Warnings: minimal mentions of sex, no smut, sub!George, Fred being a cock block, slight mentions of jealous George?, non sexual nudity mention, semi-public sex mention
Regular:
⊠Used to get nightmares as a kid and would cry to Fred about them, now gets super defensive whenever Fred brings it up.
⊠Plays guitar but not in a performative male way, more in a creative outlet way. He struggles talking to people about his feelings and instead turns to art.
⊠Would absolutely litter his room in posters, miscellaneous with some of the corners peeling away but it's the thought that counts.
⊠Always wears fluffy socks no matter the occasion and doesn't see anything weird about it.
⊠Keeps a secret sketchbook he draws in when he's stressed that NO ONE is allowed to look at. He doesn't bother to make the drawings look good, it's a stress relief for him.
Dating:
⊠You and Fred have an inside joke that George doesn't understand because he went to bed earlier than you two one night and he's gets really salty about it, constantly asking you two to explain it to him but he always gets the 'you wouldn't get it.'
⊠Takes advantage of how tall he is and leans down to 'hear you better' because he likes the way it makes your cheeks go red.
⊠Dates someone that sees him as a person and not just Fred's shadow- values emotional intimacy.
⊠Similar to the last one but loves when his significant other can easily tell him apart from Fred through mannerisms or small details in appearance, it makes him feel seen, heard, and understood.
⊠Learns how to french braid your hair.
⊠Nonsexual nudity lover. Showers with you every chance he gets, sometimes leading to sex and other times leading to cuddling in bed, the lingering scent of shampoo and lavender body wash lulling you to bed
⊠Submissive in and out of the bed, puts your wants and needs before his.
⊠Still blushes when you compliment him no matter how long you've been dating.
⊠Fred is the biggest cockblock ever because he finds it extremely funny to ruin the moment.. in reality he might just be a little jealous..
⊠Best friends to lovers
⊠Loves semi-public sex. On the sofa in the common room, late at night when everyone is asleep, with the orange flicker of the fireplace illuminating the two of you. It's safe enough for it to feel intimate, but there's an underlying risk of someone walking in that thrills him.
I had a dream that I was riding Heisenberg and I saw a few pieces of metal fly over and stick to him and I was like "uh oh" (in the most cartoony way) and skedaddled on outta there a few rooms away. And then I heard his spooky half-scrap-metal-half-chewing-gum voice from the other room be like "Sorry! This doesn't usually happen to me. I just really like you."
Living through major historical events is so wild because the president said he's turning DC into Cyberpunk and I still have to go to work and make small talk about my coworkers minion collection
Living through major historical events is so wild because the president said he's turning DC into Cyberpunk and I still have to go to work and make small talk about my coworkers minion collection
My headcanon is that Ominis will probably name his daughter Noctua.
She will be the most adorable and most spoiled creature, I tell you.
After a long discussion with my good friend, I was so inspired that I decided to draw them. Donât know about historical accuracy (probably not), but the attire is definitely for walk.
And in my HC Ominis will still successfully escape abroad with his beloved, away from his crazy relatives, and will live happily ever after.
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 youâd 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 youâd shared tentative smiles across the library table, before fifth year shattered everything between you. Heâd thought you were remarkable thenâfierce, 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 Sebastianâs 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 offerânot when the Gaunts were known for their ruthlessness. Youâd 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 Sebastianâhad 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 youâd seen it all along.
Ominis swallowed hard, the guilt twisting his stomach. Youâd 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 Sebastianâs 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 youâd 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. Heâd âseenâ the stiffness in your shoulders, the faint tremor in your hands as youâd clasped them in front of you, your head turning ever so slightly toward him as his parents greeted you. For a fleeting second, heâd felt your attention, a thin, aching tether between you.
But you hadnât spoken to him. Not then, and not since.
What could he possibly say to make this better? âIâm sorryâ was laughable at this point. He was sorry, of courseâsorry 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 nightmareâbut 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. âCome in,â he called, his voice steadier than he felt.
The door creaked open, and one of the Gaunt familyâs house-elves stepped hesitantly into the room. âMaster Ominis,â the elf began, its voice trembling, âyour bride-to-be is in the garden, sir.â
The words hit him like a punch to the gut.
âWhy?â he asked, his throat dry.
âSheâshe is pacing, sir. She looks⊠upset.â
Ominis nodded, rising from his chair. âThank you,â he said, though the elf was already retreating, bowing its way out of the room.
You were upset. Of course, you were. Why wouldnât 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 himâa man who had pushed you away when youâd 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 didnât know if he could say anything to help, but he couldnât 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 Ominisâs chest, seeing the person he cared for so deeply reduced to this.
Care.
No, he thought bitterly, that wasnât 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 hadnât 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.
âOminis,â you said, your voice calm but sharp like the edge of a blade. ââŠCouldnât sleep?â
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 youâd used with his parents when you arrived, the one where heâd sensed every ounce of resentment youâd tucked away beneath a mask of cordiality.
âNo,â he said softly, stepping further into the garden. âI was told you were out here.â
âOf course,â 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.
âI thought⊠perhaps you might want to talk,â he said carefully, his voice low.
âWith you? No,â you replied quickly, brushing off the suggestion as though it didnât matter. You turned your back to him. âTalking to you wonât help.â
Ominis winced but didnât respond. The silence stretched between you, the night air growing heavier with each passing second.
âIâm sorry,â 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. âSorry,â you echoed. âOf course. And that makes it all better, does it?â
He took a hesitant step closer, his wand pulsing faintly to track the distance between you. âI mean it,â he said. âI wish things were different.â
âDo you?â you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder. ââBecause last time I checked, youâre 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. âDo you think I donât remember?â you asked, your voice trembling slightly with the weight of unspoken emotion. âThe things you said to me? The way you looked at me, like I was⊠like I was the problem?â
âThatâs not what Iââ Ominis started, but you cut him off with a sharp laugh, one that lacked any real humor.
âIt doesnât matter,â you said, your voice quieter now but no less firm. âNothing either of us says now will change anything. And tomorrow, weâll 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. âGoodnight, Ominis,â 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 Ominisâs older brother, Marvolo, had returned from his work abroad for the occasion, his mere presence enough to sour the air. Ominis had always loathed Marvoloâarrogant, cruel, and every bit the model Gaunt heir their parents had hoped for. The rest of the family wasnât 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 hundredâno, a thousandâtimes, 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 heâd 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 youâthat he was backed into a corner with no way out. It wasnât 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. Heâd seen it with his older cousins, the ones who had been disowned or âdisappearedâ for daring to cross the family.
And that didnât 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.
âItâs me,â Sebastianâs voice called through the heavy wood, rough but familiar.
âCome in,â 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 crookedâa detail Ominis would have pointed out if heâd had the energy to notice.
âYou look like hell,â Sebastian said, crossing the room and leaning against the desk.
âI feel worse,â Ominis admitted, lowering himself into the chair by the window.
Sebastian tilted his head, scrutinizing Ominis with a sharpness that felt impossible to ignore.
ââŠYou love her, donât you?â 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. âWhat kind of question is that?â
Ominis sighed heavily, his head tilting back as though seeking answers from the cracked ceiling above. âYou already know the answer to that, Sebastian,â he said, his voice low and bitter. âYouâve always known.â
âHumor me,â Sebastian pressed.
Ominisâs lips curled into a humorless smile. âOf course I love her. Iâve always loved her. Since before I even understood what that meant. And you know that. So why ask?â
Sebastian scoffed, fixing Ominis with an unrelenting stare. âBecause youâre acting like this is the end of the world. You love her. And now youâre marrying her. Sheâs about to be your wife.â
Ominis turned his head sharply, his sightless gaze narrowing slightly. âMy wife?â His voice rose, edged with frustration. âThis isnât a marriage, Sebastian. Itâs a transaction. A cage.â He gestured vaguely toward the window, where the distant hum of laughter and footsteps filled the courtyard. âShe doesnât want this. And she certainly doesnât want me.â
Sebastian didnât flinch, his calmness almost maddening. âBut you love her,â he pointed out again. âThat means you can make something of this. You can try.â
Ominis let out a sharp breath, his hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. âTry what? To pretend that she doesnât hate me?â He shook his head, his voice quieter now, but no less filled with anguish. âShe does hate me, Sebastian. And why wouldnât she?â
Sebastian frowned, his expression flickering with guilt. âYou were scared. We all were. What happened back thenâŠâ He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. âIt wasnât easy for any of us.â
âIt doesnât matter,â Ominis snapped. âI made my choices. And now, she thinks Iâm no better than my parents.â His voice cracked slightly, the weight of the words cutting deeper than he cared to admit. âShe thinks Iâm just like them, putting her through this. And maybe sheâs right.â
âShe doesnât think that. Youâre nothing like your parents,â Sebastian said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. âAnd if youâd stop wallowing in self-pity for half a second, you might see that she doesnât actually hate you.â
Ominis scoffed, shaking his head. âYou donât know that.â
âYes, I do,â Sebastian said, beginning to pace the room with his usual restless energy. âIâve seen the way she looks at you, Ominis. Sheâs hurt, sure. Angry. But hate? No.â
Ominis leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. âYouâre imagining things,â he muttered.
âAm I?â Sebastian challenged, stopping in his tracks to face him. âYouâve 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?â
The words hit their mark, and Ominis flinched. He couldnât 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.
âWeâre out of time,â he said flatly. âTheyâre going to be expecting us downstairs.â
Ominis didnât 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 wouldnât solve anything. This wasnât a fight they could winânot here, not now.
âCome on,â Sebastian urged, his voice softer. âLetâs get this over with.â
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 perfectâhe 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. âYouâll survive this,â he said with a slight smile. âEverything will work out.â
Ominis didnât 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 waitingâpure-bloods from every corner of their miserable society, their presence a suffocating reminder of the world he had triedâand failedâto 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.
Ominisâs 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 motherâs hands were folded tightly in her lap, her face pale and drawn as she avoided meeting anyoneâs gaze, eyes flicking nervously between the guests and the altar.
The contrast between them and the Gaunts couldnât have been starker. Ominisâs 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 couldnât breathe.
The sound of footsteps against the stone aisle cut through the music, and Ominisâs wand pulsed faintly in his sleeve, mapping the space before him. In his mindâs eye, he saw themâtwo 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. Ominisâs 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 fatherâs. 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 brideârefined, poised, and heartbreakingly beautiful.
Ominisâs 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 movedâall of it was for him.
For a heartbeat, he believed it. That you had taken your fatherâs 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 werenât 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 subtleâso subtle that no one else would have noticedâbut 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 officiantâs words droned on, his low, measured tone a blur in Ominisâs 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.
âDo you, Ominis Gaunt, take her to be your lawfully wedded wife?â
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 parentsâ gaze burning into him, his fatherâs unyielding authority pressing down like a lead weight. The crowdâs silence was deafening, expectant, suffocating.
His lips parted, and the words tumbled out before he could stop them, heavy and hollow.
âI do.â
The officiant turned to you, repeating the same question.
âAnd do you take Ominis Gaunt to be your lawfully wedded husband?â
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.
âI do.â
The words hung in the air, final and irreversible. The officiantâs voice rose again, completing the ritual with the formal pronouncement that sealed your fates.
âBy the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Mr. Gaunt, you may now kiss your bride.â
Ominis froze.
How had he forgotten about this part? Heâd imagined this twisted mockery of a wedding day a thousand times, and yet this momentâthe one he had once dreamed of with such hopeâhad 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 parentsâ satisfaction was palpable, his extended family practically giddy at the spectacle. But all Ominis could focus on was youâthe 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 wasnât 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 stillâfrozen, 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.
Ominisâs mind went blank, his senses overwhelmed. It was subtle at firstâa 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 awayâthe oppressive weight of the crowdâs 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. Ominisâs 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. Youâd 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 didnât have time to dwell on it. The officiantâs 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 didnât dare look at you. Not now. He wasnât 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 couldnât 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.
Youâd 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 goldenâuntarnished 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 didnât miss a beat, your lips curling into a soft, polite smile. âOh, absolutely not,â you said, your voice light with humor. âOur first meeting was⊠letâs say, less than ideal.â
His stomach twisted at your words, but you pressed on, the ease in your tone disarming the nosy crowd.
âHe found me in his personal study spot,â you continued, glancing briefly at Ominis with a glimmer of something in your eyes that he couldnât quite place. âIâll never forget how furious he was.â
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 youâd never betray that secret, not even after all he'd done to you.
You went on, your tone growing softer, more reflective. âI thought Iâd made a terrible first impression. And, well, I had.â A few more chuckles rippled through the group. âBut a few days later, he apologized. He didnât have toâhe couldâve just ignored me foreverâbut he did. And...we became friends after that. It wasnât easy at first. Weâre both⊠stubborn.â You laughed lightly, the sound so genuine it felt like a blade cutting through the air. âBut we figured it out.â
Ominis felt like the ground beneath him was shifting. These werenât 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 heâd been allowed to keep, and now, here you were, bringing them to life as though the years of distance and pain hadnât fractured them beyond recognition.
âThe moment I realized it was more than just friendship was not long after, right before Christmas,â you continued, your gaze growing distant as though you were looking back into the past. âWeâd spent the day shopping in Hogsmeade. The three of usâOminis, Sebastian, and me.â
Ominisâs heart twisted at the mention of that day. He remembered it vividly, every detail coming to life in his mind as you spoke.
âIt had started snowing that afternoon,â you continued, a soft smile curling at your lips. âWeâd 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.â
The guests chuckled, and Ominisâs 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.
âAnd then,â you said, your smile widening slightly, âSebastianâbeing Sebastianâmanaged to spill an entire mug of butterbeer all over me. It was awful, I was absolutely soaked, sticky, and cold.â
More laughter rippled through the group, and Ominis felt a faint heat rise to his cheeks as he remembered the way youâd lookedâyour expression caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement as you tried to wring out your sleeves.
âBut then,â you continued, glancing briefly at Ominis, âhe gave me his coat.â
That was true. He had. Though Ominis hadnât thought much of it at the timeâheâd 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 heâd ever understood.
âAnd not just that,â you said, your voice softening. âHe left the Three Broomsticks, in the middle of the snowstorm, and went to Gladrags to buy me a clean set of clothes. He didnât 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 wasnât a big deal at all.â
Ominisâs throat felt tight, his hands clenching at his sides as he remembered the look on your face when heâd handed you that bag. You had been startled at first, your eyes widening as you glanced between him and the neatly wrapped parcel. Then youâd smiledâa small, genuine smile that had left him momentarily speechless.
âThat was the moment,â you said softly, your voice carrying a note of vulnerability that struck Ominis to his core. âThe moment I realized he wasnât just my friend. That he was⊠more. That I loved him.â
Your words hung in the air, a quiet confession wrapped in the guise of a story for the guestsâ entertainment. Ominis could feel every gaze in the room turn toward him, but he couldnât bring himself to meet any of them. His focus was entirely on youâon 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 youâd looked at him then, and the way youâd spoken of it now.
By the time the reception finally came to an end, Ominis was exhaustedânot 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 youâthe 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 hotelârichly 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 Ominisâs 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 expectationsâjust 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 hadnât even realized heâd 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 dayâs events replayed in his mind like a loop he couldnât escapeâyour 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 couldnât 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 youâd meant the things youâd 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 bathroomâif 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 elsewhereâon you, still behind the closed door, and the way everything about this night felt wrong.
This wasnât how a wedding night was supposed to feel.
It wasnât 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 couldnât sense the details of your expression, couldnât see the way your eyes might have widened or the way your lips might have parted slightly in surprise. He couldnât 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 stateâbare-chested, his dress pants undone and hanging low on his hips. He wondered what you thought of himâwhat you saw when you looked at him now.
He had an idea of his appearance, of course. His wandâs 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 attractiveâsharp, 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 hairâall 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 couldnât help but wonder what you thought when you looked at him. Did you find him attractive? Or did you see only the Gaunt heirâa 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.
âSorry,â you murmured softly, your voice breaking the silence. It wasnât sharp or coldâjust quiet, almost tentative.
âN-no,â Ominis said quickly, his voice low and uneven. He straightened slightly, his hands falling to his sides. âIâI should be the one apologizing.â
You didnât respond immediately, and he could hear the faint rustle of fabric as you shifted, likely clutching your wedding dress tighter against you. âIâm finished in the bathroom, if you want to change in there,â you offered, your tone polite, carefully neutral. âOr⊠I can just turn around, if thatâs easier.â
Ominisâs fingers twitched at his sides, his throat tightening. The absurdity of the situation struck him. You were married, bound by the vows youâd exchanged earlier that day, and yet you could barely manage to exist in the same space without this unbearable awkwardness.
âNo, IâllâIâll use the bathroom,â he said, his voice tight. âThank you.â
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 didnât need to see his face to know what heâd find thereâa 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 didnât do much to ease the tightness in his chest.
When he finally emerged, his hair slightly damp from the water heâd 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.
âI thoughtâŠâ you began, your voice trailing off as though you were unsure how to explain yourself. âYou should take the bed.â
Ominis blinked, stunned into silence for a moment. âYou⊠you donât have to do that,â he said quietly, his voice laced with something that sounded almost like guilt. âThe bed is yours too.â
You shook your head, the motion subtle but certain. âItâs fine. Really. Iâll be more comfortable here.â
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 nightâa night meant for intimacy and closenessâand 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.
âIâll take the floor,â Ominis said, his voice quiet but firm. He stepped closer, his fingers tightening around his wand. âYou shouldnât have to.â
You looked up at him, startled for a moment, before shaking your head. âOminis, itâs fine,â you said, your tone polite but insistent. âIâll be more comfortable here. Really.â
âItâs not fine,â he replied quickly. âItâs wrong. You shouldnât have to sleep on the floorâespecially not tonight.â
âItâs not wrong if Iâm choosing to,â you countered, folding your arms across your chest. âThe bed is yours. I donât mind.â
Ominisâs frustration began to bubble beneath the surface, his composure slipping. âYou donât have to pretend youâre fine with this,â he insisted, his tone growing sharper despite his efforts to keep it even.
âIâm not pretending,â you shot back. âI said I donât mind, and I meant it.â
âWhy?â Ominis asked, his voice rising slightly. âWhy are we doing this? All this⊠politeness and decorum?â
Your expression shifted, your jaw tightening as you glanced away. âWhat are you talking about?â
âThis,â Ominis said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. âThe careful words, the pretending that any of this is normal. Why are we bothering? Why are we talking to each other like strangers? Thereâs no one here to see it. No one to keep up appearances for. Itâs just us.â
You stared at him, your expression unreadable. âMaybe because we are strangers, Ominis. We have been for years, havenât we?â
Ominis froze, your words striking him harder than he expected. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. You didnât look away, your expression steady but tinged with something he couldnât quite placeâresignation, perhaps, or maybe sadness.
âIsnât that what you wanted?â you pressed, your voice quieter now but no less pointed. âAfter fifth year, you made it perfectly clear how you felt.â
He flinched, his jaw tightening as your words sank in. âI was trying to protect you,â he said quietly, his voice strained. âFrom Sebastian.â
âDonât,â you said sharply, cutting him off. âDonât put this on Sebastian. This isnât about him. This is about you.â
Ominis turned his head slightly, his throat tightening as the weight of your accusation settled over him. He couldnât argue with itânot entirely. You were right. It was his choice to push you away, though at the time heâd convinced himself it was the right thing to do.
âSo no, you werenât protecting me,â you continued sharply, your voice rising. âYou were punishing me.â
He flinched as though youâd struck him, his sightless eyes widening. âPunishing you?â he echoed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and pain. âWhy would Iââ
âBecause you didnât trust me,â you cut in, your voice breaking slightly. âYou thought I was wrong. You thought I didnât understand, that I wasnât on your side. So you pushed me away and youâve done it ever since.â
âNo,â Ominis said quickly, shaking his head. âThatâs notââ
âThen what is it?â you demanded, taking a step closer, your anger and pain spilling out in equal measure. âBecause thatâs what it felt like. Thatâs what itâs always felt like. And nowââ Your voice cracked, and you took a shaky breath before continuing. âAnd now, youâre stuck with me.â You lifted your left hand, the Gaunt family ring reflecting the lamplight. âAnd trust me, I know this isnât what you want.â
Ominis froze, the weight of your words taking a moment to settle. And then, he almost laughed. The absurdity of the idea that he wouldnât want youâyou of all peopleâwas almost too much to bear.
Heâd imagined itâdreamed 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.
âIf anyone doesnât want this,â Ominis said finally, his voice trembling as he spoke, âitâs you.â
You blinked, your expression shifting from anger to confusion. âWhat?â
âYouâre right,â he said, his grip tightening on his wand as he forced the words out. âYouâre right about everything. About what I did, about why I pushed you away.â He swallowed hard, his throat tight. âEven if I didnât realize it, I did punish you.â
You stared at him, your anger softening into something more complicated, though you didnât interrupt.
âIâve given you every reason to hate me,â Ominis continued, his voice breaking slightly, âFor what I did to you then, and for what my family has done to you now.â He gestured vaguely at the room around you, at the bands on your fingers, at everything that bound you to him against your will. âI⊠I know you hate me, and I accept that. I know you hate thisâhate usâand I accept that too. But if you think for one second that I didnât want thisâthat I didnât want youâyouâre wrong.â
You rose slowly from where youâd been kneeling, your movements deliberate, your frame tense. Your arms hung loosely at your sides, and your gaze settled on him, unreadable. Ominis didnât move, didnât 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. âSo⊠you... donât hate me?â
âNo,â he said immediately, the word escaping before youâd even finished. âNever.â
You blinked at him, as though startled by his vehemence. For a moment, he thought that would be the end of itâthat you would leave it at that. But then you took a step closer, your voice trembling slightly as you asked, âThen why did youâŠ?â
You trailed off, but he knew exactly what you meant. Why did you push me away for years?
âBecause Iâm an idiot,â 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. âBecause I let fear and pride cloud my judgment. And Merlin, itâs the biggest regret of my life.â
Ominis's throat tightened painfully, the words heâd held back for years clawing their way up to the surface. They pressed against his chest, demanding release, and for once, he didnât push them down. What was the point? You were already married, bound by vows neither of you could escapeâtrapped in this twisted arrangement orchestrated by his family. There was no undoing it, no going back.
âBecause... because Iâve always loved you,â 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. âAlways.â
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 couldnât take back.
âIâŠâ you began, your voice unsteady, but you trailed off again, clearly struggling to find the words. âYou⊠loved me?â
âLove,â he corrected softly. âPresent tense.â
Your breath hitched, and he could hear the faint tremor in it. âWhy... why didnât you ever say anything?â
He hesitated, his hands tightening at his sides. âBecause I was afraid,â he admitted. âAfraid you didnât feel the same. Afraid of what it would mean if you did. I didnât want you getting tied up with my familyâwith the Gaunts. I didnât want you dragged into⊠into this.â
He gestured vaguely around the room, his frustration with himself evident in the sharpness of his movements. âNot that it ended up mattering,â he added bitterly.
You were silent again, and Ominis felt the weight of your hesitation like a physical thing pressing down on his chest. Heâd said too much. Heâd gone too far. And nowâ
âI wouldnât have cared,â you said softly.
"...Pardon?â
âI wouldnât have cared about your family,â you said again, your voice a little steadier now. âI never cared about any of that.â
Ominis's heart twisted painfully at your words, the faint flicker of hope they ignited almost too much to bear. âYouâŠâ He stopped, his voice faltering as he tried to process what youâd said. "You didn't?"
âNo. In fact, I donât care,â you continued, your voice quieter now, almost shy. âPresent tense.â
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 didnât careâif you truly didnât careâthen what did that mean? What did it say about the way you felt about him now?
âYou meanâŠâ he began, his voice faltering as he struggled to form the question that had lodged itself in his throat. âYou mean you stillâŠâ
You looked away, a faint blush coloring your cheeks as you clasped your hands in front of you. âWhat I mean,â you began quietly, your voice barely audible. âIs that I... I love you too.â
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 muchâtoo good to be true.
Surely, heâd 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, heâd 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.
âYouâŠâ His voice cracked, his grip on his wand tightening as though it were the only thing keeping him upright. âYou love me?â
âYes,â you said softly, unable to meet his eyes.
Ominis shook his head slightly, as though trying to shake loose the fog clouding his mind. âYou⊠are you sure?â
âYes, Ominis,â 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.
âYouâre serious. You⊠you loââ
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 youâthe 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 everythingâmore 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.
âThat storyâŠâ he murmured, his voice low and uneven. âThe one you told at the reception. About Hogsmeade. Was it⊠was it true?â
You pulled back slightly, just enough for him to sense the shift in your posture. He couldnât see your expression, but he could feel the heat rising from you, could hear the faint hitch in your breath.
âYes,â you admitted softly, your voice tinged with embarrassment. âIt was true.â
Ominis felt his knees nearly give out at the confirmation, his grip on your waist tightening reflexively. âMerlin,â he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. âAll this timeâŠâ
He swallowed hard, his throat tight as the weight of everything settled over him. The years heâd spent aching for you, the nights heâd lain awake tormenting himself with what-ifsâit all seemed so absurd now.
âYou reallyâŠâ He trailed off, shaking his head as though he couldnât quite believe it. âYou realized then?â
âAt Hogsmeade?â you asked softly, your voice still tinged with shyness. You hesitated for a moment before nodding. âYes... I did."
Ominis let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, his breath hitching as he shook his head slightly. âBecause of some clothes?â he asked, the faintest trace of amusement coloring his voice. âBecause I gave you my coat and bought you something dry to wear?â
"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. âIt wasn't just the clothes. Iâd been falling you for some time, but I hadnât really let myself acknowledge it. And then that day, it all just⊠clicked.â
His grip on your waist tightened slightly. âClicked,â he repeated.
You swallowed hard as you cast your gaze downward. âYouâve always been⊠well, you, Ominis,â you began softly, your voice carrying a hesitant edge, as though you werenât sure how much to say. âYou, with your calm, your steadiness. Even when youâre angry, itâs controlled, measured, refined. Itâs like you always know exactly what to do, like you were born knowing how to handle everything.â
He swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond to the quiet admiration in your voice. Heâd spent so much of his life rejecting the parts of himself tied to his familyâs legacyâthe 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.
âAnd me?â you continued, your voice softening. âIâve... I've never been like that. Iâm messy. Emotional. I act too quickly and think too slowly. Iâm⊠I donât know. Chaotic, I guess.â You laughed softly, but there was no humor in it, just a quiet vulnerability that made Ominisâs chest ache.
âThatâs not true,â he said quickly, his brow furrowing. âYouâreââ
âWhat Iâm trying to say is that youâve always been my perfect opposite,â you continued gently, your voice carrying a faint edge of amusement. âMy foil. Youâre steady, and quiet, and level, and Iâve always felt like⊠like you even me out.â
Ominisâs heart twisted painfully at your words, the depth of your confession leaving him breathless. âYou donât need evening out,â he said softly, his voice trembling with emotion. âYouâre brilliant just as you are.â
You gave a faint, self-deprecating laugh. âWell... that doesnât change how Iâve always felt around you. Like you make me better. Like I can stand still and actually think when you're near.â
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, âWell, Iâm here now. So⊠what are you thinking?â
You hesitated for a moment, your lips curving into the faintest smile. âIâm thinkingâŠâ You glanced toward the untouched bed before meeting his gaze again. âMaybe we can share the bed after all.â
"Is that so?" He murmured.
You nodded, your smile widening slightly. âWell, itâs a big bed. Plenty of room. And besidesâŠâ You reached for his left hand, spinning the wedding band around his finger. âYou are my husband, after all.â
The words were light, teasing, but they sent a rush of warmth through Ominis that left him almost dizzy. Heâd 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 thatâhusbandâfilled 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.
âWait here,â 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 drinkâsomething to take the edge off, to dull the sharp, almost unbearable clarity of this momentâthe 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 heâd dared to in years.
âTo... new beginnings?â 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. âTo new beginnings,â 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. âYou lookedâŠâ His voice caught in his throat, hoarse and unsteady, and he cleared it softly before trying again. âYou looked beautiful today.â
Your eyes widened slightly, and he could sense the faint blush that rose to your cheeks. âOminisâŠâ you began, but he shook his head, stopping you.
âI shouldâve told you earlier,â he said quietly, his voice raw with sincerity. âYou were⊠you are, the most stunning thing Iâve ever laid eyes on. I mean, um. Not that I canâŠâ He trailed off, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. âBut I didnât 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. âThank you,â you murmured, your voice soft but genuine.
âI mean it,â he said softly. âYou have always been beautiful. And today, seeing you in that dress⊠it felt like I was dreaming. I still feel like Iâm dreaming.â
A deep flush spread across your cheeks, the warmth creeping down your neck as his words lingered in the air. You didnât 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.
âSorry,â you murmured, glancing at him as you sat back.
âItâs⊠itâs fine,â 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 youâd ignited in his veins.
âYou seem⊠tense,â you remarked, your eyes narrowing slightly.
âTense?â he repeated, forcing his voice to remain steady even as his grip on the flute tightened. âIâm not tense.â
âYouâre holding that glass like itâs about to leap out of your hand,â you pointed out with a soft laugh, leaning in just slightly, your shoulder brushing his. âAre you sure youâre alright?â
âYes,â he said quickly, though his voice cracked slightly on the word.
You hummed softly in response, your amusement now evident. âIf you say so."
Ominis turned his sightless gaze in your direction, his throat tightening as he tried to summon a reply that wouldnât 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.
âBy the way,â you said with deliberate slowness, âdid I ever tell you that you clean up very well?â
He froze, his pulse thundering in his ears. âI⊠Iâm sorry?â
âYou,â you said simply, your gaze flicking over him again in a way that made his skin prickle with awareness. âIn your suit earlier. You looked very handsome.â
Ominisâs face burned. He gripped his glass tightly, taking another long sip to buy himself a moment to think. âTh-thank you,â he managed.
âYouâre welcome,â 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.
Youâd never complimented him like that before, never indicated whether you found him attractive or not, and the revelation was dizzying.
âWhy are youâwhy are you saying this?â he asked, his throat tight.
âBecause itâs true,â you said simply. âAnd because I can.â
Ominis exhaled shakily. âYouâre... you're very bold."
âAnd you are shy,â you replied, a playful glint in your eye as you tilted your head toward him. âI told you itâs a good thing we balance each other out.â
He wasnât 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 allâit was overwhelming, intoxicating.
âYouâre relentless,â he muttered.
"Because you make it so easy." You explained smoothly.
Ominis cleared his throat, trying desperately to maintain some semblance of composure. âIâve no idea what youâre talking about."
You tilted your head, eyeing him. âOh, 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.
âLetâs seeâŠâ you murmured thoughtfully, your fingers brushing against a book as you pulled it toward you. âHuh. A bible. Why do hotels always have these?â
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 triedâand failedâto focus on anything other than the proximity of your body to his.
âI suppose itâs tradition,â he managed weakly.
âPerhaps youâre right,â you mused, flipping the book closed with an air of exaggerated disappointment. âThough youâd think theyâd leave something more interesting. A mystery novel, maybe.â
You shifted slightly to flip open the pages of the book, humming thoughtfully, but your elbow caught Ominisâs arm, sending champagne spilling directly into his lap, the cool liquid soaking through the fabric and clinging uncomfortably to his skin.
âShit!â you exclaimed, sitting up quickly, your hand flying to your mouth. âIâm so sorry. Let meââ
âItâs fine,â he said quickly, his voice strained as he tried to wave you off. âReally, I canââ
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.
âLet me help,â you insisted, your tone sweet but tinged with a something else that Ominis couldnât quite place.
He stiffened further, his entire body locking up as your hand brushed dangerously close to the center of his lap.
âI-itâs fine, truly,â he stammered, his voice rising slightly in pitch. âYou donât need toââ
âNonsense," you said lightly, shaking your head as you continued to blot the fabric. âItâs my fault.â
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 thoughtsâimproper, indecent thoughts that he told himself he was far too much of a gentleman to entertain. And yet, he couldnât stop them. Couldnât 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. âY-you really donât need to,â he stammered, his voice cracking slightly as he shifted, trying in vain to create some distance between you. âI can handle it.â
âNo, no," you murmured, your dabbing movements now turning into wiping motions. "Let me help.â
Help. The irony of the word wasnât lost on him. If anything, your proximity, your touch, was undoing him entirely. And what was worseâwhat truly horrified himâwas the knowledge that the evidence of his attraction would soon become blatantly, inescapably obvious.
His breath hitched as your hand brushed closerâtoo closeâand 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 wouldnât 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. âIâIâm sure the house elves packed⊠somethingâuhâextra pants.â His voice cracked slightly as he gestured vaguely toward the corner of the room where their bags were stacked. âI shouldâprobably justââ
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?"
"IâI just thoughtâ"
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.
âThere,â you said softly, your tone soothing yet carrying a playful undercurrent that made his pulse quicken. âThatâs better.â
Better? Hardly. Ominis was certain heâd 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 knewâhe knewâyou 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 wasnât unbearable enough, you tilted your head slightly, feigning an expression of concern.
âYou canât be very comfortable like that,â you said softly, your voice laced with innocence. âYour pants, I mean. All damp and cold.â The corners of your mouth tugged into the faintest hint of a smile. âMaybe you should just take them off.â
Ominis stiffened. He knew exactly what you were doingâknew you werenât nearly as innocent as you were pretending to be. And yet, he couldnât bring himself to call you out. Couldnât bring himself to break the fragile thread of tension strung taut between you. Because some part of himâsome reckless, desperate part of himâwanted to see how far you were willing to push him.
âIâI think Iâll just wait untilââ
You leaned in slightly, your expression soft and oh-so-kind. âUntil what?â
Ominis exhaled shakily, his hands tightening into fists. âUntil Iâm alone.â
Your eyebrows lifted slightly. âAlone?â you repeated, tilting your head as though the concept genuinely puzzled you. âWhy? It's just me... and I'm your wife now, aren't I?"
His wife.
He swallowed hard. âYou⊠you are,â he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. âBut that doesnât meanââ
âDoesnât mean what?â you interrupted, trailing your hands further up his thighs. âThat you canât be comfortable around me? That you canât let me take care of you?â
âTake care of me,â 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.
âIsnât that what a good wife does?â you asked softly, your voice lilting as though you were enjoying this far too much.
Ominis swallowed hard, muttering your name. ââŠThis is a dangerous game you're playing."
Your lips curved into a sly smile, your gaze never leaving his. âIs it?â
He forced himself to take a steadying breath. âYou know exactly what youâre doing.
Your smile didnât waver. If anything, it grew wider, teasing and entirely too confident for his fragile composure. âAnd what happens,â you asked, âif I keep playing?â
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.
âEnough,â 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. âOminisââ
âEnough,â he repeated, his tone sharper this time. âYou 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. âYou started this,â he murmured, his tone carrying a dangerous edge that sent a shiver down your spine. âNow finish it.â
Your eyes widened, your earlier confidence faltering as you stared up at him. âOminis, Iââ you began, but he cut you off, his fingers tightening just slightly around your wrists.
âYou wanted to see how far you could push me?â he muttered. âCongratulations. You found out. Now take them off."
You hesitated, your playful bravado faltering. This wasnât the careful, reserved Ominis you were used to. This was someone raw, unguarded, and utterly unyielding.
But you had pushed him to this point, hadnât 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. âNo teasing comments, hm? Not so bold now, are you?"
âIâŠâ You hesitated, your breath hitching. âI didnât mean toââ
âDidnât mean to what?â he interrupted smoothly, his fingers ghosting along your skin. âTease me? Push me? Make me want you until I could barely think straight?â
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.
âBecause if thatâs the case,â he continued, his voice dropping even lower, âthen 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.
âGo on,â 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.
Ominisâs 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.â
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 leadâit was undoing him, igniting a raw, primal need he couldn't restrain.
"Iâm 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.
âFuck, youâre so good,â he rasped, his voice hoarse and uneven as he brushed his thumb gently against your chin, a subtle caress full of approval. âSo perfect.â
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.
âAre you alright?â 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 didnât immediately answer, his brow furrowed. He withdrew his hand and reached for his wand.
The image of you that materialized made his breath catchâyour 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. âIâI didnât hurt you, did I? Please, tell me I didnât hurt you.â 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. âNo,â you managed,âNo, you didnât hurt me.â
He let out a shaky exhale. âAre you sure youâre alright? Please tell me the truth.â
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 smileâsoft, trembling, and paired with the glassiness in your eyesâmade 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 allâyouâd 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 wasnât prepared for.
But Ominis couldnât allow himself to dwell on it now. There was something far more important to focus onâtaking 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. âCome here,â 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.
âThere we are,â he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair away as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. âYouâre alright,â he assured, though it felt as much for him as it was for you. âIâve got you.â
Your voice, hoarse and barely above a whisper, cut through the quiet. âOminis, you can stop fussing. Iâm alright.â
He froze for a moment, his lips curving into a faint smile as a soft chuckle escaped him. âYouâre alright, are you?â he asked, his tone a blend of teasing and disbelief. âYou can barely speak. Forgive me if Iâm not entirely convinced.â
You rolled your eyes weakly, the smallest of smiles tugging at your lips. âI mean it,â you said, your voice still raspy. âIâm okay."
He shifted closer to the edge of the bed as he adjusted the covers once more, making sure they were snug around you. âYou 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.
âDrink,â 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. âSo perfect,â 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. âIt was overwhelming in the best way possible. The way you felt, the way you took meâit was more than I could have ever imagined.â
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, âI love you.â
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.
âI love you, too,â he murmured in return, his voice trembling with emotion. âMerlin, I love you so much. I always have.â He paused, his unseeing eyes searching for something he couldnât quite articulate. âAfter everything, after all this time⊠I never dared to hope weâd find each other again like this.â
You smiled faintly, your thumb stroking his cheek as you closed the small distance between you for another kiss, your lips speaking what words couldnât.
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 longingâit 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 Iâm meant to be. With you. Always.
Summary: You're sick and you try to hide it from Severus, but of course, he easily catches on.
Author's Note: I tried writing tonight after months, so I'm a bit rusty. I feel like I already did this prompt differently.
----------------------
âSev?â you softly call out, as you tentatively peek through his office door. Behind his desk, Severus was seated grading a student's essay, the sound of his quill scratching softly echoing in the room, âIs it a bad time?â
âThere is never a good time, love,â Severus sighed, waving for you to come in, and you tentatively do. âWhat can I do for you?â
âIâm out of Pepperup Potion,â you hate asking for medication from him, especially when you were the one sick, but he did occasionally supply the Medical Wing when they were out. âMadam Pomfrey is too,â
âOf course, sheâs out. These students ask for potions at the smallest inconvenience, and at times sheâs much too happy to oblige,â he gets up from his desk and browses his shelves, âWho is it for?â
Your reply comes too quickly for his liking.
âFor a student,â you lie, then as always overexplain. Your tell. âMadam Pomfrey sent me to retrieve it. Hoping that my reception would be much warmer than if she came here herself,â
âHer assumption would be correct,â he nods as he finds the shiny red potion and then turns around to actually see you.
His eyes narrowed as he observed your flushed, puffy cheeks, and your hands, which you fiddled with behind your back as you waited for him. In a couple of strides, his cool hand is on your heated forehead.
âLiar. What are you doing up and about?â he sternly scolded, but not in anger, rather concern, âGet back to bed, love,â
âThere are classes to teach and papers to gradeâŠâ you weakly argue, but heâs already on you. His hand on yours, robes billowing behind you both, as he guides you back to your shared bedroom, âI can work, I promise!â
âAnd let you run yourself to the ground?â Severus scoffed at the thought, opening the bedroom door and ushering you to get settled beneath the blankets, âNot a chance, love, now stay there. Iâll bring you soup and the potion,â
âIâm not that sick!â you argue.
âI will not stand by when you are ill,â he murmurs, before placing a soft kiss on your heated forehead and then the back of your left hand where the shiny platinum ring he put there five years ago remains and will remain forever, âIn sickness and health, love, remember?â
Summary: Deep within the castle, the Defense professor sought a sphere that revealed hidden desiresâshe didnât expect Severus Snape to find her, nor for it to expose his: her.
A/N: Support the content! I just opened this Tumblr account, and I hope you like it and enjoy it. I'm a Spanish speaker! If you spot any translation mistakes, let me know. l did way too many revisions.
Warning/Content: Smut, Claustrophobia, Possessiveness, Rough, Intense Encounters, Voyeurism Implication, Professor x Professor.
The wing of the castle where disused magical objects were stored had an air of abandonment, with dust suspended in the dim light filtering through the tall windows. Crooked shelves held artifacts of uncertain origins. Some boxes were sealed with enchantments, while others barely held their structure, overflowing with tattered parchments and vials of evaporated potions.
Among these remnants of the past, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor moved with the ease of someone accustomed to roaming such places. Minerva had asked her to retrieve a particular object: a black crystal sphere contained in a dusty display case at the back of the storeroom, said to be an enchanted artifact that reflected the forbidden desires of whoever possessed it.
After wandering the area for a brief moment, she finally located the case, carefully taking the artifact and wiping its surface with her fingers. The crystal seemed to absorb the faint light in the room, swirling shadows forming within it, shaping a vision that stole her breath.
She saw herself, draped in a flowing black robe that moved like liquid ink over her skin. Her face held an unusual intensity, contrasting with the paleness of her smile. It was not the playful grin she often showed others, nor the polite courtesy she reserved for her colleagues. No. It was something more dangerous, more intimate.
Beside her, the silhouette of a tall man emerged from the shadows. His presence was imposing, ethereal, yet it did not frighten her.
A shiver ran down her spine.
The image captivated her, her breathing growing deeperâa mix of fascination and dread. But just as the vision was about to draw her in further, a voice shattered the silence.
"Enjoying the view?" The low, icy voice came from right behind her. Close. Too close.
Severus Snape.
She startled. Her heart lurched, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. In her abrupt movement, the sphere slipped from her fingers. She reached for it clumsily, to keep him from seeing what was reflected in the crystal. But before she could do anything, his hand caught the sphere mid-air with the precision of someone who had stopped more than one fall in his life.
Snape exhaled impatiently.
"You should be more careful, Y/L/N. It wouldn't be the first time an ancient magical artifact was destroyed by someone with your⊠delicacy."
His tone was sharp, but she barely heard him. Her attention was fixed on the sphere, now resting in his hands. More specifically, on what it was now reflecting.
Snape frowned at her expression and lowered his gaze.
What he saw left him motionless.
In the crystal, he was holding her in his arms. Not as in a duel. Not in a gesture of professional protection. No. His hands gripped her with authority, leaving no room for escape, his fingers digging into her skin. His reflection did not hesitate. His mouth claimed hers in a silent demand. His eyes⊠radiated absolute possession. There was no coldness in his reflection, no reserve. Only the certainty that she belonged to him.
The real Snape felt his stomach twist. Deep down, that dark truth terrified him as much as it tempted him.
His jaw tightened. With a slow, deliberate movement, he set the sphere down on a nearby table as though it burned him.
He crossed his arms beneath his robes, an instinctive gesture of recoil, hiding his hands, closing in on himself as if that could erase what he had just seen.
The silence between them thickened, electric.
She, who until now had enjoyed provoking him with harmless flirtation, felt the shift in the air. She knew him well enough to understand that if she spoke now, he would use it as a wall between them, an excuse to bury what had just happened beneath a layer of sarcasm or disdain.
But the image had been there, in the sphereâclear, undeniable.
"Severus..." Her voice was a soft echo in the space that separated them. She was about to say something else, but Snape raised a handâstraight, firm. A silent gesture that stopped her.
His expression was unreadable, but the sharpness in his gaze betrayed an internal conflict. Without another word, he turned on his heels to leave.
She stopped him before he could take a step. Her fingers closed around his wristânot with force, but just enough to make him stop.
Snape couldnât help but look at her. His face, always so restrained, hardened even more, but his eyes darkened with something that wasnât just anger. It was something else. Something more dangerous.
She should have looked away. Pretended she hadnât seen the way he held her in that reflection minutes before. But she didnât. She understood instantly. It wasnât just desire. It wasnât simple hunger. It was possession.
She had always known there was something about him that intrigued her, something that resisted yielding, that refused to show vulnerability. She had always enjoyed provoking him, testing the limits of his patience just to see how his brow furrowed with contained irritation. But now she saw it clearly: it wasnât annoyance that burned in his gaze every time she contradicted him. It was restraint. It was a need suffocated beneath layers of implacable self-control.
And the worst partâthe most thrilling partâwas that this desire of his now belonged to her. He could deny it, resist it, try to hide it. But she had seen it. She knew.
And if Severus Snape craved the forbidden⊠she would let him have it. But on her terms.
It was in that moment that she rose onto her toes and kissed him.
It wasnât a measured or cautious kiss. It was a direct assault, an invasion of his space with the same brazenness she usually used to provoke himâbut with a different intensity.
He did not respond immediately. He did not push her away, but neither did he yield.
She pulled away from his lips slightly, searching for any sign of a reaction.
There were no words, no warnings.
Severus' hand hesitated for a moment, his expression dangerous, and then he relented, sliding his long, cold fingers to the nape of her neck, tangling in her hair with an unexpected possessiveness. His mouth met hers again, but this time with intentionality. The kiss deepened, becoming a silent struggle between need and pride.
She felt him falter a step back, and she used it to her advantage. With one hand, she fumbled beside her until she found the rough wood of a nearby cabinet. Without stopping the kiss, she opened it.
Snape made a small sound of confusion, mixed with something that could have been irritation, but when she nudged him slightly inside, he didn't resist.
His back hit the wall of the cabinet, shadows swallowing them as the door closed behind them. The reduced space intensified the closeness, the heat trapped between their bodies.
The darkness was almost total, except for the faint silver glimmers filtering in from outside, from the tall windows that illuminated the large room. The gloom only intensified the sensation of proximity, each ragged breath bouncing between the wooden walls.
She smiled against his lips. The mere fact of being in this situationâwith the man who had always displayed a certain rivalry towards her, whose ambition had led him to covet the position she held in the castleâwas thrilling in itself. And yet, at the same time, she was one of his deepest, most unspoken desires.
There was something perversely delightful in knowing it, that they both burned with the same dark hunger, and shared an undeniable vice: the exquisite taste for the forbidden, and having seen it reflected in the crystal had only confirmed it.
Snape remained rigid at first, his back against the wall, as if his body refused to accept where he was, with whom he was, and what he was about to do.
But she did not give him space to think too much.
Her hands slowly ascended through the folds of his robe until they rested on his neck, her thumb brushing the line of his jaw.
"You're still tense..." she murmured, her voice barely a breath against his skin.
Snape closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly through his nose, his self-control wavering.
"This is folly."
"It is," she admitted, without letting him go. "But that didn't stop you from reciprocating."
He half-opened his eyes, his gaze trapped between resignation and desire. The dim light barely allowed his features to be glimpsed, but she knew him well enough to know that he was on the edge of a decision.
A second of doubt.
One second more.
And then, without prior notice, his hand slid, tangling around her waist, pulling her towards him with a certainty he had not shown before. Leaning in, he kissed the curve of her neck, his other hand exploring her body in slow and firm movements.
The fabric of the dress was not an obstacle to the heat of his palm as it ascended, to the soft curve of her breast. His fingers brushed the fabric with a barely suggested caress, but the shiver that ran through her body betrayed her. He pressed his lips together, torn between reason and desire, as his hand instinctively molded to the perfect shape beneath his fingertips. The thin fabric did not conceal the latent firmness nor the subtle accelerated heartbeat of her. He shouldn't... but neither could he pull away.
Between ragged sighs, his hot breath crashed against the bare skin of her neck. "Why...?" he murmured, but the question remained suspended in the air, vanishing between doubt and the scorching heat that held him back.
She did not respond. She couldn't. The pressure of their bodies in the reduced space stole her breath, clouded her thoughts.
She moved just enough to feel the brush of his rigid length against her leg, sparking a friction that ignited the air between them.
The spell broke when he exhaled sharply, his hand clenching the fabric of her dress. A tug. An upward slide that trapped the skirt between his fingers, taking it with him, lifting it with desperate clumsiness. The fabric swirled against her skin in a searing touch, while Severusâ fingers tightened around her bare thigh, pulling her toward him.
And without warning, without taking the time to check if she was ready for him, he claimed her with a firm, intense thrustâleaving no room for restraint, simply entering her, demanding, insistent. But by then, she was already so damn wet, making the slide of their connection both smooth and scorching, a clash of need and pleasure that left them breathless.
The lack of space forced them into erratic, clumsy, urgent movements. Her back collided with the wooden shelves, making small bottles and boxes creak around them, but neither of them stopped. Her hands sought him with the same desperation with which he held her trapped, lips parted, brushing against each other in a kiss that barely had time to form before dissolving into gasps against skin.
She moaned his name, and he answered with a low growl, something unintelligible, burying his face in her neck. A rougher movement, and suddenly, she was on top of him, her legs wrapped around him, their backs slamming into the wood harder than expected. The fragile furniture trembled, threatening to betray them, but desire had buried all caution.
The next movement silenced them. A strangled gasp, an instant of paralysis when their bodies met with no barriers. Severus gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into her hips with the restraint of a man forcing himself to hold back.
She arched against him, her nails clawing at the fabric of his robes. The rhythm took on a life of its ownâan erratic, frantic motion that made the structure frame squeak in protest. Breaths turned into broken, ragged gasps, swallowed into kisses that never quite managed to form.
The cabinet was a chaos of friction and muffled collisions, of bodies crashing together with an almost painful need. And within that chaos, Severus held her tighter, guiding her into a rhythm that teetered on the edge of absolute abandon.
There was only their bodies, their open mouths gasping for air, the relentless pressure of something that could notâwould notâstop.
Minerva McGonagall had entered the room in silence, her brow furrowed, searching for the professor Y/N. She had taken too long, and that did not sit well with her in the slightest.
She came to an abrupt halt, trying to identify a peculiar sound that resonated in the heavy air of the storeroom.
The Headmistressâs eyes widened suddenly.
It was a sigh.
A deep, guttural sigh.
And it belonged to Severus Snape.
Minerva paled, unable to process what she had just heard, when another sound struck her with even greater clarity: the sweet, melodious gasp of Professor Y/N.
Inside the cabinet, the end came like an incantation, an unbearable tension that shook them both at once, tearing a muffled moan from their lips, stifled between their heated skin. They remained like that, trembling, their foreheads pressed together, their bodies still entwined.
And then, McGonagall stumbled back a step, her mind refusing to accept the scene hidden behind the cabinet doors. But fate was merciless. In her attempt to retreat, she tripped over a pile of old cauldrons and rusted armor, creating a deafening clatter.
The heap of cauldrons collapsed all at once, the sound echoing thunderously against the stone floor, impossible to hide.
Inside the cabinet, they both froze, their bodies rigid, their breathing caught in the suffocating air.
A voice accompanied the commotion.
"Bloody hellâŠ!"
The voice was a strangled whisper, barely a surprised gasp.
"Oh! Iâm sorry⊠I⊠"
Minervaâs voice, usually firm and commanding, now sounded unsteady, nervousâa fractured thread between urgency and disbelief.
"I shouldnât have⊠I just arrived⊠I was just leavingâŠ"
Her feeble attempt at an excuse barely held together.
Silence fell like a paralyzing spell. They both held their breath, motionless, their pulse still pounding wildly beneath their skin.
Outside, a muffled murmur, the faint shuffle of hesitant footsteps. And then, the storeroom door slammed shut with more force than necessary.
Silence returned, thick, stifling.
She exhaled shakily, still clinging to Severusâs body, feeling the heat seeping through the fabric. Her legs were still wrapped around his waist, her chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths, and thenâconsciousness of the moment struck her with brutal clarity.
Slowly, she slid her hands from his neck to his shoulders, searching for something solid to steady herself. With clumsy, almost trembling movements, she loosened the grip of her legs, shifting until her feet touched the ground. She pulled away carefully, avoiding his gaze, her face burning with heat, a weight pressing in her chest that made it hard to breathe.
She did not dare look up. Not yet.
Severus, on the other hand, remained motionless, his breathing still uneven, his jaw tense. When she finally pulled away, his body seemed to resent the loss of contact, but his pride prevailed.
He raised a hand to his temple, squeezing his eyes shut. Cursing his very existence.
And then, without a single word, he stepped out of the cabinet.
Isn't it fucking insane that so many people think that IQs are real. Like people genuinely believe you are born with one set level of intelligence that can be measured on a scale from 1 to ~200. As if intelligence wasn't extremely nuanced and completely subjective. And the fact that the majority of scientists that have advocated for IQ tests in the past have been eugenicists doesn't seem to concern anyone either