

Thank you to my tag list. If you'd like to be added/ removed, please let me know 💚 @cordidy @witchyafterdark @femaholicc @cherry-cola-100

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[Divider credit]

[actually-mentally-ill]

when im being asked a question, but i was busy daydreaming about __ x y/n

[lovesicklovermia]

normalise making a list of character x readers u like to read so you can spin a wheel every night before bed to decide ur bedtime story xx

[5sospenguinqueen]

Sebastian: Yeah, we're just friends but I would shag you if you asked.

MC: (looking up from her essay) Pardon?

Sebastian: (blushing) What?

Ominis: He said he'd shag you if you asked.

[slytherinzz]

Sebastian Sallow:

“Rules? What rules? I consider them more like… guidelines with room for interpretation.”

“I’m not saying this was my best idea… but it is my most entertaining one so far.”

“Oh, come on! A little curse here and there builds character. You’ll thank me later.”

“I’d like to think I’m a perfect mix of charm, intellect, and just a dash of poor decision-making.”

“Listen, if you’re going to get in trouble, at least make it worth the detention. Trust me, I’m an expert.”

Ominis Gaunt

“You can’t see me rolling my eyes, but trust me, it’s happening.”

“Sebastian, if your brilliant plan involves me getting hexed again, I’m officially out.”

“Some families pass down heirlooms. Mine passes down generational trauma. But sure, let’s talk about my upbringing.”

“Just because I can’t see doesn’t mean I can’t tell you’re about to do something stupid. Stop it.”

“I don’t ‘hate’ people, Sebastian. I simply find the vast majority of them exhausting.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

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

[slytherinsprincesss]

Sebastian: Hey MC, are you busy Saturday around 3?

MC: No? Why?

Sebastian: What about you Ominis? Are you busy Saturday at 3?

Ominis: No Sebastian, I’m not.

Sebastian: Perfect, because I am! You two go ahead to get butterbeer without me. Enjoy your date ;)

MC: did he just-

Ominis: yes, he did just set us up.

**I feel like Sebastian would be a great wingman to Ominis (when he really tries)**

[radical-ghostface]

HOGWARTS LEGACY

TWT PORN LINKS

~~ TW: This contains real pornography. These links will take you to real videos posted by real people. My intention is never to make anyone uncomfortable so if this is something you are not comfortable with I urge you to please click away. ~~

Lazy morning sex with Seb

Seb fingering you in the RoR

Overstimming with Omi

Helping Seb celebrate after winning a quidditch match

Messy tit jobs with Garreth in prof Sharp's classroom

Facesitting with Omi

Alone time with Omi in the Undercroft

Teasing Garreth

Seb fucking you after a stressful day of classes

Make up sex with Seb

Garreth likes it when you take control

Seb can't keep his hands off you after seeing you in his sweater

Ominis knows how to use his hands

Garreth loves how you taste

Merciless Seb

Ruining sub Garreths orgasam

Making out with Omi in his dorm

[anomalyaly]

right where you left me

Summary: You died. Sebastian secretly had a portrait of you commissioned.

I profusely apologize for the pain.

Inspired by @sychenb for the prompt idea. Also crediting @sloanesallow for her headcanon about Sebastian keeping track of numbers.

(also sort of inspired by Unus Annus - iykyk - and Taylor Swift, if you couldn't guess by the title)

Tags: Angst, F!Reader POV (you), unreliable narrator, vague ship (Sebastian x reader/Ominis x reader), Sebastian was in love with you but never confessed, death, grief, ambiguous ending, overall the sads in general, I cried while writing this

[AO3/Wattpad]

It had been 279 days since you died.

At least, that’s what Sebastian tells you — your portrait, anyway. It was all that was left of you after the devastating battle you had fought and never walked away from. You hadn’t even known he’d had a portrait of you commissioned when you were alive until you woke up, your body cold, your face illuminated by the flickering candles of the Undercroft.

He comes to visit you every day — some days, he simply sits in front of you, cross-legged and silent. You creep into the frame and study him, the shadows on his face, a haunted look in his eye — unfamiliar. You can only recall a bright, talkative, charming boy with whom you were once close. You didn’t recognize him the first time he visited you, yet his presence brings you comfort.

On other days, you see traces of the boy he was before. He bursts in through the gate talking nonstop about everyone who misses you, about something he saw that you would have liked or that reminded him of you. Sometimes, he even brings you gifts and places them in front of your frame so you can admire them when he’s away.

That’s where he keeps you — hidden behind a wooden crate in the Undercroft like a sacred shrine, untouched by anyone but him. He only speaks with you when he is alone.

Another boy comes in on occasion, and you only know because of the sound of his voice and the pulsing red light of his wand that you can see from behind the pile of crates. Ominis, you remember Sebastian telling you, another friend from when you were alive. Sometimes they argue, other times they refuse to acknowledge each other. But Sebastian always keeps you tucked away, his own personal secret.

“It’s almost Christmas,” he sighs as he plops down in front of you. “300 days since you…well, since— ”

He could never bring himself to finish that sentence, even after almost a year. You never finish it for him.

“Are you going back to Feldcroft?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t leave you here alone. I couldn’t do that to you.”

You knew he probably hadn’t been back since that dreadful day. He had only spoken of it once to refresh your memory. He never brought it up again.

“Sebastian,” you say, and he perks up at the sound of his name leaving your painted lips, “how come you always hide me away when Ominis comes in? Doesn’t he want to talk to me, too?”

His eyes flash with something — anger, perhaps, it was hard to tell from your two-dimensional world — and he stands, approaching your portrait. “He wouldn’t understand.”

“I’m only a portrait,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s not like you’ve been practicing necromancy.”

It wasn’t the right thing to say, but you don’t completely understand why. He turns away from you, fists clenched, shoulders tense and hunched over, before running his fingers through his hair and repeating himself more adamantly. “He wouldn’t understand.”

You remember him uttering a similar statement throughout your short life at Hogwarts — secrets that only the two of you shared, unbeknownst to Ominis until it was too late. “Surely he misses me, too— ”

“Did you love him?”

The question takes you by surprise, though you think it’s not the first time he’s asked it. “What?”

Sebastian whirls to face you, his gaze intense, demanding. “Did you love him? Or did you love me?”

Your portrait blinks, confused. Truthfully, you hadn’t been alive nearly long enough to confirm your feelings for either of them, but you knew that both boys had been important to you during your last few months of life. The portrait of you had only been a time capsule of your fifteen-year-old self — undecided and immature. You’re not even certain if the emotions you feel now are real or remnants of what you experienced when you were alive. “I…I cared deeply for both of you if that’s what you’re asking.”

Your answer nearly breaks him, as if he’s heard it a million times before. He tugs at his hair, the movement causing him to look frenzied and mad. “That’s not what I asked! Who did you — ”

“Sebastian?”

The voice of the intruder causes both of you to freeze. Sebastian pulls himself out from behind the crate and holds a finger to his lips before pushing it in front of you once more.

“Over here, Ominis.”

You hear footsteps and see the red glow of the other boy’s wand, then shuffling as Sebastian strategically places himself in front of the wooden box. The echoing footsteps grow closer, and you straighten at Ominis’s frantic tone as he speaks.

“Who were you talking to?” he asks. “I…I thought I heard…her.”

“No one else is here but me,” Sebastian says, guarded.

You can practically feel Ominis’s internal struggle to believe him. You decide that there have been enough secrets between the three of you — you’re not going to let it carry on post-mortem.

“Ominis? Is that you?” you call out. You hear Sebastian press his body against the crate in front of you. Ominis pushes past him, and they both tumble into it, knocking it over and exposing your portrait.

Chaos ensues at Ominis’s realization. The two boys are shouting at each other in front of you as you are helpless to stop them — Ominis, for having yet another secret kept from him, and Sebastian, for defending his reasonings. You aren’t sure if it’s because of jealousy, grief, or some combination of the two, but all you want is for the noise to stop.

You call out helplessly from your portrait, wishing you could step between them, just as you had done time and time again all those months ago. Before everything had gone so wrong.

Suddenly, hot, angry tears are pouring down both of their faces, and you are overcome with just how useless you are at this moment — a fragmented memory, trapped within the confines of your magical canvas. You want nothing more than to hug each of them, to let them feel your arms around them in comfort and take their pain away.

But you are gone.

The two boys now stand solemn and silent in front of you. Ominis takes a step closer, his wand hovering over your portrait before he runs his fingers along the gilded frame. “Is it…really you?”

“No.” You can hear the flatness in Sebastian’s voice, how tired and worn he truly is. He repeats exactly what you thought only moments before as if to confirm it. “She hardly remembers what happened, or even who we are. She’s just a fragment. A memory.”

You want to argue that it is you, but you know that he’s right. You barely remembered your living self until Sebastian explained everything to you on his daily visits. Whispers of your personality still shine through on occasion, but you are otherwise simply existing.

Ominis sighs, and you can hear the weight behind it, as if he had been holding his breath and finally allowed himself to release it. He traces his fingers along the divots of the frame once more, and you try to will yourself to feel it.

The two boys exchange an unspoken conversation that thickens the tension in the air. They seem to come to an agreement, and you let out a small breath — if you can call it that — of relief when they sit down in front of you and appear to bask in your presence. You stay quiet and allow them this moment — it’s the only thing you can do.

The days that follow are the same. No longer is Sebastian coming in alone for covert meetings with your portrait. Now, you see both Sebastian and Ominis at the same time every single day, a religious appointment that they’ve set aside just for you. They take turns talking to you, even if they can only manage a few words, and you learn to appreciate their company, knowing that you were loved by both of them in life.

Just like old times, Sebastian says, and the three of you laugh.

Christmas approaches quickly, or that’s what they say when they come to visit a short while later. They bring your favorite things from when you were alive — chocolate frogs, flowers, even books, which Sebastian reads to you — and they tell you stories about you and the kind of person they knew you to be. You wonder if it’s true, or if they have created an idealistic image of you since you are no longer there with them. Not really.

Kind, they say that you were, thoughtful, loving, self-sacrificial, and maybe a bit idealistic. You were friends with both of them, after all, the mischievous pair that they were, before everything was taken away from them, before life was unfair. They try to smile for you and remind you that Christmas at the castle is a time for celebration, but you can tell that it’s a weak facade.

You smile back at them anyway.

The anniversary of your death approaches. Neither of them can bring themselves to say anything, aside from a few words to honor you. So the three of you sit in tearful silence, admiring the flowers that they decorated your portrait with. You think you can almost smell the sweet aroma of the bouquets.

Something changes in the air — you can sense it — though you aren’t sure what. You notice it when their visits become shorter, with fewer stories to tell, and fewer presents left in front of your frame. Sebastian and Ominis start showing up at separate times, stopping in for a brief hello before leaving with an excuse. You start to wonder what they are doing when they are gone, but you are unable to leave your frame — only one portrait of you was ever commissioned.

Soon, they start missing days, returning at a later time with profuse apologies about how life was busy, but they still miss you. Difficult classes, detention, studying for NEWTs, and preparing for a career — all of these seem to take precedence over you. But they still manage to make time in all of the hectic day-to-day activities, and you look forward to the days when they do come.

You wake up one morning and realize you are in a different location — Feldcroft, most likely, though you hadn’t seen it since that fateful day. Sebastian hangs your frame up on the wall, promising that he and Ominis will come to visit you more often now that they have graduated.

They don’t.

The length of time in between seeing them grows longer, you’re certain of it. Each time one of them arrives, they look a little bit different — sometimes they have longer hair, other times a bit of scruff around their chins, but they always come in looking more weathered than they had when you last saw them.

You realize that they are doing something that you will never again be able to join them in — growing older. You start to wonder about their lives outside of you, yet your painted mind cannot comprehend what an adult life looks like, forever frozen in your adolescent state. You find that you are unable to relate to any of their stories, and they seem to be holding back in what they choose to share.

I wish you were still here, they always say before they go, and you start to wonder if they mean it.

At long last, the visits from your once two closest friends become scarce, and you aren’t certain how much time has passed since someone last spoke to you. The bright flowers that once decorated your golden frame wither and die, and the little gifts they used to leave stay untouched and unopened. The tiny cottage in Feldcroft becomes a sepulcher of your essence — a permanent reminder that you are no longer among the living.

You can’t help but wonder if it was something you did, if their reasons for not returning were your fault. You can feel the stories that they used to tell you fading away, unable to retain the memories in your current form.

You decide that it’s time to rest.

In the quiet house, just south of Hogwarts, your portrait closes its eyes. You do not wake again.

[heylorrain]

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Words: 8,080 Tags: Ominis x F!Reader x Sebastian - Explicit - Characters are aged up

Thanks to my smut sensei @butternutt613, without you, this entire o.s wouldn't have been possible!

💓 Available on Ao3 with the full image 💓

Studying charms had become your downfall. Despite a week of studying, the information just wouldn't stick. Sebastian promised to help after Quidditch practice like the good boyfriend he was, but you knew he would take his time, so you decided to wait for him at his dorm. When you entered, Ominis was there unexpectedly, catching you both off guard. 

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry Ominis I-”

“No! No I should’ve…locked the door?” Ominis choked out with an awkward giggle. 

Every interaction with Ominis was fraught with tension and unspoken business. From the accidental brush of hands while walking to class, to his head resting on your shoulder in History of Magic, each moment only fueled the growing heat between you. But it all came down during the Amortentia lesson in Potion’s class, when Sebastian discovered that Ominis had smelled your scent in his potion. In a fit of jealousy, Sebastian became overprotective, and Ominis remained silent about his true feelings for you. The tension between all three of you was palpable now that everything was out in the open.

“I should probably go” Your stomach twisted into a tight, throbbing knot as your eyes raked over Ominis stretched out on his bed. 

His pants hung low on his hips, teasing just a hint of that V-line that made your mouth water. He was a masterpiece, and the way he laid there—languid, inviting, and oblivious to the storm he was stirring in your mind—was maddening.

“No!” - He lost his composure for a second there -“ I mean you don’t have to… you can, stay.” He said in a low voice. “I- I don’t think that’s a good idea” 

You couldn’t deny the fire raging inside you for him—the way his pale skin seemed to glow in the dim light, the way his gaze somehow looked through you as if he could see every filthy thought you were trying to hide. He was a paradox—gentle yet commanding, innocent yet so sinful. But Sebastian’s name flashed in your mind like a warning sign. You couldn't deny the intense feelings you had for Ominis, but you also couldn't betray Sebastian by acting on them…could you?

“Why?” Ominis asked, tilting his head. “Why isn’t it a good idea?” 

His hand twitched on the bedspread as he sat on the edge of it, fingers curling into the fabric like he was holding himself back from reaching out to you. You wanted those hands on you—needed them. You imagined them sliding up your thighs, gripping your hips, pulling you down onto his lap until you were grinding against his coc-

STOP IT! Focus. Answer him.

You swallowed hard, your voice shaking as you struggled to form a coherent sentence. 

“Be-Because of Sebastian. Because...” Your words trailed off as Ominis stood up slowly, his movements deliberate and hypnotic. "It's nothing," You added quickly, avoiding his gaze at all costs now. He was blind, blind but not fucking stupid.

“Tell me, I know you, I can tell something is bothering you.” He towered over you, his fists clenched at his sides, every muscle in his body taut with restraint. You could see it, feel it—the way he was holding himself back. “If you’re not going to, then, I’m afraid I have a confession to make”. 

He leaned closer and whispered in your ear. Every nerve on your body froze in place, adrenaline pumping through your veins. You held your breath, unable to move or speak as he revealed his darkest desires and secrets.The potion class had triggered something within you both, something that had been buried deep beneath the surface until that moment. 

His minty breath washed over your face like a drug, making your lips twitch and your lungs ache for air. You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath until your chest heaved, drawing in the intoxicating scent of him. 

When he finished his confession, your eyes finally locked with his, burning with shock and realization that you both were now on the same page.  

His lips were so close, you could almost taste them, and it took every shred of your willpower not to lunge forward. With clumsy fingers, you closed the door shut and frantically turned the lock, sealing you both in the dorm.

“Are you even aware of what you just admitted, Gaunt?”. You knew there was no turning back now. Not ever. 

“I am. But I’m afraid I can’t help it. It’s like a spell, a curse, that I can’t break.”

“A curse ?” You repeated. 

Fine, if he thought you as a curse, a curse you were going to be. 

Your body was acting on its own now. He should’ve known the consequences of his actions, should’ve known that his words would unravel you. 

“Is it a curse to love me then?”

He tried to slink away, his back hitting the wall like a cornered animal, but you weren’t having it. Not now, not when the air between you crackled like electricity. 

Fuck. This. Shit. 

You closed the gap, your hands sliding down his sides. Your fingers dug into the soft curve of his ass, molding into the back pockets of his pants. 

He leaned his head back against the wall, feeling you, his breathing becoming a bit more ragged. He could feel the warmth of your hands in his pockets, and the proximity between you two made his heart race. He closed his eyes, and spoke between breaths.

“It’s no curse loving you,” he whispered, his voice thick with lust. “But it’s a fucking curse knowing I could never have you.”

“But here we are,” you purred “inches apart, and still you resist me. Are you afraid of being cursed?”

His body tensed, every muscle coiled like a spring ready to snap. His hands had been gripping the wall behind him. His chest fell up and down more rapidly with the ragged rhythm of a man teetering on the edge of self-control. Your hands traveled all the way up until they reached the hem of his collar, and the way he groaned—low, guttural, desperate—said it all.

“I-I’m not afraid of being cursed. I’m afraid of …myself, of what I might do if you keep doing this to me” He rasped.

His eyes, now dark and hungry, locked onto yours, they were wild, "like a predator stalking it's prey"- fuck no. You weren’t a prey. You were the goddamn hunter, and he was yours.

“I’m not afraid of you, Gaunt…” Your fingers moved with deliberate slowness, unbuttoning his shirt one torturous button at a time. Each pop of fabric felt like an explosion, and his body jerked like he’d been electrocuted.

“We shouldn’t be doing this”

“But here we are…” 

Your lips hovered just inches apart from his, the temptation to give in to sin became nearly unbearable for either of you.

“Kiss me” You commanded. 

His resolve snapped like a cheap rubber band. He crashed his lips against yours in a kiss so deep, so possessive, it felt like he was trying to mark you from the inside out. His tongue invaded your mouth, slick and desperate, mapping every inch of your warmth like he owned it. And you knew he fucking did. His hands were everywhere, greedy, roaming your torso, your curves, your skin. He squeezed your waist like he wanted to leave bruises, his fingers digging into your flesh like he was trying to carve his digits on you. He’d spent too many nights jacking off to the thought of this moment, and now that he had you, he wasn’t going to waste a single goddamn second.

His cock strained against the fabric of his trousers, throbbing with every breath you took against his lips. But your inner devil wanted to play more games before things went further. You pulled back just enough to make him growl, your lips wet from his kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your nails scraping lightly against his skin as you tangled your fingers in his hair. You yanked his head back just enough to make him groan.

“Sebastian kisses me better” you teased.

His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you flush against him so you could feel exactly what you were doing to him.

“Is that so?” he said, a tint of jealousy in his tone “You prefer his kisses?” His hands slid down to your ass, gripping you like he was trying to remind you who you really belonged to.

“I can’t recall… let me taste you again” You smirked, the fucking devil incarnated.

He leaned in again, capturing your lips in another kiss. His tongue sought entrance into your mouth, swirling with yours as you eagerly opened up to him. The taste of you on his lips was exquisite, and your teasing only fueled his desire. 

“More” You moaned. 

That was it. 

He growled into your mouth, not some soft, romantic purr but a deep, primal rumble that vibrated through your lips and straight down to your core. His hands slid under your shirt, cupping your tits like it was his birthright, squeezing them hard enough to make you moan.

Ominis pushed you harder against the door, placing his knee between your legs and forcing you into a sitting position. Your hand lazily traveled down his chest, then down his stomach, lower they went, down to the waistband of his pants, where the outline of his cock strained against the fabric, throbbing with a need so intense it was almost painful. But you, let your hand hover there, taunting him. Your fingers grazed the tip of his shaft through the material, and you heard him groan in anticipation, before you pulled away completely, ignoring it, teasingly denying him what he so desperately craved.

“W-why—” 

“You’re still holding back, Ominis. You are not getting it until I say so” You muttered in his ear.

But little did you know, he could play the same game. Fuck, he could even play it better than you. 

He paused for a moment. His fingers traced a path from your knee, skimming over your thigh with a touch so light it made your skin prickle with goosebumps. Down your skirt, deeper he went, his hand cupping your ass for a moment, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp before he moved on. His fingers danced across your inner thigh, tracing circular patterns that made your legs tremble, until they finally reached the soaked fabric of your panties. You flinched, trying weakly to escape the caress that had already happened.

“Is that so?” He purred with satisfaction, leaning into your neck. “I was holding back for your own good, but now it’s obvious what you really want.” He said before biting into your jugular. 

Oh, how the tables had turned for you. 

“I warned you,” Ominis growled, taking his time to keep ghosting over your entrance, still tamed by a piece of cloth. “but you wouldn’t listen.” He carefully pulled it to the side and spread your legs wider, fully exposing you. You whimpered at his warm touch, feeling your pussy clenching around nothing, begging for his touch. “You never listen”.

With a feather-light caress, he hovered his thumb gently over your clit, almost touching it, causing you to pathetically moan louder in anticipation of what you thought was coming next. 

“Oh? Needy are we?” He chuckled.

But just as quickly as he’d exposed you, he let the fabric snap back into place, the soft cotton brushing against your clit and making you whine. You couldn’t stand the sight of him over you any longer. He had barely touched you and you’d succumbed so easily. You thought you had him under control, but it turned out to be the other way around. 

Your hips bucked instinctively, desperate for more.

“You want me to touch you?” He taunted, his tone dripping with mockery. 

But the words stick in your mouth like thick honey, unable to escape. He grabbed your throat gently, carefully tightening his grip around you, feeling your pulse under his fingertips. Understanding you needed a little push, his fingers roamed back to your core, doing the same ritual he had performed only a few seconds ago. 

“Ss-sspeak.” He commanded.

“Please,” you choked out, your hips grinding. “Please, touch me.”

He chuckled darkly, his fingers final-fucking-ly caressing your entrance, gathering your slick and spreading it over your lips, teasing you until you were practically sobbing. Then, he pushed one finger inside you in one swift motion.

You gasped, your walls clamping down around him. Your slick coated his finger, making every thrust glide in and out of your tight core easier each time. The sound of your musky arousal was painfully loud to you. But for him, it was music to his ears. You opened your eyes and whined loudly, crumbling like sand, little by little under his touch, and he was enjoying every second of it. 

“I bet you look beautiful when you’re like this” Ominis devoured you with his beautiful eyes, looking you dead in the eye as he introduced a second finger in you.

Your body betrayed every ounce of need coursing through your veins.He continued to work you, unhurried, taking his time feeling every shiver your body made when his fingers fucked you, slow and steady, his rhythm maddening. Your clit throbbed, begging for attention, and you couldn’t help but grind against his palm, fucking yourself on his hand.

“You’re such a mess, darling” He teased, his breath hot against your ear. “But you love this, don’t you? Taking my fingers like the good girl you are, writhing around like you can’t get enough.”

You couldn’t even form a coherent response—your brain was mush, your entire body on fire. Your hands clawed at his shirt, desperate for more of him. He didn’t stop you. Your fingertips crawled under the fabric when he fastened his tempo on you.

“Please…” You whimpered. You didn’t even know what you were begging for—his cock? His tongue? More of those fucking fingers that were deliciously destroying you from the inside out? All you knew was that you needed him, needed more, and if he didn’t give it to you soon, you were going to lose your goddamn mind.

Your cries were muffled by his palm, but your body was screaming for him, your hips bucking against his hand as you almost reached your peak. But a knock on the door made you both stop.

“Ominis? Are you in there?” Sebastian asked.

The sound of Sallow’s voice was like a bucket of ice water being thrown at both of you. Ominis froze, his fingers buried knuckle-deep in your cunt. The slick, obscene sound of them sliding out of you was almost as loud as your sharp gasp. You could feel your juices trickling down your thighs, hot and sticky, as his fingers finally left you empty. His hold on you loosened, making your feet find the ground. He rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in heavy and fast rasps.

“Answer him” You whispered.

“Yess-ss…” He forced out the words, dragging them like a snake's hiss. His annoyance at being interrupted only heightened the tension in his voice. 

Sebastian’s voice came again, a loud whisper. “Ominis, I swear to Merlin, if you’re jerking off in there—”

But the sound of other voices echoed throughout the corridor, indicating that Sebastian was being distracted by other students, meaning you’d have time to hide… or think of another solution. 

Right?

Wrong.

You were drowning in Ominis Gaunt, your head swimming with the thick, intoxicating scent of his body, your mind haze-drunk on the forbidden. Your trembling fingers fumbled clumsily at the last button of his shirt. It popped free, and there it was—his chest, a landscape of goosebumps rising under your greedy gaze. His breath hitched, his cock already straining again and again against his pants, begging for release. 

“This is wrong, so wrong...” he muttered.

But his words were hypocritical, a pathetic attempt to gain his restraint back. His hands were already on you, yanking your shirt up and over your head like a man possessed. The fabric hit the floor, and there you were—bare, exposed, your tits bouncing free, your nipples hard and begging for his mouth. He closed his eyes and inhaled, he wanted to devour you whole, and of course, you wanted him to.

His hands hovered over your chest, trembling, hesitant, like he was scared of the power he had over you. But then his fingers brushed your nipples, and fuck, the spark that shot through you was almost deathly. You bit your lip to stifle the moan, but it was a losing battle. 

His teeth sank into your shoulder, his hands digging into your sides hard. You shivered, but he held you down, his body pinning yours. His tongue dragged a wet trail from your shoulder to your collarbone. He moved lower, his mouth closing over one of your tits. His tongue grazing your nipple. He bit down gently, then harder, and the pain melted into pleasure, your skin burning where his mouth had been.

“Shh,” he growled, slapping a hand over your mouth before you could scream. But it was too late—your moan spilled into his palm, muffled but still filthy, the sound of pure desperation.

“So, you are busy then?” Sebastian's insistence grated on Ominis' nerves. He stopped paying you attention and got closer to the door.

“I am not- WhatdoyouwantSebass-sstian?” He snapped

"Oh? Not busy then?" You whispered with a smirk.

Your hands roamed down this stomach until they found exactly where he needed you the most. Your fingers danced over the waistband of his pants, teasing the lace ties that kept his cock hidden away. Ominis’ body betrayed him, his cheeks flushing a deep, sinful red as he tried—half-heartedly to swat your hands away.

“Don’t you d—” he started, but the words dissolved into a choked moan as you yanked the lace free, his cock springing out with a hungry, throbbing eagerness.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his breath hitching as you dropped to your knees before him.

It was a pure and sinful invitation: veins pulsing and pre-cum glistening at the tip. You didn’t waste time. Your hands wrapped around his cock, fingers clumsily exploring the heat and hardness of him, feeling the way his cock twitched in your hand, desperate for more.

“Then if I come in, I wouldn’t be interrupting anything, right?” Sebastian insisted.

Ominis’ grip on the doorframe tightened, his knuckles turning white as he fought to keep his voice steady.

“No” he managed to answer, but the word was brittle, already cracking under the pressure.

“No?” you teased, your tongue darting out to taste the head of his cock, tasting the salt of his arousal.

His flavor was intoxicating, you couldn’t get enough. You wrapped your lips around him slowly, taking him inch by inch into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the sensitive underside of his shaft. Ominis’ breath hitched, a low, guttural groan escaping him as he gripped your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands with a possessive urgency.

“Actually, yess-ss you are interrupting.” Ominis stammered, his voice trembling as he tried to maintain the illusion of control. But you weren’t about to let him pretend.

Your hands roamed lower, tugging at his pants until they hit the floor in a crumpled heap, leaving him completely bare before you. His skin was pale and smooth, marked by a couple of moles spread like constellations over him and the faint trails of your nails as they dug into his thighs, leaving red scratches in their wake. He didn’t seem to mind—in fact, he seemed to fucking revel in it, his hips bucking forward as you took him deeper into your mouth. His grip on your hair tightened, guiding your head back and forth with a slow, deliberate rhythm that had him biting down on his lip. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room—wet, filthy, and utterly obscene.

Ominis’ eyes fluttered shut, his head thudding against the door as he lost himself in the sensation. His thumb brushed over your lips, smearing the spit that dripped down your chin, feeling with his hands on your cheeks, his cock fucking your mouth with slow, shallow thrusts.

But just as you began to drink in the full, glorious image of him—his cock slick and swollen fucking you, his body trembling with need—he closed your eyes with a gentle caress of his hand, his thumb resting on the edge of your mouth, feeling the friction of his cock in you.

The wet sounds of your lips wrapped around him grew louder, more frantic, and Ominis’ control was slipping fast. His hips jerked forward, his cock hitting the back of your throat in a way that had you gagging, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. But he didn’t care—he didn’t fucking care. All that mattered was the way your mouth felt around him, the way your throat tightened as he pushed himself deeper, the way your hands clawed at his thighs like you were desperate for something to hold onto.

“Ominis?” Sebastian’s voice was sharper now, more insistent. “Are you with... someone?”

“I-I’m relaxx-xxing…okay?” Ominis said between his teeth. 

He was having you on a golden platter. Just for him. And he was starving. His hand fisted in your hair, slowly yanking you onto his dick. You squint one eye open, catching a glimpse of his abs flexing, his hips driving deeper, harder, until your nose pressed into his base. The sound of a soft pop broke the trance as he pulled his slick cock from your mouth, leaving a shimmering thread of spit dangling between your swollen lips and him.

"You're such a good girl" he growled in approval. His fingers traced your jawline, smearing spit across your cheek as he smirked down at you. “But let’s not forget—ladies first.”

He helped you up, not giving you time to react when he hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slowly, leaving you only with your skirt on. He pressed you against the door, teeth sinking into the back of your neck. He hissed against your ear, something you didn’t understand in Parselmouth.

“I said, bend for me ” He commanded.

You felt his hand pressing down on your back, forcing you to arch and present your ass to him like an offering. You reached behind you, desperate to feel the heat of his cock, but Sebastian interrupted again. 

“Ominis, open the fucking door!” 

Sallow was getting impatient, you could tell, and it was a matter of time before he casted Alohomora on the lock. You immediately stood straight, sick and tired of being interrupted over and over again.You turned to Ominis, breaking the moment for him, who was already kneeled. He looked angrily at you, like if you’d interrupted his meal… And well, you kinda did. 

FOR FUCKS SAKE. 

Can’t a girl just get a pleasent fuck in peace?

You opened the door boldly, just to find Sebastian with his ear pressed against the door. He froze in surprise as you quickly pulled him inside, closing the door behind you. 

Ominis remained on his knees, motionless and stunned. Did you just open the door to Sebastian, mid-fuck?.

“There, happy?!” You said, but it quickly dawned on you what you’ve just done. 

Well, shit.

After the longest awkward silence ever, Sebastian finally reacted. 

"I knew it! I knew it," He began to panic, his hand running frantically through his hair. The glint of tears glistened in his eyes as a feeling of betrayal consumed him. "I knew you were both going to do this to me sooner or later. I knew you'd betray me. How could you do this to me? I've done nothing to deserve this." Tears streamed down his face.

But there was something about seeing Ominis slim naked body for the first time that made Sebastian unable to take his eyes off of him when the blonde stood up from the floor. And then, there was you—knees dirty, thighs slick with sweat and finger marks, and your hair all disheveled. He tried to brush off the strange feeling that had started building on his chest. It was betrayal, yes, but also something more.

“Relaxing, Ominis? Fucking relaxing?” Sebastian spat, his voice dripping with sarcasm, his eyes flickering between Ominis and you “Did you two—?”

“No,” you cut him off, but your voice was shaky, breathless.

Not yet…

But Sebastian wasn’t buying it. Not for a second.

“How long has this been going on?” Sebastian’s voice was low, as he dropped onto the nearest bed, his thighs spreading slightly. His pants strained against the bulge that was already pushing against the zipper. He shouldn’t be this turned on, could he? He should be furious, raging at the betrayal of watching you and Ominis together. But all he felt was heat—a molten desire that coiled in his gut.

“Just today,” Ominis answered, his voice steady, calm, like he wasn’t standing there with his dick out and his lips still swollen from kissing you.

Fuck, even his voice was enough to make Sebastian’s breath hitch.

“Just today,” Sebastian repeated, his tone mocking.

He shifted uncomfortably, trying to cross his legs to hide the massive tent in his pants, but it was no use. The outline of his cock was obvious, straining against the green pattern trousers, throbbing with every beat of his heart. His breath came in short, sharp bursts, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides to keep from reaching out and grabbing you both.

He shouldn’t want this. He shouldn’t. But goddamn, the sight of you two together—naked, sweaty, and still catching your breath—was enough to make his head spin. Sebastian’s stomach twisted, not with anger, but with a hunger so fucking raw it might as well have been feral.

Ominis stepped closer. He knew his best friend too well to not get the silent hint. “You’re enjoying this,” he said, his voice low and teasing. It wasn’t a question.

Sebastian’s jaw clenched, but he couldn’t deny it.

“Shut up,” he growled, but there was no bite to it. His hands twitched, itching to touch, to grab, to claim.

And then Ominis did something that made Sebastian’s brain short-circuit. He dropped to his knees in front of him, his hands resting on Sebastian’s thighs. He looked up at him through his blonde lashes.

“You smelled us both in your Amortentia potion didn’t you?,” Ominis purred, his breath hot against his crotch. “That’s why you’ve been so defensive and… jealous.”

You moved closer to them, finally understanding everything. Your fingers glided through their hair with deliberate intent, locking eyes with Sebastian. More tears clinging to his dark lashes, betraying the turmoil within him as he struggled to accept the desire that burned inside him. 

“Cinnamon and mint” He confessed in a low whisper.

He looked at you with watery eyes, and clumsily, unzipped your skirt. He kissed your lower belly, taking in your sweet scent.

You caressed his cheek as you sat behind him, your fingers deftly navigated the buttons of his shirt, each pop echoing like a thunderclap of liberation. As the fabric slipped away, his freckled back emerged, vulnerable and exposed. You enveloped him in an embrace, the press of your chest against his back a soothing balm to his chaotic soul. He exhaled deeply, surrendering to the raw emotions he had finally acknowledged. His head fell back with a groan, resting on your shoulder, his fingers tangling in Ominis’ hair as the blonde worked quickly to free Sebastian’s cock from its confines.

“Close your eyes, darling” You whispered in his ear as your palms caressed his eyelids, closing them, then proceeded to roamed his body, all the way to the base of his cock.

Ominis wrapped his lips around the tip, swirling his tongue around the sensitive head before sinking down further.

Sebastian was fucking gone. He didn’t know where he ended and you two began. His hips jerked upward as Ominis worked him, and his breath was caught on his throat at your hands, one on his groin, and the other one around his neck, tightening little by little with each thrust his hips did. 

“You’re so warm” Sebastian exhaled breathlessly. “You feel so good, so fucking good”

“Just enjoy this, Sebs,” You muttered as your hand wrapped around his throat “and be a good boy” 

A cry rolled from his lips as Ominis fastened his tempo on him, his hands roaming his thighs, pulling him deeper into him. 

“I’m gonna cum. Stop…” Sebastian pleaded. “Stop”

“Manners, Sebastian?” You whispered.

Ominis pulled away with a loud pop, but his hand quickly replaced his mouth and kept working him. 

“Well?” Ominis insisted.

“P-Please” When Sebastian said the magic word, Ominis then stopped. 

“Good boy” Ominis praised before crawling into the bed with you, where you both guided Sebastian to join you. 

You positioned yourself between the two of them, so that you could reach both of their mouths with yours. You pulled Ominis into a primal kiss, your tongues tangling together as he moaned into your mouth, your hands gripping his hair as he devoured you. His hands were everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, cupping your tits like he wanted to eat you whole.

At the same time, you took Sebastian's hands and guided them to your breasts as well, encouraging him to explore your body however he liked, moaning as he cupped them, his rough fingers toying with your nipples, pinching them just hard enough to make you gasp against Ominis’ lips. His cock throbbed against your back, leaving a sticky trail of precum on your skin as you ground yourself against him involuntarily. You could feel his tongue on your neck, his teeth sinking into your flesh, sucking and biting.

Then, you grabbed Ominis’ hand and guided it to Sebastian’s neck, giving Sebastian the green light to finally kiss the man he’d been craving. And thank the gods you did. 

Their lips met in a kiss so hot it should’ve set the room on fire. Their tongues tangled, slick and desperate, their cocks pressing against you from both sides, front and back, like they were trying to carve you with their hardness. You reached down and wrapped your hands around their cocks. They were both so hard it felt like steel in your grip. Precum dripped from their tips as you started stroking them—slowly, painfully slowly—spreading their slickness up and down their shafts, your fingers sliding over every vein and ridge. Ominis moaned into Sebastian’s mouth, his hips bucking into your hand, while Sebastian’s breath hitched.

You were the fucking conductor of this depraved symphony, your body writhing between them, your hands working their cocks with a rhythm that had them both on the edge of losing it. You could feel Ominis’ cock throbbing in your grip, his breath coming in ragged gasps, while Sebastian’s hips were jerking uncontrollably. 

When you felt they were about to reach their peak, you stopped. Therefore, they did too, panting and regaining their senses. You shifted to face Sebastian, his lips slick with spit crashing into yours as your body moved with a purpose, getting in four, offering yourself to Ominis first.

Sebastian’s eyes went wide, his cock twitching at the sight of you, your ass presented to his best friend, and your lips parted and waiting for him.

The blonde’s cock teased your entrance, the tip of him brushing under your folds a few times, brushing your clit and making you shiver. He was thick, his shaft heavy with need, and you could feel the heat of him as he pressed against you.

“Fuck me,” You commanded.

And either of them need to be told twice. Sebastian came forward in an instant, his cock in his palm, hovering over your mouth, the tip dripping with precum that you licked up like it was candy. Your tongue swirled around the head, teasing the slit before taking him deep into your throat. Your hands reached up to grip his hips, pulling him closer as you sucked him like your life depended on it.

Meanwhile, Ominis was pushing inside you, his cock finally stretching you open in the most delicious fucking way. Your pussy clenched around him, feeling him, greedy for every inch as he filled you up. His hips snapped forward, driving himself deep as he let out a guttural moan. His hands were on your ass, holding you open as he fucked you.

Your moans vibrate on Sebastian’s cock, making Ominis slide a hand down your back to your scalp, making you take Sebastian even deeper with each thrust. 

“You’re taking us both so well.” 

Sebastian reached to your cheek, brushing off a tear that had begun to roll down your face. His other hand was in your hair, gripping it tight as he used your mouth. 

But then his eyes flicked over to Ominis, and his rhythm faltered for just a second. The jealousy hit Sebastian like a fist to the gut.

“Fuck,” Sebastian growled “why does he get to be in you first?” His hips jerked harder, driving his cock down your throat until you choked “You like his cock better than mine?” 

You were able to moan a “no”  in response but Ominis cut you off right away.

“Don’t lie,” Ominis purred, squeezing your buttcheeks harder with each thrust. 

“I’m gonna cum,” Sebastian warned, his voice strangled as he kept fucking your throat. 

You didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, your tongue working him over as Ominis pounded into you from behind. The symphony of the wet sounds of your pussy taking Ominis’ cock, the choked moans coming from Sebastian as he fucked your face filled the entire dorm.

And then it happened. Sebastian came with a quiet shout, his cock pulsing as he shot load after load down your throat. You swallowed every single drop, your eyes rolling back as Ominis kept hitting your sweet spot. 

Sebastian’s hands were firm as he helped you up, carefully to not interrupt Ominis. His lips crashed into yours, hungry and possessive, the taste of himself still fresh on your tongue—salty, primal, and his. Your nails dug into his chest as the pure ecstasy of the moment consumed you.

When Ominis felt he was about to cum, he stopped and grabbed you from behind and trailed kisses down your back. You moaned at the loss of his cock in you.

“Not yet…” He teased. 

His lips trailed down and up your back, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses that made you shiver. His teeth sunk into the tender flesh of your neck, and you let out a gasp, your body arching against him as his fingers pinched your nipples—hard, just the way you fucking liked it.

“You’re more mine than you are hiss-ss,” Ominis growled into your ear in Parselmouth, his voice dripping with dominance, and a moan tumbled from your lips, raw and unfiltered.

Your hardened nipples were an open invitation to Sebastian’s mouth, which he immediately accepted, ruthless and hungry as he descended on your tits, sucking one hardened nipple into his mouth while his fingers pinched and twisted the other. Your back arched as you ground yourself against his hand, needing more, needing everything. Sebastian’s fingers plunged into your slick pussy, curling deep inside you, hitting that sweet spot over and over again. Your juices coated his fingers, sticky and warm, as he pumped them in and out, until he had to hold you so you could stand still. Ominis grabbed your hips in place, and tightened his grip around your neck until he could feel the pulsing of your heart on your throat. His cock slid under your ass cheeks until he felt Sebastian fingers.

“You were the one who opened the door, remember?” Ominis whispered as he bit the shell of your ear. “How does it feel like to have both of us fucking you?”

The words trying to leave your throat weren’t coherent, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, your body was a quivering mess of pleasure and pain as they fucked you, tearing you apart and putting you back together with every thrust, every touch.

“You’re so perfect,” Sebastian growled, his lips brushing against your other ear, his voice rough with desire. “Your pussy’s like fucking velvet.”

You reached your climax, yes, but they didn’t stop, they accompanied you further in the waves of your first orgasm, their bodies moving in perfect harmony with yours.

Sebastian’s grin was predatory, he spun you around so you could face Ominis, his fingers—still slick with your arousal���pressed against your lips from behind. Your mouth opened like a reflex, your tongue flicking out to taste yourself, the tang of your juices mingling with the salt of your sweat. 

Ominis couldn’t resist you. His forearms hooked under the back of your knees, pulling your legs wide open. Sebastian’s chest pressed against your back, pinning you in place as Ominis slid the head of his cock into your dripping cunt with one smooth, deliberate thrust. You gasped, the stretch of him almost too much, but fuck, it felt good.

He buried himself into your pussy. The obscene slaps of his hips against your pelvis echoed in the room, and you could feel every vein, every ridge of his cock as he pulled out and slammed back in. You glanced down—couldn’t help it—and saw your tits bouncing up and down and his cock disappearing into your slick.

“You like watching him fuck you?” Sebastian purred in your ear, his voice dripping with mockery and lust. You nod. “You like seeing him penetrate you, don’t you? Say it so he can hear you admit it”.

“Ye-Yes, I l-love it” You said between breaths.

Ominis’ hands gripped your hips harder, pulling you back onto his cock with every thrust. You were fucking drowning in sensation, your pussy throbbing around him, your clit still tingling from your previous climax.

Your second orgasm hit you like a mad train, and Ominis didn’t fucking stop. He drove into you harder, faster, his cock slamming into that sweet spot inside you until you were screaming, your body shaking like a leaf, prolonging your ecstasy. He pulled out at the last second, his cock jerking as he painted your stomach with thick ropes of cum, each shot followed by a low, guttural growl.

And then... then they were gentle. Sebastian’s fingers brushed the hair from your face as Ominis pressed soft kisses to the nape of your neck. They cleaned you up with tender care, their voices low and soothing as they whispered sweet nothings into your ear. You leaned into their touch, your clumsy hands roaming their bodies as they showered you with affection.

For all the filth they’d just put you through, they knew how to make you feel like a queen after. But you knew this was far from over.

“Lay down,” Sebastian then commanded in a whisper, and you both obeyed instantly.

Sebastian laid on his side next to Ominis, wrapping his hand around Ominis’ cock, his strokes fast and relentless, keeping his friend’s dick hard. 

And you? You had some making up to do for interrupting Ominis’ meal earlier. You crawled toward the wooden bedframe, your thighs framing Ominis’ head like a crown. He didn’t waste a second. His forearms hooked down your thighs, making you sit. His tongue dove into your cunt, lapping up every drop of your -and his- arousal, his nose pressed against your clit, his breath hot against your slick folds. You ground yourself against his face as his tongue worked you tenderly, his lips sucking and nibbling at your sensitive flesh.

Sebastian’s hand was slick with sweat and something stickier as he worked Ominis’ cock, stroking him with a rhythm that was almost musical. Sebastian’s mouth left a trail of possessive kisses and sharp little bites that made Ominis hiss and writhe beneath him. 

Sebastian’s tongue found the scar just below the V of Ominis’ hips—a jagged, pale line that told a silly childhood story. He licked it with a tenderness that was almost mocking, the heat of his mouth making Ominis’ back arch.

“Ss-sSebastian" The word was muffled by your body above him. But you hear it. Sebastian heard it. Probably the whole fucking common room heard it. 

Sebastian responded, like a dog being called by its master. He dropped his head, swallowing him down to the root in one smooth motion. The wet, slurping sounds he was making were loud, obscene and totally on purpose so you could hear what he was doing. 

And it fucking worked. 

You climbed off Ominis, your thighs trembling, as he licked his lips clean with a shameless moan. You kissed your way down his chest, your tongue tracing the ridges of his abs, your hands roaming lower while Sebastian continued to blow him with lips and tongue, his eyes closed, lost in the rhythm. Your fingers laced with his brunette hair, encouraging to take Ominis even deeper. 

“He looks so pretty with his lips around your cock, Ominis” You teased, caressing his groins, seeing how he twitched even more at your touch. 

“Ss-Sebastian fucking Ss-Ssssallow,” Ominis hissed again, his voice a broken rasp, his hips bucking up into Sebastian’s mouth.

You switched places with Sebastian then, positioning yourself between their tangled legs like some kind of snake. Both men were devouring each other, their hands couldn’t get enough of their skin, pushing and pulling into primal wet kisses, their cocks like two concrete towers framing the scene. 

Your mouth found Sebastian’s entrance, teasing it with slow, torturous licks while your hands worked them both at once—Sebastian’s cock heavy and hard in your palm, Ominis’ slick with spit and pre-cum on the other.

You took both of their fluids and began to caress Sebastian’s hole, preparing him for what you knew it was coming. It was so obvious, even Ominis could see it. Your fingers pushed into Sebastian, stretching him open with slow, firm motions while your mouth worked Ominis now, taking him deep until you choked on him. Sebastian moaned at the intrusion, his body opening up for you like a fucking flower, his hole clenching around your fingers like he was begging for more.

It was obvious—painfully obvious—what he wanted. 

Ominis sat and pulled you up with him, raining kisses over your arm and shoulder as he laid you on your back next to Sebastian. You eased yourself onto the cool sheets, allowing your legs to fall open invitingly as Sebastian rolled over you.

He sat on his knees just on top of you, taking in the sight of your beautiful and vulnerable position beneath him. He noticed your legs trembling -obviously, right?- so he took them up to his shoulders and kissed them from your feet all the way to your knees. At the same time, Ominis' hands danced across Sebastian's body, fingertips eagerly exploring every contour and curve of his chest as if trying to memorize its exact topography. Going behind him, he leaned in close to Sebastian, pressing fevered kisses along his back, causing him to arch into the sensation. The arousal coursing through him manifested itself in his throbbing erection, leaking in anticipation.

You were there too, grinding your hips up against Sallow, inviting him. You watched, your breath hitching, as he dragged his spit-slick fingers down to your pussy, the coldness of it making you gasp as he circled your clit. 

Ominis’ hands slid lower, gripping Sebastian’s ass as he pushed himself between the man’s thighs. Sebastian groaned, his forehead falling into yours as Ominis pressed his erection against him, teasing the rim of his ass with his cock. You could see the way Sebastian’s body trembled, caught between the pleasure of your heat below and the promise of Ominis’ intrusion behind.

You positioned Sebastian’s cock at your entrance, just before Ominis pushed into him, slow but firm, making Sebastian gasp, his muscles tightening around the invading length.

“Fuck, ah” Sebastian moaned, the word rough and broken, like it had been dragged out of him.

Your hands roamed his body, feeling his muscles tense and relax as Ominis fucked him from behind. Sebastian’s hips rocked forward, his cock parting your folds, and making you whine in pleasure as you could feel, and see, both of them. 

Ominis controlled you both, and he knew it. He leaned over Sebastian, his breath hot against the man’s ear as he whispered:

“You’ve been waiting for this moment, haven’t you? And look at her—look how she’s taking you. Look how you’re fucking her.”

Sebastian’s hazel eyes locked onto yours, glassy with pleasure, his lips parted as he panted. You could see the desperation in his gaze, the way his body trembled as Ominis fucked him harder, deeper, his thrusts sending Sebastian’s cock slamming into your pussy with a wet, obscene slap. You reached up, your nails digging into his shoulder blades as you rode the wave of pleasure that was threatening to consume you.

“Tell me how good I’m making you feel” Ominis commanded. 

“ Fucking g-good” Sebastian cried. 

And then you realized—he wasn’t just talking to Sebastian. He was talking to you. You opened your mouth to speak, but all that came out was a moan, a high, keening sound that was drowned out by the wet slap of skin on skin.

“Tell me” he insisted

“So good,” you moaned, your voice trembling as Sebastian’s cock hit that spot inside you that made your vision blur. “So fucking good—fuck—”

“That’s it,” he purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Take it all.”

And you did. You took everything they gave you, your body writhing as pleasure built in your core like a storm. You could feel Sebastian’s cock twitching inside you.

The mattress creaked under you three, the bedframe was pounding the wall almost as hard as Ominis was pounding both of you. Your lips locked onto Sebastian’s in a messy, desperate kiss that left your mouths slick with spit. His hands clawed at the bedframe, his knuckles white as he tried to hold on, but his arms trembled like he was about to collapse from the sheer intensity of it.

As you came with a scream, your core clenched around him. Right after you, Sebastian came hard, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled you up with his hot, sticky cum. Ominis too—he buried himself to the hilt in Sebastian’s ass, his cock twitching as he emptied himself deep inside.

The room was a fucking mess— Sebastian collapsed onto the bed beside you, his chest heaving as he stared up at the ceiling, a lazy smile spreading across his face. His dark hair was a mess, sticking to his forehead, his lips were swollen.

“Fuck,” you muttered, noticing your thighs were still trembling “I think I just saw Merlin.”

Ominis chuckled. He joined you both and leaned back against the headboard, his chest rising and falling as he traced a finger down your side, his touch sending shivers through your oversensitive skin.

“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice low and dripping with smug arrogance.

Sebastian reached out as well, his fingers brushing against your stomach, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. “You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost tender. “We didn’t break you, did we?”

Oh, but you were broken—shattered into a thousand little pieces, your body a wreck of pleasure and exhaustion, your pussy still throbbing, your skin sticky, but you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so... satisfied.

“I’m more than fine,” you managed to rasp. “Don’t worry.”

Ominis, the gentle lover he was despite the filth he’d just unleashed on your body, leaned in to press soft kisses on the curve of your neck, his lips lingering against the pulse point that still fluttered wildly. Sebastian followed, nibbling at your shoulder, his teeth grazing the skin just enough to make you shiver. The three of you lay there, enveloped in the afterglow of your masterpiece of depravity.

👉 Are there any grammar mistakes? Probably. Will I fix them? No. Thank you 😃 Happy HL Anniversary & early Valentines Day! ✨🫰

[girl-named-matty]

Sharing a bed with the Boys (Hogwarts Legacy Headcanons)

Sharing a bed with the boys. Tags: Fluff, Sharing a bed, gn!reader, Sebastian x Reader, Ominis x Reader, Garreth x Reader, Leander x Reader. (this is barely proofread haha) Rating: General Audiences

Summary: My Headcanons for sharing a bed with the boys!

Sebastian:

When you first asked him if he wanted to share a bed, he practically jumped straight in it. He was so excited. 

But that was just the first time. 

He stays up reading almost every night so good luck getting him into that bed in the first place after that. 

And by late I mean genuinely unholy hours of the night kinda staying up and he wonders why he looks so tired. 

If you do eventually get him in bed, it doesn’t take him long to actually fall asleep. Aside from the constant lack of sleep he usually gets, he’s always been one to fall asleep quickly. 

He is a human body heater. 

Some nights you may not even need a blanket because he’s just that warm. 

I feel like Seb would be the kind of guy to practically sleep on top of you. Like not enough to crush you but instead it feels like a really nice weighted (and warm) blanket. 

Except for this blanket snores. 

Loud 

I’m sorry I don’t make the rules. 

Sometimes it's really annoying to share a bed with him and other times it's really nice. 

If he ever comes to bed early, it’s how you know he’s had a rough day and just needs to be in your arms for comfort. ..

Ominis:

Unlike Sebastian who would totally be up to sharing a bed, he would be more hesitant. 

It’s not like he doesn’t want to, per se, but he’s used to having his own space and he’s not necessarily the most touchy person. But eventually, he says he’s ready. 

Kinda awkward the first few nights. He slept with his back towards you and didn't make any physical touch at all. 

But after a couple of nights, he slowly starts making the shift to get closer to you and he comes to enjoy it. 

After that, he finds it hard to sleep without you. 

Due to not having the best childhood, he often has nightmares. And for him his nightmares are extremely unnerving due to the fact that he can’t see anything, only hear things. 

But one of the best parts about sharing a bed with you is the fact that whenever his nightmares wake him up, you’re right there next to him. 

He often finds himself reaching out for you in the middle of the night, just to make sure you’re still there. 

 He’s definitely a side sleeper so sometimes you’ll sleep in the spooning position together. This also reassures him a lot that you’re still next to him. ..

Garreth: 

Didn’t take long for you two to start sharing a bed at all. 

Since he has so many siblings he probably had to share a bed with one of his brothers at some point in his childhood anyway. 

But just because he might be used to it does not mean he’s easy to share a bed with. 

This boy is a BED HOGGER. 

If you are quite literally not right up against him, you’re falling off the bed. 

You thought Seb gets hot when he sleeps? 

Well, Garreth has him beat by a LONG shot. 

You could probably fry an egg on this man's back just saying. 

But we all know Garreth has that soft tummy action going on so he’s super comfortable and when he’s not hogging the bed, it’s really nice to cuddle up to him. 

When you too are cuddling, he wants to be as close to you as possible. 

So, really, just the sweetest boy to ever exist. ..

Leander: (because he deserves his place on this list) 

He’s similar to Ominis and opposite of Garreth. 

Had very few siblings growing up, probably only one or two so he was used to having his own space. So it took him a while before he was all good with it. 

This boy is lanky af. 

It’s obviously okay. He’s tall, long, lanky, whatever you wanna call it. 

So he probably sleeps with his legs up somehow to keep his feet from hanging off the bed/smacking into the headboard. 

It probably took him a while to get used to cuddling with someone in bed but now that he’s used to it, he loves it. 

He loves it when you sleep on his chest so he can wrap his arms around you and hold you close. 

He’s definitely not a morning person so have fun getting him out of that bed.

Also has really bad bed-head. How do I know this? No man would style his hair the way he does unless he has bed-head so take my word for it. 

100% a cuddler now. ...

Who should I do next? I was thinking Andrew and Amit but lmk in the comments!

[girlsworldillusion]

so this is what falling in love is like?

Ominis Gaunt x Gryffindor Reader

Summary: “Ominis, what — what are you trying to say?”

He breathes your name huskily, and you feel your cheeks tingle with the heat of a fresh flush of blush.

“I’m in love with you,” he says earnestly, more whispering the words than saying them, his hand tightening in yours a fraction more, and all you can do is stare at him in utter shock.

Where a night of studying at the Undercroft grows into something much bigger than you expected.

Rated: Explicit (+18)

Word count: 9k

Artist: (x) @oladcnfthb

Author's Note: My first fanfic of the HP universe. Not the last, if I may have a choice. I hope you all like it, your comments will be greatly appreciated by this poor writer.

English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes you may find.

"And then I heard this girl, Grace Withey, or Whitney, I'm not sure now," the boy mutters thoughtfully before dismissing the question with an exquisite wave of his hand, "either way, she was asking if he had time to offer 'some much needed and much appreciated guidance in the Care of Magical Creatures', like she said. She claimed to be a disaster in that class, though it seemed like she was doing quite well before he arrived, if you ask me."

You bite your lip to hold back a laugh, but keep your eyes closed as you listen to Ominis report the detailed case of the latest romantic incident that simply fell into Sebastian's lap - emphasis on report, as this could never be classified as gossip. Ominis Gaunt has never stooped to the social stratagem that is the art of spreading gossip, as he himself makes a point of reminding you every time that possibility is remotely suggested in some witty comment.

After a long study session, you were both lounging carefree on the opulent burgundy couch set against one wall; a gaudy luxury that you fought tooth and nail to add to the cold expanse of the undercroft so that you could rest while you did some reading, or simply when you were too tired to return to your dormitories. Two tall stacks of books rested on the low table in front of you, some even open and scattered across the carpet on the floor, as well as piles of half-scribbled parchment, inkwells and quills. The flickering flames arranged in the braziers hanging on the walls provided an orange illumination that was both functional and comforting to the eyes. In the cushioned space between you two lay the remains of two boxes of Chocolate Frogs - his clearly opened in a much more elegant manner than yours.

Outside the castle the snow fell without stopping, freezing everything around with its cloud of crystals, but inside the walls you felt safe and warm.

"She was clearly interested in more than just his guidance on creature care."

Despite the suggestive tone, there's a soft smile on your lips as you says this, your feet swinging languidly on the tabletop where they're propped up on top of each other.

"No surprise there." He snorts beside you, a sullen quality to his tone that definitely wasn't there a few seconds ago. "This sort of thing always happens to him. And oh, he's so pompous about it too, really insufferable. It's obvious by now that he can have any girl in school, even some boys I dare say, and he's amply and unfortunately very aware of it. It's annoying that he has that kind of power, if you ask me."

This time you can't help the amused chuckle that escapes your lips, perfectly conjuring behind closed eyelids the sullen pout the man is surely making just by his tone of voice.

"Careful now, Gaunt, some poor unsuspecting person who hears you speak like that might interpret your words as jealousy." Your tone oscillates between a weak attempt at reprimand and amusement, enjoying poking the poor man. "What's wrong, haven't you been getting enough attention from the student masses?"

It was a teasing comment, intentional in the aim of maintaining the fun and pleasant atmosphere that surrounded them. But when a few good seconds pass without him saying anything in return, you slowly allow your eyes to open, staring at the Slytherin sitting next to you.

The first thing you notice is how tense his body is; shoulders rigid and head turned away from you, hands clenched tightly on his thighs. He looks uncomfortable in every tiny line of his tall body. He's not denying what you suggested and you've teased him enough times in the past to know that he should have done so already if he disagreed with your words.

Oh

"I would find such a notion rather unbelievable if that were the case, of course, since this is you we're talking about." You murmur slowly when it becomes obvious he's not going to respond, watching his every reaction intently as you fish for information.

"What—wait, what are you talking about?" He looks a little dazed, tilting his head toward you just a fraction, but you continue your train of thought, taking advantage of the fact that you have his attention once more.

"Well, you're Ominis Gaunt. Not only do you have all that physical representation of cold elegance and an aura of royalty that your House so annoyingly likes to impose, but you're also a member of one of the most notorious families in the wizarding world. It's hard to believe that there isn't a line of lovestruck hearts out there just waiting for an opportunity to date you. I bet you're just as popular as Sebastian these days - you're just more discreet about it than him, obviously."

Your comment, although honest in every word, is made innocently, with no apparent justification for any fuss - just sincere curiosity about the question raised. And that's why you're taken aback by his reaction to you. Even though he remains frozen where he sits with all the grace and refinement of an enchanted lord from a fairy tale, the poor man's cheeks burn with such an intense blush that you quickly find yourself worried that he's about to have some kind of silent breakdown.

"I-it's not quite like that." He straightens his already perfect posture as he brings a limp fist to his lips, covering his sudden stutter with a subtle cough that, in and of itself, carries more pomp than you could ever achieve in your entire life - which, of course, only confirms what you've just said. "While my family is admittedly reputed in the wizarding world, I can assure you that it is not in a good way at all. And it goes without saying that everyone here knows it too. They vacillate between avoiding me as if I've been jinxed with a repulsive Slugulus Eructo or fearing me as if I'll Avada them at the slightest sign of movement. That in itself is a major romance deterrent, you know. I don't blame them, of course. My family's crimes extend to me through the bloodline, whether I like it or not. It's inevitable, really."

You part your lips, all too ready to interrupt what was proving to be the beginning of another session of misplaced guilt from the Slytherin, when you see him smirking. His pale cheeks are still stained with that pink dust, but his lips are stretched in a mischievous pull that actually disguises his embarrassment for a few seconds.

"Besides, although I am, as you well know, completely averse to the dark practices of the Gaunts, I confess to taking advantage of all that reputation, sometimes. It suits me at some very specific moments."

You tilt your head, giving him your best unimpressed look.

"Oh, I am quite aware of that. Your readiness to use the Gaunts' reputation for your own benefit was especially evident that night when you threatened to terrorize my last generation if I opened my mouth about the Undercroft. You certainly know how to make a good point when you put intention behind it."

It washes the smile from his lips so instantly it's almost comical, leaving behind only a kicked, embarrassed expression, the flush in his cheeks highlighting the constellation of beauty marks on his porcelain skin.

"I - I already said I was sorry about that, I was just -"

"Hey, hey, it's okay, it doesn't bother me anymore. I'm just teasing you." You cut him off with a sly smile. "Anyway, you're not going to get away from the real issue here."

Because, well...you really couldn't stop thinking about the suggestiveness of his previous statement. The possibilities - oh - were running through your brain nonstop. So, against your better judgment, and with your cheeks flush with heat, you find yourself pressing him on it.

"I don't understand what exactly you want to know." He mumbles, trying to cover up his embarrassment with a look of disinterest that is too poor to be taken seriously.

"You...have been with someone before, right?" This time you're deadly direct, no hints or openings for half answers. You had a question and you wanted to clear it up, your embarrassment in uttering such words wouldn't be enough to stop you. "Ah, intimately, I mean."

Obviously, it's not the kind of question that a decent lady would have asked a young man of such high prestige as Ominis Gaunt, you imagine. But after everything you've been through since you started your journey at Hogwarts, you feel bolder than the tolerable standard for young ladies, as if you'd lost some of your subtlety somewhere along the way. But how could you not?

More times than you can remember, you've been teetering on the brink of death, facing enemies who didn't think twice about whether or not you were too young for such things. More times than you can remember, you've been responsible for making decisions that would directly impact the lives of many people, even the wizarding world as a whole. The power in your hands, the skills and the often almost unbearable weight that such responsibilities brought to your life, made your mentality run miles ahead of those of your schoolmates - of society, in general. Inevitably, you felt that circumstances had forced you to develop a sense of urgency and raw honesty that even some adults lacked.

It was true that you lacked practical experience in some intimate matters - now mind you, you didn't exactly have a lot of free time for romantic interests and sex, too busy between the Keepers Trials, running tirelessly through the Highlands performing exhausting tasks for every poor soul who crossed your path - tasks that often culminated in your near death - attending the many classes during the day and the intensive study for the O.W.L.s in the library.

It was a true miracle when you managed to find time to sleep in your own bed in the dormitory - more often than not you were so exhausted that you simply lay down wherever you were and took a nap.

The fact was that you weren't exactly experienced in matters of intimacy, not really. There had been a few daring kisses here and there, of course. Even a few curious hands while you were snuggling with a Ravenclaw boy between the shelves of the library, hidden from Madam Scribner's watchful eyes. But you hadn't gone any further than that with anyone - even though the rumors circulating around school were that you and Sebastian Sallow had once been caught in an embarrassing and quite explicit situation in the Prefects' Bathroom. Which, of course, was a blatant lie. You had only been in the Prefects' Bathroom once and it certainly wasn't for any...carnal purposes.

You suspected that it was Sebastian himself who had started such rumors.

Either way, your lack of experience in the field had never bothered you much. Honestly, you didn't have the energy to bother yourself with it more than superficially. But you’d be lying if you denied that the prospect that Ominis, the most unfairly handsome and well-born boy you’ve ever met, might be as inexperienced as you is doesn’t offer a kind of comfort you didn’t even know you needed — as well as a funny thrill of anticipation in your belly.

You blink slowly as you stare at his handsome profile, bracing yourself for more of his cold scowls and frustrated huffs of impatience — perhaps even a sermon on how unladylike it is to ask such questions. He’s very good at sermons. Instead, however, you’re met with something else entirely. The upturned bridge of his nose is stained with blush, as are his cheeks. His unseeing gaze is turned away from you, his lips pressed tightly together, the corners slightly turned down. He looks…nervous? Distressed? You feel bad for pushing him like this. But as blushing and regretful as you are, the thought of what this means makes your heart beat faster by the second. The thought that you were right about your deductions after all makes your throat almost dry.

"H-hey, Ominis," you stammer awkwardly, but he still doesn't tilt his head in your direction. His arms are crossed over his chest like a physical shield, his entire posture screaming barely contained tension, making you slowly pull your feet off the table and adjust yourself on the couch so that you're sitting sideways to face him better. You take a deep breath, but Merlin, the air between you feels heavy now. It's strange, really; you don't think the two of you have ever been this awkward around each other, except for the first time you had a conversation - which was actually more of a threatening monologue on his part than a conversation per se. The regret of having insisted on this subject begins to weigh on your chest - a sincere fear that something that seemed so harmless to you a few minutes ago could be the cause of a crack in the bond you've arduously cultivated with Ominis is taking root in your mind.

You adjust uncomfortably the red hood of the robe around your neck, thinking that it wasn't worth trying to satisfy your curiosity after all - and let it be recorded for all that a Gryffindor knows when to give up their pride and admit to having made a bad decision, no matter how bitter the aftertaste is on your tongue. With a forced smile on your lips and a hand rubbing the back of your head, you silently pray that your next words will ease the heavy mood that has settled in the Undercroft.

"You know what? Let's forget about it. This is really none of my business and I'm sure that -"

"No." Ominis interrupts you shyly, impossibly redder than before and you immediately shut up, eyes wide as you stare at him with your heart wanting to fly out of your chest. "I've never been like this with anyone." The small tremor in his voice indicates how nervous he feels.

It would be comical if it weren't so desperate how by now you were already certain of this statement and yet it still manages to leave you completely speechless when it leaves his lips. The regret of having started this whole thing is ridiculously more overwhelming than before because you simply don't know what to say now that you've heard what you already knew all along. Thinking back now, what in Godric's name did you plan on saying in the first place? He would confess what you suspected to be the truth and then what?

Congrats, that's what you get for being so inappropriately curious.

"T-there was this girl in fourth year and we, well, she kissed me - but it was weird and a complete accident, it only lasted for a second and...and after that I never, you know...I've never been interested in anyone like that...at least not until -"

You think you might just burst into a ball of flames from how scorching your skin is, and Ominis is obviously as disturbingly embarrassed as you are because he's gesticulating with his hands and babbling nonstop, his nervousness causing him to reveal far more than you had initially asked, making both of you more awkward by the second.

Oh. Oh, Merlin. He hadn't even kissed anyone. At least not really.

What are you supposed to do with this information?!

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly, sighing so deeply that his shoulders slump with the movement, deflating the way a balloon punctured by a needle would. 

Despite your brutal state of embarrassment, you frown, leaning forward on the couch so that you’re a little closer to him. “Sorry? Why are you sorry? I’m the one who asked you things that didn’t concern me. If anything, I’m the one who should be apologizing to you.”

Ominis gives you a shy smile that lacks any sincere joy. “I know, but still. I mean, I shouldn’t have — it’s weird for me to say these things about you, even though I’ve wanted to say them for a while. But I didn’t — I just didn’t want it to be this disastrous.”

In retrospect, you think this might all just be a trick of your overactive imagination. It's quite possible that you simply blacked out while Ominis was telling you about Sebastian's latest romantic endeavor - in his deep, soft voice - and that this is all just a dream.

It's a very plausible option, given that this has happened before. His presence, always so calm and controlled, combined with his mesmerizing baritone have guided you into a lethargic state of drowsiness more times than you can remember. It's just how he makes you feel - relaxed and safe.

Yes, that's what's happening once again. It has to be. Why, for heaven's sake, can't you have just heard what you think you heard, right?

But the way he stands there, serious features and a deep blush on his face, waiting for your answer with a visible degree of insecurity in his normally impassive being, is what makes you finally say something.

"W-was that about me?" You let out quietly, your racing heartbeat somehow accelerating even more, to the point where you question the harm this would do to your health. "When you said you've never been interested in anyone like that, at least until..." you continue, trying to bring some semblance of order to your thoughts, "was it me you were talking about then?"

It took a few seconds before he nodded once.

"I've wanted to talk to you about this for a long time. But there was always something going on - someone you needed to help, a poor creature needing to be rescued in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, a Goblin Helm to be recovered in a cursed cave far away from here..." he chuckles softly and you find yourself laughing back, shy and gentle, though a long exhale leaves your lips as you feel a bit of lightness begin to permeate the air between you two once more.

He reaches for you hesitant, but gently - oh so gently - places his cold hand above yours on the couch. You don't flinch or avoid his touch, though you still stare for a few seconds at the place where his long, pale fingers cover yours, trying to assimilate the unreal image that unfolds in front of you. And when your gaze rises and finally finds his face, it almost breaks your heart.

Realistically, you know he can’t see anything at all, but that becomes an afterthought in your mind as soon as you look at him. His eyes, bright, pale blue orbs like two moon-like spheres, are tilted and fixed at the exact same level as yours — and in this particular moment, you’re certain he’s seeing you, as impossible as that possibility may be. Swallowing the saliva that’s building in your mouth is suddenly a difficult task, but you force yourself to do it anyway.

"Ominis, what—what are you trying to say?”

You whisper slowly, as if the mere question is a secret between the two of you, the unexpected intensity in his cloudy eyes making your heart stutter as he continues to stare at you, his bushy brows furrowed in an expression that’s hard to discern. Suddenly, you realize how close you’re standing. Nothing but a small gap in the couch separates you, where your hands are clasped together and two boxes of Chocolate Frogs still rest. You can smell him, confunsing your mind as you unconsciously lean a little closer to him — fresh mint, chocolate, and something that reminds you of open parchment or the scent of the pages of a rare book.

He breathes your name huskily, and you feel your cheeks tingle with the heat of a fresh flush of blush.

“I’m in love with you,” he says earnestly, more whispering the words than saying them, his hand tightening in yours a fraction more, and all you can do is stare at him in utter shock. The expression on his face is vulnerable, evidenced by the furrowed lines of his brows in what looks almost like agony. But he’s also determined — a single-minded determination that’s enough to steal the breath from your lungs. "It took me a while to understand it, but I think I've been since the day I met you, to be honest. When you arrived late to the Great Hall, out of breath and in a hurry, but still so ecstatic with everything around you - as if being brutally attacked by a dragon while trying to get to school was no big deal. You've been stunning to me ever since. It was impossible not to be completely enchanted by you."

You're at a loss for words, so you don't even try to find them, opting for silence as you repeat his words on a loop in your mind.

It's strange how you always imagined confessions like this should be made in front of silvery moonlit ponds or in lush meadows during the spring season or literally anywhere that could be considered even remotely inspiring for romance. Certainly not in secret spaces filled with dust, crates and training dummies like the Undercroft. But here you are; overwhelmed and speechless by a declaration made in the last place you imagined you'd receive one.

And oh Merlin, you want to believe him, to entertain the idea that someone as utterly adorable as Ominis could feel that way about you - even though you've never been able to explain to yourself how you really felt about him.

Ominis Gaunt has always been an enigma.

The Slytherin's obvious qualities are nothing new to you; his gentle disposition despite his aloof facade and the weight of his family's unsavory reputation, or his polite and gentlemanly manners towards everyone. But these were attributes that anyone with even the slightest interest in him could see, qualities that didn't set him apart that much from others you knew.

But the truth is that, with time and familiarity, you noticed other distinct peculiarities in Ominis.

Leaving aside his ethereal beauty and his tall, majestic physique, which, again, are very obvious positive traits about him, he was the most captivating man you've ever met. The patience he possessed towards others, the fierce loyalty to you and Sebastian, the fact that despite the long sermons that accompanied it, he was always breaking the promises he made to himself in favor to protect and support those he loved. His far above average intelligence, the way he annoyingly always knows the right thing to say - even, and especially, at the times when you don't want to hear it. And, of course, his most attractive side in your opinion: the unexpected softness in his dark nature - it's about him being able to frighten and silence an entire room with just his imposing presence and still be the one to comfort and care, with kindness and respect.

You certainly understood that Ominis was someone seriously conflicted. The way he sometimes tended towards a cold temperament, or how, at times, he let his emotions guide him to his dark and cold side, did not go unnoticed by you. But still, you saw how he tried hard to let his gentle side prevail in his manner.

But

Did noticing these little details that would normally go unnoticed by others mean that you reciprocate his feelings?

Well, you felt safe with him. Even safer than you felt with Sebastian. While the latter was undeniably a friend you held in high regard (and even a small crush, if you were honest) he did not give you the same sense of complete comfort and trust that Ominis did. With Sebastian you felt like you had to constantly prove yourself, like just being who you were was never enough for him. Now with Ominis...

And as you stare at him, open-mouthed, searching for the right words to respond to his unexpected declaration, you think that maybe that's why you've never been able to put a name to what you felt for him. There was no heady, bubbling, flowery passion to announce any feelings, like there had been with your other brief flirtations before - or even with Sebastian. There was only the warmth, the relief, the peace of feeling whole and completely safe.

The feeling of knowing that if you were in a life-or-death situation and could count on only one person to save you, he would be the one to come to your rescue.

Godric

Realization borns in your chest to the point where you feel like you could float, like the feeling after eating a mouthful of Fizzling Whizzbees. Suddenly, you feel like you have so much to say, but you don't know how. Ominis, as usual, is much more eloquent:

"You wanted to know if I've ever been intimate with anyone, and my answer is no." He seems more hesitant, as if his hopes have been diminished a bit along with your prolonged silence, but his voice is still soft - as is the grip of his fingers on yours. "I've never been intimate with anyone because the only person I've ever wanted to be with was you."

All the air in your lungs leaves you in a sharp exhale, the warmth of deep admiration, affection and trust filling your chest and making your heart beat wildly. Overcome with emotion, you look once more at his hand holding your smaller one, opening your mouth, fumbling for the words in a confusing jumble of vowels and consonants.

"It's okay," Ominis assures you with a sad smile, his large milky eyes slanted downward, staring blindly at where he feels you squeeze his fingers. "I know it's a lot to take in at once. I don't mean to pressure you into anything, I swear. I just, I guess I just needed to tell you how I feel. But I understand if...well...I really understand that you don't feel the same way." His thick eyebrows sink, his face hardening slightly, as if he's already prepared for your rejection.

"Ominis." His name is a sigh from your lips. Touched. Longing.

You don't know how exactly what was supposed to be just another night of studying has brought you here. All you know is that you intend to enjoy every moment of this unexpected confession, eager to discover what new paths it might lead to.

The heat of Ominis so close combined with the way your heart had raced as you focused on his perfectly flushed lips, and how his scent was making your head spin, made you suddenly feel more impulsive than ever. And that's saying something considering your history of questionable choices.

You decide to go for it.

"Can I kiss you?" You ask in a frail whisper as you realize that nothing you could say would be enough to make him understand the emotions you're feeling right now.

His head snaps up at the question, his eyes wide and his lips parted.

"W-what? I mean, yes. Merlin, yes you can -" he breathes quickly, his pale skin stained with a deep blush, his orbs darting aimlessly. "But I've never actually kissed anyone - I might not be as good at it as -"

You cut it.

"I seriously doubt that."

This only makes him blush harder and you almost regret what you said, rushing to save him from the situation.

"B-but I can show you how, if you prefer."

You’re almost breathless at this point, vaguely reminding yourself that you’re no queen of the experience either, but when he nods eagerly, everything flies out the window and it’s like the pulsing muscle in your chest has given up on this whole adrenaline show and simply stopped beating.

Well, that’s it, you think as you push the boxes of Chocolate Frogs onto the rug with trembling fingers and move closer to Ominis until your legs are touching.

You’re almost facing each other on the couch now, his breath fanning your face, gentle and soft, and you stare for a moment into the milky expanse of his eyes. Pale skin dotted with a few beauty marks, perfectly sculpted jaw, elegant nose, flushed lips slightly parted.

For a moment, shame takes over you to the point where you almost turn around and beg him to pretend none of this happened. Almost. But his thumb lovingly caressing your knuckles is what grounds you in this moment once again.

You wouldn’t be a self-respecting Gryffindor if you gave up on your goals over a little embarrassment, would you?

“Right.”

You gently cup Ominis’ jaw between your fingers, delighted when he immediately leans into the touch, unable to hide the small hitch in your breath as you feels his heart rate spike as press on a pulse point.

You lean closer to him than you’ve ever been before, your noses not even four inches apart, his minty breath tickling your face. "Close your eyes, please,” your voice trembles weakly and you wet your lips before continuing, your skin so heated that you’re sure Ominis can feel the flames emanating from it without even touching you, “and then just do what feels right, I guess – let your body guide you.”

You didn’t even know what you were saying anymore, but there he was, bathed in the flames of the braziers and the partial darkness of the Undercroft; his long, thick eyelashes fanning over his flushed cheekbones as he does exactly what you say, more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen in your life.

He keeps one hand covering yours to stroke your fingers back and forth, his other hand, however, is on his own thigh, clenched into a tight fist – like a restraint. Restraint for what? You’re not sure. But the possibilities still conjure a swarm of butterflies in your belly.

Ominis leans in a little closer, almost unconsciously, parting his lips and inhaling audibly as you exhale a soft sound. Your hand slides down the sharp line of his jaw, stroking the curve of his ear with your thumb until you rest your fingers delicately on the back of his neck, guiding him to extinguish the last few inches that separate you as you let your own eyes drift closed. With a tentative brush of your lip against his, you press forward, sealing your lips and your heart with his in that moment.

The first touch is nothing and absolutely everything you imagined.

You sigh.

For the first second you freeze, afraid that you have no idea what you would do now that you finally felt Ominis Gaunt's plush lips on yours, but apparently your previous advice to him is very convenient and your instincts take over the worry almost instantly.

Your lips mold between his like a perfect fit, soft and moist, his heat invading your mouth in shy puffs. You melt almost immediately, letting the kiss remain chaste - a firm but soft pressure, with gentle movements over his.

All tension drains from your body because this is familiar; sweet, warming your body from the inside, like drinking butterbeer with friends in front of a fireplace on a cold winter's day - comfortable, safe. But it also gives you an anxious tingle that makes you unconsciously squeeze your legs together; your stomach twists and turns with funny somersaults, the swarm of butterflies more agitated than ever.

Having your lips collide with his, the softness and fresh taste he exudes, you realize how much you miss this - even if it's the first time you're experiencing it with him. So much for emotional incoherence.

Ominis breathes a shaky, heated breath into your mouth, fingers releasing your hand to grip your wrist in an almost desperate gesture.

You're the first to pull back, suddenly dizzy, blushing even more when he chases your lips for a few inches before stopping himself. Through half-lidded eyes, you watch him slowly begin to open his too, a dazed look on his face, with panting lips and rosy cheeks that make him look both childish and incredibly sinful at the same time.

"O-Ominis," you whisper, panting as if you've just finished climbing one of the mountains in the Highlands. “That was…”

In a game-changing moment, he furrows his brows and locks his jaw once before parting his lips to say, “Can we do this again? I mean, do you want to… will you let me do it again? Like, right now?”

Despite your earlier determination, you find yourself whipped by the abrupt change in his tone. At the restless eagerness in his breathy voice, at the possessive grip on your wrist. How, in the blink of an eye, the tables seem to have been turned and he’s the one taking control now. But inexplicably, your own greed for more collides with his and you find yourself nodding, before remembering that he couldn’t possibly see your silent consent.

“Yes, please…”

Unlike you thought, he doesn’t immediately pull you to his lips. What he does, however, stuns you more than any alternative. His fingers, long and elegant, adorned with a few rings that are surely worth more than your life, close around the sides of your waist as soon as the words leave your lips, hoisting your body off the couch with such blatant ease that it would surprise you if you didn’t have more shocking things to deal with at the moment. Like, for example, the fact that he made you sit facing him.

On his lap.

You gasp, absolutely mortified, but, removed from all logic, you make no move to escape his grip; allowing your legs to remain parted on the sides of his thighs, hips against his, hands gripping his broad shoulders for stability.

Ominis, unlike you, seems quite at ease with the awkward position he’s placed you in, releasing your waist to tentatively raise his cold fingers to your burning face, pale blue eyes intensely and greedily locked on your features - features he could never see. Not in the usual way.

“I can?”

Deeply disturbed by the way he’s looking at you and how quickly things have climbed, you can’t find the words to respond, choosing instead to take both of his wrists in your delicate, trembling fingers and guide his hands to your face. You try to control your rapid breathing as his fingers trace the angles of your eyebrows and jaw and the soft roundness of your cheeks and chin, the icy feel of his rings prickling your skin. His eyes slowly close, his brows furrowed in concentration, as if he’s replicating the image of your face in his mind.

“You always smell like honey and lemon tea leaves.” He murmurs with a satisfied hum, and your eyelashes flutter along with your heart as he traces the arch of your eyebrow and then the line of your nose. Your mouth falls open unconsciously when his fingers touch the softness of your lower lip, and it’s Ominis who gasps this time. You watch in embarrassed ecstasy as his face darkens with a blush, the muscle in his jaw twitching once more, his thick eyelashes fluttering over the apple of his cheeks.

You nervously smooth the green hood of the robe around his neck, playing with the texture of the fabric to distract yourself from the intense emotions that threaten to make you faint.

“Your heart is beating so loud I can hear it from here,” he says softly, tracing the delicate cupid’s bow over your lips, a mischievous tug at the right corner of his mouth.

Your eyes widen a little as you let out a shy giggle, still pretending to maintain a confidence that has surely flown out the window long ago. Ominis once told you that since he lacked the fundamental sense of sight, his other senses have been immensely enhanced over the years, including hearing. And, well, your heart was beating so loudly and unkindly as the quickening footsteps of a Graphorn.

The thorough exploration stops for a moment so he can gently cup your jaw between his thumb and forefinger, and you feel the slightest pressure toward him. He pulls you straight to him.

Your faces are almost touching once more. You feel his soft breath on your cheek, hear his light but greedy intake of breath. His grip tightens the tiniest fraction.

Soft lips press against your cheek.

He doesn’t rush at all. The kiss lingers. A warm, syrupy sensation spreads through your body. Your hands tighten in the fabric around his neck. His lips press a little deeper, the tip of his nose nudging your temple affectionately. A warm sigh blows over your flushed skin before he pulls away. His fingers trail, impossibly soft, along your jaw in comforting movements as he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, your other cheek, and another to the tip of your nose. His contradiction shocks you as much as it always has; how one moment he can be shy and hesitant and the next the most confident and dominant person in the world.

“So beautiful, sweet girl.”

You’re about to scream, bubbles of affection and desire exploding in your chest, your fingers itching to pull him in for another kiss. Wanting — no, needing — his lips on yours once more. You don’t have much control left, though. He’s stolen your confidence and turned it into a messy, tangled puddle of wants. You know what you want, but you don’t dare take it. Not when he’s clearly calling the shots like this. You’re frozen, barely breathing, and only vaguely aware that he’s touching your neck now, tilting your head so your faces are pressed together as he push his lips to yours again.

Merlin, yes

This time you actually shiver beneath his fingers, a helpless noise rising from your throat straight to his mouth. His other hand tightens around your waist, and the one on your neck slides into your hair, his fingers digging into your scalp.

This kiss is clearly different from the last, bolder and hungrier from the first contact. And you actually find yourself questioning the veracity of his claim about being inexperienced at this, because by Merlin' sake, he certainly seems very skilled to you.

You assume this is another one of those inexplicable situations where he’s exceptionally good at whatever it is he sets out to do, even if it’s the first time he’s doing it. The thought almost irritates you, as it reminds you of your first kiss — the one that was an awkward, painful mess of teeth chattering and more saliva than there should have been. But just as quickly as the feeling appears, it’s gone.

Your head feels light and buoyant, and it feels a lot like being enchanted with a Wingardium Leviosa the exact moment his tongue brushes against your bottom lip. Then, all you can seem to hold in your mind is the sensation — the heat of his tongue in your mouth, the almost painful stab as he pulls your head back by your hair, the shocking, abject excitement that surges as he starts to act more roughly. You moan, and he wraps his arm around your back to pull you so close to him that your chests are pressed tightly together.

You’re not sure when you do it, but behind your closed lids you swear you see entire constellations exploding with the sensations he gives you with his kiss.

There’s a certain degree of inexperience in the way his tongue moves inside your mouth, but that’s nothing more than a tiny detail when compared to the absolute hunger with which he seems to want to devour you. His saliva, like all of him, seems to melt on your tongue with the most addictive mint flavor - and, deliciously, the lingering taste of the chocolate you both ate not long ago.

It’s all overwhelming, perfect but overwhelming, and the dizziness comes faster than you could have anticipated, making your movements slower and heavier. A wet breath, a grunt from him, another maddening kiss, lips seeking lips, soft cotton under your fingertips. Ominis’s robe feels like a lifeline, and you grab it with everything you’ve got.

If you focused on something other than the sensation, you might notice how heated you both are and how flushed you look. Maybe you could notice Ominis’ hand gently releasing the death grip of your hand on his robe to place the aching fingers on the back of his head.

Just when your nails unconsciously scrape his scalp to pull a few strands of blond hair between your fingers, Ominis parts his lips between yours to release the most sinful of sounds — something that lies somewhere between a growl and a moan, and the thing goes like a lightning bolt straight between your legs.

It’s you who pulls him back into a feverish kiss this time, wet, breathy sounds escaping you both between the clash of your tongues as you press against each other. You’re hyper-aware of how hard he is beneath you, his length straining against the fabric of his uniform pants, and you blush — but you want him even more. Delicately but purposefully, you catch his swollen bottom lip between your teeth to tug once before licking it, but Ominis gasps so loudly and closes his hand around your neck so unexpectedly that you actually choke on a startled, high-pitched sound.

Regardless of the adrenaline rush the action generates, or perhaps precisely because of it, you brace your knees better on the couch around him, rocking your pelvis against Ominis’s before you even realize what you’re doing, enjoying the strangled gasp he lets out despite the almost fierce grip on yyour throat.

“Again. Do it again,” he breathes against your lips, resting his forehead against yours, and you do. Ominis begins to move too, thrusting his hips up while you thrust yours down, getting into a rhythm that has you both gasping in the silence of the Undercroft, the flames of the braziers the only other noises to be heard around.

His hand slides under your shirt without any warning, over the soft skin of your stomach and to the edge of your bra before pushing it up and over your breast. The shock of his cold fingers on your heated skin is so much that you cry out, your nipple hardening in his broad palm as you push harder against him, and the shuddering gasp that leaves him in response has you aching to touch him too. And, by Godric, has the Undercroft always been this suffocatingly heat?

You pull apart for air as Ominis chases your lips with his, the feverish movements of your hips momentarily ceasing.

“Ominis…?” Your unspoken question hangs in the air between you, curious, thirsty to know how far you both intend to let this go.

His nose brushes against yours, his brows furrowed in anguish, his eyes pale and intense. “Every…Every single time I heard you, or smelled you near, I felt this. This desire. I’ve imagined you, like this, with me. So many times. It’s always been you. I want this so bad.”

“Y-yes,” you whisper as breathlessly as he does, your words a shared secret between you two and the darkness. “I want this too. I want you.”

He sighs in rapture, pressing his grip on your throat a fraction further, kneading his hand over your breast until he catches a nipple between his fingers, teasing the flesh with the cold silver of his signet ring. “Then don’t stop. Don’t you fucking dare stop.”

The commanding quality in his normally restrained tone coupled with his unusual choice of dirty language causes a spontaneous clench in the wet region between your legs. With unsteady fingers you snake your hand under his shirt, mimicking the same liberty he’s taken with you, and feel his back arch in response as you slide your soft and warm palm across the hard planes of his abdomen. With your other hand, you hold a silky handful of his hair, pulling him into a hard kiss as you roll your hips over him again - both of you moaning at the sensual grinding of your intimate parts.

“Baby, just like that -” he breathes shakily as he pulls away from the kiss and turns his head. At first you think he might just be hiding his face in the crook of your neck, but when you feel a pair of warm lips on the delicate flesh of that area your eyes flutter shut.

“Ominis,” is all you can manage to say as you tilt your head to the side for better access and hold him tighter by the grip on the back of his neck, rolling your hips to press yourself against the Slytherin as he begins to gently suck on the sensitive skin.

There are so many layers between the two of you. Ominis’s pants, his underwear, your panties, the heavy robes draped over your bodies, the uniform shirts. Barriers that at the moment only serve to prevent the actual touch of skin on skin. And, Merlin, you want so badly to feel his skin against yours, but you feel like you can’t rush it. Either way, neither of you seem to have the patience for the task at the moment, his mouth on your neck feeling so incredibly good that you can’t think of stopping him from continuing – not even so you can undress.

This intimacy with him already surpasses any practical experience you’ve had, any previous secret make out session. The adrenaline coursing through your veins is more than you’ve ever felt before – more electrifying than raiding Goblin and Ashwinder encampments, more than rescuing a Hippogriff right under Theophilus Harlow’s nose, more than completing a Trial from one of the Keepers. And the sheer euphoria and newness of it all, the overwhelming and unfamiliar sensations, his panting breaths in your ear, the needy grip of his hands on your body, his cock pressed greedily between your legs – and, most of all, the fact that it’s him, is pushing you rapidly towards your inevitable end. You’ll come soon, and for the first time, not from your own fingers.

Ominis licks a particularly hard bite mark he’s just left (in a place that’s going to be pretty troublesome to hide, you think) and pulls back a few inches as you both move together, leaving you alone to deal with the overwhelming image of his face carved in lust; the way his porcelain skin flushes and his kiss swollen mouth opens in a long sigh, pearly eyes half-lidded between his thick lashes as he grinds eagerly against you, the normally perfectly straight strands of hair now messy from your fidgeting fingers, falling across his forehead in a way that’s disturbingly sexy.

“I thought something like this would never happen. I never thought you’d want me the same way. Not someone like me.”

The way he speaks, breathless and feverish, yet so vulnerable and sincere, has you tearing up before you even realize it, sinking your fingers into the space between his chest, right above where his heart flutters like the wings of a Golden Snitch.

“Ominis...you’re so beautiful. You’re perfect. I-I’m so sorry I didn’t notice your feelings before. But I’m here now - you have me now.”

The breath seems to be knocked out of him by your words and you can taste his need as your mouths push together again in a slick mess of saliva and teeth - this time in the right way. Your own mind goes blank, any capacity for thought draining from you as he releases your breast to bring both hands under the skirt of your uniform, possessively grabbing the soft cheeks of your ass between his fingers to pull your body in time with his thrusts.

“Salazar, how can you be so good?” He groans as he breaks the kiss and shamelessly grinds your quivering pussy against his swollen cock, the fabric of his pants growing wet - as much his fault as yours. “Oh, I…fuck, y/n, harder. Harder, baby, please.”

You feel like your face is literally on fire, but you do as you’re told, grinding yourself hard against Ominis and watching with hypnotic attention as his eyes drift closed, his head tilting back against the back of the couch as his hips thrust upwards more roughly. The Adam’s apple in his slender, pale throat bobs with each hard swallow, his skin beginning to glisten with a subtle sheen of sweat. He’s so gorgeous, the sight of him ravished like this is so enchanting that it takes a few seconds for you to realize he’s mumbling something - and a few more seconds for it to sink in that you don’t understand the language.

Because he’s speaking in Parseltongue.

You don’t think he even realizes what he’s doing, considering his reservations about the dialect, too lost in the dizzying rush of pleasure. You are, however, hyperaware of the sounds that flow with hypnotic fluidity from his parted lips; harsh hisses, elongated chirps, vibrant trills of a pink tongue…

You may not understand what he’s saying, but you don’t need to be an expert in the speech to know that it’s definitely not something that should be said in public.

Your cheeks flush as he hisses something that sounds particularly filthy through clenched teeth, skin flushed and eyebrows furrowed in an almost irritated frown — which only makes him more irresistible to your eyes.

You can’t help the way your legs widen to their maximum limits, trying to mold your pussy to the thick line of his cock hidden beneath his pants as best you can.

“Yes, fuck, yes,” he whispers, seemingly back to normal speech (a part of you regrets this), his mouth opening in a guttural moan.

“O-Ominis—” You say, tasting his name in your mouth and it almost sounds like a question, but he fucks himself harder against you, clawing at the flesh of your ass to keep you in place, thrusting his hips into yours until you’re moaning louder — even with the barrier of fabric separating you, you feel it perfectly when the rounded head of his cock manages to hit the exact spot where your clit is.

“Louder,” he growls, lifting his head to you once more, chasing that beautiful sound that came out of your mouth like a starving man. “Let me hear who you’re rubbing yourself against like that.” He leans down and licks a stripe down your throat to your ear.

“Oh, Ominis—” You gasp louder, arching your neck to give him more acess. You can’t even finish your sentence, your lips parted in an “o” as his cock pushes against your pussy in the sweetest way. Your thighs are trembling now, and it feels so good, and you’re going to come, you know you will. “Please, please, you’re going to make me-” the muscles in your stomach are already clenching in anticipation, your back arching, and there’s a high-pitched sound wanting to rip from your throat and you know it’s going to be loud if you can’t control yourself.

“Come on, that’s it, just like that,” he rasps, and your moans grow more intrepid, until they finally turn into desperate gasps as you feel yourself one small step away from the edge.

It feels a little like going crazy, like being out of your mind, just using each other, fucking dirty and rough through your clothes, and you barely realize you’re digging your nails into the skin of his chest until Ominis’s head is jerking back, a sound that fluctuates between a moan of pleasure and pain leaving his lips — even as he murmurs a ‘keep going, please don’t stop.’

“Give it to me, my pretty girl,” he murmurs breathlessly, and you pull the blond strands of his hair between your fingers, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open with sounds that only make his grip on your ass grow greedier. Fuck, that feels good. “Come on, y/n, baby—”

His needy plea is what sends you flying over the edge. Within seconds, your eyes are watering hard, a spiral of lightning-fast heat hitting you as your pussy flutters and clenches around emptiness, the familiar wetness soaking your panties even more.

You cover your mouth a second too late, nearly choking on the scream you muffle into the sweaty palm of the hand that was once under his shirt, your orgasm ripping through your body without any subtlety. Neurons collapsing, couch creaking with the force of your movements, vision blurring and darkening at the edges - but Ominis isn't done with you.

When your drunken gaze flickers open to focus on his face, you notice how absolutely enraptured he looks, his pale eyes locked on your face as if he can actually see you in your breakdown.

Your body is limp and shaking, but you press your forehead against his as he struggles to keep up the pace now that you've given in to exhaustion. Your mouth is parted as he breathes in and out right next to your lips, eyes half-lidded. You lean in to kiss him gently on the lips as he thrusts hard into you, cupping his face to pepper kisses across his cheeks amidst his moans.

One of the hands on your ass comes up to tangle in your hair and tilt your head back so he can kiss your jaw. He thrusts into you hard enough that your body jumps up, but you hold on to him as best you can. Your bodies as entangled as they can be.

You even try to muster the strength to rock your hips against him, but his fingers in your ass tighten to keep you in place as he picks up the pace himself.

His fingers were digging into your flesh and your hair so hard it would have been painful in any other scenario. But not in this one. As it was, it was a reminder of how deep he was falling, how much he seemed to need this, need you, judging by his noises. 

“Come on,” you whisper when you manage to slide your lips to his ear, both of you sweaty and flushed, your little fingers scratching the back of his neck in comforting motions as you encourage him to reach his limit, “come for me, Ominis. Please, please -”

It works. Ominis parts his lips almost immediately, giving a husky moan of release that makes your pussy quiver back to life, his larger body tensing beneath yours, shuddering once, twice. His pale, cloudy eyes look watery for a few seconds, and his perfectly chiseled cheekbones are stained with the most charming blush beneath the sweat on his skin — fuck, gorgeous, that’s what he is.

He collapses back against the couch completely after a while, his arms wrapping around your smaller frame to keep you clinging to him. Not that he needs to. You’re too languid to move. Too exhausted and spent to care about anything or anyone other than him.

His head rests against your collarbone, rising and falling with your ragged breaths. Your arms wrap around him, your hand still lightly stroking his hair. There are blond strands stuck to his sweaty forehead, and you do your best to brush them back when he looks up at you, though his eyes are still closed, visibly pleased with the end result of this study session.

His own fingers run through the unruly strands of hair around your face, brushing a few behind your ear with a gentle caress. He opens his eyes after a while, orbs cloudy and ethereal, but you swear you can see an infinite constellation of glowing dots on their pale screen.

“I…” he begins hesitantly, his voice a little firmer now, though he still wets his swollen lips before continuing. “This meant a lot to me. You have no idea how much. But I don’t want to assume anything - I just, you don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to - you know, don’t feel like you have to be with me just because I…” he sighs, swallowing hard, trying to find the words to say something you already understand.

“Shhh,” you place the tip of your index finger over his lips, chuckling softly when he blushes, “I may have taken a while to realize it, but I also want to see where this can lead us. I do, Ominis.”

He sighs in relief, as if he’s come up for air after a long time underwater, cradling your face between the broad palms of his hands.

"Salazar, that's so good to hear. I really didn't know how I was going to go back to acting like just friends after what happened, if it was your decision." He murmurs seriously, but his sharp features are relaxed as he rests his forehead against yours.

"Don't be so dramatic." You roll your eyes as weakly scold him, though your heart is warm and cozy inside your chest, embracing this moment for what it is - precious. "Didn't you hear what I said just now?"

He pulls back a few inches, his nose wrinkling slightly as he tries to figure out what you're talking about.

He's so cute.

You can't help yourself before you purse your lips into a pout and plant a tender kiss on the tip of his nose.

"I told you you have me now, little fool."

The smile he gives you in response is extremely rare; full and bright, two cute dimples on each side of the cheeks, showing off his perfect teeth; everything as charming as the rest of him. Even though he doesn't say anything after your declaration, seeing something so unusual directed at you already tells you everything you need to know. You sigh in excitement, letting him pull you by the nape of your neck for another kiss, pouring all the adoration he feels for you into the act.

Your skin is sticky with sweat, your hair a mess of knots, your clothes wrinkled and askew, the space between you a wet, embarrassing mess - the heat from both of your robes heating your skin to an almost suffocating level. But neither of you makes any move to separate, or even to pick up your wands and cast a simple cleaning spell - too enraptured with each other and so completely satisfied that you happily ignore everything else.

You feel so happy. And, most importantly, ready for what is to come.

Outside the castle, the snow falls without stopping, freezing everything around with its cloud of crystals. But here, in this dusty and unlikely place for romance, you feel safe and warm.

[deadghosy]

How my favorite Slytherin boys react to you passing out.

Warning: Hogwarts legacy to Harry Potter

Ft. Sebastian Sallow, Ominis Gaunt, Tom Riddle, Mattheo Riddle, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Lorenzo Berkshire.

Sebastian Sallow

“I think I’m gonna pass out.”

“Please don— BLIMEY!”

Immediately catches you a little and takes you to the hospital wing. He’s definitely most worried about you since he was scared in the back of his mind that you might have been cursed like his twin sister during an adventure.

After he found out it was cause you hadn’t eaten, he’s shoving some honeyduke sweets down your throat and meals. 3 meals per day is what he’s making sure you are eating before another adventure starts.

Ominis Gaunt

You haven’t slept much, all these adventures sure were wreaking your body. You came in the common room to rest on the couch. Not noticing that a certain gaunt had sense you, you passed out before getting to the damned couch.

He sensed you passed out and he started to feel scared. He was put away his wand and started to feel you on the floor. And when he finally got the touch of your arm, he gripped it and pulled you towards him. Setting your head in his lap as he was praying to anything, anyone for you to wake up.

So when you woke up he felt relieved but asked you to go see the nurses when you felt like you could walk.

After finding out you haven’t been getting sleep from the trials and adventures you have been going through with Sebastian.

He gave the poor sallow boy an earful of a scolding.

Mattheo Riddle

You passed out due to overheating yourself. You were studying day and night. Of course your beloved riddle was concern, so he comes into your room. When you seen him and tried to stand up, that’s when you fell like an animated cartoon.

Mattheo thought you tripped on yourself, but when you didn’t move he got worried and checked you out.

As he felt your head was burning, he unbutton your shirt and ran to the bathroom to get a cold towel. Putting it in your forehead, he waited.

Waking up to see mattheo was sure a shocker since you would’ve thought he might’ve took you to the hospital wing.

Theodore Nott

He caught you when he noticed you had gotten “dizzy” is what you said in the morning.

He knew something was off when you kept looking spaced out. So when he caught your body that was going to hit the floor, he took you to the medic wing and let the head nurse treat you.

He visits often, telling you about the classes and slight drama. And after you still recover and leave the wing, he’s treating you like you will break.

And now you got a overprotective Theodore on your side

Lorenzo Berkshire

Panic mode actived

Poor baby let out a scream which alerted a professor over and took you to the medic wing

He was anxious waiting for news on when you can be release and how the blazes did to pass out.

You passed out because you forgot to ate for the 2nd time. Prepare for this Slytherin boy to put a lot of food on your plate for weeks.

[5sospenguinqueen]

Sebastian: I hear you like bad boys.

MC: Yeah, I suppose so.

Sebastian: (to Ominis) Tell her.

Ominis: He's literally the worst.

[adogsoup]

(MC talking to other students.)

Sebastian: (obviously jealous) Do you see this shit Ominis?

Ominis: …

Ominis: No.

[thecharacterchronicler]

Bloodline (Part 1) || Ominis Gaunt x Reader || Smut

Outline: Your family arranged for you to marry Marvolo Gaunt. Fortunately, your best friend Ominis steps up and makes sure to save you from such a fate.

Word count: 4’515

Warnings: English isn’t my first language so possible misspelled or misplaced words, arranged marriage, abusive families (mentioned), first time s*x, friends to lovers and explicit smut.

(( Part 2 - Please )) - (( Part 3 - Heirloom )) - (( Masterlist ))

The familiar flip-flap of owls entering the great hall through the windows resounded in Ominis’ ears, excited chatter rising from the students sitting at the tables as, one by one, they received their mail. The sound of paper falling on a wooden surface nearby piqued his curiosity, he didn’t receive letters often, nor did you or Sebastian but an envelope had unmistakably landed in front of one of you.

Your clothes rustled as you moved to take the paper in your hand, tearing apart the top of the envelope as your owl took flight again, its wings almost grazing Ominis’s hair on its way back to the owlery.

Despite the noise of other students all around, Ominis distinctly heard you take a sharp inhale of air, your silence as you read the letter addressed to you feeling somewhat tense.

“Is everything alright ?” He asked you, but you didn’t reply right away, too focused on whatever you were reading.

He waited a few more minutes, noticing the way your legs grew restless and your movements became agitated. You were sitting at the opposite side of the table from him and your foot bumped into his a few times as you nervously readjusted your posture.

He was too polite to insist and didn’t want to push you to share something you might want to keep for yourself, so even though he was dying to question you about the mysterious letter you had received and why its content seemed to upset you, he simply cleared his throat to remind you that he was waiting for an answer to his question.

“It’s a letter from my family.” You explained, with a slight tremble in your voice. “They say that they arranged a partnership for me, effective immediately after graduation.”

“A partnership ? You mean some kind of professional training ?” Sebastian asked, before biting into an apple.

“That would be an internship.” Ominis corrected him, shaking his head. “I think she meant something more intimate than that.”

“Like… A relationship ?” Sebastian inquired, still munching on his fruit.

“A marriage.” You stated, defeated.

“I didn’t know you were dating someone.”

“I am not.”

“It’s common for wealthy and powerful families such as hers to arrange weddings, especially if it’s a matter of keeping their bloodline alive and pure.” Ominis explained, a shiver running down his spine. That was something his family did too, they were obsessed with maintaining the quality of their bloodline, suitable matches were carefully chosen, sometimes within their own family members.

“It’s more of a business contract than a marriage.” You added, with a sigh. “And my parents are making it very clear that I don’t have any say in the matter.”

“Do you know who’s the lucky fiancé, though ?” Sebastian asked, seemingly taking such terrible news lightly. Way too lightly. It was a tragedy, really. You deserved better than to be forced into a loveless marriage under the pretense of keeping a bloodline going, securing the pride and superiority of the worst kind of wizards to exist. Maybe Sebastian couldn’t quite grasp the gravity of what you had been asked to do but Ominis knew all too well how you must feel, being robbed of your free will and freedom by a controlling and corrupted family.

“It’s Marvolo Gaunt.” You answered, bluntly, before getting up from your seat on the bench and leaving the great hall in a rush. Although Ominis couldn’t see, he felt the intensity of your gaze piercing right through him, until you were no longer in the room.

His chest tightened and his body tensed at the sound of his older brother’s name. Marvolo probably was the most cruel wizard he knew, aside from their father. Although they shared the same blood, the same family and the same education, Ominis wasn’t afraid to say that his brother was immensely deranged and should have been locked up in Azkaban a long time ago, like the rest of his family actually. The only reason rules didn’t apply to them and they were free to commit the most vile and cruel crimes without facing punishment was because they were Gaunts, descendants of the great Salazar Slytherin and held more power and wealth than any other family of wizards in the country.

And now you were going to be one of them.

He couldn’t imagine you, taking part in the cruel acts his family committed for fun. And if you didn’t, they would find a way to punish you for it, just like they had punished him in the past. The Gaunts were dangerous, and you needed to stay away from them, no matter what.

Ominis stood up, reaching for his wand to guide his steps through the corridors and halls of the castle. He needed to find you and he knew his wand would know exactly where to take him. He was racking his brain, trying to find a solution to save you from such a doomed fate as he followed mindlessly the path his wand indicated. Eventually, he found himself outside, in a narrow courtyard. Wind rustled through the leaves of a nearby tree and caressed his face, sending a cold shiver through his body. He couldn’t feel any rays of sunshine warming his skin, meaning it must be a rather cloudy afternoon. He could hear the sound of water moving in the fountain at the center of the courtyard, birds singing in the sky… And soft muffled sobs. His wand twitched, tugging him in your direction.

“I’m sorry this is happening to you.” Ominis told you, once he was standing in front of you. He could hear the sobs shaking your body as clear as day but still felt compelled to bring his hand to your face, wiping the warm teardrops away from your cheeks with his thumb. “Marvolo really isn’t a suitable match for you.”

“It’s alright, I knew this day would come eventually. I was just hoping my parents wouldn’t force me into this as soon as I was done with school.” You replied, another teardrop falling from your lashes and rolling down your cheek..

“There must be something we can do about it.” Ominis said, instinctively brushing off the fresh tear from your face. “What if you were engaged to someone else ?”

You laughed although you didn’t find anything amusing about the situation.

“During my seven years here, no one ever courted me, no one attempted to ask me on a date, I have no other prospects. And you know as well as I do that my parents shouldn’t risk angering the Gaunts.”

Ominis furrowed his brows. You were right, if your parents broke their promise to marry you off to one of his siblings, they might not make it out alive. If his parents had arranged for you to be wed to Marvolo, it meant they considered your blood pure enough to perpetuate their dignified bloodline. It was a rare occurrence, usually no one was deemed worthy enough so chances were that they’d do everything in their power to ensure that you’d become a Gaunt now that they had approved of you.

If you broke the arrangement to be with someone else, a wizard of lower class and reputation, his father would take it as an offense and you’d have to pay for such a daring act. If you married Marvolo, then surely he would take advantage of you and of your obligation to satisfy your family and his, he’d be cruel and violent, he wouldn’t care about you and would never treat you with the respect you deserved… There was only one option left.

“Marry me.” Ominis stated, determined.

“What ? What are you saying ?” You spoke, dumbstruck by the sudden suggestion.

“My parents want you to ensure the purity of our bloodline, your parents want you to earn the status and power that come with my last name… So marry me instead.”

“Ominis, you don’t have to. I can’t ask you to do that for me, that’s…” You argued, shaking your head.

“It’s a matter of time before my parents arrange a wedding for me too. I think I’d much rather be married to someone I consider a friend than a stranger they would have picked for me. So really, you’d be the one doing me a favor.” Ominis continued, his heart beating faster as he spoke. He knew it was a good idea, it would save you from Marvolo, from his family and, despite being a Gaunt himself, he would do his best to treat you well. He would never hurt you, never mock you, never give you any reason to regret choosing him instead of his brother…

So please, say yes.

His mother adjusted his tie. She told him that the all black suit she had gotten tailored made for him suited him better than anything he ever wore. She said it brought his blue eyes out, and that everyone would be able to tell that he was one of the heirs of the Gaunt name. Ominis wasn’t sure what was meant to be a compliment and what was meant as a jab, but he simply nodded at everything she said.

By the time he walked down to the garden of the imposing manor, his mother’s arm looped in his, he felt dizzy with anxiety. His heart was pounding in his chest, threatening to burst out at any minute. His ribcage felt so tight around his lungs that he could barely breathe correctly, and the more time went by, the more sweaty his hands became.

He could hear the chatter of the numerous guests his parents had invited as they took place around the lectern that had been placed at the very center of the garden. The familiar smell of roses tickled his nose, meaning the white rose bushes must be in full bloom in this season. He could feel the sunshine on his face and the warm summer air on his skin. It was a beautiful day on the gloomy manor.

His mother let go of his arm, leaving him standing on his own in front of what he imagined was an impressive audience of grumpy wizards. He still couldn’t quite catch his breath and, the moment the ambient chatter died down, his throat instantly felt constricted and his body tensed up.

He heard the whispers among the crowd and the footsteps approaching in his direction. It was unmistakably the way of walking of a man, confident and determined while the lighter steps next to his were more hesitant. In the past seven years, Ominis had memorized the sound of your steps. He also could recognize your smell in a crowd and knew exactly how soft your skin felt under his fingers. He could tell if your hair was up or let down from the way you touched and played with it and he knew that the quiet, almost imperceptible breaths you let out meant that you felt nervous. He knew all of this and more yet, he had no idea what it felt like to kiss your lips or hold you in his arms and that felt awfully wrong, considering what you both were about to do.

The man that had accompanied you walked away, leaving you standing with Ominis in front of prying, curious eyes. You didn’t say anything to each other, too busy trying to not pass out from how anxious you both felt. The contract was written and placed on the pupil in front of you, its tricky clauses oozing with dark magic.

It wasn’t just any contract. It was a cursed one, meant to bind you together forever. The words til death do us part took a different meaning as you signed your name at the bottom of the page, knowing that if you ever tried to leave him, you’d most likely be instantly killed by some kind of dark spell that probably was forbidden to cast. The promises you made by signing this contract were definitive and the consequences if you failed to hold them were deadly. At the very least, you both could feel thankful that you weren’t making such vows to a complete stranger.

Ominis signed the parchment too, the ink dripping from the quill dark red like blood. The contract was sealed with applause and illegal magic, making you his wife. For the rest of your lives.

The dinner that followed the ceremony was dull and mostly boring, a display of Mister Gaunt’s power and a lecture on his narrow views about muggles and mudblood wizards, as the guests listened quietly to his speech, nodding in agreement every once in a while. Eventually, Ominis took his leave, pretending that he was exhausted from the events of the day. You excused yourself too, glad to find him waiting for you in the hallway.

He knew the manor he grew up in in details and could navigate it without the help of his wand. He guided you upstairs, through the dark corridor that led to his bedroom. He opened the door for you, letting you step inside first before following you in and shutting the door behind him. He had never had any guest in his bedroom before and that realization made him feel uneasy. He knew that the servants kept his room neat and tidy - just how he liked it - but he wasn’t sure of what you were going to think about the ancient desk he sat at to write his letters to Sebastian, or the books that lined the shelves of bookcases that reached the ceiling. And what about the four poster bed he slept in, he had always found it large and comfortable but suddenly he worried it might be too small to share with you.

“Once we move into our own home we’ll be able to sleep in separate rooms. But for now, I think it’s better if we share mine.” He said, hoping that you wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable here until then.

To convince his parents to let him marry you instead of his brother, he had pretended he was madly, irredeemably in love with you. At first, they didn’t like it, saying that love made men foolish and pushed them to their demise but, eventually, they came to the realization that him wanting you so badly would serve the purpose of continuing their bloodline. Many heirs could be born from such desires.

Now that you were here, in the intimacy of his bedroom, he couldn’t help but think about it. How amazing it would be to kiss you, touch you, make you his as everybody expected him to. But he wouldn’t do it. Mainly because he was a gentleman and had promised himself that he would never, ever, disrespect you. And also because he was determined to not give his parents the satisfaction of having any heirs from him. The Gaunt bloodline was poison, corrupted with dark practices and immorality. Sooner or later, one of them would cause unforgivable chaos in the world, so he was determined to prevent it from happening anyway he could.

“I’m sorry that you had to do this.” You told him, taking a closer look at the books on his nightstand. You sounded sincere, as if you felt guilty that he now had the privilege of calling you his wife. “You should have been able to marry someone you love.”

Ominis had never felt anything remotely close to what was described in the books he read for someone, nor did he experience the crushes Sebastian so often had on a random person every once in a while. The only woman that had somehow interested him was you. He cared about you. And maybe it was an acceptable foundation for a marriage.

“You should have been able to do that too.” You sat on his bed, your wedding dress crunching up above your legs. He approached, heart hammering in his chest. “But for what it’s worth, I consider myself lucky to call you my wife.”

You smiled and reached out to take his hand in yours. His palms were sweaty, as per usual when you were around, but you didn’t seem bothered by that, pulling him so that he’d sit on the bed next to you.

“Do you mind if I try something ?” You asked him, a bit hesitantly. He took a sharp inhale of air, his body straightening up with sudden tension. In appearance, he seemed quite uncomfortable to be sitting so close to you, and even more now that you had asked him such a question, but he nodded despite hating being unsure of what to expect.

You moved closer, slowly. Your scent tickled his nose, he knew it by heart, he had fell asleep more than once to the faint perfume you left on the common room’s couch pillows, usually prompting him to dream of you. He felt your soft, warm breath caress his skin, indicating that your face was inching impossibly close towards his. He held his breath as you pressed your delicate lips to his, giving him a chaste kiss to seal your union, far from prying eyes.

He kept his eyes closed when you moved away, conflicted emotions passing on his face. He wasn’t expecting to feel so many tingles in his stomach after such a light and short kiss, yet even now that you had moved away, he still felt millions of butterflies tingling under his skin. He left out the breath he had been holding, taking just enough air to say your name, softly.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to know what it felt like.” You apologized, and he knew from the sound of your voice that you must be blushing.

He had wondered what it would feel like to kiss you too, more than he’d like to admit. A friend shouldn’t be curious about such things, it felt wrong to him, like he was betraying you by having such intimate thoughts about you. He hated how conflicted he felt whenever he woke up with an erection because he had spent the night dreaming of you touching him, and he hated how his primal instinct sometimes took over and he’d end up brushing against your chest or your back under the pretense that he couldn’t see what he was doing. He shouldn’t feel so desperate for his friend to kiss him again, and surely he shouldn’t want to be given permission to explore the body of his friend in details… But perhaps, if such desires weren’t acceptable between friends, they could be considered reasonable ones to have for his wife…

“Don’t apologize, we’re married now after all.” He gulped, feeling the temperature of his body rising. “Kissing is one of the many things that will be expected from us.”

You moved, suddenly growing agitated next to him. He could hear the rustle of the fabric of your wedding dress, the sound of clasps being opened and knots getting untied. He didn’t dare to move, not even breathe, as he carefully listened for a clue as to what you were up to. Then, he felt your hands on his chest, slowly undoing the buttons of his vest, one by one.

“What are you doing ?” He asked, his breath catching in his throat when his hands, resting on his lap, brushed against your bare thighs.

“Another thing that is expected of us.” You simply replied, now dragging his vest down his shoulders, before repeating the same actions to remove his shirt. He heard your surprised, yet quiet, gasp and the way your breathing became labored at the sight of his chest. He felt your fingers tracing the lines of his abs, brushing against the blond hair under his navel and grazing the elastic of his pants.

He said your name in a whisper, wanting it to be a warning but coming out like a desperate plea. You shouldn’t be touching him like this, not because it was what your families required of you. You should only do it because you wanted to. So he knew he had to stop you before it went too far, before he wouldn’t be able to refuse, before his body was set ablaze by his repressed lust for yours otherwise, there would be no way of stopping him anymore. He would consume you. Worship you. Devour you. And his promise to never disrespect you would be just a distant memory already, because none of the things he wanted to do to you were respectable.

But you weren’t making it easy for him to keep his word. Your hand was still tracing the lines of his chest like he was some kind of sculpture you were admiring, taking in every detail like he would. And when you moved to sit on his lap, straddling him and trapping him between you and the bed, he tensed up and groaned.

He brought his hands to your hips, telling himself that he’d gently guide you off of him so that he’d be able to remain a gentleman and not take advantage of the admirable loyalty you had for your family with your determination to complete your marital duties right away, but when he felt nothing but your warm skin under his fingers, when you leaned forward to press your naked chest against his and plant another soft kiss on his lips, the remaining of his will power to resist you dissolved.

“We shouldn’t be doing this, we’re friends.” He said, because that was what he usually told himself whenever he thought about you while rubbing himself in the shower. Except he wasn’t the one gripping on his erection this time. You had easily opened up his pants and now the evidence of his desire for you was held tightly in your hand. Your thumb stroked the tip of his erection, spreading the clear drop of precum that had escaped from it over the sensitive pink skin.

“We’re not friends anymore, Ominis. We’re married.” You corrected him, your words destroying the only argument he had to convince himself to not behave like some kind of wild animal as he couldn’t seem to stop his hands from exploring your naked body. “I wasn’t allowed to organize my wedding, chose my dress or invite my friends… Don’t rob me from having a beautiful wedding night. Please.”

His erection twitched in your hand. You were asking so nicely, so politely, for something so intense and passionate, it made him even harder. He put his arm around your waist, securely holding you as he removed you from his lap and laid you down on his bed with a strength you never expected him to have.

“Are you sure this is what you want ?” He inquired, holding himself above you with his hands gripping the headboard, his pants and underwear down to his knees.

“Absolutely.” You confirmed, with a shudder of excitement.

“Very well.” His voice was low, revealing just how badly he wanted this too. He placed a hand on your knee and followed the path all the way up to your core. He could feel the wetness and warmth coming from your center, begging for his attention. He traced the slit between your legs a few times, making you gasp with anticipation. Then, he pushed a finger passed your entrance, your whimper resounding in his ears. He moved his hand in a back and forth motion, not really aiming to pleasure you this way but trying to memorize a path he couldn’t see.

He took his finger out, bringing his hand back to his impatient cock. He wiped your wetness over his tip, mixing it with the fresh drops of precum that coated his skin. Once most of his hard length was slick and sticky, he brought his tip exactly where his finger had been, rubbing it between your wet folds to gather even more moisture before finally pushing it inside you. He heard you gasp loudly and he did too, the tightness of your cunt taking him by surprise.

He easlily managed to slide even deeper, burying his entire length inside of you with a satisfied sigh. He could hear your panting breaths, your soft cries in reaction to his movements inside you and the way you moaned his name, encouraging him to rock his hips against yours a few times.

It was nothing like he had thought it would be. His hand had never made him feel as good as you did, your warmth, wetness and tightness around him were intoxicating. The most wonderful thing he had ever experienced.

He slowly pulled himself almost all the way out, only to shove himself back in with more force. He could feel his tip hitting deep inside you, pleasure building in his abdomen with each of his quick pushes.

The sounds you made were music to his ears, the way you reacted to each of his thrusts was delightful, better than what he had imagined in his most vivid fantasies. He never expected you to be so loud, perfectly showing him how good he was making you feel. He increased his speed and you moaned even louder, practically crying out his name.

He felt your legs closing around his waist, keeping him close while your nails dug into his back, the whole bed shaking in rythym with his movements. Was he too rough ? How could he not be ? It was impossible to be more gentle when the pleasure he felt with each thrust kept intensifying, he was going to lose his mind, chasing the feeling, building it up until he couldn’t take it anymore.

You cried out one more time and your body tensed up, tightening around him so viciously that he finally reached his climax, instantly filling you up with his release. You kept your legs around him, your body spasming with intense pleasure as he struggled to catch his breath for a moment, his thoughts slowly coming back into order.

He waited until your body stopped twitching to remove himself, feeling your shudder as he pulled his spent erection out of you. You still were softly panting, your chest rising and falling under his hand while the other still clasped tightly the headboard. He leaned over, easily finding your lips from which breathless gasps still escaped. He kissed you, gently, as a way to apologize for losing control of himself and felt relieved when you returned his kiss even more fervently.

He moved to his side, lying down next to you to give you enough space to catch your breath but you inched closer, nuzzling your naked body against his in a cuddle that felt even more intimate than what he had just did to you.

“Thank you.” You said softly, sounding truly happy. Ominis smiled, his fingers absently caressing your back, playing with strands of your now messy hair. “I’m glad to have you as my husband.”

Husband. The word turned in his head, reminding him that you now were officially a couple. Mrs Ominis Gaunt; his best friend, his wife, his lover… His.

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