running on caffeine, vibes, and characters who live rent-free in my head
she/they ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ asks are open!
I go by the same user/pseud on ao3 (I haven't posted there yet lol its a wip)
this is where all my writing lives, so nothing gets lost on the dash!
(about me + blog plans + AO3 ramble)
Last updated: February 2, 2026 (garreth fic + ominis masterlist! 🥳 + I've let that godforsaken moon cycle whatchumacallit I forgor TO REST, kind of)
✦ Ominis Gaunt — Masterlist
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 all Ominis Gaunt oneshots and series can be found here!
oneshots 𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼
✦ Sebastian Sallow
𓆝 ⋆. Worth It
𓆝 ⋆. Soulmate AU! Marked in the Same Place
𓆝 ⋆. Traditionally speaking
𓆝 ⋆. Not a sweetheart
𓆝 ⋆. Expectations
𓆝 ⋆. Spiderman AU! I’ll Always Wait
𓆝 ⋆. Absolutely, Unequivocally, Fine
✦ Garreth Weasley
𓆝 ⋆. Before we say it
𓆝 ⋆. Something that had been true
series 𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼
✦ Sebastian Sallow
𓆝 ⋆. The Line Between Us
⚝ Sometimes love means stepping back. Sometimes it means waiting. This is the story of everything that happened in between.
𖦹 Holding the Line 𖦹 The Line We Kept
headcanons 𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼
How they act when they're sick - Ominis, Sebastian, Garreth, Poppy
Rainy days - Ominis, Sebastian, Garreth, Poppy
When you realise you've fallen in love with them - Ominis, Sebastian, Garreth, Poppy
Content I'll be writing will include:
– oneshots/drabbles, hc's, POSSIBLE multi-chapter fics will be posted if requested or when I get motivated enough HHASHDAHS
– angst, hurt/comfort, and soft moments
– occasional darker themes (will be tagged appropriately)
🔁 reblogs are always appreciated
💬 asks are open (prompts, questions, yelling at me) (also pls include what pronouns u want me to use if u guys request!)
due to completely unbiased and totally normal reasons (lies), Ominis Gaunt now has his own dedicated masterlist. There are simply too many fics to keep shoving him into the main list, so this is mostly for organisation… and also because I clearly have favourites.
oneshots 𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼
𓆝 ⋆. Undercroft
𓆝 ⋆. Velvet Ropes and Reverence
𓆝 ⋆. You talk about yourself like you’re a stranger you tolerate.
𓆝 ⋆. The calm you kept me in
𓆝 ⋆. Merlin's bloody balls
𓆝 ⋆. On the Other Side of the Glass
𓆝 ⋆. Domestic Hazards
𓆝 ⋆. You Waltzed Into My Heart
𓆝 ⋆. The most consistent thing
𓆝 ⋆. I should be sleeping
𓆝 ⋆. Symptoms may include denial
𓆝 ⋆. Moonlit Reveries
𓆝 ⋆. A silence he knows by heart
𓆝 ⋆. You mentioned it once
𓆝 ⋆. Let me be yours
𓆝 ⋆. Vellichor — the strange wistfulness of endings
𓆝 ⋆. Familiar Enough to Miss
series 𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼
𓆝 ⋆. intro (end of the world)
⚝ A lyrical exploration of love as refuge and defiance, following Ominis Gaunt as past and present intertwine, and he learns that choosing someone does not have to mean losing himself.
𓆝 ⋆. “meow,” – nemo, probably
⚝ A collection of domestic moments, feline crimes, and the continued use of Sebastian Sallow as a benchmark for punishment. Ominis Gaunt is a cat person, whether he admits it or not. Nemo is unrepentant.
𖦹 Sebastian as a Unit of Measurement 𖦹 Statistically significant affection
a/n: hi hello yes I know this has been LONG overdue, my sincerest apologies 😭
I finally fucking finished hogwarts legacy, and I died a little inside,,,,,ALSO!! I’ll be editing my masterlist in a few (I’ll just post another fic for poppy, and maybe post the fic to an ask? Not sure asdhfkjasdf)—ominis will be getting his own dedicated masterlist because I have no shame and the favouritism is BLATANT. everything and everyone else will stay where they are in the meantime <3 AND AS ALWAYS, thank you for being patient with me and letting me be insane about fictional characters
masterlist!
You tell yourself you’re only here because of the bribe.
Garreth had leaned across the table in the Great Hall, voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, eyes bright with mischief. If it goes wrong, he’d said, I’ll buy you whatever you want in Hogsmeade. Butterbeer, Chocolate Frogs, Gladrags haul. Name it.
Purely transactional, obviously.
You follow him down to the potions classroom after hours with that same excuse looping in your head. Transactional. Sensible. Practical. The kind of thing you can say aloud if anyone asks why you’re here, perched on a stool near a simmering cauldron while Garreth Weasley rolls up his sleeves and hums under his breath.
The classroom smells like copper and herbs, something faintly sweet curling through the air as the potion warms. Candlelight flickers along the stone walls, stretching shadows that sway with every small movement.
Garreth doesn’t actually need much help, and you realise that almost immediately.
He’s precise tonight in a way he usually isn’t in class, movements careful, surprisingly deliberate. He measures ingredients twice before adding them, mutters corrections to himself when the potion bubbles too fast. Still, he talks the entire time, a low, steady stream of thoughts, theories, half-formed jokes.
“…so if I’m right, this should stabilise the reaction instead of—oh! Nope. Too much. Too much, that’s on me,” he says, hastily adjusting the flame with a sheepish laugh.
You don’t interrupt. You just watch.
You sit by the cauldron, chin resting in your hands, elbows pressed into the table. The warmth seeps into you, candlelight painting Garreth in gold as he leans closer to his work. Every so often, he glances over at you, just to check, to make sure you’re still there.
Each time he catches your eye, his mouth quirks into an easy smile, like the sight of you is something reassuring. Something grounding.
There’s something different about him like this.
Not the loud, grinning troublemaker always one step away from detention. This Garreth is focused, earnest, brow faintly furrowed as he concentrates. He chews his lip when he’s thinking, taps the stirring rod against the cauldron rim in a familiar rhythm.
It feels… intimate, somehow. Like being let into a quiet room you didn’t know existed.
“Hey,” he says suddenly, glancing over again. “You’re awfully quiet. Getting bored already?”
You shake your head. “No. I like observing.”
He pauses, just for a second, then ducks his head with a small, pleased huff. “Yeah? Good. I—I like having you here.”
The words land softly, not weighted, not dramatic. Just true.
You watch his hands as he stirs, strong fingers steady and sure, sleeves pushed back just enough that you can see the freckles scattered along his forearms. The potion emits a gentle glow now, stable, calm. Exactly how he wanted it.
The thought sneaks up on you while your guard is down.
He looks so good like this.
Not in a flashy way. Not in the way people usually mean when they talk about crushes and stolen glances across the Great Hall. It’s quieter than that. Warmer. A domestic sort of affection that settles deep in your chest and refuses to move.
You like being here with him.
You like the way time slows when it’s just the two of you. The way he fills the silence without demanding anything in return. The way he never makes you feel like you have to perform.
You’ve felt this before, you realise. In pieces. In fragments.
Every time he saved you a seat without making a fuss. Every time he dragged you into one of his schemes and made sure you were laughing before it went wrong. Every time he sought you out without a reason.
The realisation doesn’t hit like lightning.
It doesn’t knock the air from your lungs or send your heart racing. It settles instead, warm and inevitable, like acknowledging a truth that’s been waiting patiently for you to catch up.
You’re in love with him.
“Hey,” Garreth says again, softer this time. He’s stopped stirring, potion left to simmer on its own. “You sure you’re alright?”
You nod, the corners of your mouth lifting before you can stop them. “Yeah. I’m good.”
He studies you for a moment, eyes curious, open. Then he smiles—wide and genuine and just a little fond.
“Good,” he says. “Because I was thinking… even if this doesn’t go wrong, I might still take you to Hogsmeade.”
You laugh quietly, heart full in a way that feels almost unfair.
“Careful,” you tease. “I might start thinking you just wanted an excuse to spend time with me.”
He grins, unabashed. “Maybe I did.”
The potion bubbles contentedly beside you, the classroom wrapped in warmth and candlelight. And for the first time, you don’t try to explain the feeling away or tuck it somewhere safe.
You just sit there with him, letting the truth rest between you, easy and unafraid, like maybe, it’s always belonged there.
The potion doesn’t explode.
That feels notable, given Garreth’s track record.
Instead, it settles into a calm, pearlescent simmer, the surface rippling lazily as if pleased with itself. Garreth leans back on his heels to inspect it, hands braced on his knees, a satisfied little laugh escaping him.
“See?” he says. “Told you I had it under control.”
You hum, unconvinced. “You promised me a trip to Hogsmeade if it went wrong.”
“Hey,” he replies, glancing at you again, eyes warm. “I didn’t say the deal was only if it went wrong.”
That should feel like a joke. It mostly does. Still, something about the way he says it makes your chest tighten, pleasant and unfamiliar.
You linger longer than necessary after the potion is bottled and cleaned away. There’s no rush to leave, not really. The castle is quiet at this hour, corridors hushed, torches burning low. Garreth gathers his things slowly, as if stalling, stuffing parchment into his bag with more care than usual.
“So,” he says eventually, swinging the strap over his shoulder. “Hogsmeade?”
You raise a brow. “You’re not even pretending the potion failed.”
He shrugs, grin easy. “Well, I still promised you, didn’t I?”
The night air outside is crisp, cool enough that your breath fogs faintly as you step down the stone path together. You walk close, shoulders nearly brushing. Nearly. You’re acutely aware of the space between you; the absence of contact louder than touch would be.
Garreth fills it with chatter, pointing out constellations he half-remembers the names of, rambling about a new experimental fizzing sweet he swears he’s going to invent one day. You listen, smiling, occasionally nudging him back on track when he spirals into something particularly ridiculous.
Hogsmeade glows softly ahead, windows lit, the village wrapped in that familiar, comforting hum. He takes you straight to the Three Broomsticks and orders Butterbeer without asking. When he passes you your mug, your fingers brush; it’s brief, and probably accidental.
It still sends a quiet shock through you.
You wrap your hands around the glass, letting the warmth seep into your palms. Garreth watches you take the first sip, his expression oddly intent, like he’s waiting for your verdict on something important.
“Good?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you say. “Really good.”
He relaxes visibly, smiling into his own drink. “Knew it.”
You talk for a long time. About nothing that matters and everything that does. Classes. Childhood memories. The way the castle feels different at night, like it’s exhaling. At some point, Garreth rests his elbow on the table, chin in his hand, and you realise he’s been watching you more than his drink.
“What?” you ask, heat creeping up your neck.
He blinks, caught. “Nothing. Just… you’re nice to talk to.”
It’s said plainly, without flair. The sincerity of it hits harder than anything dramatic could.
When you walk back, it’s colder. He offers you his scarf without comment, looping it around your neck with hands that hesitate, then linger a fraction too long. You don’t pull away.
Back at the castle gates, the moment stretches. Neither of you moves to leave.
“Well,” Garreth says eventually, rocking back on his heels. “Thanks for helping. With the potion. And, y’know. Being you.”
You swallow. “Any time.”
He hesitates, then leans in and presses a quick kiss to your cheek. It’s light, almost tentative, like he’s testing the ground. When he pulls back, he looks a little breathless, eyes searching your face.
“Goodnight,” he says softly.
“Goodnight, Garreth.”
You don’t sleep much that night.
From then on, it’s the littlest things that undo you. Nothing is said. Everything is felt.
The realisation grows roots. It threads itself through your days, through every glance and laugh and shared silence. You stop pretending it’s anything else.
You love him.
One evening, weeks later, you find him in the courtyard, tinkering with something that smokes faintly and smells like citrus. He looks up when he sees you, face lighting instantly.
“There you are,” he says, like he’s been waiting.
You sit beside him on the cold stone, your shoulder finally pressing into his. This time, neither of you moves away.
“Garreth,” you say, heart steady despite the way it thumps in your chest. “Can I ask you something?”
He nods, serious now. “Always.”
You turn to face him fully. “Why me?”
He blinks, then laughs quietly, not mocking, just surprised. “Why not you?”
“That’s not an answer.”
He considers you for a moment, gaze softening, then a breathy laugh. “Because you make things feel easier. Quieter. Like I don’t have to be ‘on’ all the time.” He shrugs. “And because I like you. I think I have for a while.”
The air feels charged, delicate. You reach for his hand, fingers curling around his.
“So have I,” you admit.
His smile is slow, disbelieving, then radiant. He squeezes your hand, leaning in until his forehead rests against yours.
“Good,” he murmurs. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
The kiss, when it comes, is gentle. Unrushed. Like something you’ve both been walking toward for a long time.
And for the first time, the feeling isn’t something you quietly hold on your own.
This is part of the DADA tower that I thought was really fun (and I wanted it for an upcoming scene but I can't wait till the chapter is done to share this because LOOK AT IT)
I'm not doing full shadows on this because that sounds miserable
My backgrounds are available for other to use for non commercial art as long as I am credited and tagged
Absolutely, Unequivocally, Fine - Sebastian Sallow
a/n: I KNOW WHAT I SAID. I KNOW. But I swear on my life I’ll get to Gar and Poppy tomorrow 😭 and maybe finally clear out a part two that’s been rotting in my drafts for… an embarrassing amount of time. ALSO I AM WORKING ON THE REQUESTS!! (/pos) I’ve just been suddenly dumped with carrying my entire group because our leader isn’t doing jack shit. Academic betrayal is real, and it’s personal.
masterlist!
Professor Binns is talking.
You know this because his voice is happening to you, a long, unbroken line of sound that seems to exist independently of breath, sense, or mercy. Dates spill into one another. Goblin rebellions blur together, indistinct as smoke. Your quill scratches something on the parchment in front of you, but you are fairly certain none of it is real words.
You are present in body only.
Sebastian Sallow is not in class.
This is not notable. This is not unusual. You tell yourself this as if repetition will make it less immediately obvious, less loud in your mind. He skips when he wants to. He always has. It has nothing to do with you.
Still, your gaze drifts, unthinking, to the empty space beside you. To the place where his knee usually nudges yours under the desk, where his foot hooks around the leg of your chair when he’s bored, restless, too alive for a room like this.
Your quill pauses.
You imagine his hand closing around yours.
It’s abrupt, the thought. Vivid in a way that feels unfair. Warm fingers, confident grip, the familiar squeeze that means come on, hurry up. You can almost hear his laugh, low and pleased, already halfway out the door as he tugs you after him.
No explanation. No excuse. Just movement.
Just choosing you.
Your chest tightens, a sensation that feels suspiciously like anticipation. You picture the two of you slipping down staircases you’re not supposed to use, ducking through corridors you shouldn’t know about, breathless with it. No destination. No grand plan. Just the shared understanding that being together is reason enough.
It feels reckless. It feels dangerous.
It feels—warm.
You shift in your seat, suddenly too aware of yourself, of the way your heart has picked up speed as if responding to a call you definitely did not send. You drag your quill across the parchment again, harder this time, ink bleeding where it shouldn’t.
Get a grip, you think. Merlin’s sake.
The bell rings.
The sound snaps through you like a spell gone wrong, sharp and startling. Your heart leaps straight into your throat, pounding far too hard for someone who has been sitting perfectly still for an hour.
You blink. Once. Twice.
Ominis taps the edge of your desk with his wand, precise and deliberate, his head tilting slightly in your direction.
“You look,” he says mildly, “as though you’ve just Apparated without permission.”
You open your mouth, then close it again. Whatever you were about to say doesn’t survive the sudden, horrible clarity settling in your chest.
Because you weren’t daydreaming.
Daydreaming is harmless. Idle. Forgettable.
You were wishing.
The realisation lands sharp and unwelcome, a weight pressing just beneath your ribs. You swallow, throat dry, and force yourself to gather your things with hands that feel a touch unsteady.
It’s nothing, you tell yourself quickly. An accident of boredom. A stray thought. You absolutely do not want anything. You certainly don’t want him—not like that. Wanting implies intention, and intention implies something you are very much not prepared to face.
You stand, sling your bag over your shoulder, and school your expression into something neutral.
Ominis hums softly, unconvinced, but lets it go.
As you file out with the rest of the class, the thought lingers anyway, stubborn and dangerous, curling warm in your chest like a secret.
And for the first time, you’re not entirely sure you can pretend you didn’t mean it.
You decide—very firmly—that the feeling will pass.
It has to. Feelings that arrive uninvited always do, eventually. You tell yourself this as you descend the stairs from the History of Magic classroom, fingers curled tight around the strap of your bag, pace just a touch too fast.
Wishing is not wanting. Wanting is intentional. Dangerous. You were simply bored. Understimulated. Victim of Professor Binns’ voice, which could lull a dragon into hibernation.
That’s all.
Sebastian is leaning against the balustrade when you reach the landing.
He’s exactly where he shouldn’t be, arms folded, weight tipped back on his heels like he’s been waiting for someone. Which, irritatingly, he has. His mouth curves the moment he hears your footsteps, eyes lighting with that familiar, bright mischief.
“There you are,” he says, like this is a perfectly normal thing to say to someone who absolutely wasn’t looking for him.
Your heart stutters.
Annoyed, you tell it to behave.
“Skipping again?” you ask, aiming for casual. You even succeed, mostly. “Binns will be thrilled.”
Sebastian snorts. “I’ll survive. Did I miss anything important?”
Dates, rebellions, ghosts of ghosts, the exact moment you realised you might be in trouble. You shake your head instead.
“Nothing worth dying of boredom over.”
He pushes off the railing and falls into step beside you without asking. Of course he does. He always does. Your shoulders brush, familiar enough that you don’t move away, even though a very unhelpful part of your brain lights up at the contact.
See? you tell yourself. Normal. You don’t move away because you never do. It means nothing.
Sebastian glances sideways at you, eyes sharp in that way that makes you feel like he’s always half a step ahead. “You look distracted.”
“I’m tired.”
“You always say that.”
“And I’m always right.”
He hums, unconvinced, but lets it drop. For now. His hand swings close to yours as you walk, close enough that you’re acutely aware of the space between your fingers and his.
You do not close it.
You do not imagine what it would feel like if you did.
Instead, you focus very hard on the corridor ahead, on the rhythm of your steps, on literally anything except the warmth of him beside you. The earlier thought tries to resurface, reckless and inviting, and you squash it down with ruthless efficiency.
You don’t want to go anywhere with him without a plan. You like plans. You like reasons. You like having excuses that make sense when examined too closely.
Sebastian is… just Sebastian. Charming. Frustrating. Reckless in a way that occasionally drags you along with him. That’s all this is. Proximity. Habit.
Nothing else.
He stops abruptly, and you nearly walk straight into him.
“Actually,” he says lightly, turning toward you, “I was thinking—”
Here it is, your mind supplies, traitorous. An invitation. A hand grabbing yours. Movement without thinking.
Your chest tightens.
“No,” you say, too quickly.
Sebastian blinks. “I—what?”
You recover instantly. Impressive, really. “I mean, I can’t. I have something to do. Study group. Or—something.”
You don’t meet his eyes. If you did, you might see the flicker of surprise there, the brief recalculation, and you’re not prepared to deal with that.
“Oh,” he says after a beat. “Right. Another time, then.”
“Yeah,” you agree, relief and something like disappointment tangling uncomfortably in your stomach. “Another time.”
You step back, creating space that feels entirely too deliberate, then turn and continue down the corridor before he can say anything else.
Your pulse doesn’t slow until you’re halfway to your next class.
Good, you think. See? Easy. Handled.
The warmth in your chest lingers anyway, stubborn and unresolved, like a spell you pretended not to cast.
You straighten your shoulders and keep walking.
You’re not wishing.
You’re definitely not wanting.
And you are absolutely, unequivocally, fine.
(You are lying, you are a liar, and you are in denial)
a/n: HI. I KNOW. I said I’d post fics for everyone, I KNOW FORGIVE ME 😭 but it is my golden boy’s time to shine okay. Ominis Gaunt nation, I am feeding you first. I WILL post everyone else tomorrow, TRUST ! (pls don’t riot) the hc’s have grabbed me by the throat and refused to let go so, here we are.
main masterlist!
edit: ominis masterlist!
You don’t remember when it started. Not the first time, anyway.
Only that one evening you were tucked into a corner of the Undercroft with a book you’d already half-read, knees drawn up, back against cool stone, and Ominis drifted closer than usual. His wand traced the floor in slow, absent arcs, red pulses blooming and fading like a heartbeat, mapping the space around him with familiar ease.
“You don’t mind if I—” he began, already lowering himself beside you.
You didn’t answer quickly enough. By the time you thought to, his shoulder had brushed your thigh, and then, as if testing the shape of you, he tilted his head and let it rest in your lap.
The weight of it startled you into stillness.
“Oh,” you said, very intelligently.
He hummed, the sound low and content, and adjusted himself with small, precise movements, trusting you to shift if he needed it. His wand went slack in his fingers, tip dimming until the red light faded altogether.
“It’s quieter here,” he said, voice already softening. “Easier.”
Easier than the castle’s endless echo of footsteps and voices, the way sound ricocheted through corridors and stairwells. Easier than keeping himself upright and attentive when the day had wrung him dry.
You told yourself that was all it was.
You let your book rest against your knee and, without really deciding to, slid your fingers into his hair. It was softer than you expected, warm from the day, curls falling loose beneath your touch. He leaned into it at once, a barely-there shift that made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t yet have words for.
His breathing evened out quickly.
That was how it became a thing.
Ominis napped with you the way other people leaned against windows or dozed in armchairs. Easily. Thoughtlessly. As though it had always been this way. Sometimes it was the Undercroft, sometimes a forgotten classroom or a sun-warmed alcove near the Slytherin common room where the noise dulled to a distant murmur.
You learned the weight of him, the exact angle at which his head rested most comfortably, how his brow smoothed when you combed your fingers through his hair just so. You learned the way his wand, when he slept, would give the faintest pulse now and then, a reflexive reassurance, mapping the steady presence of you beneath him.
You stopped looking down when you touched him.
Your hand simply moved, slow and familiar, tracing patterns you could have drawn blind yourself.
It’s only Ominis, you thought. We’ve known each other since first year.
And it was true. You’d been there through whispered arguments with Sebastian, through the brittle anger and quieter grief, mischief with Anne, and through nights when he sat rigid and silent and let the darkness press in because it felt safer than speaking.
This was just… another version of that.
Imelda wasn’t the first to notice, but she definitely was the first to say something about it. She didn’t interrupt. She never did. She only paused at the edge of the room, broom tucked under one arm, and watched.
Ominis slept, mouth parted slightly, lashes casting faint shadows against his cheeks. Your fingers were buried in his hair, moving in that absent, steady rhythm you didn’t even register anymore.
Imelda raised a brow.
“You know,” she said lightly, “friends don’t usually look like that.”
You laughed a little too fast. “Look like what?”
She tilted her head, eyes flicking between you and the boy breathing evenly in your lap. “Like they’d fall apart if they stopped touching.”
You shrugged, careful not to jostle him. “He’s just comfortable with me.”
“Hm.” She didn’t argue. She just smirked, mounted her broom, and kicked off into the air, leaving the comment behind like a spell you couldn’t shake.
You tried not to think about it.
You really did.
But the next time it happened—really happened—you were alone. Properly alone. Hidden away in a narrow stretch of corridor most students had forgotten existed, where the stone was old, and the air smelled faintly of dust and magic.
Ominis had been quiet that day. A little too quiet.
He’d found you by sound alone, wand pulsing softly as he approached, and sat beside you without a word. When he leaned over, resting his head in your lap as naturally as breathing, something inside you stuttered.
You let it happen, of course you did.
Your fingers slipped into his hair, and he sighed, tension melting out of him in a way that made your throat ache. He trusted you enough to let himself go slack, to let the world fall away entirely.
He never did this with anyone else.
The thought arrived uninvited, unwelcome.
Your hand slowed.
Then stilled.
Ominis shifted faintly, a soft sound leaving him, brow creasing as if he’d noticed the absence even in sleep. Your chest tightened sharply, breath catching before you could stop it.
This is too much, a voice whispered, distant and panicked. This is already too much.
The realisation didn’t hit you like a curse; it settled, it sank in slowly, like cold water seeping through fabric, soft and inexorable and impossible to ignore.
You love him.
Not the abstract, friendly sort of love you’d always assumed this was. Not the fondness of shared history or loyalty forged in late-night conversations and half-spoken fears.
You love him in the way your body already knows him. In the way your hands move without permission. In the way your chest tightens at the idea of him ever pulling away.
You might have been in love with him for a very long time.
Your fingers trembled as you started moving again, gentle, careful, as if he might vanish if you weren’t. His expression smoothed at once, breathing deepening, his wand giving a faint, contented pulse against the stone.
He trusted you, he always had.
You stared down at him, memorising the line of his mouth, the way he fit against you as though this was where he belonged, and felt something inside you break open quietly.
Ominis slept on, blissfully unaware.
And you sat there, holding the weight of him and the weight of your knowing, realising with a slow, sinking certainty that nothing would ever feel the same again—even if he never noticed a thing.
You don’t move for a long time after that.
Not because you’re afraid to wake him, though that’s part of it, but because you’re afraid that if you shift even an inch, something fragile and newly named will shatter. So you stay still, back pressed to cold stone, legs beginning to ache beneath the familiar weight of him.
The warmth seeping through your robes where his cheek rests. The faint tickle of his breath against your skin. The way his hand, lax in sleep, has curled into the fabric at your hip, fingers hooked there as if even unconscious, he’s unwilling to let you drift too far.
You wonder when that started.
You wonder how many times you let it happen without seeing it for what it was.
Eventually, your leg goes numb. A sharp, pins-and-needles warning flares, and you bite your lip to keep from hissing. Carefully, painstakingly, you shift just enough to ease the pressure.
Ominis stirs.
Your heart jumps straight into your throat.
He makes a small sound, half-formed, and turns his face slightly, nestling closer rather than pulling away. His brow smooths again, mouth softening, breath evening out as if he’s found something he’d been searching for even in sleep.
You close your eyes.
This is cruel, you think distantly. And maybe it always has been.
When he wakes, it’s gradual.
He doesn’t startle. He never does with you. Instead, there’s a subtle tightening beneath your fingers, a slow return of awareness. His wand pulses once, twice, red light blooming faintly against the floor as his magic stretches outward, re-drawing the space.
“Oh,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. “Did I—?”
“You fell asleep,” you say, too quickly. “Again.”
He smiles, small and sheepish, but there’s no embarrassment in it. He never apologises anymore. He just adjusts himself, lifting his head a fraction, enough to look toward you without actually moving away.
“Sorry,” he says anyway, out of habit.
Your hand pauses in his hair, hovering.
You make yourself finish the motion, slow and deliberate, because stopping would be worse. “You were tired.”
He hums in agreement, eyes still closed. “You’re comfortable.”
It’s said simply. Fact, not flirtation. As though it couldn’t possibly mean anything else.
Your chest tightens all over again.
Eventually, he does move. He always does. He straightens with a soft exhale, smoothing his robes, wand tapping lightly as he orients himself. The absence of his weight leaves you strangely unbalanced, as if something essential has been removed without warning.
You fold your hands in your lap so you don’t reach for him.
“Did I miss anything?” he asks.
“No,” you lie.
The days that follow are… normal.
Which is a problem.
Ominis still finds you without effort, still gravitates toward your side in rooms full of people. He still leans close when he talks, voice dropping instinctively, and still reaches for your sleeve when the castle grows too loud or unpredictable.
And you notice everything now.
The way he angles his body toward you, even when speaking to someone else. The way his wand’s pulses linger longest around you, mapping you with quiet precision. The way his shoulders ease the moment he realises you’re nearby, tension bleeding away before he’s even conscious of it.
You start measuring time in moments with him.
How long until he sits close enough that your knees brush? How long until his head tips, just slightly, toward your shoulder when he’s exhausted? How long until you can feel his warmth again, familiar and unbearable all at once?
Yet you never pull away, you just tell yourself it’s because you don’t want to confuse him. Because this is how things have always been. Because taking it back would hurt more than letting it continue.
But sometimes, late at night, you lie awake replaying the weight of him in your lap and wonder who you’re really protecting.
One evening, as you sit together in the common room, he reaches for you without looking, fingers finding your wrist with unerring certainty. He doesn’t squeeze. He doesn’t speak. He just holds on, anchoring himself in the press of your pulse beneath his thumb.
Your breath stutters.
“Ominis,” you start, then stop.
He tilts his head. “Yes?”
The word stays lodged in your throat, heavy and dangerous. You shake your head instead. “Nothing.”
He doesn’t push. He just nods like he always does, thumb brushing once over your skin, absent and intimate, and turns back to his book.
You sit there beside him, heart aching, painfully aware that you have crossed some invisible threshold and can never step back again.
When you realise you've fallen in love with them - Ominis, Sebastian, Garreth, Poppy
a/n: OKAY I KNOW I KNOW I DISAPPEARED FOR LIKE 4 DAYS asjkhdgfashjdghfaksdf 😭😭 but I swear I’m alive. I will be back again tomorrow, TRUST. These headcanons were wayyyy too good to stay as headcanons, so yes, full ass fics for each of these are coming very soon(tomorrow, I promise, STAY TUNED)
Also idk if these made sense, but they made perfect sense in my head, and I’m too goddamn sleep deprived to make them make more sense </3 pls bear with me (also ik they're short but again,,,,TRUST!!)
masterlist!
Ominis Gaunt
ଳ You don’t remember when it started, exactly, just that one day Ominis began resting his head in your lap when he got tired. It was easier there, he said, quieter, and you didn’t think much of it because you’ve known each other since the first year, and that’s just how things are between you.
ଳ He naps easily with you, breathing evening out quickly while you read, your fingers slipping into his hair without conscious thought. You’ve done it so many times now that you don’t even look down anymore, just automatically comb through the soft strands while he sleeps.
ଳ Imelda notices once. She pauses, watches the way he leans into you, the way your hand doesn’t stop moving, and tells you that friends don’t usually look like that. You laugh, shrug it off, say you’re just close, but the comment sticks in the back of your mind in a way you don’t like.
ଳ The next time he falls asleep on you, somewhere quiet and hidden away from the rest of the castle, you become painfully aware of how much space he takes up in your life. The weight of his head, the trust in the way he relaxes fully, the fact that he never does this with anyone else.
ଳ Your hand stills mid-motion, and your chest tightens without warning. The realisation doesn’t crash, it just settles, soft and terrifying and undeniable: you’re in love with him, and you might have been for a very long time.
Sebastian Sallow
ଳ Professor Binns is talking, droning on about dates and goblin rebellions, and Sebastian isn’t even in class. You’re half-awake, scribbling nonsense on your parchment just to look busy, trying not to fall asleep.
ଳ Your thoughts drift anyway, landing on Sebastian like they always seem to. You imagine him grabbing your hand and dragging you somewhere reckless, laughing, choosing you without hesitation like he always does.
ଳ You think about what it would be like to go somewhere with him without a plan, without an excuse, just because you want to be together. The idea feels warm and dangerous in equal measure.
ଳ The bell rings and jolts you back into your body, heart racing for no apparent reason. Ominis taps your desk to get your attention, and you blink at him, disoriented.
ଳ It hits you then, sharp and unwelcome. You weren’t daydreaming to pass the time. You were wishing, and that realisation settles in your chest like a secret you’re not sure you’re ready to admit.
Garreth Weasley
ଳ You only agreed to help because he promised to treat you in Hogsmeade if the potion went wrong. Butterbeer, Chocolate Frogs, the usual bribes, and you pretend it’s purely transactional even though you’d have probably said yes anyway.
ଳ Garreth doesn’t actually need much help. He mostly just talks while he works, glancing over every so often to make sure you’re still there, smiling when he catches you watching.
ଳ You sit by the cauldron, chin in your hands, listening to him mutter and fuss and adjust things with careful concentration. There’s something different about him like this, focused and earnest and completely absorbed in what he’s doing.
ଳ The thought sneaks up on you when your guard is down. He looks good like this. Not in a flashy way, just in a quiet, domestic, I like being here with you way.
ଳ Realising you’re in love with him doesn’t feel loud or dramatic. It just feels like acknowledging something that’s been true longer than you’re willing to admit.
Poppy Sweeting
ଳ You’re paired with Poppy again in Beasts class, like you always seem to be. She kneels in the grass without hesitation, sleeves brushing the dirt as she murmurs softly to a nervous Puffskein, all patience and warmth and care.
ଳ You watch the way she smiles when it inches closer, gentle and genuine in a way that makes your chest ache unexpectedly. She looks at creatures like they’re something precious, something worth protecting at all costs.
ଳ It’s then that you realise you’ve been watching her longer than necessary, that your attention hasn’t drifted once. The thought slips in quietly, almost embarrassed, you want her to look at you like that.
ଳ Not just notice you, but care for you with the same tenderness she gives the creatures under her protection. To choose you gently, the way she chooses them.
ଳ She glances back at you then, smiling softly like she’s just noticed you’ve been there all along, and something in your chest stutters. The realisation settles warm and terrifying all at once, and you look away quickly, because once you understand it, you know there’s no going back.
SIXTY. SIX. HELLO????? (about me + blog plans + AO3 ramble)
I genuinely did not notice this happened, and suddenly there are 66 OF YOU!!! HERE!!!, which is… mildly terrifying and extremely lovely?!@#@#?>< 🫶 thank you to everyone for sticking around, reading my silly little words, screaming in the tags, and enabling my very specific hogwarts legacy brainrot!
a lil (not so lil) about me!
HI. it’s me. the writer. blu-blubs! 🎣
I’ve been writing for 11 years now, which is frankly insane to type out. I started as a child with no supervision whatsoever, who discovered fanfiction way too early and immediately began writing fic on actual paper. notebooks were lost, sacrificed, and filled front to back. those were some dark times HAHDHAKSDA
I briefly posted on Wattpad around 2016–2017/18, during the peak of my K-pop era, and yes—I was one of those writers. groups x reader, idol/trainee reader, 1MILLION Dance Studio mentions, every member inexplicably pining. no shame. only mild psychic damage.
I stopped posting after getting a comment telling me I was just copying another creator and that I should stop because my writing was “ass” compared to theirs (I did not even know who they were 😭). It scared me off posting my work online for a long time.
So being here now—writing again, posting again, and being met with so much kindness—means more to me than I can properly explain. I’m slowly unlearning that fear because of you guys, and I’m genuinely so grateful for the patience, encouragement, and love you’ve shown me💚
plans for the blog!
I’m officially trying something new and giving myself a loose posting rhythm (schedule felt too serious and scary).
I’ll be posting on Mondays and Thursdays, since my classes were shifted around and I don’t have any on those days anymore. However—if inspiration strikes, or if you guys send in requests and my brain latches onto them, I’ll absolutely post in between.
Asks are open and will forever stay open, just please bear with me if replies take a bit—sometimes shit happens, and sometimes I’m staring at a sentence for an hour wondering if it should exist 😭
future plans / AO3 ramblings
OKAY. AO3!
I’ve been… very hesitant about posting there because I’ve only ever been a reader. I leave kudos, and subsribe to authours and their works, but I do not know how bookmarks work (it intimidates me, and instead I copy links to my favourite fics into my notes app or straight-up write the titles down in a notebook like a FUCKING CAVE PERSON)
BUT. It might finally be time.
I teased an AU a few days ago, and fun fact—that idea is actually something I wrote during the pandemic for a fandom I will not name😁😁 I recently rediscovered it and realised how much I love the concept, especially reimagined with Ominis, so I’m currently in the process of rewriting/reworking it with the intention of posting it on AO3.
I’m still undecided on whether I should cross-post it here on Tumblr as well, so I would genuinely love your opinions on that!
That said, Tumblr will always be my one true love because you guys are here. Nothing major is changing, except that I might post a little less once AO3 enters the picture
FINALLY! If you have any questions—about me, my writing, the blog, or literally anything—feel free to ask! You can drop them in the replies or send them through my asks. I’d love to hear from you! 💚💚
My insane rambling for: Symptoms may include denial - Ominis Gaunt
Love all the mannerism you wrote for Ominis. He's so sassy-ly caring.
This paragaph:
::
His wand is loose in his hand, not raised, not obvious. It never needs to be. The magic pulses gently, mapping the room in soft impressions, and then narrows its attention. You feel it, the way you always do, a subtle prickle along your spine as his awareness brushes over you.
:
I wanna eat it. So spectacularly vivid. I can feel the vibes off the pages. Imagine Ominis' action and the feeling of it. Soooo gooood
And the little ways, he's watching over reader aaaahhhh sooooo gooooddd!!!
::
“Yes,” he agrees, entirely too patient. “But you do not usually feel like a cursed hearth.”
:
Lol he's so sassy!!! I love the way you characterize his voice. He comes off polite but with a bite but also fondness with him describing reader as "incandescent". You manage to capture the way he's both verbose but succinct. So much meaning in usch little words
::
He straightens, lips twitching. “I love when your temperature is 103°, but you’re still like, ‘I’m fine tho.’”
:
And so funny too. How do you make reader and Ominis so funny!!! Like a well-written verbal ping pong/slapstick. Idk how to describe it akdksk
And also love reader's ongoing bit with their comedic timing. "I'm not sick—*proceeds to pass out*
Lol and Ominis, the knight in shining armour ajdkskkd catching his swooning beloved akdkkskd and his "oh, you have got to be joking me" ajdksk I can hear the fondness but also the exasperation
And when he cradles the reader akdjkekf I swooned. I swooned! It was dashing. It was soft. It was cute!
Aahhhhh I just love it. I can't type everything cuz it's literally just me going I swooned. Like that part where Ominis lifts the unconscious reader, when they woke up in Ominis arms, when Ominis tighten his arm and goes "Ah-ah" (bunos point made me go "aaahhh he's so dashing. Again), when he and reader have another verbal ping pong but then he notices their pain aaaahhhh, the constant "i know", the hand-feeding, the finishing it for them, the "very politely, the third time", aaaggghhh just everything!!!!
It's so cuuuuuttteee!!! Thank you for writing it!!! It warms my heart so well. It feels like a warm, fuzzy, fond, tight hug!
- anon who slid to your ask x days ago
YOURE BAACKKK!!!
you literally made me SWOON reading your ask!!! I can feel your excitement jumping off the screen—it’s giving me all the warm fuzzy, heart-flipping vibes too 🫶
I’m so glad the little wand touches, the sassy/fond Ominis energy, and the ridiculous fever scene landed the way I hoped!! it’s just me 😭 my sarcastic, dry-ass humour absolutely sneaks into my writing. the verbal ping-pong, the deadpan replies, the “I’m fine tho” followed by immediate collapse—that is 100% my sense of humour bleeding through (I’m not even sorry LMAO)
I like to think Ominis would absolutely weaponise sarcasm when caring for someone, so it felt right AHAHHSDHA
thank you all so much for the love on this one, it genuinely makes my heart feel very warm and fuzzy whenever you guys show support!!
