Requests are open but I’ll do them when I feel like writing them 🫶
ONE? TWO? THREE? FOUR? FIVE?? Five Hargreeves x? fem!reader.
SUMMARY : Your Five grew out of love for you(did he?) due to what happened during the strawberry garden… Ahem. Lila. However, a diversity of Fives recklessly barged into the house(where the family is at the moment) wanting to claim you as theirs(unfortunately all of them lost their (name) ), The whole room went chaotic due to their desire to be with you and Paradox Psychosis.
꒰ summary ꒱ when a misunderstanding leaves your family convinced you’re bringing a plus one to your cousin’s wedding in Japan, the last person you expect to volunteer for the role is your infuriatingly observant intern, Satoru. it’s supposed to be temporary. professional. strictly off the record. but with your mother already sold on the idea of your mystery boyfriend, and Satoru proving far too good at the role, pretending starts to feel a little too dangerous. also, why is your “intern” secretly the heir to gojo corporation?!
꒰ tags/warnings ꒱ fake dating ⚹︎ undercover ceo! satoru ⚹︎ accountant! reader ⚹︎ satoru is 29, reader is 26 ⚹︎ lots of family pressure. reader has a complicated relationship with her mom ⚹︎ forced proximity ⚹︎ one bed trope ⚹︎ slow burn ⚹︎ mutual pining ⚹︎ wedding chaos ⚹︎ angst and fluff ⚹︎ some suggestive content but no explicit smut ⚹︎
꒰ authors note ꒱ surpriseeee — this is 3 parts now hehe. satoru is still our lovingly annoying sweetheart here, but this part does have a bit more angst than the last. nothing too wild though… just a whole lot of yearning and our poor reader being very committed to denial. i hope you enjoy! part 3 will be the last one. (art by @/hanamin_0123 on x)
<<< part 1 - main masterlist - part 3 >>>
part 2
“Ma’am, may I interest you in our menu?” the flight attendant asks, leaning in with a practiced smile.
"Oh—um. Yes... thank you."
The thick, cream-colored menu lands in your hands a second later, and you settle into your seat just as she disappears down the aisle. A seat that is far too comfortable for the current state of your life. But that’s the thing about first class — it makes it very hard to be appropriately miserable, and you are trying to be miserable right now. You are committed to it.
“If you need recommendations… I recommend the wagyu.” Satoru leans in, close enough that his breath feathers warm against the side of your neck. “It’s to die for.”
He grins, blue eyes glinting behind snowy lashes. And unfortunately, the wagyu isn’t the thing currently putting your life at risk. Because a shiver moves through you before you can stop it.
“O-Oh…” your head jerks away, quickly. “Uh-huh… sure.”
Refusing to turn, you keep your eyes stubbornly on the cabin — denying him the satisfaction of seeing what his closeness does to the treacherous, backstabbing organ inside your chest. But you catch him in your periphery — leaning back, entirely unbothered, reaching for his own menu with that pleased little hum that means, of course, he notices.
Ugh.
This is going to be a long-ass ten-hour flight. And first class, as it turns out, is only roomy when you aren’t seated beside the exact person currently making your pulse act deeply unprofessional.
…
Wait. When did you pulse start doing that?!
Miserable, you remind yourself. Yeah. Miserable.
With a sigh, you click your seatbelt into place and flip open the menu, genuinely trying to build a case for why this is the worst decision you’ve ever made. Unfortunately, it is hard to maintain righteous regret when the menu has no prices on it. Not one. Just elegant font, artful descriptions, and ingredients arranged like poetry.
…you’d booked economy.
Economy.
But then he’d upgraded your tickets last minute like that was a normal thing a person did — insisting you fly with him. Like swapping someone’s middle seat for a first-class cocoon with a duvet and a champagne flute was just… hospitality.
“Um… Satoru?” Your brow arches as you take in the absurdly extravagant menu. “How much does this cost, exactly…?” He doesn’t even glance up. “Mm? Oh.” Flipping a page, his hand waves lazily. “Don’t worry about it.”
…
Don’t worry about it?
You are very much worrying about it. Because how the hell does an intern afford this?! You know how much interns make at your company; you’ve worked with HR, signed off on the numbers — and it is categorically not this.
But fine. Whatever. That is, somehow, the least of your problems right now. And your mind was already veering back toward the more immediate catastrophe currently taxiing toward the runway.
Your family.
“Right… well. Anyways, Satoru,” you say, setting the menu down. “We should probably establish the basics before we get to Japan and—”
“—what do you like to eat?”
You blink, lips parting.
“I—sorry…what?”
“I like sweets,” he says, turning toward you. A toothy grin spreads across his face, dimples peeking. “Let’s see… cake, cream buns, mochi…” he muses. “Oh! Especially kikifuku mochi, it’s the best.” He nods solemnly. “Honestly, I think it’s the whipped cream inside that really makes the difference.”
Your brow furrows as you stare at him.
…when did this become a TED talk about sugar? You were trying to discuss a plan, and he is out here curating a dessert menu like the most pressing crisis of the next ten hours is pastry selection.
“Okay…? That’s nice. But we should talk about—”
“Food,” he states, picking up the menu you just set down. He flips it open and angles it back toward you like that is the only sensible conversation available. “C’mon. What do you like? Not what you’ll settle for… what you’ll actually like. Ten hours is a long time, sweetheart.”
Brow knitting, you frown.
He cannot be serious. That is not the priority right now.
“That—that can wait. We need to—”
“—establish the basics, yeah.” He rolls his eyes and tips his head back against the seat, like your resistance is personally exhausting him. But then his gaze flicks back, amused. “And I’m just saying food is a basic necessity. Because you skip lunch when you’re busy, forget breakfast when you’re anxious, and then act shocked when you feel like shit three hours later. So, eat.” He places the menu back in your hands. “Preferably something that isn’t stale pretzels, yeah?”
Something hot and startled climbs your neck so fast it’s almost impressive. Your mouth opens, but whatever rebuttal is forming never makes it. Because before you can recover—
“Honestly, I gotta say… the soba is pretty good too, actually.” His face is suddenly just over your shoulder, murmuring close enough that you feel the heat of him against your ear. “If you don’t want the wagyu, that is. Wait—scratch that. Maybe ramen…?” His finger traces a line on the menu, pale lashes lowering, tongue clinking gently. “Mm… never mind. Too much broth and there could be turbulence.”
Your whole body stiffens. Because his closeness does not feel unwelcome. Which is exactly the problem.
…when did he get so comfortable?!
“…stop doing that,” you mutter, pulling back. He looks over, the picture of innocence. “Doing what?”
Your lips purse.
“I dunno. Being…” But the word dissolves, and you're reaching for your water, needing something to do with your hands. “So… comfortable. So—” You cut yourself off with a small huff. “Like this.”
His grin is unbearable, lazy and crooked.
“Oh?” he reclines. “Like what, baby?”
You sputter into your water.
“Baby?”
You’re choking on your drink, and Satoru looks entirely too pleased with himself. He's chuckling, leaning over without a second thought, one hand settling warm between your shoulder blades.
“Awwh… what’s this? Don’t be shy now,” he hums, the picture of helpfulness, rubbing slow circles with a sigh. “We’re gonna have to get way cozier than this if I’m playing boyfriend. Just establishing the basics, yeah?”
As you straighten with a glare, you can tell without a doubt he is openly enjoying himself. That grin hasn’t moved a goddamn inch.
…asshole.
Huffing, you settle back into your seat. And it isn’t long before the plane shudders gently away from the gate, inching out onto the runway with that slow, terrible sense of inevitability that only air travel is capable of producing.
“Ladies and gentlemen, at this time please ensure your seatbelt is securely fastened… flight attendants, prepare for departure.”
The overhead announcement crackles through the cabin, too polished to be comforting. While beneath you, the whole plane seems to draw tight, a low hum building through the floor, climbing up through your seat.
You exhale, letting your eyes fall shut. Just long enough to pretend you weren’t here. Just long enough to avoid the window, the runway, and the deeply unhelpful fact that your brain liked to save all its worst thoughts for takeoff.
…like how first class wasn’t exactly known for improving your odds. Like how takeoff and landing were statistically the worst parts. Like how the engine sounded different now, probably… maybe, and—
“Hey.”
Satoru’s voice came quieter this time; enough to pull your eyes back open. When you look over, that vibrant blue is already watching you — steady, unhurried, like he has been waiting for you to surface.
“Are you… nervous?”
“What? N-No…” you lie, huffing. His brow arches, sensing your bullshit. “Okay… then why are you doing that with your hands?”
Following his gaze, your fingers had folded into fists without even noticing, in that particular way they always do when you’re trying to physically hold yourself together.
Fuck.
It’s ridiculous, really. You knew flying was statistically safe! Knew it the way you knew balance sheets and quarterly projections and the exact percentage margins that kept departments alive. And yet, takeoff had always felt like the part where logic starts losing altitude.
“Oh…” A small, awkward laugh slips out, just as the engine begins to roar. You smooth your palms over your trembling thighs, shouting over it. “It’s fine! Really! I just… um—I guess I don’t particularly like takeoff, is all!”
His expression softens in a way you weren’t braced for. But before he can answer, the plane surges forward and your eyes squeeze shut. A massive force presses you back into the seat while vibrations climb through the floor and up your spine.
It’s terrible. Completely terrible. But somewhere in the middle of it, a warm hand slides against yours. It takes you a second to register his fingers lacing between your own, and the moment his thumb brushes the back of your hand, you instinctively grip him tighter.
Your eyes stay shut, but you feel the plane lift hard and fast into the sky. And somewhere between the roar of the engines and that awful pull in your stomach, the slow circles his thumb traces against your skin become the only thing your body seems willing to trust.
By the time the pressure eases and the plane finally levels out, your lungs have only just remembered how to work. For a second, neither of you moves until—
“…better?”
His voice brushes the quiet between you. You blink your eyes open.
“Yeah…” you whisper. “Um… thanks.”
He smiles. “Sure.”
That thumb brushes one last time against the back of your hand before finally pulling away, dropping back into his lap with a simple nod like it had been nothing. And the loss of that warmth was immediate enough to sting.
Oh…
He’s… annoyingly good at taking care of you. And worse, your body had recognized it before your brain could file the proper objection — clinging first, thinking later, like comfort was something you could afford to trust.
Maybe the altitude was messing with your head…
Ten hours was a long time.
Long enough to work out the safest parts of the lie. How long you’ve been together. Where you met. Which version of the truth felt neat enough to survive one wedding weekend without collapsing under the weight of follow-up questions.
It was just… not long enough, apparently, for the parts that actually mattered.
“Soooo… question…” Satoru had stretched lazily, turning his glass between two fingers as he glanced over. “What exactly should I expect when we land?”
You kept your attention on the blanket across your lap, flattening a wrinkle. “Probably… jet lag?” you mutter sarcastically, avoiding his gaze, fussing with the fabric. “And a long enough drive to regret everything in peace.”
He snorts. “Well, yeah. Obviously.” Ice clicked softly as he tipped his glass, shifting toward you. “Not what I meant, though. I meant with your family.”
And when the warmth of his attention settled against the side of your face — you hesitated. Because it was patient in a way that only made it harder to meet. Patient in the way of someone who’s learned that pushing doesn’t work on you. Which you’re unsure is better, or worse. Because waiting means he’s paying attention, and paying attention means he’ll notice when you crack.
“We’ll just… talk about that later,” you huffed, tugging the blanket a little higher before turning toward the window. “I’m tired. Gonna try to sleep.”
Later… yeah. Later.
But by baggage claim, you were running out of runway. You had to do it soon. Get it over with. Preferably somewhere between the airport and your hotel, where you could spit it out quickly and not have to watch his face too closely while you did.
So now, Satoru yawns beside the conveyor belt, tired blue eyes skimming the slow parade of suitcases rounding the carousel. Hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, posture easy in a way that only makes you more tense. You stand there staring at the back of him, fingers hooked tight in the seam of your shirt.
Now.
“Hey… Satoru?” you mumble. “Hm?” His gaze lands on your luggage and he’s already stepping forward to grab it. “Um, well…” You hesitate. “About my family… I—"
“—oh! Look—look! There they are!”
The moment her voice rings through the terminal, everything inside you locks. You turn, and for one wild second, you genuinely wonder if it’s too late to get back on that godforsaken plane.
Satoru hauls your suitcase off the belt.
“What about them?” he asks, turning when you stop short. Then he sees your face. “…sweetheart?” His brows furrow, following your line of sight — and there is your mother, cutting through the crowd with Trish beside her, moving with the kind of delighted urgency you aren’t prepared to see for at least another twelve hours.
No.
No, no, no.
“—oh my god, there he is!” Your mother walks straight past you — past you — and both hands are wrapping around Satoru’s like he’s who she came for. "Oh, he's handsome. Trish, look—"
It’s no surprise, really, that you’re a second thought. You’ve been a second thought since before you could name it. But that isn’t the wound that matters at this particular moment. The bigger problem is that she’s here.
…why the hell is she here?!
You were supposed to have more time—
“—oh my god,” Trish breathes to you. “Damn. girl. He’s, like… stupid handsome.” And Satoru’s grin went smug, drawling. “Oh, please, ladies. Keep the compliments coming. I’m feeling very welcomed~”
Your mother giggles. “Handsome and funny. Oh, he’s a charmer,” she says, smacking his shoulder playfully. Though the laugh lands bitter. “God. Why on earth would she keep you from me?! I mean… wow. I was beginning to think she’d die alone.”
The words hit like a slap dressed as a joke.
Satoru blinks, the smile faltering for half a second, head tilting imperceptibly.
…great.
Of fucking course she’d say something like that within the first thirty seconds.
“Mother… what—” your voice wavers, eyes falling shut with a swallow. “Sorry. I just—what are you both doing here?”
She did a tiny double take, like she’d only just remembered you were standing there. “Oh, honey…” A hand waves, scoffing. “Don’t be silly—of course we’re here to pick you up! God. I wouldn’t leave you stranded at the airport,” she snorts.
Oh, right.
So she wouldn’t abandon you at an airport. Just in another country.
…good to know there's a line somewhere.
“Besides, why don’t you both just stay with us instead?” she’s already reaching for Satoru’s hand again, bright with the idea. “We’ve got a guest room ready, and I’d love for the chance to talk to you.”
Your body goes rigid.
Oh no. Fuck no.
Anything but that.
Satoru must have seen it written across your face — that particular shade of panic —because his eyes cut to you for only half a second before he slips his hand free, turning back to your mother with a smile already in place.
“That’s incredibly kind, ma’am,” he says, tugging you into his side with an ease that shouldn’t have felt as steadying as it did. “But we’re staying pretty close to my family’s place, and I should probably swing by tomorrow morning.” He rubs the back of his neck with a theatrical groan. “It’s been a few months since I’ve seen my father, and trust me, I’ll regret it if he finds out I came to Tokyo and didn’t stop by, y’know?”
Apparently, ten hours isn’t long enough for the parts that actually matter, because…
“Oh? Your family’s place?” your mother repeats, brows lifting. “So, are they here in Tokyo too, then?” He nods. “Mm, yeah. Pretty much all the Gojos are—at least on my dad’s side. My mom’s in Kyoto.”
…
Wait.
Did he just say Gojo?
As in—
Your boss’s family?!
No. Absolutely not. Between the jet lag, the shock, and your mother still glowing beside you, your brain simply does not have the bandwidth for this. Your lips part, blinking like that might somehow rearrange what he just said into something less insane.
Nothing comes out.
“Gojo…” your mother repeats, brows knitting. “Why does that sound familiar?” Trish blinks. "Wait—like… Gojo Corporation Gojo?!"
Satoru’s grin widens. “Yep. That’d be us.”
“Ah!” Your mother snaps her fingers. “Gojo Corporation. Yes—of course! Silly me. I thought that name seemed familiar…”
And now, the hurt arrives before the shock finishes landing — ugly and precise and aimed at the exact spot that never heals right. Five years of your work, your career, your life inside that building. But she only knows it because a handsome man says it in a terminal.
You stare. “Mom… you can't be serious?” and the hurt in your own voice catches you off guard. “I’ve… I've literally been working at Gojo Corporation for the last five years.”
Fuck...
Get it together.
Out of the corner of your eye, Satoru watches you. But your mother moves on like you’re invisible.
“Oh Satoru Gojo, you just keep getting better and better.” You feel him hesitating as she tugs eagerly. “Come—come! At least let us drive you both to the hotel, hm? There’s so much I need to hear and—”
“—sorry ma’am, no.”
Satoru’s pulling you into him like the decision has already been made. And you blink while his fingers smooth gently through your hair, tipping your chin up with a long finger.
“Honestly, I’m beat…” His thumb brushes your cheek, gaze searching your face. “…aren’t you, love?”
There’s a hitch in your breath
Oh.
So… you’re not invisible?
As it leaves you in a quiet shudder, for one suspended second, there is nothing but that soft blue of his eyes and the way they’ve gone gentle for you. All you can do is nod — and a single tear slips free before you can stop it.
He tucks you against his chest, hiding your face, and flashes a grin back at your mother.
“Ugh… I appreciate you coming to get us, but we’ve been up for way too long and—” Glancing down at his phone, he lets out a small laugh. “Ah. Perfect timing! Would ya look at that—my driver’s here.” A tug of your hand. “But we’ll catch up tomorrow, yeah? Bye, ladies~”
Your legs are moving on their own, and you don’t even catch the expression on your mother’s face. Can’t. Not when your pulse is still tripping over itself. Not when his hand wraps around yours like letting go isn’t even a question.
The suitcase rolled behind you, with the airport crowd bustling. While those bright eyes flicked back, making sure you were still there every few steps.
“C’mon, pretty girl… we’re almost there,” he murmurs. “Just stay with me, okay? Eyes on me, yeah?”
And… you weren’t sure why he lowered his voice. Not when they were already well out of earshot. You only know that… it nearly undoes you all over again.
By the time the limo pulls away from the curb, Satoru had already figured out two things: your mother was awful, and somehow, he’d gotten you out of there only to realize he hadn’t fully brought you back with him.
It’s the furrow in your brow that gets him first… then the wobble in your lip — the one you think you’re hiding, the one you always think you’re hiding. You haven’t said a word since climbing into the backseat. Haven’t looked at him either. Instead, you stay toward the window, watching Tokyo slip by in blurred ribbons of light, glowing against the glass in streaks of neon. A city that has no business being that beautiful when you look that broken.
…shit. Should he crack a joke? No. Maybe not.
But asking if you’re okay feels useless. You obviously aren’t. And worse, saying it out loud feels like the fastest way to make you disappear even further behind that window — to watch you pull the shutters down the way you always do.
“Well, then…” A hand drags through his hair as he lets his head fall back against the seat. “Um… gotta say—your family really believes in making an entrance, huh? Talk about—”
“—I thought your name was Satoru Geto.”
He blinks.
“Huh?”
Your gaze finally pulls from the window, landing on him, and the hurt in it is so carefully contained it almost looks like composure. Almost. Except he’s spent four months learning to read you, and composure doesn’t tremble at the edges like that.
“…Satoru Geto,” you mutter carefully. “That’s the name on your employee record, no?”
Oh...
Right. That.
“…is it?” His gaze slips away, fingers scratching at the back of his neck. “Yeah… um. About that. Geto’s actually my best friend. I just used his last name because the initials matched.” He’s flopping back against the seat with a small shrug, one arm slinging across the top. “Made it easier to sign off on stuff that way. Gotta work smarter, not harder, right?”
And tilting his head, a crooked grin tugs at the corner of his lips.
Yours doesn’t move.
“Right,” you deadpan, turning back toward the window. “So your plan was to just let me keep calling you that.”
You don’t say it like a question.
…is it a question?
Satoru’s brow furrows at the hurt threaded beneath the words. “No… I—” he huffs, hands dropping into his lap. “Obviously I had to hide it while I was working with you, but my legal name was on the boarding pass I gave you, so it’s not like I was actively hiding it, sweetheart.”
You scoff under your breath. “Oh. Cool. So I was just supposed to… what—figure that out on my own?” And suddenly, your voice is doing this awful thing now — losing its clean, controlled shape, slipping into something thinner. Hotter.
He hears it immediately, sighing. “Sorry… but why is this the problem?” he asks, more confused than anything now. “Help me out here. I mean… I thought your mom was what had you upset back there.”
Your eyes roll. “Your name is literally on my paycheck, Gojo. How is that not a problem?”
He stares. Genuinely stares. Because for a second, he doesn’t know what to do with that. To him, his name was just a name. The company was just a company. Status had always felt like something other people got weird about first. Not him.
So, like an idiot, he goes for the joke.
“Well… technically, I think my name is on a lot of paychecks, so—"
“—Jesus Christ, am I a fucking joke to you?”
And the humor drops out of him so fast it almost startles you. Shit. That backfired tremendously. “Whoa—what? No!” He straightens, brow furrowing. “No, no, no. God, no—sweetheart, of course not. Why would you think that?”
You’re looking away before he can see what that does to your face, because you hate how quickly his voice goes from careless to cracked. Hate yourself for making it do that.
Damnit.
You know that wasn’t fair. He had just gotten you out of there. Seen you unraveling in that airport and stepped in without making it worse. Without making you ask. And still — somehow, in the span of twenty minutes, the whole world had shifted under your feet. Him, your mother, that last name. This damn… wedding.
…why does everything feel so hard to sort through right now?
“Just…” You swallow, shifting towards the window, blinking back tears. “Sorry. Don’t talk to me right now.”
His expression softens. “C’mon… no,” he murmurs. “Please… please don’t be like that. I’m sorry you found out this way. I should’ve told you sooner.”
The crack in his voice makes everything unbearable, and outside, Tokyo keeps sliding past in fractured light. So, you look at the window because it’s easier than looking at him. Easier than trying to untangle the mess that is your life. Easier than naming what specifically hurts so much.
And easier than asking yourself what, exactly, had been real and what had only ever been off the record.
Clearly, the universe looked at the absolute clusterfuck of this trip and decided it wasn't finished with you yet.
Because apparently, your fake boyfriend had a limo. Your fake boyfriend, who can upgrade your tickets to first class like it’s nothing. Your fake boyfriend who is also, apparently, your boss — and decided to book you at a luxurious five-star hotel in Tokyo while somehow neglecting to mention that part too.
Whatever. Either way, you're too tired to care. Or maybe just too tired to forgive him — despite the way the marble floors and soft gold light whisper luxury around you like an apology you didn’t ask for.
All you know, is that by the time the two of you make it upstairs, your silence was beyond awkward and hardened into something heavier. More deliberate. So, the moment the suite door clicks open, you’re beelining to the bedroom.
“Goodnight.”
You mutter it under your breath, shutting yourself into the bathroom before he can answer you. And when you change into your pajamas, you try not to linger in the mirror — because your whole face feels tight from holding yourself together, from trying not to cry for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. And as if that weren't enough, the wedding is tomorrow.
…how the fuck are you supposed to get through that too?!
With an exhausted sigh, you push open the bedroom door, reach back to kill the light, and—
“…what are you doing?” you deadpan, stopping cold in the entryway. Because at the foot of the bed, you find Satoru in sweats, crouched on the floor, carefully spreading a blanket across it. He smooths the corner flat and those blue eyes flick up, then drop back down.
“Making myself comfortable?”
…
That explains absolutely nothing.
Your brows pull together. “Okaaay…? Clearly. But—why?” Rolling your eyes, your arms cross. “Don’t tell me you fucked up the reservation. I mean, you’re the one who booked this place. Don’t you have your own suite?”
“Yup. I do.”
He says it so easily it almost irritates you more. You watch him fluff the pillow and set it on the floor like this is perfectly normal behavior for a man who can apparently summon private drivers and spend obscene amounts of money at the drop of a hat.
Your teeth grit. “Great. So go lay in your bed.”
Exhaling through his nose, he lowers himself onto the marble like it’s no different than a mattress. One arm tucks behind his head, the other rests over his stomach, all lazy limbs and impossible calm.
“Nah,” he says. “Think I’ll sleep here. Promised you wouldn’t be alone this trip.”
And the universe, apparently, hadn't taken quite enough from your dignity yet. Because you find yourself genuinely speechless.
For a moment, you just stand there looking at him — at the ridiculous length of him stretched out across the floor, at the fact that he has a whole bed somewhere else and was still choosing this — and at how he somehow managed to make the gesture feel casual enough not to embarrass you and sincere enough that it did anyway.
“…suit yourself,” you grumble, stomping over to your bed.
You yank the covers back and climb in with an irritated sweep, reaching over to find the light. Darkness folds over the room in one soft rush, and for a while, there’s only the low hum of air conditioning and the distant glow of Tokyo bleeding dimly through the curtains. Somewhere beneath it all, you can hear the faint rustle of fabric from the floor, the small settling sound of him getting comfortable.
…
Or trying to.
You lie stiffly on your side, facing away from the edge of the bed that he lays, staring into the dark like you can force your mind to shut up if you just do it hard enough.
Ugh…
Despite how tired you are, sleep feels impossible.
Rolling your eyes, you pick up your pillow and shift to the other side of the bed with an annoyed little huff. And there’s the broad line of his back in the dark. One arm folded under his head, the other sprawled carelessly over the blanket, like this is all perfectly normal. Like sleeping on the marble floor in a five-star hotel is not objectively unhinged behavior.
“…you’re actually gonna sleep down there?” you mutter into the dark.
“Mm.” His voice comes easy, amused. “You should be sleeping, missy.”
“So should you,” you huff. “In a bed.”
Chuckling, he shifts onto his back, sprawling out like a starfish. He hums. “Nahhh,” and an exaggerated exhale breathes out of him, tired. “The floor’s fine. I’m reconnecting with the earth. Re-centering. Some might say it’s very… grounding.”
You can hear that pleased little smirk of his, even in the dark, and it pulls a snort out of you before you can stop it. “…wow, seriously?” Biting back a grin. “You’re so stupid.”
He laughs under his breath. “Yeah… maybe. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called that. Probably won’t be the last, either. But…” With a tired sigh, he drapes his arm over his face, half-hiding in the dark. “…guess I’d rather be stupid than leave you alone, though.”
The words slip out, and the room goes strangely quiet. Something tender and awful pulling tight in your throat as you stare down at him for a second too long.
…what are you even supposed to do with that? With him?
He’s down there on the floor, keeping a promise you never asked him to make.
Swallowing, your fingers tighten on the blanket. “…hey, Satoru?” That low hum answers, and you hesitate, staring at the dark shape of him on the floor, your heart doing something stupid and uncomfortable against your ribs.
“Come up here,” you blurt.
…
Silence.
“Wait… huh?”
Your eyes squeeze shut.
As if saying it once wasn’t bad enough.
“I-I mean…” you’re shifting onto your back, staring hard at the ceiling because looking at him suddenly feels impossible. “I just… there’s plenty of room, so just—come up.”
…
He’s quiet just long enough to make your face burn hotter. And when he’s pushing himself onto one elbow, even in the dark, you can feel the disbelief radiating off of him like heat.
“Uh… right,” he laughs awkwardly. “I think the jet lag’s getting to me, because there’s no way I heard that right unless you’re fucking with me.”
You cover your face with a groan.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Christ, stop making this harder—” you snap, voice rising. “I’m serious you idiot! Because you’re not making me feel worse tonight by sleeping on the goddamn floor—so hurry and get your ass up here before—”
“—yes ma’am.”
He’s moving before you can rethink the entire thing, despite how your pulse is suddenly loud in your own ears. You scoot over, clutching the blanket to your chest, and the mattress dips beneath his weight — the sheets rustle. His body shifts. And then everything goes still.
…too still.
All you can do is lie there. Stiff. Acutely, helplessly aware of him. But it’s dark — mercifully dark — and thank god for that, because you don’t think you could survive seeing his face right now. Not this close. Not after that. Not with your own invitation still echoing back at you like something you’d like to physically retrieve out of thin air.
“Soooo…” he mumbles, fingers tapping the mattress. “Um… for the record, this is like… significantly nicer than my original arrangement. Way less marble.”
Despite the nerves, his words loosen a laugh from your chest. “…yeah? Well, good,” you mutter, tugging the blanket a little higher. “Because honestly, the level of commitment you were showing that floor was a little concerning.”
He chuckles. “True, true.” And suddenly, you can hear the lazy stretch of a grin in his voice. “Buuuut I mean… I wasn’t about to lose our first fight—not as your boyfriend.”
Your breath catches. “W-Wow…” You huff like that’ll cover it. “You—um… got real comfortable with that word fast,” you mutter, trying for dry and missing by a mile.
A low hum. “I'm a committed man. What can I say?” and his voice is all smug velvet and sleep-rough warmth. “Mmm… I kinda like the sound of it, actually.”
The words land lower than they should. Because that should not sound as good as it does.
“D-Don’t… don’t say it like that,” you stammer.
The mattress dips.
“Mm?” he whispers. “…well, how else should I say it, princess?”
…
Fake.
Fake boyfriend.
The word lands somewhere quiet and ugly under your ribs, and all at once the warmth of the bed feels strange against your skin. Because that's what this is. What it has to be. A role. A weekend. A lie with soft edges and an expiration date. And…
“Just—nevermind…” you mutter, shoving it down, repositioning your pillow. “Laying in a bed with my boss was not really on my bingo card for this trip. Or finding out halfway through it, apparently.”
He scoffs. “I’m not your boss. My dad’s your boss.” A humorless breath leaves you. “Yeah? Well, that is not as comforting a distinction as you think it is, Gojo, when your name is still on my—”
“—Satoru,” he corrects softly.
You blink into the dark.
“Wait. Sorry… what?”
A small huff leaves him, almost annoyed, almost something softer. “It’s just…” he grumbles, shifting against the sheets, “I like it a lot better when you call me Satoru…” And even without seeing him, you can hear it.
Is he… pouting?
The fabric rustles again as he shifts. “Look…” he says after a beat, and the teasing has gone out of his voice now. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just…” He exhales through his nose. “I didn’t think hearing my last name would make you start acting like I was suddenly somebody else...?”
Your lashes flutter as he scoots closer, and this time, your breath catches. Because a thin line of moonlight slips through the curtains, cutting across the bed just enough to catch him there. The loose fall of white hair over his forehead, the softened line of his mouth, the pale blue of his eyes gone dim and almost silver in the dark.
“And…” His voice lowers, softer now. “I guess I didn’t realize how much I liked just being Satoru to you..." Those blue eyes dip to your lips, just for a second, before lifting back to yours. His breath hitches.
“Y’know I’m still me… right?” He whispers.
As his breath fans across your face, you feel fingers slipping over yours, careful enough to feel like a question, and your pulse does something wild. Because for one suspended second, he doesn’t look real. He looks like something half-dreamed.
Beautiful.
“Right…” you breathe, the word thin. “I know that, and… I-I’m sorry for lashing out at you earlier. I just… I wasn’t expecting any of this, and then everything at the airport and—and god—and then my mom and—"
The words are tumbling out now, too fast, too loose, and even in the dark you feel laid open by them. Bare in a way that makes you want to snatch every one back. Because there he is, looking at you with that same unbearable patience, thumb brushing over the back of your hand in slow, absent strokes, his mouth tipped in a smile so soft it almost feels private.
…yours.
And that’s what’s terrifying. He feels like something you could lean into. Like warmth can be simple. Unconditional. Real.
But…
Nothing in your life has ever taught you how to lean into warmth without waiting for the condition beneath it. Without turning it over, looking for the fine print. So, perhaps that’s why, when his thumb brushes over your hand again, you pull away.
And his frown is instant.
“I-I…” Your eyes squeeze shut as you clear your throat. “Sorry.” The word comes out frayed. “I want you to know I appreciate you doing this. Genuinely. But…” You swallow hard around the ache pressing at the base of your throat. “Tomorrow is it.”
The room goes so quiet you can hear the air conditioning hum.
His brow furrows, pushing himself up on his elbow. “Um… what are you saying?” He scoffs, lips pulling into a disbelieving grin. “I don’t understand. Why are you acting like everything—”
“—after this is over,” you blurt, chest rising. “You can just—forget all this happened, okay?” And your voice thins. Blinking back tears, your eyes flick away. “That’s it. You’ll forget about me. You go back to your life. I go back to mine. Just like we agreed and—”
“—I don’t remember agreeing to that.”
Your eyes glance back from the hurt in his voice, and somehow that only makes it worse. Because...
Why?
Why does he have to look at you like that?
You exhale shakily. “I think we both need sleep more than we need this conversation, so…” The blanket is already up at your chin by the time the words leave you. “Let’s… leave it at that. Okay? I’m exhausted," you whisper. "Goodnight, Satoru.”
Shifting away, you roll onto your side before he can say anything else, before he can make this harder than it already is. The bed gives with a quiet creak behind you.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
And you lie there, holding yourself rigid, as if that could undo the part of you that almost turned back.
Still. Despite how tired you are… sleep feels impossible.
a/n. oof. sorry for leaving you on the angst 😭 but this felt like the right place to split it so part 3 can be fully wedding-focused. tysm for reading! i'm blown away by all your support. he's literally so patient and attentive, whaaa. i wanna eat him up 😭
pairing: (tasm!) peter parker x gender neutral reader
summary: best friends to roommates to best friends with benefits wasn't your best idea.
masterlist | requests are open!
warnings: fwb/mature themes, implied smut
"pete: are u busy?"
the corners of your lips threatened to turn up at the message and you bit your lip to suppress the smile desperate to form.
you watched as your screen darkened, the notification against your lock screen fading with it. you checked the time on the corner of your laptop. 12:38 am. one, two minutes passed and you "read" the text. three, and you were out of bed, laptop forgotten, phone tossed to the side.
it didn’t take long for you to leave your room and reach peter’s, the few feet of hallway between the two of your rooms convenient now, though it had led to awkward bumping in the first few days of navigating sharing a space together.
you knocked on peter’s door, an unspoken rule since the beginning, waiting until peter opened it for you. you remembered how he mentioned having a stressful day today before disappearing into his room. you were sure that had something to do with this.
the door swung open and peter appeared, in sweatpants and lacking a shirt and you knew immediately what it was he wanted. he waited a second, waiting for you to consider it, waiting for your decision.
your arms were around peter’s neck and his hands were on your hips as the two of you stumbled into his bed.
this thing with peter started about a month into living together. you were friends first; then came the benefits. though the two of you agreed quickly that was what you both wanted. neither of you were currently looking for a relationship and even if you were, it was simply illogical to date your best friend and roommate; emotional attachment was a line both of you tiptoed, but never crossed.
a relationship would be too much. what if you broke up and couldn’t salvage your friendship? a split would divorce the friend group, too. not to mention the apartment you two shared.
the thing you loved about peter was how true to his word he was. if he promised he wouldn’t make things weird between the two of you, he wouldn’t.
no strings attached, backouts at any time. free to date anyone else. no need to let the other person know. the two of you weren't dating - though the two of you never really looked for a way away from each other.
just don't fall in love with each other. though that was always the tricky part.
「 … 」
“peter!” you called from the kitchen, shutting the fridge with a sigh.
“yeah?” peter asked from the hall, peeking his head out wearily. it wasn’t often you said his full name.
“oh, shit,” peter mumbled, running a hand through his hair. “it’s sunday?”
“it’s sunday,” you confirmed, crossing your arms over your chest. “i’ll do it,” you sighed, moving to start grabbing your things.
“no, no, it was my turn, i have to do it,” peter argued, moving in your direction to get to his things first.
“it’s fine, i wanted to get lunch anyway,” you insisted.”
“no.” peter shook his head stubbornly. another thing he was great at being.
you sighed, rolling your eyes. you weren’t getting through to him.
「 … 」
you pushed the shopping cart along the isle (only with one hand - peter insisted on pushing you to the side and pushing the cart with you, too). peter checked the list the two of you made over the week, stopping occasionally and looking for whatever item needed crossing off next.
there was a strange feeling in your chest as you watched peter and from the nervous flickering of his eyes, you could tell he was picking up on it, too.
maybe it was a little bit of annoyance as peter’s elbow bumped against your arm, or maybe it was the fact that you could’ve enjoyed your favorite snack last night if peter had gone grocery shopping when he was supposed to.
or maybe, it was the way the two of you looked.
it wasn’t how anyone in particular was looking at you; rather, it was how they weren’t looking. you and peter looked like something you weren’t, pushing a cart together and pointing for peter to pull an item off the shelf when his too-quick eyes skipped right over it.
it all felt… weirdly domestic.
which was strange, considering the two of you lived together. but you realized now that the beginnings of your living together had been nothing but platonic and now there was more attraction than either of you knew what to do it. it was physical, entirely. mostly. maybe not as much as you pretended it was.
no. this was just a physical thing. a convenience thing. a “hey i don’t want to spend time trying to find a hookup each time i want to have sex” thing. a “sure, we’re friends, right?” thing.
no emotions involved. don’t look at peter like that. don’t imagine him kissing you like he does, but softer, maybe in line to check out or maybe while putting the groceries away - oh, god.
“ha! look! they’re restocking the cinnamon toast crunch. we wouldn’t have had cereal if i went shopping yesterday.”
“you wouldn’t have had cinnamon toast crunch. you are literally the only twenty-two year old i know that still eats a bowl of sugar for breakfast.”
“okay, like you don’t always steal a bite.” peter scoffed, nudging your shoulder with his. “plus, harry loves cinnamon toast crunch.”
“only because you indoctrinated him into liking them. it doesn’t count.”
“it totally does!” peter laughed, not missing the way you turned your head to hide a smile. you couldn’t stay mad at him for long and he knew it.
"hey, hey, look," peter said excitedly, picking something off the shelf, displaying it proudly as you turned back to see what he held. "can we get the miraculous ladybug cereal?"
「 … 」
"i can't believe how expensive the eggs are!" you grumbled for probably the fifth time that trip, shuffling slowly through the checkout line with peter. usually, you'd keep these complaints in your head, but peter had the unlucky pleasure of being by your side.
peter hummed his agreement and you wondered how he wasn't sick of your complaining until you realized his focus was elsewhere - like it usually was.
peter stretched and curled and stretched his fingers, watching his hand but keeping his eyes off you. very carefully, you placed your palm against his. peter's fingers clasped between yours and he started talking about lunch but his words went in one ear and out the other.
now your focus was elsewhere and the beat of your heart drowned out anything peter was trying to say. it wasn't until peter rolled the cart forward that you heard him again, ranting on about nearby places to get food and what he was in the mood for.
you nodded along and weighed in, normally, as if holding hands with peter was nothing out of the blue. the contact with him shouldn't have shook you like it did, considering he'd been physically closer much more often, but the feeling in your chest was starting to choke you and the weight of peter's hand in yours was making you sink.
the way peter bumped you as he moved to start checking out, the smile that he flashed you as he paid for all the groceries, the shake of his head as you tried to help him carry them.
oh, god.
「 … 」
"pete: hey are u busy?"
"pete: i kinda need your help"
a knowing smile tugged at yours lips as you let out a playful sigh, falling on no one’s ears but your own.
“what do you need help with now, pete?” you mumbled softly, tossing your phone to the side and briefly considering removing a piece of clothing before heading to peter’s room. you ultimately decided against it, making the short trip to peter’s door.
you’d controlled yourself since that day in the grocery store. you gave it more logical thought and considered the situation with each possible scenario. you were content now and there was no use in fixing something that wasn’t broken.
(you did need some time distant from peter to get over the fluttering of your heart when you were near him).
(but it only took a few days).
you knocked softly on peter’s door, lip bit in anticipation. you were hoping maybe he’d kiss you first tonight. you could use a little stress relief.
the door opened to reveal peter, hair disheveled and half of an outfit thrown on. “hey,” peter smiled, stepping aside to let you inside his mess of a room.
clothes were strewn across almost every inch of floor and bed and you weren’t sure peter was planning on adding to the pile.
“so, i don’t know what to wear,” peter began, a little bit of rush in his voice you were doing your best to keep up with despite the change of internal itinerary. “and i have a date in, like, 30 minutes.”
your body immediately forced a smile, your cheeks straining as your lips trembled into place.
“oh my god, peter parker has game?”
peter laughed and turned his back towards you, giving your face a chance to drop and you a chance to be grateful he didn’t notice. god, what was wrong with you?
peter dug through a small pile of shirts, shrugging the one he wore off and replacing it with another. “i think it’d make you really happy to know i still don’t. she asked me out.”
“oh?” you asked curiously, biting on the inside of your cheek. “wh-”
“how does this look?” peter turned, modeling his cargo pants and a pink and white button up shirt.
“awful,” you said bluntly, moving towards peter and unbuttoning the shirt he wore (don’t think about how many times you’d done that before). “i thought i told you to burn this?” you forced your eyes from peter’s chest to his face, watching as he rolled his eyes and pulled the shirt off his arms.
“put this on.” you threw peter a white button up instead, followed by a nice blue sweater. “and these, please,” you said, handing peter his most flattering pair of jeans.
“thank you,” peter said as he changed and you shoved clothes off his bed to make room for yourself. “you’re a lifesaver.”
“i’m gonna start charging you. and i’m gonna make you pay me $20 every time you put on a bad outfit.”
“jesus, all the food i buy you isn’t enough?” peter grinned despite the question as he did his best to fix his hair.
you shrugged. maybe nothing would be enough for you.
“it’s gwen, by the way,” peter said quickly as he finished, messing with things on his dresser to avoid looking at you.
you were quiet for a moment, staring at your fingers on your knees before you forced a laugh. “i never would’ve guessed gwen liked you.”
“yeah, right?” peter chuckled a little awkwardly, glancing at you to double check the smile you stubbornly held on your face, as if he were waiting for you to crack. he only forced his eyes off you to glance at his phone and mumble a curse. “i gotta go,” peter mumbled, grabbing the last of his things in a hurry. “i should be home in an hour or two, but don’t wait up, okay?”
“yeah, okay,” you nodded, waving at peter as he left his room, door wide open and forcing you to watch his retreating figure.
you felt glued to his bed, staring into the hall and back at your own door, listening to the front door open and shut. it wasn’t until you heard the lock click and the slow fade of footsteps that you let yourself cry.
「 … 」
the soft click of a lock signaled peter’s return, the front door sliding open and closed. you could hear peter sigh as he locked the door and hung his keys and you couldn’t help but be angry all over again.
peter’s footsteps stopped between the two of your doors and you wondered why he wasn’t going into his room before you realized he had stopped in front of yours. he changed his mind, turned around, and cut the silence of the apartment with the soft closing of his door.
you hoped he wouldn’t noticed the pile of clothes you kicked earlier.
you turned over in your bed, staring at your wall through the darkness of your room, willing tears not to force their way out of your eyes as your breathing quickened. you would not let peter hear you cry.
your phone lit up beside you and you lunged for the distraction.
"peter: hey"
"peter: are you awake?"
a part of you wanted to text him back, "no." but you knew that wouldn't get you anywhere. ignoring him would have to do.
"peter: if u are i need to talk to you”
"peter: please"
you turned your phone down and flipped over, balling into yourself and listening carefully to peter shuffling around. his door opened and he stopped again, giving you a feeling he was listening just as closely as you were.
"you're never asleep by now," peter accused in the softest voice an accusation could be made in and you sighed.
you could never stay mad at him for long. and he knew it.
"come in," you said, quiet, but loud enough that you knew he heard.
your door creaked open slowly and the light still on in peter's room illuminated his figure, now dressed in an old midtown high shirt and sweatpants.
"you're gonna raise the light bill," you muttered half-heartedly from under your comforter, just to say something.
"sorry," peter said even though he wasn't. "you were ignoring me."
you hated how he was just standing in the middle of your room, as if he didn't belong there.
"i wasn't," you lied.
peter sighed and placed a hand on your legs as he sat, careful not to hurt you. he didn't move his hand and you hated how his touch was warmer than your sheets.
"can you just... tell me what's wrong?" peter pried carefully.
"nothing's wrong."
peter sighed, more frustrated this time. "i know that i hurt you-"
"so then why'd you do it?" you were sat up now, anger flowing through you again.
"well, because you didn't say anything! how was i supposed to guess how you felt?" peter said defensively, moving his hand away from you.
"then maybe you should've thought about what you said to me. you said you didn't want a relationship and especially not with a friend because you didn't want to split the group apart if anything ever happened. but it's okay when it's with gwen?" your voice was louder now and you didn't even try to hide the hurt on your face. you swallowed thickly, watching the way peter couldn't even look at you. "you could've just told me you didn't want a relationship with me, peter." your voice was quiet now, which somehow hurt peter even worse.
peter stood up off your bed, taking a few steps away from you before stopping. you got up to follow. he didn't get to stand there and say nothing.
peter turned and you almost felt bad for causing the distress in his eyes. "i didn't- i only said yes because i was starting to feel something for you-"
"so it's my fault?"
"no! no, just-" peter put his hands on your shoulders, willing you to calm down. "it's not your fault. it was mine. i said that, yes, because that's what i wanted at the time. and then you just... i don't know. did something to me. but you said you didn't want a relationship either and i didn't want to ruin everything so gwen asked me out and i just... said yes! it wasn't to spite you, i promise."
you looked into peter's eyes, soft and desperate for you to believe him. you could never stay mad at him for long. and you made sure he knew it.
your fingers found his face and his hands fell to your waist in a dance the two of you had done many times before but never performed quite like this. your touch was feather-light and peter handled you like you'd slip away at any second, yet like he wanted to take his time with you. like he wanted to do it properly.
"you know, gwen told me right before she left that i was the biggest idiot she'd ever met. she asked me out to try to get me to realize i liked you," peter laughed. "she kept bringing you up and listened to me talk about you almost the entire time. i mean, that's like, red flag number one."
you laughed and stroked your thumb against peter's cheek. "i think i could work it up to forgive you," you said softly, the complete 180 making your head spin.
"i'd do anything," peter mumbled, leaning forward like you were something he simply couldn't resist. and you were in a way, his addiction, always in the back of his mind. he was unable and unwilling to part from you and he'd take any little thing you'd give him.
"i don't need much," you promised, placing your fingers on peter's lips and effectively disrupting his route to yours. "when'd you start liking me?"
peter's eyebrows furrowed and he frowned but didn't dare move your fingers, even as he spoke. "years ago, probably. i just realized it that night you fell asleep after we had sex. the only night that you did. i don't know, i just imagined you always sleeping next to me, even though we live together-"
you laughed and so did peter, your hands moving to cup his face gently. "i realized it when you forgot to get groceries and we went together."
"that recently?" peter asked with a little bit a shock in his voice, moving to get a clearer look at your face.
"hey, it wasn't that recently. at least i kept my end of the deal. no falling for each other, remember?" you mocked yourself and peter's stupid little rule.
"yeah, whatever," peter rolled his eyes playfully, leaning in to finally kiss you.
peter's lips were familiar but the feeling he brought out in you wasn't. it was something like before but about a hundred times stronger, eager and restless and wanting more. you were hungry for peter, but for his soft kisses and his tender touches. you wanted his lips on yours like how they were now, telling you how much he needed you rather than how much he wanted you. you wanted an arm around your waist and a hand in yours.
peter broke the kiss and picked you up, placing you on your bed and crawling in after you.
"will you go out with me? tomorrow, 7 pm?" peter asked softly, knees between your legs and arms caging you in.
"i'll take a look at my schedule," you grinned, placing a soft kiss on peter's lips. "i think it says yes."
"dork," peter grinned, kissing you again and dragging you down with him as he landed on your pillows. his arms wrapped around you and your head found a place against his chest. you could feel the smile on peter's face, basking in the heat radiating off of him and the quick beating of his heart.
"pete?"
"hmm?" peter hummed and you could feel the vibrations of his chest. you pushed him flat against your bed, moving up so that your face hovered above his, your fingers finding their way to his hair and stroking through it gently.
"you're not sleeping here until you turn that light off."
summary: PART THREE (FINAL) when Sirius and Remus travel back in time for an Order mission, they come face to face with you: their girlfriend who died during the first Wizarding War
ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ content warning: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, grief, age gap due to time-turning magic, dark themes, morally grey wolfstar, gory scenes, blood, younger and older wolfstar and there is nothing they wouldn't do for you
word count: 7.7k
author's note: sorry for any mistakes. proofreading was attempted, but i am incredibly bad at it! also, inaccurate canon for time turning magic rules but i really don't care. this is the marauders fandom guys xx
ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ navigation
read part one here
or part two here!
Getting the timing right on the time turner proved to be quite the challenge. Remus was already nervous about the amount of time they were warping and messing around with, and Sirius agreed that it was best to cut it as finely as possible—in order to not alternate too much.
However, when time flickered and they blinked back to the past, Sirius’ stomach dropped at the sight of the front door cracked open a little. It was pitch black outside and the lights inside the house glowed warm. The garden was still, not a single sound coming from anywhere besides Remus’ ragged breaths.
He surged forward. Sirius grabbed his arm.
“Remus, no,” he managed, “the door’s open. We’re too late in this one."
Remus’ face was strangled, his large hands curling into fists. “What if it’s not too late? We can’t leave her.”
He rushed down the path, shrugging off Sirius’ desperate hands.
“Remus,” Sirius choked. “You don’t want to see her. You don’t want to see how he left her!”
“Get off of me, Sirius,” Remus snapped firmly, and the slightly shorter man was shoved backwards, stumbling onto the cobblestone.
He landed on his ass, his hands breaking his fall as he watched helplessly while Remus stormed inside of the house. Sirius swore he could smell the sickly sweet scent of cinnamon from here.
His heart was hammering in his chest like it had been the time had found you, stuttering and hard, violent and already broken.
He didn’t hear a commotion inside the house. There was no screaming or punches or bursts of magic. Nobody came running out. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, only at some point, he was shaking from the cold as well.
You were dead in this version, too.
Sirius buried his face in his hands. He wanted Remus to come back so they could use the time turner and get out of here, so they could finally save you and maybe, just maybe, he’d never have to see that horrible image of you curled on the kitchen floor again. Maybe he’d forget all about it, and it would feel like it had never happened.
Remus had been in there for nearly an hour when Sirius forced himself back up from the floor.
He found the confidence to stand by the front door, his fingers trembling as he held onto the door frame. Sirius’ nose curled, his face pulled together in grimacing agony. He forced one booted foot through the door.
“Remus?” Sirius called pathetically, like a scared child, his voice wobbling.
His ears strained when he heard what he believed to be a whimper.
Sirius remembered when he had found you, and how one thought that had occurred to him then, and then every night in Azkaban since: He’d had to deal with it alone.
He remembered how much he wished Remus would turn up, and how wrong it had felt to grieve you while Remus was off somewhere, none the wiser. He hated every second in Azkaban, with no clue how Remus was feeling, wondering if Remus had also wished he had been there.
With that thought, Sirius took another step through the door.
His legs felt like lead as he forced them through the corridor, the smell of baking becoming even more apparent in his nose. Then he saw the streaks of blood that met the kitchen door, and as he grew closer and closer, his eyes wider and wider and less believing, he found himself in the frame, staring at Remus cradling you.
Every nightmare came soaring back, and with it, the indescribable sensation of his heart being ripped from his chest and stomped on in front of him. His knees felt weak again, his whole body heavy as he dropped to the ground. Sinking, sinking, sinking, sinking…
Sirius choked and Remus finally tore his gaze from your face.
Remus’ back was against the kitchen counter, his jeans covered in your blood, his hands crimson as he cradled your body to his chest. Sirius could only stare at you, your bloody chest, your messy hair, your eyes shut. Remus was shaking as he cupped your head. His face was so pale it was almost translucent.
“How could he do this to her?” He whispered.
Sirius sat a few feet from them, his face as heavy as his heart felt. “Because in some sick, twisted fucking way, you have to mean the killing curse. He didn’t mean it. Not like he did with Marlene and her family.”
Remus closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to yours. “She loved him.”
Sirius buried his face in his hands. “Rem, let’s go. Please,” his voice broke.
“I can’t just put her back on the floor,” Remus whispered. “I can’t.”
“I’ll find her soon,” Sirius tried to reassure him, though the words felt bitter and he felt sick at the thought that in the world of time travel, there was a version of him who lived in a loop, continuously opening that door and finding his girlfriend in a puddle of her own blood.
Sirius forced himself over and helped Remus to move your body back onto the kitchen floor. He placed his hands over your stomach, and he gently shut your eyes like he had the first time. Remus stroked your hair.
“We can find her and save her now,” Sirius said quietly.
“I want to kill Peter,” Remus admitted.
He had the same dark look in his eye that he wore around the time of the full moon. Sirius wasn’t sure if he was supposed to try and comfort Remus, or if he was supposed to try and talk him out of it. All he knew was that he also wanted to kill Peter. Whether Peter lived or died had never been important to things working out the way they did—it only mattered when he resurrected Voldemort in that graveyard during the second war. Peter had been alive all those years that Sirius had rotted in Azkaban. If he killed him, it wouldn’t make a difference.
But the point was that Sirius couldn’t go back to Azkaban. The point was that he would be free, you would live, and Harry would come to stay with the three of you. Peter would rot in his cell, and the second wizarding war would never happen.
“Azkaban is worse than death,” Sirius assured him.
Remus gave a small nod. “Let’s go then.”
The front door creaked open. Sirius went rigid, only moving when Remus grabbed him by his shoulders, hauling him into the pantry cupboard nearby. Sirius hissed as his leg caught on one of the corners of the shelves.
“Baby?” He heard his own scared voice, slightly younger, and a lot shakier. “Sweetheart, why’s this door open?”
He could remember his exact thought process at that moment. Sirius had known something was wrong. He remembered thinking that maybe if he called out to you like everything was fine, then maybe you’d call back and say you’d burnt something in the oven and you were just airing the house out. Then he’d scold you for keeping the front door unlocked during the height of a war, but would ultimately kiss your pouting lips and sneak a slice of whatever you’d made.
“Come on,” Remus breathed. “You don’t need to relive that.”
He wrapped Sirius’ hands with his around the time turner just as his younger version stumbled upon you. As the younger Sirius began to cry out, words of disbelief growing louder and frantic, Remus flipped back the turner and they were back on the pavement outside.
The door was open.
Sirius turned to Remus angrily, tears pouring down his face uncontrollably.
“We’re too fucking late, again! Stop making us too late!” Sirius seethed at him.
Remus looked furious himself. “You know how temperamental this thing is, and it’s hard to get it right when all of that just bloody happened!”
“Wait!” Sirius called, and stopped Remus from grabbing the time turner again. “Do you hear that?”
There was crying coming from inside the house. His heart clenched and he nearly emptied the contents of his stomach over the floor.
“She’s alive,” Sirius choked.
Remus hesitated, chewing his lip. “It’ll be too late.”
“Fuck that,” Sirius growled, and he raced through the door first that time, barrelling into the corridor and through to the kitchen.
Sirius had spent years wishing he could have been even a little bit earlier. If this version of you was already dying, he’d give you someone to hold onto. He couldn’t just leave you there.
“Sirius!” Remus called after him.
He could hear Remus’ heavy footsteps, but he did not hesitate. He nearly slipped on the blood in the kitchen, his heart lurching as he grabbed the white frame of the door to stop himself. You were laying there, choking on your own blood.
“Baby.” Sirius dropped next to you.
Your glassy eyes found him. The crease between your brows made him coo, and he sniffled as he wiped at your wet face. You strained to open your mouth, a bitter smile beginning to form before your teeth clamped down, a wave of pain rushing through you.
He held a hand over your bleeding chest. “You’re okay,” he whispered. “You’re alright. Remus and I are waiting for you.”
When all you could form was a raspy breath, Sirius choked. He dipped his head into your arm. Part of him had always hoped that maybe it hadn’t been as painful as it looked. He doubted it, considering the sheer amount of harm Peter had done to you, but it made him ache so much more knowing he’d left you to choke on your own blood, cold on your kitchen floor.
“I know it hurts. You can let go, though,” Sirius reassured her.
He felt a presence behind him. Remus put one hand on Sirius’ leg and the other in your hand. His throat was bobbing as he tried to control his sobs.
“Go to sleep, sweetheart,” Remus whispered. His voice caught. “Sirius is right. We’ll come and find you.”
There was some sort of recognition in your eyes as your fingertips spasmed in Remus’. Your eyes began to flicker, and as soon as your lashes touched your cheeks, you were gone.
Sirius beamed wetly, and laughed bitterly as he wiped at his face. Remus grabbed him and yanked him into a tight hug.
“Fifteen years I’ve been desperate for just that,” Sirius admitted. “Not even to save her—I just—I just always wish I had been there sooner. So she wasn’t all by herself.”
Remus nodded, his words getting stuck in his throat for a moment. “I wanted to be there, too. I wanted to be with you both so badly. I couldn’t—I couldn’t stop thinking of you both alone afterwards.”
“We won’t be ever again,” Sirius swore, and grasped Remus’ hands so tight that he thought he might accidentally break his fingers. “All three of us. We’ll always—It will always be the three of us.”
Remus dropped his forehead to Sirius and nodded tearily. “That’s all I ever wanted.”
Salty water combined at their chins. Joined hands reached for the necklace hanging around Remus’ neck. They turned it, once, then twice.
This time, the door was closed. Sirius sighed in relief as Remus dug through his bag for the de-ageing potion that they had stolen from Hogwarts.
“We have to be quick about this,” Remus warned, and Sirius only nodded in agreement, accepting half of the drink from him, both men downing it at once.
The effects of the potion worked quickly. Like before, there was an uncomfortable jolt and then everything began to become slightly brighter, and slightly sharper, too. Sirius patted his face when he was done, blinking to rid the dizziness, and checked Remus over. He didn’t look a day over twenty-two. He pressed a kiss to Remus’ lips.
“Let’s do this,” he breathed.
Remus smiled nervously, and took Sirius’ hand, leading him down the cobblestone pavement. He pushed the front door open. The aroma of cinnamon had become so normal that he hardly smelt it now, but his heart nearly stopped in his chest when he heard the sound of music playing through the record player in the dining room.
Your voice chimed in quietly to the soft sounds of Fleetwood Mac, and Remus nearly choked on the memories of your first kiss with him. He always liked to put their self-titled album on because he loved the way you flushed, also remembering back to a time where he had you in his dormitory. Every now and again, after a few drinks, Sirius would put it on and sit back so he could watch the two of you dance in the middle of the living room, as if you were back in the Gryffindor tower.
He shared a look with Sirius, who smiled wearily. They both stepped forward until they were in the kitchen doorframe. The tiled floors were pristine, perhaps even freshly mopped as Remus scanned them, as if looking for drops of blood, despite the fact that you stood with your back to them at the sink.
You were washing up an abundance of dishes and baking trays, your bright yellow gloves pulled up to your elbows. You grabbed the mixing spoon and stuck the end in your mouth, licking the cake mixture off when you seemed to notice the eyes on you.
You flinched, your heart skipping a beat. “Merlin’s beard!” You scolded them. “You both made me jump.” Then you glanced at the spoon in your hand, your cheeks flushing as you dropped it into the soapy dish water. “Every great baker tests their treats along the way.”
You always said that. Sirius had forgotten you always used to say that.
Your gaze flickered across both of them, your face softening as you peeled off your gloves. “Are you both going to just stand there and say nothing? I am sorry for trying to force you both to work your argument out, only you don’t realise how hard it is to be in the middle of world war three.”
Remus cleared his throat. “Don’t apologise for that. You should never apologise for that.”
You folded your arms across your chest. “Have you talked?”
“We have,” he said softly. “We talked for a very, very long time.”
“And?” You prompted.
“We’re both the worst,” Sirius concluded. “We’re both irrational and stupid and over emotional, and you must be the kindest, most special person in the whole world to put up with all of our bullshit.”
You shook your head and sighed. “Neither of you are stupid or the worst. Over emotional, yeah. Irrational? Definitely. Especially you, Black,” you smiled. “But you shouldn’t say those things about yourselves. You’re both just scared. I’m scared, too. I’ve not been perfect either.”
Remus shook his head disbelievingly. “You have been perfect forever. Not once have you let us down.”
“Hm. Is that why you both stormed out when I was trying to help?”
Both their faces fell as if you had punched them. You furrowed your brows. The devastation that crept over their features was unlike anything you had seen from them before, and you wanted to ask them why, but Sirius surged forward and squeezed you into a tight hug.
“We’ll never storm out again,” Sirius mumbled into your hair. “I don’t want to. I really don’t want to.”
You glanced concernedly at Remus, stroking Sirius’ back.
“You were only gone a few hours. I’ve kept myself busy. I made some of that carrot cinnamon cake.”
When Sirius pulled back, he kissed you hard on the lips.
“It smells amazing,” he said. He was sure it did, but he knew he never wanted to smell it again after today.
You smiled softly at him, and then Remus reached across, and you were pulled into another kiss. Remus kept both his hands on your lower back, dragging you up to him, kissing you for slightly longer than usual. You held his jaw as you moved away.
“I love you both,” you said softly, and ran a hand through Sirius’ hair. “I’m so happy you were able to work everything out in the end. What was the verdict?”
Sirius cleared his throat as you turned back to your dishes. “Erm, that life’s too short to hold grudges against the people you want to spend the rest of it with.”
You turned from the dishes, cooing at him. “Those hours away have made you smarter, Black. You’ve come back a wise old man.”
Remus’ eyes softened even more, if that were possible, and he melted into the back of you, his arms wrapping around your waist, his head dipping to rest in the crook of your neck. You giggled, but relaxed back into him.
“This is the song that was playing when you first kissed me,” you reminded him, as he always did.
Remus laughed quietly against your skin and swayed his hips as he always used to, holding onto you so that you were forced to copy him. He closed his eyes when he felt them start to burn, and tore away from you gently once he felt them threaten to squeeze past his lashes.
You didn’t notice the emotions that had stuck your boyfriend, and finished washing your last dish, placing it on the drying rack.
“There’s magic for that, you know,” Sirius reminded you softly. He wanted you to stop so he could hold you properly. He was itching to.
“I like the smell of the washing up liquid,” you said. “And I think the dishes are cleaner afterwards.”
Sirius watched you carefully as you placed the gloves over the tap to dry, and then popped your rings back on from the windowsill. He couldn’t believe how quickly everything came flooding back. Small parts of your routine that had left his head completely came rushing in now, to the point where Sirius recalled exactly which ring went on which finger.
He watched you grab a tea towel to start drying up, and it was then that he realised he hated what you were wearing. Your dress felt like a costume now; part of a scene that Sirius wished had never played out. Once you took it off, he swore he’d get rid of it, and he’d never have to see it ever again—not in the back of your wardrobe, nor in the back of his head.
“I still think that perhaps we should have that conversation together,” you said, a hint of nervousness in your tone. “I think it’s absolutely wonderful that the two of you have made up, but the things you were accusing each other of…” You shook your head, and faced them as you multitasked. “I never want to hear you say things like that ever again.”
Sirius ducked his head, ashamed. Remus was the first to speak, “You’re right. We can have the conversation tonight, if you’d like.”
“I was wrong,” Sirius admitted. “I never should have pointed fingers at Remus. Neither of us would ever do anything to put James, Lily, or Harry in jeopardy, or to help Voldemort in general. I just… Don’t even know what I was thinking.”
“Neither do I,” Remus agreed. “We are so sorry.”
“I just don’t want anything to happen to us,” you whispered worriedly, furrowing your brows. “What if you two fight so badly one day that we can never come back from it?”
Sirius swallowed. “You worry about that?”
You nodded timidly. “I don’t want you to feel guilty. It’s just, sometimes when you argue, I feel this horrible sense of dread that one of you will take it too far, and we’ll all have to deal with the consequences.”
Anguish splattered Remus’ face and he couldn’t help but grab you, yanking you into a bone crushing hug. You squeezed him back, one of your hands wriggling to blindly invite Sirius over too. Remus opened his arm when he realised what you were doing, and you both grasped onto him. You felt safer than ever wedged between both men, your head resting against Remus’ chest. You could hear the soft drumming of his heartbeat, like your favourite song.
Your face pressed painfully against something cold and hard. Peeling away, you kept Remus at arms length and clutched at the necklace around his neck, your brows furrowing.
“What’s this?” You asked, and then you blinked. “That’s a time-turner.”
Sirius stilled. “How do you know what a time turner is?”
“You had one. Back at school…” You said, shaking your head. “It’s all foggy. I’m just remembering now. I completely forgot you had one. Where did you find it?”
Remus pulled it back from your fingers. “I never had a time-turner at school. This isn’t… it’s not a time-turner, sweetheart, it’s just…”
“It’s jewellery I gave him so he’d forgive me,” Sirius attempted.
You scowled and shoved the tea towel at him. “Don’t you dare both act like I am stupid.” You folded your arms against your chest. “What have you both been up to?”
Remus cursed, running a hand through his hair. “Baby, just… Do you remember anymore of us showing you it, or is that all?”
Sirius had never even thought to suggest to Remus that they check his advanced Obliviation spell worked. It certainly couldn’t have been strong for the sight of the time-turner to jog your memory, either that or the laws of time-turning had some sort of effect on Obliviation spells.
You thought for a moment. “I remember Sirius being really upset—wait, no—Sirius was in the hospital wing, he’d been hurt during the full. You were showing me because—no, you were in the hospital wing, too. I was dreaming because I was stressed and…” You glared at the floor, and then back up at them.
They knew the moment it clicked.
Your mouth dropped open and you backed up further, your hands gripping the edge of the counter. Your eyes darted between them both, suddenly brimming with tears. You held a hand over your pounding heart.
“You said you’d come back to—” You breathed. “Oh, Merlin’s beard, you’re the same Sirius and Remus who visited me that night, aren’t you? You’re from the future. How did I just forget all of that? You said you’d come back to the day I die—is—is it about to happen?”
“It’s supposed to,” Sirius said roughly. “It’s not going to happen.”
You clutched your forehead, blinking rapidly. Remus placed a soothing hand on the small of your back, rubbing circles.
“Peter…” You exhaled. “Peter asked…”
Your legs became heavy beneath you and you slid to the floor slowly, your back against the counter. Sirius gulped at the sight of you, in that dress, on this kitchen floor. Remus knelt beside you, ignoring the clicks in his knees.
“You’re not going to die tonight,” Remus promised through gritted teeth. “Do you remember what we said about Peter framing Sirius?”
“Vaguely,” you nodded. “Yeah. Yes, I do. Sorry. It was three years ago for me.”
“Three hours for us,” Sirius mumbled teasingly, and joined you on the ground. “We’re going to get him tonight, sweetheart. He’ll be the one who goes to Azkaban, and you’ll live. We’ll all be with each other for a very, very long time.”
You buried your face in your hands as you thought hard. Minutes later, your face emerged.
“How will Peter go to Azkaban if he never kills me? He’s not committed the crime, then,” you said.
“He kills the muggles,” Remus said quickly, before Sirius could speak.
“Then surely he goes to muggle prison.”
Sirius’ mouth trembled. “You’re not the only person he gets killed tonight,” he burst.
Remus shot him a furious look. “Sirius,” he scolded scathingly.
“Who?” You demanded, your voice wobbling, and your heart caught when you saw how upset they both looked, and it all pieced together. “It’s Harry, isn’t it? He gives him to Voldemort, doesn’t he? No. That’s impossible. You’re the secret-keeper, Sirius. So who is it?”
Remus pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a long moment. “Sirius was never the secret-keeper. It was Peter. James asked Sirius, but Sirius thought it'd be better for them to choose somebody nobody expected.”
Your mouth fell open and your eyes brimmed with tears. “But—but— So–so Harry dies tonight? Baby Harry?”
“Not Harry,” Sirius grunted, and turned away in an effort to avoid you seeing his face.
“No,” you gasped, and you grasped Remus’ jumper, and this time the tears poured down your cheeks as if the faucet had been switched on. His thumbs wiped them slower than they came. “No, no, no. Not James. Not Lily! No! No!”
You smacked at Remus’ chest, and he grasped your wrists gently, closing his eyes. Sirius buried his face in his hands, as if to save himself from the sight. He’d never had to watch someone mourn their best friends before. It was like someone had ripped out the stitches he’d so messily patched himself up with.
“No!” You sobbed. “No, no. Remus. Remus, we need to go and help them. Like you’re helping me! We need to get to them.”
“We can’t,” Sirius croaked, and his fists clenched by his sides. You didn’t understand him in the slightest. “Voldemort wants Harry. It’s Lily’s protection that ultimately kills him.”
“You said he comes back anyway!” You bellowed.
You still didn’t understand. How could they just stand here?
“If we save Lily and James, Voldemort won’t die,” Remus said. “He’s winning right now, isn’t he? It’s getting worse out there. Peter is the reason Voldemort’s resurrected in about thirteen, fourteen years. We can send Peter to Azkaban instead of Sirius, and that will be the end of him. No second war. Minimal sacrifice.”
Your lip wobbled and you clutched him tighter. “There has to be another way. You worked it out for me. We can work something out for them, too. What if we can defeat Voldemort? How did Lily do it? Can’t we warn them?”
“It was Lily’s sacrifice that killed him,” Remus whispered. “Nobody could ever recreate such a thing.”
You turned away from them both and paced the room, back and forth, back and forth.
“We’ll save Harry,” Sirius said quietly, as if that would make you feel any better. “If we’re all here, Harry will have a home.”
“He doesn’t if we’re not?”
“He gets sent to his muggle aunt,” Sirius scowled. “And she’s awful to him.”
You wiped away tears, and then some more. “He deserves to be with his mum and dad. He deserves Lily and James, not us. I’m—I’m too young. He’ll be so confused.”
Remus hesitated. “Harry suffers a lot thanks to Peter. He lost his parents, but at least he’ll grow up knowing the sacrifice they made, and he’ll live a happier, longer life. We just need to stop Peter.”
You turned away from them, your chest hollow. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye. Lily rang me this morning. Harry was trying to babble down the phone to me, like he does. James was—he was trying to tell me about the costume he picked out for Harry, even though they can’t go trick or treating, and I was just—I was so upset about all of the stuff going on between the three of us that I was hardly listening. I didn’t even pay attention when Lily said she had to go, I can’t even remember if I told her I’d see her soon—or—or if—” you choked, burying your face again.
Sirius grabbed you, and wrangled you into his arms. “We will get through this together,” he whispered. “We will make sure it’s justified. I promise you that.”
You shook your head. “There must be another way to defeat Voldemort. There must be something else.”
“Nobody has worked it out,” he murmured. “Nobody but Lily.”
You rested your head against his arm, relishing in the way he ran his fingers through your hair. Your heart ached painfully, mourning the friends who weren’t gone yet.
“Can’t we work that part out later?” You mumbled solemnly.
Remus joined you, placing a hand on Sirius’ arm. “Maybe one day we can come back, but… we’re not sure how much that would impact our timeline, sweetheart. The… If Voldemort keeps winning for much longer, there’s a chance he’ll tip the scales completely. James, Lily, and Harry would all die later, we could all die too, in battle. There’s too much possibility.”
“But you’re saving me,” you whispered, and then you pulled away to keep Sirius at arm’s length. “What if that’s the wrong thing to do?”
Remus swallowed. “Your death was completely unjustified and only saved Peter in the grand scheme of things. It damned Sirius, it damned me. It’ll have minimal impact on the outcome of the war, and…”
“A great big fucking impact on our livelihoods,” Sirius finished.
Your silence was deafening. Your eyes were slightly swollen, your lips redder than usual. You brushed your hair from your face and breathed in and out, focusing on the floor.
“How could Peter do this to all of us?” You croaked after minutes.
Sirius caressed your face. “He only cared about himself.”
You tilted your head so his hand cupped your jaw, and his thumb wiped some water from above your top lip. His grey eyes watched you so softly, so earnestly, and you could see that he was breaking down inside, too. The thought of your Sirius spending the rest of his youth behind prison bars made your skin crawl. It made you want to find Peter and kill him there and then.
“What’s the plan, then?” You mumbled.
Sirius reached out to kiss your forehead. “We get as far away from here as possible, so Peter can’t hurt you.”
“He’s going to frame you,” you tell him angrily. “Whether you are here or not, Sirius, he will try to frame you for James and Lily’s deaths, if not mine.”
You felt sick as your friends’ names left your mouth. You felt like you were betraying them for not helping. You wondered if Remus was telling the truth about potentially going back in time at a later date to save them once they knew how to defeat Voldemort. For your own sanity, you chose to believe him.
Remus furrowed his brows. “What are you suggesting?”
The oven began to beep, and all your gazes flickered over. You switched it off so it would stop the noise.
“Well, Peter asked to come over tonight,” you swallowed, and grabbed the oven mitts, placing them over your hands before retrieving your cake. “I made him his favourite and everything. I suppose it’d be rather rude if I didn’t welcome him.”
Both men felt sick as pieces of an old puzzle began to fall into place. You had invited Peter over that night and baked for him specially. You’d sat with him and talked, and he had killed you anyway.
Sirius looked horrified. “You want to… do what? Let him in?”
Remus thought for a moment. “You want to trap him.”
“The aurors can deal with him, but if he runs away, we’re screwed,” you said. “And I’ll be damned if Peter gets away with it again.”
“I don’t know how I feel about it,” Sirius said. “You—what if he—what if he gets you again?”
“You two will be here. He won’t know it. I’ll get him.”
“We can grab him,” Remus said.
“No. I want to,” you scowled. “If Peter thinks he’s clever killing his unsuspecting friends, then we’ll have to see how clever he feels when I already know what’s coming.”
“No, no way,” Sirius shook his head. “No. I can’t—I can’t see it happen again—I can’t—”
Your eyes turned softer, and you grasped his face. “I want to get him. I am a capable witch.”
“More than capable,” Remus agreed after a moment, though his eyes were strained. “You should know that he doesn’t use magic.”
“He doesn’t?”
“No,” Sirius spat, and he reached over the counter for the knife that swam in the back of his head every night before sleep. “So I’m taking this. No chances.”
Your mouth dropped open slightly and your stomach flipped. “He—he—” You shook your head, and looked at the time on the clock. “It doesn’t matter. He’s coming over in twenty minutes.”
“Wait,” Remus grabbed Sirius’ arm before they could spring into action. “Remember when we cornered him at the Shrieking Shack? He turned into his animagus form.”
Your eyes lit up and you beamed at Sirius. “How do you fancy a trip up into the loft for that old gerbil cage I had?”
Sirius grinned.
── .✦
Your heart was pounding out of your chest when you heard the doorbell ring. You adjusted your hair in the mirror by the dining table, and nearly jumped when Sirius swooped out of the pantry cupboard to grasp your waist and drag you into a kiss. Your mouth melted against his, his hands shaking as he released you, and then you kissed the fond face of Remus Lupin, too.
“You know what to say if you want us to jump in.”
“I ask him if he wants to try the brownies I made.”
“Good girl,” Remus mumbled, and kissed your hairline. “Get him.”
You squeezed his hand and shut the pantry cupboard door, leaving them both in the darkness with their wands drawn. You exhaled and headed for the door just as the bell rang again.
You yanked it open and forced a smile at Peter.
“Pete,” you greeted.
Peter smiled at you, a smile that you thought was nervous as you studied it, and entered your house when you stood aside to make room for him.
“Shoes off,” you reminded him.
You felt an odd sense of imposter syndrome knowing that you had done all of this before. You wondered if subconsciously you were changing your dialogue or if you had said this all of those years ago in the world Sirius and Remus knew you from.
Peter yanked off his shoes and put them beside a pair of Remus’ Doc Martens.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “I’ve just had a really long day.”
He followed you through to the kitchen. You were hesitant to have your back turned to him, but Sirius had told you that you had both eaten by the time he had tried anything on you. You clung onto that information for dear life.
“What were you up to?” You asked. “Please, sit down. I made your favourite.”
Peter smiled tiredly. “Thanks, Y/N. Just some paperwork I didn’t finish at work yesterday. Wasn’t really planning to spend my Saturday filling out forms.”
“Something you would have rather been doing?” You asked, your teeth nearly gritted, but thankfully Peter looked too tired and wrapped up in himself to notice.
He shook his head. “No. It’s been really quiet for me lately. I was happy when you phoned earlier. I was going to ask to see you tonight anyway.”
“It’s a shame Sirius and Remus couldn’t be here,” you said. “They would have loved to have seen you. It’s been so long since we all hung out as a group.”
“Too long,” Peter agreed, and you noticed the way his gaze flickered to the table.
You reached for two small plates from the cupboard.
“Phoned James and Lily this morning,” you told him. “Harry’s really trying to talk now, bless him.”
He looked visibly uncomfortable as you placed his plate in front of him.
“Do you want a big bit or a little bit?” You asked, and put the cake between you both.
“Little bit’s fine.”
“Oh, come on, Pete. I made this for you. Rem and Sirius won’t help me eat all of this.”
“Where are they both?” Peter asked, and accepted the large portion you put on his plate.
“Both went out for a bit,” you said as he ate a forkful.
“Ah. This is really good, Y/N. Brilliant as always.”
“Thank you, Pete. Glad you think so.”
You ate some of yours as you watched him, and you wondered what you had thought about in the past, when you had been utterly clueless. Had you been filling the space with all of your chatter? That was what you often liked to do with Peter, and then he’d always agree with you and add his own piece.
He ate quicker than you wanted to. You’d hoped the more he had on his plate, the longer it’d take for him to get to this part.
“What were Remus and Sirius arguing about?”
Your brows furrowed, confused.
“On the phone earlier. You said it’d be just us because they were upset with one another. Was it just typical Remus and Sirius drama, or was there something wrong?”
You put your pudding fork on your empty plate and pursed your lips. “Between you and I, the rat in the Order is really starting to get to them.”
Peter frowned. “Who do they think it is?”
“Each other,” you said, and watched him blanch. “Yes, really stupid, isn’t it?” You agreed with a small laugh as you climbed from your seat. “As if good men like Remus or Sirius would ever do something so low and insane.”
You turned to grab a cloth from the counter, and heard the chair scrape back behind you. You instinctively looked over your shoulder, seeing as this time, you knew what the commotion was.
“Avada Kedavra!” Peter cried, and for a second you tensed, flinching, but nothing happened. You looked down at your hands, and flexed your fingers across the cloth, dropping it back down.
You began to glare. “Really?” You laughed horribly at him. “You come into my house, I treat you like a friend, and you don’t even have the decency to curse me to my face?”
Peter trembled, swallowing thickly. “Avada Kedavra!” He tried again, and then shook his wand. “Fuck! Why’s it—why—” he panicked breathlessly. “Y/N, I’m sorry—I have to—Why’s it not—?”
“You need to mean it, to kill me,” you snapped, and watched his eyes dart around the kitchen for the next nearest weapon. “You want to stab me, do you, Peter? Why? So you can frame Sirius for everything? So there won’t be an alibi? So Remus won’t defend him? So I won’t defend him?”
Peter scowled at her. “You don’t understand!”
“I don’t want to understand you. You’re pathetic!” You seethed at him.
He tried his wand again. “Expelliarmus!”
Your wand flew from your grip, and as he moved to tackle you, the pantry door opened behind him and Sirius was on him within a moment, his arm wrapped around his neck, strangling.
“Yeah, you know who this is,” Sirius spat viciously against his ear.
“Sirius!” Peter struggled, his hands desperately trying to scratch the other man’s pale skin. “Remus, help—help me!”
Remus was already diving down as soon as Peter began to shrink. He had seen it a hundred times before, the way his clothes suddenly started to become too big. You did the same, rushing for him as Sirius blindly stomped on the pair of trousers.
“Sirius, we can’t kill him!” Remus warned.
You found his fat little body and squashed him against the floor so he couldn’t bite you with his long teeth. Sirius was quick to grab the tongs he’d left out to pick Wormtail up, and he threw him in the cage, snapping the door shut.
“You’ll be staring at bars for a long while now,” Sirius laughed. “You best get used to it.”
Wormtail scrambled around, desperately trying at the bars with his teeth and then his little hands, but nothing gave way and he squeaked and squeaked and squeaked.
“We know what you did to James and Lily,” you croaked at him. “And the aurors are on their way. You’ll get what you deserve, Peter.”
Remus held onto you as the adrenaline wore off and you began to cry again. You cried for Lily, James, and Harry. You cried because Peter, one of your best friends, had just tried to kill you and frame your boyfriend. You cried because the look of relief on Remus and Sirius’ faces was enough for you to realise you had most likely just escaped a truly gruesome, horrible fate: for all three of you.
── .✦
“What happens now?” You asked as you uncurled yourself from Sirius’ grasp a couple of hours later. “Surely your younger versions will be coming home soon. They’ll have no clue any of this has happened.”
Peter had been taken away in his cage, the most satisfying sight for Sirius who knew that Peter was about to endure the worst years of his life. Now that they knew Peter was an unregistered animagus too, there was no chance of him slipping through those bars the same way Sirius had a couple of years ago.
Remus thought for a few moments. “We can Obliviate you. It’s most likely the safest option. The less people who know we meddled with time, the better. Once we’re back to our present time, the time loop will complete itself and become full circle.”
“So, when you get back, there will be a thirty-something-year-old version of me with you?”
“That’s the plan,” Sirius squeezed your fingers. “And hopefully we’ll have twenty years of memories to look back on. Ones you need to make for us now.”
You smiled sadly. “I like the way you put that. What if I remember again? It didn’t work last time.”
“I think the time turner may have triggered your memory,” Remus said. “But I’ll be returning this as soon as we are back.”
You hummed. “Alright. It’s strange that I won’t remember today. I won’t know I was ever supposed to die. But I suppose that’s how it’s supposed to work.”
“It’s probably best you don’t,” Sirius said. “We can leave enough memory that you remember stopping Peter, so when the aurors interrogate you, they don’t realise you’ve been Obliviated, and see us here.”
You kissed him on the mouth, your hand tangling with his dark hair. Then, you kissed Remus.
“Do it now. I don’t enjoy goodbyes.”
“You’ll see us both really soon.”
── .✦
You yawned as you finished clingfilming the sandwich you’d prepared for tomorrow, your head unexpectedly bumping backwards against a hard chest. Arms wrapped around you, and your heart skipped a beat when Sirius ducked to kiss your jaw. Your eyes flickered across the room where Remus sat at the dining table, Harry on his lap. Remus read his own book whilst Harry attempted one himself.
“He’s converting him lame,” Sirius whispered against your ear, and you giggled. “James would be horrified.”
“James wasn’t quite as illiterate as you are,” you told him teasingly, and shrieked as Sirius wriggled his fingers into his ribs the way he did with Harry to rile him up. “Stop! Hey!”
“Siri!” Harry scolded, at the same time as Remus shot him a look.
“Hey, hey,” Sirius held his hands up innocently. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”
“You hurted her!”
“I tickled her,” Sirius corrected him. “Shall I tickle you next?”
“No!” Harry laughed.
“Then mind your own beeswax, mister,” Sirius played, and moved around to ruffle Harry’s uncontrollable hair—already as bad as James’ was.
“He was just sticking up for Y/N, weren’t you, Harry?” Remus noted warmly, and squeezed Harry’s shoulder in an attempt to get him to stay seated.
They could see the look in Harry’s eyes—Sirius had set him off.
“Yeah,” Harry said proudly and leaned back with his book.
“Well, I’ve packed your lunch for tomorrow,” you beamed, and placed it in the fridge beside his yogurt and his fruit—you’d taken him to the shops that day so he could pick out what he wanted. “Are you excited for your first day of school?”
“No,” Harry huffed. “I like being here. With you.”
“I’ll be here when you get home,” you reminded him. “Every day. I’m not going anywhere, Harry.”
Remus stroked Harry’s hair endearingly. “None of us are. How about you run upstairs and get into bed and one of us will come and read to you.”
Harry nodded eagerly.
“Who would you like tonight?”
“You, Rem. You do the best voices.”
Remus stuck his tongue out at Sirius, who played back.
“Alright, alright. Hurry upstairs then, Harry. If you take too long, I’ll miss my bedtime, and then we’ll both be grouchy in the morning!”
Harry stood up and tucked his book beneath his arm. He walked over to you and let you routinely kiss the top of his head, and then he moved to Sirius and gave him a hug as always. Sirius jabbed his fingers in his ribs and Harry’s squeal echoed through the house. Remus hissed.
“Run, Harry! Or I’ll get you again!” Sirius called as Harry took off running and laughing. “Remember the only safe place is under your duvet!”
You chuckled and shook your head.
“Good luck getting him to wind down,” Sirius smiled smugly at Remus. “Should be a piece of cake for you, considering you’re so good at the voices.”
Remus rolled his eyes but smiled amusedly and kissed Sirius’ cheek. “How bitter are you, Black?”
“Bitter is my middle name, don’t you know?”
“Thought it was Jealous,” you teased, and snaked your arms around Sirius’ thin waist.
Remus laughed and kissed you next.
“I best put him to bed, then. I guess I have been selected.”
“Thank you, Rem,” you said warmly.
“I can’t believe it’s his first day of school tomorrow,” Sirius said, and held onto your hands, relishing in the way it felt to have your front against his back. “Time has flown by so quickly.”
“It’s terrifying,” you agreed.
Remus hummed. “God knows where we’d be without Harry. Wouldn’t change this for the world.”
You smiled, and you supposed that, after all of the shit the wizarding war had brought, and with the loss of your friends, this was the best outcome imaginable.
I get wet at the thought of you. Being a responsible guy.
Every little thing Remus does, carrying your books and his hand flexed, clenching his jaw while he was thinking, rubbing his thumb against your lips .. was just so hot.
It's no secret that you knew you were ovulating. It's torture for you. Every time you see your own boyfriend being so sexy you just want to pounce on him. But you can't just fuck all the time.. he's a very responsible guy! And it's so fucking frustrating for you !!!
You were rubbing your thighs together. Desperate for some sort of relief.. staring at his large hands writing away at the parchment paper. The silence of the library rings in your ear. You were so desperate not to just let out a moan. More or less a whimper.
And he doesn't even notice.
His eyes were trained on his words, and you were so wet. Tears were literally streaming down your thighs.
A huffy and frustrated you, slumped against the library table, trying to think of anything but the ache in your thighs.
"What d'you want this time?"
Oh god. A throb went up your pussy. His voice was soft but still firm,his gaze was still focused on his paper, unfazed by your bratty attitude.
"Nothing.. m'tummy just hurts.." You whined slightly. Looking at him through your locks of hair. Why isn't he noticing at how horny you are?!?!
You felt his warm hand slipping to touch your aching tummy.. you let out a little tiny moan in satisfaction. Clenching about nothing. God you were so horny for anything right now.
His hands rubbed against your stomach in small circles while he hummed, you whimpered. You gathered up your courage to speak, or else you felt you were literally gonna cum right there and then if eh didn't stop his unknowing teasing.
"'m.. gonna go back to the dorm.. t'rest.." you pouted, he hummed, it might literally vibrate through your pussy. You were shifting in your seats because of how soaked your panties were..
Back in the dorm was not easy either. Now alone, your skirt slipped away into a corner of the dorm and your cotton panties still damped from your leaking pussy..was up in the air as your face was down on your mattress. The wind blows coldly into your aching pussy..
At first it was small tiny rubs against the cloth, mewling with each small touch. Twas' too much for you. Too sensitive to touch. Too horny to stop.
Then your dorm room door cracked open, you tumbled down onto the bed as fast as you could. Legs spread onto the mattress like a fawn falling.
"Hi baby.." His voice cooed. As he placed away his things to finally.. finally take care of you.
"What were you doing hm?" Remus asked. His voice was deep, as his fingers caressed your chin.
"Nothin'." You spoke, eyes wandering down as you mindlessly scratching at your thighs.. he placed a kiss onto your lips. It was filthy. You could sense it.
His hand trailed down from your chin a whole line down to your clit. Touching the damp cotton fabric hiding your pussy.
"So wet aren't you? All f'me?"
You nodded. Your legs spread even more as he lets out a satisfied hum. Pushing your soaked undies to the side to reveal what he needed.
He was playing with your pussy. His fingers insert in for a second before pulling out entirely to rub against your clit.. scissoring you open for him.
You mewled helplessly as your head rested on his shoulder, tears came out your eyes from unspeakable pleasure..
"Come on baby lay down f'me Kay? I wanna taste you." He said it with such normalcy it didn't feel filthy at all. That or you're too fucking horn out to care.
Laying onto your soft pillow, you spreaded your legs for him, as he pecked into your inner thighs.. then peppering kissing your pussy. Giving all the love it needs.
If Remus could spend his whole day eating your cunt without any duties to do he would wholeheartedly accept it.
He sucks your pussy with such persistence that it's basically singing the Beethoven symphony for him.
"Remmy..." You whined, as your moaning drowns out the filthy sound of him lapping your soaking pussy dry like he was a dog drinking water.
"hm.." He hummed against your pussy, the knot in your tummy tightened even more, you were about to rip him bald by how tight you were gripping his hair..
You let out a particular pornographic moan as he inserted another digit into your wet cunt, he cursed into your pussy.. that set off everything in your system.
You cummed on his face. But he just kept lapping. This fucking man never can get enough can't he? Fucking greedy.
He was as if a bee sucking the pollen out of flower till it dies. And it feels like you were gonna die from overstimulation. He was literally eating your pussy.
Nipping at your clit and moaning against your cunt like he was getting as much pleasure as you were. His fingers kept curling in your pussy..
By this rate you were gonna combust everywhere, you were about whining out in pleasure and drooling onto your soft pretty hair and your silky pillowcase :(.. (fuck you Remus)
Something settled in you, as his finger curled again, the fire alarm in your cunt about set off. You squirted over his pretty face. As he greedily (yes again) lapped up at your fucking cunt like this was apple juice.
Your whole thighs were about as soaked as the glistening release dripping on his chin as he tried to lick all of it from his bright red lips.. he crawled up on top of you, wiping your drool away from your mouth as kissed you. His tongue playing with yours, as you tasted yourself on him.
"Talk to me next time baby.. I'll help you anytime you want hm?.." He spoke, licking and nipping your neck..
Treating me like you're supposed to do. Tears run down my thighs.
zvrswan ──── all works are written by me. Please do not feed my work to ai.
Summary; Tom has yearned for one woman for 12 years, the last of his soul, the beating of his heart. But he hasn't seen her in 10 years; evading him, though he searches relentlessly, endlessly. Finally, he finds her; hurt by the very system he'd created.
Damn two parts within a day?? wowza.
Warnings for this part: Voldemort-themed government takeover, Muggle suppression, classicism? uh, pureblood supremacy, Tom's fucked up morals, lotta exposition in the first quarter; explaining how and why Tom toppled the ministry and replaced it with his own. Human trafficking, the objectification of humans/woman, sexism, blood, gore, murder, horror themes. sedation, forced drug use, panic attacks, non-sexual nudity, starved body description.
enjoy? i guess? idk help
Part 1 Part 2
It’s been 12 years.
12 years after losing her, 12 years after fracturing his soul beyond repair, 12 years after beginning the unforgivable acts that led him down the path he was now.
Out of all of that, he only regretted one.
Losing her.
When he closed his eyes, all he could see was her horrified look-and he’d been too slow to stop her from running away from him, too slow to obliviate her memory, too slow to keep her by his side.
Now it had been 10 years since he’d seen her, and 6 years since his coup had succeeded and the ministry was under his control now, the wizarding world was under his feet.
His long-laid plans had come to fruition and paid off. He’d taken risks to get here, trusted those who might betray if a better deal came along, enlisted those who might have second thoughts.
But it had worked out, he had an army of his own, born from his school gang, now the Death Eaters. They had seamlessly overtaken the magical and muggle governments in mere weeks, dismantling everything built over the last couple hundred years.
But, Tom surmised, fingers brushing over another file full of paperwork, if it was that easy to destroy, then it hadn’t been well built in the first place. A thought he’d had since he was young, and saw the corruption seeded within the ministry, the evil that pooled in the muggles, the wars, the cruelty, the pure hate that bled back and forth over centuries.
He put a stop to it. Within a mere six years, he’d put an end to it. The law of secrecy had been tightly wound with fear, fear from witch hunts, but Muggle’s, Tom knew, were smarter nowadays, even fascinated with Magic. Not all of them, however, that he knew as well, having met so many in his childhood that feared him, feared him to be a demon because of things they couldn’t explain.
So, Tom planned carefully, for even longer than a mere 12 years, 15 even, to one day break the shackles wizard kind had placed themselves in and free them all. Many didn’t see it that way, of course not-with that little rebellion that had built up over the last few years, having no official name, but a threat all the same.
Tom saw freedom in magic unchained, choices unchained, people unchained. And yet, his hatred from years of childhood abuse came bubbling, and-to feed his army of death eaters (some of whom had taken the choice to become immortal like him, to become vampires), He allowed those unworthy of magic to become the bottom of the food chain.
Blood bags, they were called now, simple, but effective in the name. Humans, be them muggles or muggleborns, sometimes half-bloods that were stupid enough to get caught, and the even rarer pureblood that stood against him; were taken and starved into deficiency, but kept strong enough for their blood to keep flowing.
Vampires who could afford it, to afford their own personal living blood bags, bought and feasted on these humans, sometimes more; sometimes a pet, sometimes a pretty face to keep around and fuck, maybe breed if need be, or wanted.
Tom hadn’t done any of that yet. He found himself rarely drinking human blood, he found it disgusting almost, no one’s blood was good enough for him to drink, no ones blood was pure enough for the dark lord, for the vampire king-Voldemort.
He shuddered at the thought of his own name, one he’d built for himself since the school years, a name once only whispered between him and his knights, now echoed across the world, feared. Reveared.
Tom stood from his desk, trailing his fingers-his nails permanently black, sharp when he needed-across the dark mahogany of his desk, approaching the large window that looked over the ministry of magic.
A slow, curling, smile grew on his lips, looking down at his subjects. Wizards, witches, dark creatures, and his Death Eaters, who took arrested Muggles from snatchers and dragged them off to the prisons, to either be sold to the supply warehouses or just be killed, or petrified and become another example.
All to strengthen what was left of wizarding kind, to overcome the fear of extinction. Now they were on top again, now, Muggles would not fear them because they didn’t understand, Muggles would fear because they were prey.
And he, the predator.
The King.
Just as he’d always wanted.
He turned away from the window, approaching his desk again and taking the goblet that sat on a thick coaster. He lifted it to his lips, swallowing a iron rich mouthful of pig’s blood, perfectly mixed with a shot of fire whisky to thin it out. Tom lowered the goblet, licking his stained lips, pressing his tongue to his fanged canine as a knock came from his office door.
“Enter,” He said cooly, setting down the goblet and sitting at his office, steepling his fingers together.
Abraxas Malfoy, a loyal friend-older than him and one of his first followers, entered the room, his silvery-blonde hair in a long braid, cloaked in his family colors, a serpentine cane in hand. “Abraxas,” Tom greeted, warmer-toned now. Abraxas smiled back, unclipping his cloak and hanging it from the coat rack by Tom’s office door.
Tom poured Abraxas a regular glass of whisky, as Abraxas was not a vampire, far too prideful in his bloodline and humanity to do so, but Tom did not complain. If everyone were immortal like he, what would be special about him anymore?
“What brings you around this time?” Tom asked, handing Abraxas the glass-who took it with a grateful nod and a toast-before sitting back down at his desk. “Another resistance dispute? Muggles causing chaos? Perhaps an heir for your Malfoy throne?”
Abraxas’ cheeks turned pink, and he shook his head with a grin. “No, no, none of that. The resistance is quiet, they had quite the loss of members four months back, they’re licking their wounds. The muggles are being smart, laying low, and unfortunately no, not yet.” Tom smirked behind his goblet, licking his lips, stained with red, as he lowered it.
“Then what brings you here? Gossip?” Tom drawled, raising his brow as Abraxas took a breath and the look on his face became more serious. “What?” Tom asked, setting down his goblet at the end of his desk.
“She’s finally appeared in the system,” Abraxas said quietly, and Tom sat up, quickly, his goblet knocked to the floor in his haste-his red eyes locked onto Abraxas.
“Do not take me for a fool, Malfoy.” Tom said, quietly, threatening. If Abraxas was lying, getting his hopes up…
He’d searched for her relentlessly for 10 years, following trails of her scent, echoes of her voice, the ache of his heart that did not beat properly anymore.
She’d disappeared from him as soon as they’d departed from Kings cross, as if she had the fidelius charm on her-he could not find her, not through any means. It had ached to lose her for so long; her very essence haunted his days, his dreams, his nights.
But now-
“I can assure you, Tom, I would not lie to you about her. She was apart of the resistance,” Tom scoffed a little, of course she was. “and was a part of the group captured four months ago, according to my sources. She’s been within Derlic Sevar’s warehouse for months, yet to be sold.”
Tom swallowed hard, jaw working-panic spiking. She was alive, but would not be well. Derlic was a bottom rung blood bag seller, a werewolf (which Tom didn’t care about that part) who treated his stock terribly, especially when they first came in, to break them to nothing so they wouldn’t fight back against whoever bought them.
Tom stood, knocking his chair back, grabbing his coat from the ground-it had been resting on his chair-and putting it on. “Address.” Tom seethed, slipping on a silver half-face snake/skull mask, his eyes gleaming beneath it.
Abraxas told him, and Tom was gone.
It was night, the air clear and crisp. Tom’s breath fogged as he stalked towards the dimly lit warehouse, he could hear the humans within, their bodies pumping blood steadily through, their breath faint.
Derlic must’ve heard him coming, like a dog, because he came out of the warehouse, greeting Tom with a sharp grin-not knowing it was the dark lord, on account of Tom’s mask and his hood. Right now, he was just a run-of-the-mill vampire, looking for cheap food.
“What brings you here my friend?” Derlic greeted, searching Tom’s person with just his eyes, angling for a wand, or a bag of galleons. He was a fat werewolf, with protruding canines, rust colored hair, and yellow eyes; wearing a suit that told of his high living class, but the musty smell off him told otherwise.
“Food. A girl.” Tom said, keeping his voice low and even, gleaming red eyes staring past Derlic into the warehouse. There were at least 50 people in there, one of which was her.
She just had to be here, she had to. Abraxas would not lie to him, or give him late or false information.
“We have plenty of those,” Derlic laughs, waving Tom to follow, before pausing. “Oh, but first, as a precaution to first time buyers, a down payment,” Derlic said, grinning, and Tom curls his lip a little as Derlic holds out his grimy hand.
Finding her was the top priority, he didn’t care how he had to do it.
He pulled out his wallet and dropped several galleons into Derlic’s palm, whose yellow eyes widened with delight, before guiding Tom towards the warehouse, where Derlic’s right-hand man, another werewolf named Airle, opened the doors-which swung open heavily, creaking against the metal walls and frames.
Tom stepped inside, and was greeted by rows and rows of large metal dog kennels. His red eyes scanned them relentlessly, looking for those familiar eyes, walking slowly down the middle aisle as Derlic prattled on about his selection.
Where was she, where was she, where was she, where was she?
His eyes grazed past a woman, who was frail and under heavy drugs, but he didn’t continue-his eyes snapped back to her, and he stopped.
There she was, his (y/n).
His barely beating heart thumped rapidly in his chest. He felt alive again, colors edging in his vision as he took in her terribly hurt frame. She was so skinny-drug skinny, her cheeks sunken, lips cracked and bloody, eyes wide and blood-shot; though it looked as if she was having trouble keeping them open.
And she wore nothing but her underwear, which was dirty and stained.
(y/n). my (y/n), my beloved, my soul.
He wanted to tear the metal off her cage and free her then and there, escape this place with her, and nurse her back to health until she was okay again.
She was staring at him, she recognized him-he could tell, she knew his eyes, even if they were different now, and she was asking-yearning-screaming-for him to help her.
“And this one?” He asks Derlic-who pauses in his own rambling-his own voice sounds so far away; even to himself, but he just keeps his eyes on (y/n).
If he looked away, she’d disappear, just like last time.
Derlic kicks her cage and she closes her eyes in pain-Tom’s fist instantly clenched, the bones creaking with tight pressure. His growing claws dig into his palm, blood slowly seeping out.
“That one’s been here about five months,” Derlic said, talking about (y/n) as if she was just an animal in a shelter. Anger, no rage, boiled in Tom’s chest, bubbling up like acid in his throat. “Half-blood, still got some meat on her, but it’s burning out quick,” Derlic laughs, a sound that has Tom’s knuckles popping as he clenches his fist even tighter-black blood drops to the floor.
“Reckon she’d make a fun fuck toy too, if that's what you’re interested in-“ Tom turns-eyes gleaming bright red with pure anger now, he grabs Derlic’s throat, cutting his disgusting sentence off, lifting the fat werewolf off the ground. Tom doesn’t say a word as Derlic panics; his breathing strained beneath Tom’s grasp as he squeezes hard.
“Please-don’t-“ Derlic begs, yellow eyes bulging. Tom snarls, baring his fangs. He lifts up one hand-claws at the ready-and spears it into the base of Derlic’s neck, pushing as blood spurts and spills down.
Airle screams, scrambling away-as Tom splits Derlic’s head away from his shoulders, pulling two ways with each hand until the head pops off, blood spurting across Tom’s face, the spine pulls out-held together by nerves and muscles before a vertebrae snaps apart-the body falls with a wet thud.
Tom stares, watching the light leave Derlic’s eyes. He turns, finding a hook-he doesn’t even bother to think what it’s used for, and stabs Derlic’s head onto it, blood dripping down onto the top of a cage, creating a small pool of blood.
Tom turns to Airle, who stares in pure horror, shaking his knees together as he scoots back against a cage. “Please-i-I won’t-just take her-take her!” Airle begs, and Tom curls his lip in disgust at the werewolf’s cowardice.
“You’ve been promoted.” Tom drawls, his claws retreating as his anger cools. “Don’t be foolish as this dog was.” Tom hisses, jutting his head back towards the dead Derlic. Airle nods frantically, still shaking as he hands Tom the cage keys once demanded.
Tom nearly ripped open the lock and the door, the metal bending under the force of his grip. Airle tries to help-thinking foolishly to grab (y/n)’s collar chain and yank her out like she was a dog. Tom snatched the werewolf’s hand and crushes it instantly, his eyes remaining on (y/n) as she watches with nothing but a blank stare.
Oh my love, what did they do to you?
No matter. He’d make sure she’d get that spark back.
He gently pulled her out-wrapping his arms beneath her and backing up once he had her. He unclips his cloak-wrapping it around her, making sure she was covered up and warm. She was utterly filthy, her hair a mess of mats and tangles. His poor girl.
He demands what drugs she’d been put on-Airle shakily hands him a schedule and even tries to give him the drugs themselves to keep drugging (y/n) but Tom kicks him into a cage, turning and stalking back out of the warehouse, (y/n) tucked safely in his arms.
He could feel her breathing against his neck, weak and slow.
He has her.
He has her.
She’s safe.
She’s safe.
His teeth felt moments from cracking as he stared at the drug schedule those in charge of the blood bag stock used.
Oxycodone multiple times a day, to keep her drowsy and down, he’d absolutely need to clean her system of that as soon as possible, it was going to be the toughest drug for her to get clean of, that one was addictive. Rohypnol once a day, in the late night to keep her unconscious during cleaning in the morning, something else he’d have to monitor for as the drugs left her system. And Barbiturates, to sedate her even further.
Tom sighed, pressing his hands to his face, taking several deep breaths.
His girl, his poor girl.
He should’ve found her sooner, he should’ve found her when she was apart of that foolish resistance and saved her then-protected her from even being captured by the human trafficking ring.
He stands abruptly as he hears (y/n) scream from within the bathroom he’d had his female servants to get her all cleaned up-he can hear her heart beating too fast-to quick. He ran, slamming into his door frame-cracking the wood-racing down the corridor to the bedroom.
He slams open the doors, watching as (y/n) screamed and panicked, writhing and hyperventilating.
One of the two servants stuns her, the other sticks a needle with basic sedation-Tom had told them to only use such tactics if absolutely needed, but it is still not pleasant to see her drugged again. His chest aches as he watches (y/n) go limp, her glassy eyes, full of falling tears, meet his. And she passes out.
“Out.” Tom snarls, and the two servants scramble and run past him.
He slowly steps forward, before sinking to his knees beside the tub, the ivory stark even against her pale-almost clean-skin. Her face is sunken, tears on her barely flushed cheeks, wet lashes fluttering as she breathes faintly.
“I’m sorry,” Tom whispers, reaching up to hold her face, caressing his thumb across her cheek. A small smile grows as she leaned into his touch. Even asleep, even 12 years later, she still knows his touch.
He gently picked up a comb and rolled up his sleeves, sitting there for the next hour as he slowly combed out the tangles and mats, and then a sponge, gently cleaning off her body the rest of the way.
His fingers trail her spine, each notch visible, and he swallows down a whisper of her name, pulling her against him so he could wash her back, not caring if she got his suit vest wet.
Soon, she was clean, her hair combed through. He tossed the collected broken hair into the trash, draining the tub and wrapping her in a charmed warm towel, carrying her into the bedroom-which was grand, facing the garden that was illuminated by the sun in the morning. She liked gardens, had since they were young.
He looked out the window, looking down into the moon-lit garden.
“Mr. Fields,” Tom called for his personal hand, who came walking in with no rush. “Have the gardeners plant some new flowers, hydrangeas, pink roses, lavender; make sure they can be viewed from this window.”
Mr. Fields nods and bows out, his tailcoat whipping behind him as he turns and leaves the room. Tom lay (y/n) down on the grand four-poster bed, which had been stripped and re-dressed in (y/n)’s preferred colors upon her arrival.
He gently dried her body, drawing a hand down her side. Her ribs were prominent now. He swallowed hard, throat aching.
He’d make sure she’d get better. He’d help her through withdrawal and help her regain her weight.
She would be better. He’d help her.
He orders a servant nearby to bring a shirt of his and a pair of his shorts, and his heart aches as he dresses her in the very same style of clothes she used to wear when sleeping in his dorm room 12 years ago.
He kisses her forehead, between her brows, and tucks her in.
He knew things from here would be tough, from withdrawal to recovery, but he wouldn’t leave her again.
He wouldn’t let her run away again.
-end of p3-
once again you all can thank @helloamalien for this idea!
head boy tom riddle having his own publicly claimed compartment on the hogwarts express like he’s had every year since he was a fourth year.
no one touches it. no one dares to even knock. the blinds are drawn shut on the way to and back from hogwarts at the start and end of each school year. students gossiped all the time since he’s officially — unofficially — put his name on that specific spot.
they talk about how much he values his privacy.
about how he might be jerking off.
but this year, things were different. for the first time, he let someone else inside with him.
you.
and of course, people speculate. it’s rather scandalous, isn’t it? for a boy and a girl who were dating to be alone, shut together in a small space, not a sound coming from inside?
some try to peek in to find out. nervous first years search for empty seats and older students steer them away from their doom, whispering stories like they do every year in the corridor like tradition, one after another chiming in on the mystery of riddle’s compartment. some say he’s simply studying up for the new school year beforehand to be ahead like always. others say he’s finally found a partner to share his so called sexual escapades with.
but, there is simply no way, right? golden, head boy, respectful prodigy, polite gentleman, saint riddle would never do that to a girl on the train to hogwarts, would he?
he would never be sitting silently with his legs crossed and a book on his lap in that compartment on the express, humming to himself in thought as he read through an issue for the new curriculum, turning a page every once in a while with one hand.
…while the other sat squeezed just between your shut thighs and inside your soaked panties beneath your skirt, long fingers curling and thrusting in and out of your sopping little hole absentmindedly as you squirmed in your seat beside him, panting and whimpering quietly like he said to while clinging onto his arm, hips humping your cunt against his digits desperately while he paid you no mind whatsoever.
tom riddle was always a good multitasker, and he’d need the skill to balance work and pleasure for this coming year. so, he is doing just that — diligently taking care of his academics and dutifully assisting his girlfriend who was just so pent up after not having seen him all summer.
poor thing.
out there, they all say he’s either studious or debauched. tom riddle thinks: why can’t he be both?
after all, it was just his responsibilities as head boy(friend).
In which Remus overhears you talking about the person you have feelings for, and decides to distance himself from you so that he can move on, with no idea that you were talking about him the whole time.
warnings: fem!reader, Remus is an idiot, no use of Y/N, tooth-rotting fluff after some mandatory angst, self-doubt, Remus POV because apparently I like writing this man in distress, healing of emotional wounds, Remus is DOWN BAD, it is implied that reader is short | word count: 7421
note: this sprung into my head as I was making cereal today whilst listening to Move On First by Sadie Jean and I have never sprinted to my laptop so fast oh my god. This is a LONG one, because I am incapable of casually writing about this man. This went from a cuttle little drabble to an emotional ball of pain where reader forces Remus to love himself damnit.
“before you do, just let me learn to fall asleep, just me, without laying on your chest. I’m begging, please, just let me learn to look the other way.”
Remus Lupin was an idiot. A colossal, eavesdropping, heartbroken, fool of an idiot.
Because only an idiot could stand there and listen to – eavesdrop on – the girl he was madly in love with talking with such passion about her feelings for someone else. Someone that wasn’t him.
His heart bled a little at the thought.
It was a complete accident, really, how this had happened. You were with Marlene and Lily, sat in the courtyard on the bench beside the large oak tree, with absolutely no idea that he was on the other side of it, back pressed against the bark, book completely forgotten in his lap, his desperate attempt at solitude turned into an exercise of torture.
He could get up and leave – he ought to get up and leave – but then you would see him and you would call him over and ask him how his day was and lay your head on his shoulder with no idea that every breath you took and every loving word out of your mouth were like daggers slowly peeling his skin from his bones.
He took a shuddering breath, pressing his head back against the tree trunk, eyes screwed firmly shut. Perhaps if he tried hard enough, he could block it out. He knew immediately that it was futile – it was you, there was no blocking you out. His body was attuned to every move you made, every sweet word from your lips. He couldn’t ignore you even if he tried.
And so he sat, and waited, and prayed for it to end so that he could crawl back to his dorm and do something entirely unmanly like cry.
“And his eyes. Have you seen them?” You continued, entirely oblivious to the metaphorical daggers you were throwing his way. “I’ve never seen eyes like them.”
“I will admit, he does have nice eyes,” Lily agreed. Traitor. “I’ve never seen that shade of brown before.”
“Like getting lost in a forest.” Your voice was wistful in a way that had Remus’s heart clenching, and he pressed his hand against his chest to try to soothe the ache of it all.
“I will say,” Lily continued. “He is rather handsome. He’s tall…”
“So tall,” you said. “I’d have to tug him down by his hair to kiss him.”
“You’ll give him a hunchback by the age of thirty,” Marlene scoffed.
“If the person I’m in love with develops a hunchback for the sole reason that they’ve spent so long kissing me, then I have done my job well.”
In love with. The words echoed sharply in his mind, pulsing against every crevice of his thoughts until he couldn’t escape them, until they were all he could hear. You were in love with someone. You, perfect and kind, generous and loving, so beautiful it hurt, were in love.
Oh god, he would take a thousand full moons over the way he was feeling right now.
“Or you could just, ya know, climb him. Like a tree,” Lily suggested, snickering.
“That too.”
“Yeah,” Marlene said thoughtfully. “Honestly, I get it. He’s hot. Nice hair, nice arms, and he’s got that whole rugged and mysterious vibe about him.”
Rugged and mysterious. If there were two things that Remus Lupin wasn’t.
“He does have nice hair,” Lily agreed. “I have no idea how he makes it so fluffy. Do you think it would be weird if I asked for his haircare routine?”
“I think it would make Sirius jealous that you were going to anyone but him for haircare advice,” Marlene snickered.
“And he’s so gentle, too,” you continued. “Have you seen how kind he is with everyone? Always putting other people first, helping others with their homework, sitting with people when they need someone to talk to.”
“Not to mention how he is with you.” Marlene hummed idly, her voice teasing. “We’ve all seen the heart eyes aimed your way.”
“Oh please,” you scoffed, but there was a note of hope to your voice that had Remus wanting to curl up and sink into the earth. “He doesn’t have heart eyes.”
“He most certainly does with you. You’d have to be blind to miss it. And he’s always going out of his way to help you with stuff. Carrying your bag, bringing your favourite snacks to your study sessions in case you get hungry, always giving you hugs and forehead kisses and ugh, you two are sickening and you’re not even together.”
Hugs? Forehead kisses? Oh, he was going to be sick. The thought of someone else touching you like that, of holding you the way he did, of knowing the soft feel of you under their arm and the press of you against their skin, had him wanting to break things.
But he and you were purely platonic. Close friends who happened to both be tactile people. He, touch starved and desperate for affection, you, the epitome of a human ball of sunshine sharing love with the mindless press of your lips against cheeks and the gentle squeeze of palms in a way that was purely platonic and yet had his insides melting every damn time.
If you and this person were together, those touches would have to stop. He’d have to let go of the feeling of you beside him, put a stop to the way he would foolishly take your hand between classes or the way you would lean against him in the common room when the fire was low and sleep hung in the air like a weighted blanket.
“I just…” you said wistfully. “God, I just want to kiss him so badly.”
His stomach soured. Bile rose up his throat, and he rubbed a tired hand over his eyes.
His gaze caught on the scars on the back of them, and the sight of them made him irrationally angry. Of course you didn’t want him. His skin was a web of pain and trauma, a map of angry slashes and wounds that had left both physical and mental marks, etching themselves so deep into body and soul that they would never go away.
As if you could hear his thoughts, your voice drifted over to him again. “He just deserves so much. He goes through so much pain, and I just wish I could be there for him, do things to make it better for him.”
He had never quite felt anything like the way his soul was drowning now. Whoever this was, this mysterious handsome stranger with a troubled past, was someone you wanted to help. Did you want to press your lips to their scars like you sometimes did with Remus’s? Did you want to brush away their tears and tell them they were loved, just as you did with him?
He hated the thought of it. Hated it so desperately he couldn’t breathe.
“The scars are hot too,” Marlene continued.
“Marlene!”
“What?” She asked defensively. “Am I wrong?”
“No, you’re not,” you conceded. “You’re really not. But… they must have hurt so badly. I don’t want to make light of that just because they only add to his attractiveness.”
Lily scoffed. “God, you’re so sweet. No wonder he’s into you.”
Remus, as much as it pained him, wholeheartedly agreed. You were so sweet, so pure – he wondered what you thought of him, of the web of pain marring his body. Whoever this person was, their few scars must have been nothing to his. He had never come across anyone at Hogwarts who looked like him, and the thought had his stomach sinking.
“He’s not into me,” you said, and yes, there it was, the sadness Remus would have done anything to erase from your voice.
Whoever this person was, they were a fool. How could they not be into you, love every facet of you, every smile, every laugh, every frown, every tear. How could anyone be anything but desperately in love with you?
He needed to leave. He couldn’t be there a second longer, listening to you gush about this person as if they were the greatest thing to ever walk the earth. His hands were shaking as he pressed down against the grass, ready to lift himself up, when Lily spoke up again.
“So, are you going to tell him?”
Remus froze.
“... I don’t know.” Your voice was quiet, meek, and Remus strained to hear you, his heart pounding in his chest. “I want to. But I don’t know if he likes me like… that. And we’re such good friends, what if I ruin it by asking and he doesn’t actually want anything to do with me?”
It was horrible, absolutely horrible, that Remus was praying for that to happen. That whoever this person was would absolutely lose their mind (because what sane person would reject you?) and say no, and he could be the one to console you, to hold you close.
He hated himself for it. You deserved to be happy, damnit, regardless of who it was with, even the very thought of it had him wanting to throw up.
“Trust me,” Lily said gently. “He’s into you. He’d be out of his mind to say no. I have never seen anyone look at someone the way he looks at you.”
That was a lie. Remus was fairly certain his own eyes formed literal love hearts whenever they settled on you.
“You have to tell him,” Marlene agreed. “Listen, if he says no then he says no. You two are too good friends to let that ruin anything. Him saying no is better than you saying nothing and regretting it for the rest of your days.”
“That’s true.” Your words had his heart sinking like a stone in his chest. “Okay,” you agreed. “Tonight. I’ll tell him tonight.”
Tears rose unbidden to his eyes, wetting his cheeks before he could stop them. That was it, then. It was over. He had lost you before he had the chance to really have you, because no one in their right mind would ever say no to a chance with you, and that meant that he would never get the chance to feel your lips on his, to run his hands through your hair as your head lay on his chest, to love you so wholly and completely that it would ruin him and he would love every second of it.
He wouldn’t be able to stomach it, seeing you with someone else. Watching you kiss them, hold them, love them. He couldn’t bear it.
Mind made up, he wiped his cheeks with the sleeve of his jumper and took a deep breath. He would just have to find a way to move on from you, to create a separation big enough that seeing you with another man maybe wouldn’t hurt so much. Even if that meant he had to distance himself from you to do it.
—
The common room was loud, a riot of laughter and bangs, of quills scratching across parchment, of chatter incessantly buzzing against the walls and settling into the very bones of the tower.
Remus could hardly hear it, his eyes fixed bleakly on the fire, his entire body heavy as he sank further into the armchair he had tried to find solace in. He could feel the heat of the flames against his skin, and yet their warmth did little to soothe the cold that had settled into his core and refused to move.
James and Sirius were playing a game of exploding snap on the rug in front of him, Peter lay stretched out on the sofa eagerly watching, making appropriate sounds of awe that James and Sirius seemed to thoroughly enjoy. It should have made him happy, being surrounded by the smiling faces of his closest friends, settled into an atmosphere that reeked of joy and peace.
He felt anything but, and Sirius was beginning to notice.
“Oi, Moony,” he said after a moment of studying him, his dark brows furrowed. “What’s got you being such a sour wolf?”
“Very funny, Pads,” he said, unable to get rid of the heaviness to his voice, lulling the words into a dejected rasp.
“Seriously, mate,” James said as he turned on the rug, leaning against the side of the armchair. His glasses reflected the light from the flames, giving his dark eyes a shine that reeked of concern. “You’ve been down all afternoon. You feeling alright? Something happen?”
Remus was blessedly spared from answering by the opening of the portrait hole, and his heart sank deep into his stomach as you and the girls walked in.
James, spotting Lily, immediately straightened and reached for his hair, embarking in the hopeless quest of getting it to lie flat. “Y’alright, Evans?” He asked eagerly.
Lily, grinning from ear to ear, nudged you. His heart fluttered in a desperate panic as you made your way over to their group. Your cheeks were red, your teeth worrying your lower lip. Your eyes, wide and panicked, were darting around the space, refusing to land on him.
Remus’s throat went tight. His hands were shaking, so he hid them in the folds of his jumper, trying to resist the urge to flee. The room felt too hot, suddenly, stuffy in a way that had him unable to breathe properly.
He couldn’t seem to look away from you – you looked nervous, your shoulders hunched slightly, as if you were sinking into yourself. Had you done it yet? Surely if you had, you wouldn’t be back here, sitting with your friends. If they had said yes, like he just knew they would, then surely you would still be with them – god knew if you were ever foolish enough to give him a chance, Remus wouldn’t let go of you for all the world.
That you were here had to be a bad sign, didn’t it? Had they said no? What kind of idiot would say no? Then again, it was late, maybe you had been with them and left to avoid getting caught out after dark, maybe that nervousness was leftover anxiety or god what if he was reading it wrong and you were blushing because you had just spent however long with the object of your affection, doing things that the very thought of had his stomach turning in disgust.
Please, he thought desperately, ripping his eyes away from you, please, go away.
He couldn’t stand it.
“Go on,” he heard Lily whisper, and looked up right as she nudged you forwards. Towards him.
Your eyes met his at last, your chest rising and falling rapidly in a way that spoke of nerves. Your blush intensified – he wanted to kiss it, press his lips to your cheeks to soothe the heat – and you were fidgeting with your fingers.
“Remus, can I, uh…” You trailed off, looking back at Lily and Marlene quickly. They nodded, grinning. “Can I talk to you, please?” There was a moment of heavy silence. “Alone?”
Remus couldn’t breathe.
So you had told them, and you had come to tell him that the touching had to stop, that the easy friendship he had found with you would have to change. His heart tightened at the thought that you felt it necessary to tell him, that you cared enough to pull him aside and tell him politely that things would have to change.
He opened his mouth to respond, but the words died on his tongue. He couldn’t stand the thought of that conversation, of your pitying eyes and furrowed brow. Maybe you’d even hug him, say sorry, say–
“I’m going to bed.” The words ripped out of him before he could stop them.
Six pairs of eyes landed on him, all filled with varying levels of shock and disappointment.
Your shoulders fell, your teeth sinking into your lower lip again. “Oh. Um… is there any chance we could–”
“I’m tired.” He stood abruptly, the movement too harsh, too jerky, and you flinched as he stepped around the armchair, away from you. He couldn’t bear to watch your face crumble like that, and tore his eyes away from you, settling them instead on the staircase that led to the dorms, to isolation, to loneliness.
“Right.” Your voice was thready and thin. “Right. Sure. Another time, then.”
He nodded numbly, his eyes burning.
He had never needed to get away from somewhere so badly. He moved towards the staircases, completely missing the anger on Lily and Marlene’s faces, your defeated expression, and the sighs of disappointment coming from the other Marauders.
—
Sleep did not come easy to him.
He lay there for an hour, tossing and turning, unable to get your face out of his mind. The hope in your voice, the curve of your lips, the shine to your eyes. You haunted every crevice of his mind, and he had no idea how to stop it.
When the door creaked open at last, and Sirius, James, and Peter entered the room, he didn’t say anything, remaining silent behind the drawn curtains of his bed, his futile attempt to block out the world.
He had expected laughter. Had expected teasing remarks, or the tail end of a conversation from downstairs, or even tired yawns. He hadn’t expected the silence to meet him back, settling in the room so heavily he could feel it as a tangible weight on his chest.
Finally, when the light shuffling of them getting ready for bed stopped, and darkness descended over the room, Sirius’s whispered voice cut through the air.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Remus knew it was aimed at him. “An absolute idiot.”
Remus didn’t respond, couldn’t respond through the burning in his eyes and throat. Instead, he rolled over, letting the tears escape, and pressed his face into the pillow.
—
Hours turned into days, and days into a week, until Remus had become so used to fleeing a room when you entered it that it had become second nature to grab his bag and all but leg it the second you stepped foot into wherever he had found himself.
But just because time had passed didn’t mean that avoiding you had become any easier. He wasn’t sleeping, his appetite all but gone, and his chest felt so tight that he had been to Madam Pomfrey twice to see if she could give him anything to ease it. She had smiled sadly and told him that her expertise was limited to physical ailments, and that was that.
He had hoped it would ease, that time would melt the agony into something softer, and yet nothing changed. Every glimpse of you cleaved him in two, every thought of you had his heart clenching, every missed study date and class spent sitting on the opposite side of the room to you felt like absolute torture that he didn’t know how to part with.
Every time his resistance crumbled, or you sent a wavering smile his way, or tried to speak to him and he almost gave in to the urge to just stay, he reminded himself of the alternative. Of seeing you with someone else, of having to watch you fall harder in love with someone that wasn’t him, of watching you go to Hogsmeade together and hold hands on the snowy paths, do all the things with you that he wanted desperately to do.
Granted he hadn’t seen you with anyone else, but that was likely just because he wasn’t looking at you all that much nowadays. He couldn’t, not without sparking the urge to go fill his pockets with stones and walk straight into the Black Lake.
Not that you hadn’t tried to talk to him. It had started off the way it usually was – happy, wide smile aimed at him, eyes bright if not nervous, voice gentle. “Hey Rem! Can we talk for a second?” turned to “Remus, can, uh, can I talk to you? Please?” to “Remus… are you okay?”
You had stopped trying – or rather, he hadn’t given you the opportunity to try again.
He rubbed his hand tiredly over his eyes, leaning against one of the stacks in the library, letting the quiet soothe the headache that had started up behind his eyes a few hours before. The lack of sleep was starting to get to him – every time he came even close to drifting off he would remember that look on your face, the happiness in your voice when you spoke about that person, the stabbing pain in his chest every time he had to avoid you.
Maybe Madam Pomfrey could help with this – she dealt with students who couldn’t sleep all the time, and he wouldn’t mind some time spent blissfully unconscious when he didn’t have to think about anything.
“I just don’t get it!” Someone spoke from behind the stacks. He recognised the voice almost immediately as Marlene, and shrank back further into the shadows. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right then. He didn’t want to do anything that wasn’t curling up in bed to sleep for a year or two.
“Marlene, please don’t.”
Remus damn near fell over.
It was the closest he had been to you in what felt like an eternity, and the sound of your voice was like a gutpunch. Oh god, he needed to get out, needed to get away before he did something stupid like hug you from behind and apologize and tell you he loved you until he was breathless from confessing.
“I’m serious!” Marlene continued, and he could hear the annoyance in her tone from there. “I don’t get why he’s acting this way. He’s clearly into you, and–”
“Marlene, please just drop it.”
How was this his life? Remus cursed under his breath, lowering his head into his hands. This was twice now he had accidentally ended up eavesdropping on you, and twice now that said eavesdropping had him hearing more than he wanted to about this mysterious person that you were so in love with.
He had clearly angered someone in a past life if this was the karma he was subject to.
“No, Marlene’s right.” And there was Lily, just to complete his torment. “He’s being a right twat. He has no right to treat you the way he has been, he’s supposed to be your friend before anything else.”
Remus stiffened, fingers tight against the bookshelf to this right. Was this person not treating you right? Was that why you had been so hellbent on talking to him recently; you’d been trying to tell him that you were upset?
He swore right then and there that whoever this bastard was, if he was hurting you, then Remus would put him in the goddamn ground.
“I don’t want to talk about him. Clearly you were wrong and he doesn’t feel that way about me. Why else he would be acting like this?”
“Because he’s an idiot,” Marlene grumbled.
“I just… I miss him.” The tears clogging your voice had Remus’s jaw clenching alongside his heart.
God, he wanted nothing more than to drag you into his arms and hold you, to tell you that everything would be okay and that he loved you and that no matter what other twats didn’t want you, he did.
“I miss him so much.”
“Come on, honey,” Lily said gently. “Let’s go back to the common room, settle down. Or we could sneak down to the kitchens, get some food.”
“Not hungry,” you said quietly.
“Baby,” Marlene tutted, “you can’t just wait here forever.”
“It’s just… this is where we sit, sometimes. Where he meets me. I don’t wanna leave in case he comes to find me.”
There was a ringing silence, and he didn’t need to be a Legilimens to know what they were thinking: whoever this was, they weren’t coming. Remus felt sick to his stomach at the thought of you sat there waiting, alone.
Marlene and Lily left, and he could hear you shuffling in your seat. He wanted so desperately to go sit with you, to just be with you. God, he missed you so much he couldn’t breathe with it.
Was this to be his life, going forward? What did it even matter if whoever this was wasn’t showing the same interest in you that you were in them? At what point did he crawl back to you on his hands and knees, beg for forgiveness, and try to kiss away the wounds this person had left on you through their absence?
Stomach soured, he slumped back against the bookshelf, content to just listen to you breathe, knowing in his gut that moving on wasn't working at all.
—
It all came to a head one rainy Monday morning, in the quiet gap between waking and breakfast.
The other Marauders had already left the dorm, shooting him grim smiles as they left, promising to meet him down at the Great Hall. Perhaps they had sensed that he needed some time alone, or perhaps he was simply taking too long, tugging on his robes with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking after another night of tossing and turning.
He was just shoving his shoes onto his feet when the knock came at the door, completely unexpected.
He froze, staring at it, baffled. No one knocked on the door. James, Sirius, and Peter just walked right in, and anyone else who wanted to talk to him would just wait down in the common room.
Slowly, his insides twisting, Remus cleared his throat and reached for the handle. The door swung open with a creak, and everything inside him unravelled at the sight of you on the other side. Hands shaking, hair a mess, uniform crooked, you had never looked more beautiful than you did then, staring at him with your brow furrowed and your hands tucked behind your back.
“Remus.” Your tone was curt, quiet, holding a thousand emotions he was terrified to decipher.
He couldn’t speak, this throat tight. It was for the best – he didn’t trust himself to talk to you right now. If he opened his mouth, the only thing that would come out of it was a harried ‘I love you’, and he couldn’t do that to you, not when you were likely here to confront him on his behaviour, not when you were in love with and still hurt over someone else.
“Can we talk?” You asked quietly, and judging by the look on your face you weren’t about to take no for an answer.
Every emotion, every ounce of pain and exhaustion, seemed to slam into him at once, and suddenly Remus didn’t care that being around you was only going to make those feelings worse. He just needed you, just needed to be around you even for a second, and he nodded gruffly as he opened the door further, allowing you to step inside.
He had never been more aware of his unmade bed, or the pyjamas strung over the headboard, or the opened trunk beside the bedside table that was littered with spare parchment and candle snubs.
You took it all in, something achingly soft on your face that messed with his heart, before your eyes landed on him, soaking in every detail. He shuddered to think of what you must be seeing. He hadn’t looked at a mirror in days, unable to stand the sight of his own reflection.
“You look tired,” you said eventually, and his eyes slipped shut without him meaning to.
“Yeah.” His voice was gruff, raspy with disuse, and he cleared it hastily. “Haven’t been sleeping well.”
He had never hated silence so much in his life. It had never been this awkward around you two, and for the life of him he didn’t know what to do with it.
“I wasn’t going to come up here,” you said quietly. “But Marlene and Lily stole my shoes and said they wouldn’t give them back until I did.”
Remus glanced down and noticed that you were, indeed, shoeless, your grey socks stark against the wooden floor. He would be having words with Marlene and Lily.
“Right,” was all he could say.
He felt restless, just standing in front of you like that, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to move either, drinking in the sight of you like a drowning man would stare longingly at land – too far to get to, yet close enough to hope.
You swallowed, your eyes glassy, and for one horrifying moment Remus thought you were going to cry. “You’ve been avoiding me.” You didn’t give him the chance to respond. “I would like to know why. Please.”
He almost smiled at the forced politeness, how you couldn’t bring yourself to be rude even though he deserved every bit of your ire. And then the demand sank in, and he cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the lump there. It didn’t work.
He didn’t want to lie to you. The last thing he wanted was to lie to you. And yet he didn’t know how to tell you the truth either.
“I don’t know how to tell you,” he said roughly, shoving his hands into his pockets. God, Sirius and James would throttle him if they could see him now.
You winced, as if his words had confirmed something for you. “That’s okay.” Your voice was shaky. “You don’t have to say anything more. I already know.”
The floor could have fallen out from under him and it would have had the same effect as your words.
“What?”
“I already know. You don’t need to tell me, I already know you don’t feel the same way I do.”
Oh God, and there it was. Was it possible to physically feel your heart shatter? Remus swore it was, and his entire body reacted to the blow of your words, shoulders curving inwards, jaw tightening to stave off tears.
You knew that he was in love with you. And you didn’t feel the same.
“Dove, I–”
“But just because you’re not in love with me doesn’t give you the right to just–”
“What?” His head snapped up. “What did you just say?”
“You heard me,” you said stubbornly, and there was anger in your eyes now amongst the hurt, anger that had his head swimming and his palms sweating because there was no possible way you had said what you just said. “And just because you were too much of a coward to turn me down nicely doesn’t mean you can just ice me out like–”
“You’re in love with me?” His voice cracked around the words. For a moment he regretted saying them, because saying them out loud would give you the opportunity to take them back, and he wanted to cradle them to his heart so desperately for as long as he could.
But then your eyes went wide, and something like horror crossed your face. “You… didn’t know?” Once again, you didn’t let him respond. “Oh god. Oh god, so you weren’t ignoring me because you– you didn’t– please excuse me whilst I go throw myself from the Astronomy tower–”
“But… I don’t understand.”
His entire world had just come crumbling down, the foundations of everything he knew, everything he feared, rattling and falling until he no longer knew which way was up or what to do with himself. His hands were sweating, and he wiped them on his trousers.
“I heard you,” he said, his voice urgent and desperate as he took a step forward. “In the courtyard, with Lily and Marlene. I was there, I heard you. You were talking about this guy, this person you were in love with, and–”
“I was talking about you!”
His entire world narrowed down to you, to the fire in your eyes, the flush on your cheeks. He stepped forward, to do what he wasn’t sure – shake you? Question your sanity? Kiss the living daylights out of you?
“But in the library, you were–”
“I was waiting for you! That’s where we always meet, where we study, where we sit together. And I thought you would… I don’t know, I thought you would come find me and explain or something.”
You were waiting for him. You were talking about him.
“You were talking about… me?”
“Of course I was! Seriously, Remus, I described you to a T and just because you don’t feel the same doesn’t mean that you had any right to–”
“I love you.” The words ripped themselves out of him.
You froze. Your chest rose and fell sharply, your eyes glistening. “... What?”
“I love you,” he repeated, and it was as if a great weight had lifted off his shoulders, something inside him loosening and allowing air into his lungs for the first time since he sat against that tree. “I love you so much, I don’t know how to breathe with it.”
Your hands were shaking. “Then… why? Why would you act like this? You haven’t spoken to me in a week, you’ve avoided me every chance you could get, you acted like I didn’t exist, Remus, that’s not… that’s not how you treat someone you love.”
The air ripped out of him, and he reached out to you blindly, hands settling on your cheeks. The smoothness of your skin beneath his rough palms had him dizzy with need, with longing, with everything he had missed so fiercely.
“I thought you were in love with someone else,” he implored. “The way you were talking about him, you sounded so enamoured, and it killed me because you were going to tell him that night and–”
But you had tried to tell him, hadn’t you? And he had been so caught up in his misery that he didn’t notice the signs. You weren’t blushing and nervous because you had spent the evening with another man, you were blushing and nervous because you were about to tell him – him, Remus Lupin – that you were in love with him.
His heart tripped over itself in attempt to keep up with the thoughts racing through his brain.
“And it didn’t cross your mind for one second that I was talking about you?”
It hadn’t. It honest to god, truly hadn’t, because surely there was no way that someone as perfect as you could want someone as broken and damaged, as scarred, as he? Surely you, beautiful and kind and loving, deserved someone better than him, who had to crawl into a tunnel once a month to scream and tear the skin from his bones.
“I didn’t… I didn’t think it was possible that you could– that you could feel that way about me. The things you said, I’m not– I’m not–”
Hearing the incredulity in his voice, you reached for his hand, and his fingers spasmed in your grip as you led him towards the mirror. When he realised what you were doing he froze, shaking his head, but you tugged him forward anyway, until the two of you stood side by side, hands interlinked between you.
Remus couldn’t look away from your hands in the mirror, his so much larger and rougher than yours, so scarred in comparison to your smooth skin. You leant up on your tiptoes, lips brushing his ear, and a shudder rolled down his spine.
“What did I say?” You asked. “About this person I’m in love with?”
He swallowed heavily, the words etched into his memory – they had haunted him every minute of the last week. “Dove, why–”
“What did I say?”
“You…” His throat was tight again. “You complimented their eyes. Said they were a shade of brown you’ve never seen before. Like… like getting lost in a forest.”
You dragged your fingers up his cheeks, thumbs smoothing over his eyelids when they fluttered shut. The touch was a soothing balm against every ache that he harboured in his heart.
“What else?” Your voice was little more than a whisper.
“You called them – me – handsome.”
Your fingers ghosted over his cheeks, brushing the bridge of his nose, the curve of his jaw. His lips parted on a ragged exhale.
“Open your eyes.”
He did, tentatively, and the sight of your hands on his face in the reflection had his knees weakening. “You said they were tall. So tall you’d give them a hunchback just from pulling them down to kiss you…”
Your fingers moved upwards, thumbs brushing his ears as you buried your hands in his hair, guiding him gently down until his nose brushed yours. He slouched, letting you guide him, his entire world narrowing down to the shape of your lips where they hovered just inches away from yours.
You grinned, as if you had just proved something monumental to yourself, the pad of your thumb brushing along his scalp in a way that had him melting in your grip.
“What else?”
“You called them rugged and mysterious,” his voice was embarrassingly breathy. “Said that they had nice hair, fuck–” You tightened your grip on his hair, and it took everything in him to keep his eyes on yours, watching every flash of joy and mischief and love clash in them.
“Lily still wants your haircare routine.”
“State secret,” he said with a crooked smile, although he doubted there was anything he would keep from you if you just kept looking at him like that.
“What else?” You asked, and although he had absolutely no idea where you were going with this, he found himself replying anyway.
His hands felt heavy at his sides, and he reached up to ghost them over your waist, not quite making contact, terrified to touch you in case it would make this moment – this beautiful, perfect moment that he wasn’t entirely sure wasn’t a dream – end.
“You said they were gentle. Kind. Would carry your books, pack your favourite snacks, and would kiss your forehead–” and fuck, he did do all that. It had been so mindless, taking care of you, so natural to him that for you to praise it like you had felt so monumental that you must have been talking about someone else, but no. “You said their…”
And that’s when he trailed off. His tongue felt heavy, and he couldn't bring himself to speak the words.
“Say it, Remus,” you said gently.
He shook his head, hating himself for the tears in his eyes, and you brushed your nose against his so carefully it was as if you were worried he would fall to pieces in your palms. “Say it.”
“You said that– you said that their– my–”
“Say it.”
“That my scars were… attractive…” The last word was spoken as a curse.
You pulled away, and a pathetic noise of displeasure ripped itself from his throat as his hands spasmed. This was it, he thought miserably. This was where the other shoe dropped.
His eyes slid shut, unable to stand the sight of you walking away from him, but your fingers curled under his chin, guiding his face upwards instead.
“Look at the mirror.”
“Dove…”
“Look at the mirror, Remus.”
He forced himself to open his eyes and looked at his reflection, seeing everything he hated about himself on full display. The gangly limbs, the pale freckled skin, the scars. There were so many of them, slashed across the bridge of his nose, down his hairline, up his jaw.
The tears in his eyes spilled over, and he had never felt more vulnerable in his life than he did when you reached up to brush them away with your thumbs, your own eyes glassy as you stared up at him with so much love. He didn’t take his eyes off his reflection, trying to see what you saw when you looked at him, trying to understand how anyone could think that such an ugly part of him could be attractive.
You slowly ran your finger across the scar on the bridge of his nose, and his breath was shuddery as he resisted the urge to back away. He didn’t want you touching them. Touching them would make them real, and you would see them for what they were: a reflection of the darkest parts of himself.
“You are so, so brave…” Your words were little more than an adoring whisper. “Your scars are your story, Remus. Each slash and mark on your skin is a reminder of all the times I could have lost you and didn’t. A reminder of everything you’ve had to face and came out stronger for it, a reminder of everything you continue to endure and still be the man that you are today.”
He shook his head, shoulders heaving, chest cracked open, raw and vulnerable, but you didn’t let him talk.
“They’re your strength. Your resilience. I could never hate them.”
You slowly guided his face away from the mirror, reaching up on your tiptoes to press your forehead against his. He gasped, breath ghosting over your skin, the sensation of you against him a heady drug he couldn’t live without.
“I could never feel anything but love for any part of you.”
Remus sank against you, his entire body heavy, every inch of him feeling so loved he didn’t know how to cope with it. No one had ever looked at him, seen every inch of him in all its terrible glory, and loved him anyway.
“What else?”
“What?” Remus asked, his mind cloudy, unable to think of anything but you and the smell of your perfume and the feel of your lips so close to his.
“I said one more thing about them. What did I say?”
“I don’t…” It hit him then, suddenly, and his heart began to race again. “You said… you said you wanted to kiss them.”
“Am I allowed to?” You asked, and there were nerves in your voice, though he couldn’t fathom why. He had been dreaming about this for years, and if you wanted to kiss him the last thing he was going to do was say no.
In fact, the second the words left your lips he knew there was nothing he needed more in life than to feel the press of his lips against yours, and that if it didn’t happen soon he might just die. He nodded mindlessly, eyes slipping shut once more, breath ragged.
“Please…”
He leant down just as you reached up onto your tiptoes, your lips meeting in the middle in a gentle press that had him exhaling harshly against your mouth. It was everything, everything, he had ever dreamed it would be, slow and soft and so full of love that he could do nothing but sink into you, one hand coming up to cradle your face, the other tangling in your hair, arching your head back to meet him.
You pulled away first, and he chased your lips like they were a lifeline, until you were grinning against him and he couldn’t help but smile back.
“You love me?” You asked quietly, and Remus laughed breathlessly as he bumped his nose against yours, pressing his lips to yours once more, desperate and heady, trying to convey without words every emotion tucked away in his battered heart.
“So, so much.” He pulled you to him, tucking your head beneath his chin, pressing his lips to the crown of your head over and over again, hardly able to believe that you were there with him like this.
You sighed happily, pressing your face into robes, and then giggled. “We are definitely late for breakfast.”
“Worth it,” he said immediately. He slouched down once again to press his lips to yours, and then pulled back with a hum. “We’ll have to come up with a solution for this, by the way.”
“Solution for what?”
“How goddamn short you are. As much as I love you, I actually don’t want a hunchback by the time I’m thirty.”
You laughed, slapping at his chest. “Well, I could always, what did Lily say? Climb you like a tree?”
You were going to put him in an early grave, Remus was sure of it.
He would have responded, when his brain started functioning again, but your stomach interrupted loudly instead.
You flushed bright red as he laughed, smoothing a hand up and down your spine. “Come on, dove. Let’s get some food in you.”
You nodded, moving towards the door, when you suddenly froze. “Remus?”
Summary: How is Cedric meant to ask you out on a date when he keeps getting interrupted by your tornado of siblings?
A/N: This was way longer than I expected it to be
Growing up a Weasley meant you always had someone looking out for you.
It also meant you always had to look out for your family.
When you were very little, you didn’t remember being spoiled the way your brothers claimed you had been. That must have happened when you were still a baby—when your mother finally held her long-awaited daughter in her arms after three boys.
But only a year later, she was blessed again with twins. And suddenly, there were two more mouths to feed, two more babies to soothe, two more crying voices in a house that already never seemed to quiet down.
It wasn’t surprising that somewhere in all that chaos, you slipped through the cracks.
Not completely. Never completely.
Your parents loved you—of course they did. You never doubted that. But love, you would come to learn, didn’t always mean attention. And attention was something that had to be divided carefully in a family as large as yours.
But you didn’t grow up alone.
Not really.
Because where your parents were stretched thin, your brothers filled in the gaps.
Bill.
Charlie.
Percy.
But especially Charlie.
Charlie had been the one to carry you around the Burrow as if you weighed nothing, settling you on his hip while he did chores, letting you tug at his hair as he laughed and pretended to complain. He was the one who taught you how to climb trees, who patched up your scraped knees, who tied your shoelaces, who read to you when your mother was too tired to finish the story herself.
He liked to joke that you were more his child than your parents’, considering how much he had done to raise you.
So when Charlie first left for Hogwarts, leaving you home with Percy as the only older sibling, you cried.
And cried.
And cried.
For weeks.
Both Charlie and Bill had to send you letters almost every day just to soothe you, but even then you still missed them terribly.
And then the day came when you were old enough to join them.
The platform was loud in the way only Platform Nine and Three-Quarters could be, full of overlapping voices and rushing footsteps and the sharp whistle of the train cutting through it all. Trunks rattled over uneven stone, owls hooted impatiently from their cages, and somewhere behind you, your mother was still fussing over whether you had packed enough socks.
It was overwhelming, but not in a bad way—not yet. Not when you were surrounded on all sides by your family, by the familiar press of bodies and voices that had always meant safety. You stayed close to your brothers, close enough that your sleeve brushed Charlie’s every few steps, just in case.
“Alright,” Bill said at last, sliding open the door to an empty compartment with an ease that made it seem like he’d done it a hundred times before, “In you go.”
Before you could protest, Percy was already lifting your trunk onto the rack with careful precision, muttering something under his breath about proper placement and weight distribution, while Bill adjusted your smaller bags so they sat neatly in the corner.
Charlie nudged your shoulder gently, guiding you inside, but you lingered near the doorway for a moment instead of sitting, suddenly unsure of what to do with yourself now that everything had become real.
You watched as Bill brushed his hands together in satisfaction and Percy gave a small, approving nod, as though everything was exactly as it should be.
You hovered in the doorway instead.
“…Can’t I just come with you?” You asked, quieter than you meant to, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the compartment door.
Bill glanced at Percy, then back at you, and something in his expression softened immediately. He reached out without hesitation, ruffling your hair in a way that was more fond than teasing, even if it left a few strands sticking up at odd angles.
“If you stick with us like that,” He said gently, “you’ll never make your own friends.”
You frowned faintly, not quite convinced, your gaze dropping for a second before flicking back up.
“It’s only for the ride,” Percy added, adjusting his sleeves as he straightened, already half-turned toward the corridor, “We'll meet you back at the castle.”
They lingered only a moment longer before stepping back into the corridor, already being pulled away by the movement of students and the rising noise as departure drew closer. You moved to follow them instinctively, your body shifting forward before you caught yourself at the doorway, fingers curling slightly against the frame as their voices faded into the general hum.
Charlie hadn’t left.
He stood just outside the compartment, watching you in that quiet, knowing way of his, like he could see straight through the brave face you were trying to hold together. For a moment, neither of you spoke, and then something in his expression shifted—something softer, more certain—as he stepped back inside and slid the door shut behind him, shutting out the corridor noise just enough to make the space feel smaller, steadier.
“I’ll be right down the train,” He said, nodding toward the direction Bill and Percy had gone, “Third compartment on the left, I think.”
“If you get lonely,” He continued, crouching slightly so he was closer to your eye level, his voice lowering just enough to feel like it was meant only for you, “or if anything happens—anything at all—you come find me. Yeah?”
You nodded, the tight feeling in your chest easing just a little.
“Alright.” You murmured.
Charlie smiled then, softer than before, and leaned forward to press a quick kiss to the top of your head. It was such a familiar gesture that it grounded you instantly, made everything feel just a little less uncertain, a little less overwhelming.
“See you in a bit.” He said.
And then he was gone too.
The door slid shut behind him with a soft click, and just like that, the noise of the corridor dulled into something distant, muffled by the glass and wood of the compartment. For a moment, you just stood there, staring at the empty seat across from you, listening to the low rumble of the train as it finally began to move.
It felt strange, suddenly.
Too quiet.
You sat down slowly, smoothing your hands over your skirt more out of habit than anything else, your gaze drifting toward the window as the platform began to slip away. Families waved from outside, figures blurring together as the train picked up speed, and for a brief second, you caught sight of your mother’s bright hair among the crowd before it disappeared entirely.
Students passed by in groups, laughing and talking, already settled into friendships you hadn’t had the chance to form yet, their voices carrying faintly through the compartment door. Every now and then, someone would glance in, hesitate, and then move on.
For a moment, you considered getting up.
Going after Charlie.
He said you could.
But Bill’s words lingered, stubborn and unshakable.
You’ll never make your own friends.
You were still turning that thought over in your mind when the compartment door slid open.
You looked up quickly, your attention snapping toward the sound as a boy about your age stood in the doorway, one hand still resting on the handle as he glanced around the compartment.
“Is this seat taken?” He asked.
You shook your head almost immediately. “No—no, it’s not.”
“Good,” He said with a small, easy smile, stepping inside and sliding the door shut behind him before taking the seat across from you, “Every other compartment seems to be full already.”
You nodded, your fingers curling slightly in your lap as you tried to think of something else to say, aware of that familiar flicker of uncertainty beginning to creep in at the edges. For a moment, the silence stretched just a little too long—
Then he leaned forward slightly, resting his arms against his knees, closing the distance just enough to make it feel less awkward instead of more.
“I’m Cedric." He offered.
You gave your name in return, a little quieter at first, but steadier than you expected, and something in his expression brightened slightly, like he was pleased you’d said it.
“First year?” He asked.
You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips, “You too?”
“Yeah.” He glanced out the window briefly before looking back at you, “Do you know what house you want to be in?”
You hesitated, then shrugged lightly. “My brothers are all in Gryffindor,” You said, as if that explained anything at all, “So… maybe that one.”
Cedric huffed a quiet laugh at that, not unkind, just amused. “My dad was in Hufflepuff,” He said, “So I think I’ll probably end up there. Though—” his mouth tilted slightly as he glanced at you again, “—Gryffindor doesn’t sound too bad now.”
Whether he meant anything by it or not didn’t really matter.
You felt warmth creep up your face anyway.
The conversation came easier after that, settling into something simple and steady. You talked about classes you thought might be interesting—Transfiguration, maybe, or Charms—and the ones you were a little nervous about.
He admitted he wasn’t sure how he felt about Potions, and you told him you thought it sounded exciting, though your brothers had warned you about the professor being a troll. You weren’t entirely sure if they meant that literally or not, and the way Cedric laughed at that—genuine and a little surprised—made something in your chest loosen.
At some point, he excused himself briefly, returning a few minutes later with snacks in hand, setting a Chocolate Frog carefully on the seat between you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“For you.” He said simply.
You blinked at it, a little startled, “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” He replied with a small shrug, “I wanted to.”
There wasn’t anything grand about it, no expectation behind the gesture, and somehow that made it easier to accept.
“Thank you.” You said, a small smile forming as you picked it up.
You opened the box carefully, peeling back the flap and catching the chocolate frog just before it could leap free, your attention shifting to the card tucked inside. Cedric leaned forward slightly, curiosity lighting his expression.
“Who’d you get?” He asked.
You glanced down at it, then back up at him, “Merlin.”
You looked back at the card, then held it out toward him without much thought, “Do you want it?”
He blinked, clearly caught off guard, “What? No—are you sure? You should keep it.”
You shrugged lightly, a small, easy motion, “You seem way more interested in it than I am.”
For a moment, he just stared at you, like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, before slowly reaching out and taking the card, something softer settling into his expression.
“Thanks.” He said, quieter this time.
By the time the train finally slowed, the sky had already begun to darken, the last traces of daylight fading into something softer, quieter, as students poured out onto the platform in a rush of movement and chatter. You stayed close to Cedric as you stepped down, not quite thinking about it, just following the steady presence beside you as a large voice called out for first years to gather.
The boat ride felt like something out of a story.
Lantern light flickered against the dark surface of the lake, reflecting in ripples as the small boats carried you across the water, the castle rising ahead of you in a way that made your breath catch without meaning to. It was enormous—far bigger than anything your brothers had ever managed to describe properly—and for a moment, everything else fell away.
You barely noticed how close you and Cedric were sitting until your shoulder brushed his again, the same way it had with Charlie earlier, only this time it didn’t feel like something you needed for reassurance.
Neither of you said much, but you didn’t really need to.
By the time you reached the castle, the noise returned all at once—footsteps echoing through stone corridors, voices bouncing off high ceilings, the shuffle of robes and the occasional nervous laugh breaking through the tension. You followed the line of students into the Great Hall, your gaze lifting almost immediately to the enchanted ceiling above, stars scattered across it like something impossibly real.
It was beautiful.
And overwhelming.
You barely had time to take it all in before the sorting began.
Names were called one by one, each student stepping forward to sit on the stool as the hat decided their place, the hall erupting into cheers with every announcement.
You stood among them, hands clasped tightly together, your attention flickering between the sorting stool and the tables, searching instinctively for familiar faces. It didn’t take long to find them—Bill sitting tall and relaxed, Percy already watching with keen focus, and Charlie leaning forward slightly, his attention fixed on you, giving you a little wave and a thumbs up when you caught his gaze.
You found yourself watching more than listening, your attention drifting until—
"Cedric Diggory."
Cedric stepped forward, looking just a little more serious than he had on the train, though there was still something steady about him, something calm as he sat on the stool and the hat was placed on his head. For a brief second, the hall went quiet.
Then—
“Hufflepuff!”
The table to your right erupted into applause, loud and warm, and you felt yourself smiling without thinking, clapping along as Cedric pulled the hat off and stood. He glanced toward the crowd as he stepped down, scanning faces quickly—
And then he found you.
He smiled, bright and easy, lifting his hand in a small wave in your direction, like it was the most natural thing in the world to look for you in a room full of people.
You smiled back, returning the gesture without hesitation, something light settling in your chest.
Then he turned, heading toward his table, swallowed up by the group that welcomed him in.
The ceremony continued.
Until—
Your name.
It rang out across the hall, louder than you expected, and for a second, everything inside you seemed to go very, very still.
The walk to the stool felt longer than it should have, your footsteps echoing faintly in your ears as you climbed up and sat down, your hands curling slightly into the fabric of your robes. The hat was placed over your head, slipping down just enough to shadow your vision, and for a second, there was nothing but darkness and the sound of your own heartbeat.
It didn’t take long.
“Gryffindor!”
The word echoed, followed immediately by a burst of cheers from the table to your left, loud and familiar and impossible to mistake.
Relief hit you first.
Then something warmer.
You barely had time to take the hat off before you were being pulled forward, laughter and voices overlapping as you reached the table.
“There she is!”
“About time!”
“Another one for Gryffindor—brilliant!”
Percy clapped for you as you joined the table, patting your shoulder with pride, Bill ruffled your hair before pressing a quick peck to the top of your head and Charlie enveloped you into a tight hug. You laughed, a little breathless, the sound spilling out of you before you could stop it as they crowded around you, hands on your shoulders, your back, your hair—solid, familiar, overwhelming in the best way.
You settled into your seat, still adjusting to the new rhythm of the hall. Plates of food appeared with little fanfare, but everything seemed bigger, brighter, and somehow both familiar and completely new at the same time.
You barely noticed when a familiar blond head turned toward the Gryffindor table again—Cedric, scanning for a glimpse of you before diving into his own group. You caught his eye just long enough to exchange a quick, almost shy smile.
You were just leaving the Great Hall on your way to class when you heard your name.
You slowed slightly, glancing over your shoulder just as someone stepped out of the stream of students moving past you.
Cedric Diggory.
You recognized him immediately, of course. You always did. Not because you sought him out, but because he was noticeable. There was hardly a girl in Hogwarts that didn't know of the Golden Boy Cedric Diggory.
You knew him, in the way that came from shared moments rather than shared time—train rides years ago, the occasional passing conversation, a familiarity that never quite developed into friendship but lingered comfortably in between.
He offered you a small, polite smile when you stopped.
“Hi.” He said when he reached you, slowing his pace to match yours as the two of you fell into step almost without thinking.
“Hi,” You returned, a small flicker of curiosity settling in as you glanced at him, “Everything alright?”
“Yeah—yeah, I just…” He huffed a quiet breath, one hand lifting briefly to the back of his neck in a gesture that almost looked like nerves, though it didn’t quite fit him.
“I was wondering if you’d—well, if you needed a partner for Herbology. Professor Sprout mentioned we’d be pairing up for the next assignment, and I thought…” He trailed off slightly, then smiled, a little more certain this time, “I thought I’d ask before it got chaotic.”
For a second, you just looked at him.
Not because the question was strange—it wasn’t—but because it caught you slightly off guard. You weren’t usually the person people sought out first, not for things like that, and there was something about the way he asked—straightforward, but careful—that made it difficult to respond immediately.
“I—um,” You started, the beginning of an answer forming—
And then you heard it.
Your name.
Again.
This time, it was not calm or measured or easy to miss.
It was strained, uneven, pulled tight with something dangerously close to panic.
You turned instinctively, your attention snapping toward the sound just in time to see Ron pushing his way through the corridor toward you, his face red, eyes glassy, shoulders tense like he was barely holding himself together.
He didn’t even slow down when he reached you—didn’t say anything at all, really—just collided into you with enough force to make you take a half-step back as his arms wrapped around you, his face burying itself into your shoulder.
And then he broke.
Not quietly, not subtly—full, shaking sobs that made his grip tighten as if letting go wasn’t an option.
Any trace of hesitation vanished instantly.
Your entire focus shifted without a second thought, your arms coming up around him automatically as you steadied him, one hand moving to the back of his head in a familiar, grounding gesture.
“Hey—hey, what’s wrong?” You asked softly, your voice dropping into something calmer, gentler, the kind of tone you’d used a hundred times before without even realizing it.
He tried to answer.
“I—she—she sent—” He tried, his voice thick and uneven.
Your brow furrowed slightly, “Slow down, I can’t understand you.”
“A—Howler—” He finally managed, the word coming out in a miserable wail.
And then it clicked.
Of course.
Despite yourself, you glanced up briefly, meeting Cedric’s gaze for just a second, and there was something shared there—understanding, a flicker of quiet amusement that neither of you voiced but both clearly felt.
You looked back down at Ron, your expression softening again as you reached up to wipe at his cheeks, brushing away tears that didn’t seem to stop coming.
“Well,” You said gently, not unkindly, “you did steal and then wreck our car. I don’t think you could’ve expected to get off with only a warning.”
That did not help.
If anything, it made him cling tighter, his voice muffled as he groaned into your shoulder, mortified all over again.
“She didn’t have to do it in front of everyone,” He mumbled, the words thick and miserable, “It was so humiliating—everyone was looking at me—”
“I know,” You murmured, softer this time, shifting slightly so you could look at him properly, your hands steady as you wiped the rest of his tears away with your thumbs. “I know. That part wasn’t very nice.”
He sniffed, shoulders still trembling, but the worst of it seemed to be passing now, the sharp edge of it dulling into something more manageable under the familiarity of your voice, your presence.
You hesitated for half a second, then smiled just a little.
“Come on,” You said, tilting your head toward the corridor, “Let’s go to the kitchens. I think you deserve something after that.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, still blotchy and miserable, but already softening at the suggestion.
“Okay.” He muttered, nodding slightly.
You gave his shoulder a small squeeze before straightening, your hand lingering briefly at the back of his arm. Then, as you turned to leave with him, you glanced back at Cedric, your expression apologetic as you mouthed a silent sorry.
He just shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in quiet amusement, like he had expected something along these lines from the moment your brother appeared.
“It’s fine,” He said lightly, though you were already half-turned away, “We’ll figure it out later.”
Professor Sprout, in the end, did assign partners.
Efficiently, without hesitation, and with absolutely no regard for any quiet arrangements that might have been attempted beforehand. By the time you arrived for the lesson, names were already being called, pairs already being formed, and whatever Cedric had been hoping for dissolved into something unspoken and irrelevant before either of you had the chance to bring it up again.
You ended up with someone from your house—pleasant enough, focused, not particularly talkative—and the lesson passed without incident.
Still, you noticed.
Not in any obvious way, not in a way that lingered too long, but just enough to register the brief glance Cedric gave you from across the greenhouse when the pairings were announced, the small, almost amused exhale that followed before he turned his attention back to his own partner.
It wasn’t disappointment, exactly.
Just something that could have been something else.
And then it passed.
Or at least, it should have.
A few days later, you found yourself alone again—or as alone as one could be in a castle like Hogwarts—standing just outside one of the quieter corridors near the courtyard, adjusting the strap of your bag as you mentally sorted through the next part of your day.
The air was cooler there, the noise of passing students softened by distance, and for a moment, it felt like a pause between everything else.
“Hey.”
Cedric stood a few steps away, hands tucked loosely into his pockets, his expression easy but just slightly more deliberate than usual, like he had made the decision to be there rather than simply ending up there by chance.
“Hi.” You said, a hint of recognition slipping into your tone now, something warmer than before.
He stepped a little closer, glancing briefly down the corridor before looking back at you. “I was going to ask—” He started, then paused, as if reconsidering his wording, “Did you understand the last bit of the Transfiguration homework? The part about switching incantations mid-cast. I was looking over it earlier and—”
It was a better excuse this time.
Though you were questioning why Golden Boy was asking you instead of literally anyone else. It wasn't like he had a shortage of people who were willing to give an arm and a leg to help him.
You opened your mouth to answer, already shifting into the conversation—
And then—
"(Y/N)!"
The voice was sharp, urgent, and far too familiar.
You turned immediately, your attention snapping toward the sound just as Ginny appeared at the end of the corridor, her steps quick and uneven, her expression caught somewhere between panic and embarrassment in a way that made your stomach drop before she even reached you.
With her bright red hair half-falling loose from its tie, her Gryffindor robes swaying around her, and the deep flush spreading across her face, she looked—rather unhelpfully—like a blur of red rushing straight toward you.
She didn’t slow down.
“Can I talk to you?” She blurted the second she was close enough, her voice lowered but no less frantic for it, her hands hovering awkwardly at her sides like she didn’t know what to do with them.
You didn’t even think about it.
“Of course,” You said instantly, your tone shifting the same way it always did, steady and grounding as you stepped toward her, your focus narrowing completely, “What’s wrong?”
Ginny glanced briefly past you—just enough to notice Cedric standing there—before leaning in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that still carried urgency, "In private."
Your eyes racked over her body before they landed on the jacket that she had tied around her waist.
“Oh.” You said softly, not startled, not alarmed—just calm. Understanding. Immediate.
Ginny’s hands clenched slightly at the fabric of her sleeves. “I didn’t know—it just—I don’t know what to do.” She rushed out, her words tumbling over each other now that she’d started, the embarrassment catching up with her all at once.
“It’s okay,” You said quickly, reaching out to steady her, your voice lowering just enough to keep it between the two of you, “It’s alright, Gin. It happens.”
She shook her head, mortified, "A boy from Ravenclaw saw—I'm so embarrassed."
“I’ve got you,” You interrupted gently, already guiding her to turn slightly, positioning yourself just enough to shield her from the open corridor without making it obvious, “Don’t worry about it, okay? We’ll fix it.”
Behind you, Cedric hadn’t moved.
Hadn’t interrupted.
But you were aware of him in that distant way you became aware of anything you had to leave unfinished, the conversation that had barely begun already slipping out of reach.
You glanced back at him briefly, just enough to catch his eye, your expression apologetic in a way that felt almost familiar now.
He didn’t even look surprised.
If anything, there was something faintly amused in the way he exhaled, the smallest shake of his head following like he’d already accepted how this was going to go.
“Go,” He said lightly, one corner of his mouth lifting, “I think this might be more important than Transfiguration.”
You let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh under different circumstances, nodding once in thanks before turning your attention fully back to Ginny, your hand settling at her arm in a reassuring squeeze.
“Come on,” you murmured, already guiding her down the corridor, your voice soft but certain. “We’ll go to the dormitories first, alright? I’ll help you.”
She nodded quickly, still flustered but clearly relieved, her steps falling into place beside yours as you led her away.
You gave one last glance to Cedric, "I can ask Percy to share some of his notes with you?"
He nodded, a smile on his face.
He didn't really have the heart to tell you that the homework was already complete.
By the time the castle began to settle again, you didn’t feel like celebrating.
Everyone else did.
The relief had come quickly, spreading through the corridors like wildfire the moment the truth was out—Ginny was safe, Ron was safe, the attacks were over, and whatever had been lurking in the shadows of Hogwarts had finally been dealt with.
There was laughter again, louder than before, conversations filled with retellings and exaggerations and a kind of excitement that only came from surviving something no one had fully understood in the first place.
You couldn’t quite bring yourself to join in.
Because every time someone said her name—every time someone mentioned what had happened, what she had gone through, what she had almost—
All you could think was:
You hadn’t known.
Not once.
Not when she was quieter than usual, not when she seemed distracted, not when something in her felt… off. You had been there. Right there. Watching, talking, helping with everything that didn’t matter—
And somehow you missed the one thing that did.
So instead of staying in the common room, instead of letting yourself be pulled into the relief of it all, you slipped away.
Down familiar corridors, past the places you knew wouldn’t be crowded, until you reached the kitchens. It wasn’t long before you found yourself sitting at the long wooden table with a mug of hot chocolate cradled between your hands, the warmth of it seeping into your skin in a way that should have been comforting.
It wasn’t.
You stared down into it instead, watching the faint swirl of steam rise and disappear, your grip tightening slightly around the ceramic as everything you’d been holding back finally began to surface.
It was stupid, really.
Your siblings were safe.
That was all that should have mattered.
And it did—of course it did—but it didn’t erase the rest of it, didn’t quiet the heavy, twisting feeling sitting in your chest, the one that kept circling back to the same thought over and over again.
You should've noticed. You should've known.
Your vision blurred before you realized you were crying, the first tear slipping down before you had the chance to stop it, followed by another, and then another until it became harder to pretend you were in control of it.
You ducked your head slightly, one hand coming up to press against your eyes as if that might be enough to hold it back.
You were her older sister.
That was supposed to mean something.
It was supposed to mean you noticed when things were wrong.
It was supposed to mean she came to you.
Like how you would go to your older brothers.
The sound of the door opening barely registered at first, slipping into the background of everything else, until the faint shift in the room—the subtle change in movement, in presence—pulled your attention up just enough to break through your thoughts.
You didn’t look up immediately.
Not until they stopped near your table.
“Hey.”
The voice was familiar.
You blinked, the world coming back into focus in slow pieces as you lifted your head, your eyes landing on Cedric where he stood a few steps away, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it, something careful in the way he looked at you like he already knew he’d found you at a bad moment.
For a second, neither of you said anything.
Then you let out a quiet breath that didn’t quite steady, your gaze dropping back down to your mug as your fingers tightened slightly around it.
“Hi.” You managed, your voice quieter than usual, roughened at the edges in a way you didn’t bother trying to hide.
He didn’t ask to sit.
He just did, pulling out the chair across from you with a quiet scrape and lowering himself into it like he intended to stay this time, like he wasn’t going to be interrupted or pulled away or left with half a conversation again.
“I didn’t see you at dinner.” He said after a moment, not accusing, not even questioning—just stating it gently, like an opening rather than a demand.
You huffed a soft, humorless breath at that, your lips pressing together briefly as you shook your head.
“I wasn’t hungry.” You said, which wasn’t entirely untrue.
Silence settled again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Cedric didn’t rush to fill it, didn’t push, didn’t try to steer you anywhere you weren’t ready to go. He just sat there, patient in a way that made it easier to exist in the quiet rather than feel like you had to escape it.
And somehow, that made it harder to hold everything in.
“I just—” you started, then stopped, your grip tightening slightly around the mug as your gaze fixed somewhere just past it. “I feel like such a bad older sister.”
The words came out quieter than you expected, but once they were there, they didn’t stop.
“I had no idea,” You continued, your voice wavering just enough to give you away, “I didn’t know she was struggling like that, I didn’t know she wasn’t talking to anyone, I didn’t—”
You swallowed, blinking quickly as the pressure behind your eyes built again, “She had to turn to some stupid, sentient journal with the conscience of the bloody dark lord to talk about things. About feelings. About boys.”
"Your her sister. Not a mind reader. Ginny knows how much you love her. No one expects you to know what's going on with your siblings all the time."
You didn’t respond right away.
Your gaze dropped again, your thoughts shifting, not gone—not fixed—but nudged, just slightly, out of the spiral they’d been stuck in.
After a moment, your shoulders sank just a fraction, some of the tension easing in a way you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.
“I still should’ve been better.” You murmured.
“She’s okay now,” He added after a moment, "That's all that matters."
The hospital wing smelled faintly of disinfectant and something sweet, probably from Madam Pomfrey’s constant efforts to make it more welcoming. The low hum of worry and whispered conversation filled the air, punctuated by the occasional clatter of a tray or the soft footfalls of nurses.
Harry lay in bed, pale and bruised, one arm still in a sling and a bandage running along the back of his head. His eyes were closed when you entered with Ron and Hermione, though you could see the tightness around his jaw even from a distance, the way his body refused to fully relax.
Cedric was already there, standing near the foot of the bed, hands loosely clasped in front of him. His expression was a mixture of concern and that quiet, composed kindness that seemed to follow him everywhere. The rest of the Quidditch team lingered nearby, some leaning against walls, others sitting on chairs, their chatter subdued in the presence of the hospital wing’s calm authority.
You made your way forward, letting your eyes meet Cedric’s briefly. There was an unspoken acknowledgment there, a quiet thread of familiarity that had been building for years—the kind that didn’t need words. He smiled softly, and you returned it with one of your own, both of you sharing a moment of warmth amidst the tension.
“I—uh—how are you feeling?” Cedric asked, stepping slightly closer to Harry’s bedside. His voice was gentle, careful, like he was trying to tread without adding any more worry.
Harry groaned softly, opening one eye, but his voice came out a little hoarse, “I fell off my broom. I think that says it all.”
Cedric’s expression tightened just a little, a flicker of guilt crossing his features, though he quickly masked it with his usual calm demeanor. He glanced at Oliver, who was hovering nearby, arms crossed, and then back at Harry.
"The dementors clearly interfered with the game, Hufflepuff has agreed to a rematch."
“No,” Oliver said flatly, “Hufflepuff won fair and square, we refuse.”
Cedric’s shoulders slumped fractionally, but he kept his gaze on Harry. When his eyes flicked toward you, though, there was a quiet softness there, a flicker of amusement and admiration all at once. You smiled at him, a small, fond curve of your lips. He looked so earnest, so sweet, offering a rematch even though he’d been the one to win.
“Don’t worry about it.” You murmured under your breath, letting the warmth in your smile reach him.
Then, inevitably, the calm shattered.
Fred and George, never ones to miss an opportunity, had clearly been lingering nearby, and their grins were impossible to miss even from across the room. “Oi, Harry,” George called softly, leaning against the wall, “you saw the Grim in Divination, didn’t you? That’s never good…”
“Yeah!” George added, elbowing him lightly, “Better start making friends in the afterlife! Any last words, mate?”
Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. Ron’s jaw tightened, though he didn’t speak. Harry’s eyes were already narrowing, more in irritation than fear, though there was a small twitch in his shoulder that betrayed his nerves.
You didn’t even pause. “Forge!” You snapped, your voice cutting through the murmurs like a whip. Both twins froze mid-smirk, turning toward you, and for a moment, the entire room seemed to hold its breath.
Fred and George exchanged a glance, then slowly sank back, their amusement dampened under your gaze. They muttered under their breath but said nothing more, clearly smart enough to know the game was up—for now.
Cedric blinked at you, clearly caught off guard, and then tilted his head slightly, one brow raised in curiosity.
“Forge?” He asked quietly, amusement lacing his tone.
“With the amount of trouble these two get into,” You sighed, “it’s easier just to call them by one name.”
The courtyard was quieter than usual.
Not empty—Hogwarts was never truly empty—but quieter in the way it always was toward the end of the year. Most students were either shut away in their common rooms or the library, scrambling to finish the assignments they had put off for far too long, or sprawled outside, taking advantage of the rare stretch of warm sunlight.
Students lingered in smaller groups, scattered across benches and steps, their voices softer, their conversations unhurried. The air had finally warmed, sunlight spilling over the stone and settling into something almost comfortable.
You sat on the low wall near the fountain, one leg tucked slightly beneath you, your bag resting at your side as you absently traced your finger along the edge of your sleeve.
Cedric stood nearby at first, lingering just long enough to make it seem unintentional before—after a moment’s hesitation—he sat beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost brushed.
“Done with everything?” He asked, glancing over at you.
“Mostly,” You said, exhaling softly, “I think I’ve got one more essay left for Transfiguration, but I’m pretending it doesn’t exist for now.”
He huffed a quiet laugh at that, his head dipping slightly, “That’s probably for the best.”
A small silence followed and you tilted your head slightly, glancing at him, “What about you?”
“Finished.” He said, though there was a faint hesitation behind it, like his attention wasn’t fully on the answer. His fingers tapped lightly against his knee, once, twice—restless in a way you didn’t usually see from him.
“…Everything alright?” You asked, softer now, your gaze lingering on him just a second longer.
Cedric let out a breath, something shifting in his expression—something more uncertain than you were used to. He glanced at you, then away again, like he was trying to find the right words.
“Yeah, I just—” He started, then stopped, his hand lifting briefly to the back of his neck.
“I was wondering if you—” He tried again, his voice quieter now, more deliberate, “if you might want to—”
“Miss Weasley.”
The voice cut cleanly through the moment.
You both turned immediately.
Professor McGonagall stood a few steps away, her posture as straight as ever, her expression composed—but there was something in her eyes, something that made your stomach drop before she even spoke again.
You were already on your feet before you realized it.
“Yes, Professor?”
“One of your brothers has been taken to the hospital wing.”
The words landed all at once.
Your breath caught. “What—?” You took a step forward instinctively, your mind already racing ahead of you, “Which one?”
“Ronald.”
You stared at her for half a second.
Then—despite everything, despite the concern already tightening in your chest—your shoulders dropped just slightly, disbelief slipping in around the edges.
“…Again?” You said, the word coming out before you could stop it.
McGonagall’s lips pressed together, though whether she was suppressing a sigh or a comment, you couldn’t quite tell.
You ran a hand over your face briefly, already turning on your heel.
“Why is it always those three?” You muttered under your breath, more to yourself than anyone else, exasperation bleeding into the worry, “Honestly, I leave them alone for five minutes...”
Cedric immediately fell into step beside you, his usual composure giving way to concern, though his hands stayed in his pockets, tight against himself as if holding on to some semblance of control.
“You—do you need me to come with you?” He asked quietly, looking at you with that soft, careful gaze he always reserved for moments like this.
You shook your head. “No… no, I’ve got this.” But your pace quickened, Cedric matching you effortlessly.
As you hurried down the familiar corridors, the casual moment that had been building—the one where Cedric was clearly about to ask you to Hogsmeade—slipped just out of reach. Instead, the urgency of the hospital wing, the thought of Ron writhing in pain, took over.
“You were going to ask me something...” You said quietly, almost to yourself, stealing a glance at Cedric. His lips twitched, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah…” He murmured, the words trailing off as his gaze flicked toward you, “We’ll have to… save that for another day.”
The doors to the Hospital Wing swung open with more force than strictly necessary, your steps quick and purposeful as your eyes immediately scanned the room.
It didn’t take long to find him.
Ron was propped up in one of the beds, his leg elevated and wrapped, hair a mess, freckles standing out starkly against skin that was just a little too pale—but he was awake. Talking. Complaining, probably.
Alive.
Your shoulders dropped slightly, relief hitting first, sharp and immediate.
And then—
“Ronald Bilius Weasley!”
Ron startled so hard he nearly knocked his own pillow over. His eyes went wide the second he saw you, pure instinct kicking in before anything else.
“It wasn’t my fault!” He blurted immediately, sitting up straighter despite the clear pain it caused, “Scabbers was Peter Pettigrew and he framed Sirius Black!”
You stopped mid-step.
“…what?”
The path had long since stopped resembling anything civilized.
What had started as something that could vaguely pass as a trail had quickly dissolved into uneven ground, overgrown roots, and branches that seemed determined to catch on your sleeves at every opportunity.
You stepped over yet another fallen log with a quiet huff, brushing leaves from your skirt as you glanced ahead.
“Dad,” Ron called from somewhere behind you, already sounding tired, “where exactly are we going?”
“Somewhere in this direction.” Your father replied cheerfully, not slowing in the slightest.
“That’s not very reassuring.” Hermione muttered.
Fred snorted, “He hasn’t the faintest clue, has he?”
“I heard that,” Your father said mildly, “And I’d like to remind you that I am leading us to the Quidditch World Cup.”
“Eventually.” George added.
You huffed a quiet laugh, adjusting the strap of your bag as you stepped over a particularly stubborn root, your shoulder brushing lightly against Ginny’s.
“Do you actually know where the portkey is?” You asked, glancing at your father.
“Haven’t the foggiest!” He admitted, cheerfully.
A chorus of groans followed immediately.
Fred and George exchanged a look, Ron muttered something under his breath about typical, and Ginny let out a dramatic sigh as she trudged forward.
Harry and Hermione, walking just behind you, shared a glance that was somewhere between amusement and mild concern.
The group pressed on, the forest thick around you, the sound of footsteps and rustling leaves filling the space between conversations. Just as you were beginning to think your earlier comment might actually be correct—
“Ah! There we are!”
Your father’s voice lit up with sudden triumph, and you looked up just in time to see him veering slightly off the path toward a large tree.
A man stood beneath it, broad and sturdy, holding onto several bags that looked far too heavy to be carried comfortably.
“Amos!” Your father greeted warmly, striding forward, “Good to see you!”
“Arthur!” The man—Amos—returned just as enthusiastically, shifting the bags in his grip as the two men shook hands.
The rest of you filtered in behind, and introductions began almost immediately.
“This is my family!”
Names were exchanged, greetings offered, and you stepped forward when it was your turn, offering a polite smile.
You offered a polite smile, “It’s nice to meet you.”
“And you, my dear.” He said warmly.
Your gaze flicked briefly to the bags near his feet, and before you could think twice about it, you stepped forward slightly.
“Can I help you with any of those?” You asked.
Amos blinked at you, clearly charmed. “Aren’t you sweet, love? No, no—it’s quite alright.” He waved a hand dismissively before adding, with a touch of amused exasperation, “My son should be carrying them anyway.”
There was a beat.
Then—
A sudden rustle overhead.
Before you could even react, something dropped from the tree above with a solid thud, landing just a few feet away.
You startled sharply, stepping back on instinct, your heart jumping into your throat—
Only to be met with a very familiar face.
Cedric Diggory straightened from where he’d landed, brushing a bit of dirt from his sleeves like this was a completely normal entrance.
“Sorry.” He said, not sounding sorry at all.
Your father lit up immediately, “And this strapping young lad must be Cedric!”
Cedric smiled, polite and composed as ever, “Yes, sir.”
But then his eyes flicked to you. There was a glint of amusement there, a teasing curve to his mouth as he clearly clocked the way you’d jumped.
You told yourself the increase heartrate was because of the fright.
The world snapped back into place all at once.
Your feet hit solid ground, though not gracefully, and for a moment everything spun—wind in your ears, the taste of dust in your mouth, your grip still locked tight around the portkey like letting go might send you flying again.
And then—
Stillness.
Grass beneath your boots. Voices. The distant roar of something massive in the distance.
You let go.
Around you, everyone else was doing the same—stumbling, coughing, untangling themselves from one another in various states of disarray.
“Ugh—” Ron groaned somewhere to your left.
“I hate portkeys.” Hermione muttered, pushing her hair out of her face.
Harry, however, was glaring at you.
“You didn’t have to push my face into the manky old boot.” He whined, wiping at his cheek.
You turned your head, already narrowing your eyes as he pushed himself up from the ground, brushing at his glasses in mild offense.
“I told you to grab the boot,” You shot back without missing a beat, “Twice.”
“I was going to grab it!”
“You weren’t.” You said flatly.
“I was—!”
“Would you rather we’d just left you there?”
He opened his mouth, then paused, “…okay, but you still didn’t have to shove me.”
Behind you, Cedric chuckled, falling into step with you quite easily as your joint families began the trek towards the tents.
“Never a day off, huh?” He said lightly, amusement warm in his voice.
You blinked at him for a second, slightly puzzled by the comment, like you hadn’t quite realized what you’d just done.
“What?” You asked.
He gestured vaguely between you and Harry, his smile widening just a fraction. “You,” He said simply, “And your tornado of siblings.”
You huffed a quiet breath, glancing away for a second as your father’s voice called out ahead, already moving everyone along toward the tents, "They're a circus."
Cedric laughed softly under his breath, falling into step beside you as the group began moving forward, the field stretching out ahead, dotted with tents that grew more and more elaborate the further you walked.
For a moment, things settled—just walking, the distant buzz of the World Cup crowd building in the background, the aftermath of the portkey fading into something almost normal.
Cedric glanced at you again. “So—” He started, clearly picking up a conversation he’d been trying to have earlier, “about—”
“—Charlie! Bill!”
You didn’t even realize you’d cut him off until it was too late.
The second you spotted them—two familiar figures standing just outside one of the tents—you were already moving.
Charlie barely had time to react before you collided into him, your arms wrapping tightly around him as he laughed, catching you easily and lifting you slightly off the ground.
“There she is!” He said, his voice full of warmth.
“Hi!” You breathed, grinning as you pulled back just enough to look at him properly before immediately leaning into Bill next, who didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around you, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head.
“Missed us that much?” Bill teased.
“Not at all.” You shot back, though your smile gave you away.
“Well, well, well,” Fred began, spinning around to step in front of you, hands on his hips like the self-appointed announcer of the world, “look at this! Some would think you don’t like the rest of your siblings at all!”
“I don’t.” You said, perfectly deadpan.
Behind you, the rest of your family caught up quickly, voices overlapping, greetings loud and chaotic as always.
Cedric slowed a few steps back, watching the scene unfold with a small smile on his face.
The tents were set, your parents occupied somewhere deeper in the campsite, and your siblings had already scattered—some exploring, some arguing, some undoubtedly causing problems.
You were just stepping out from your family’s tent when you spotted him again.
Cedric.
He was making his way over, hands tucked loosely into his pockets, posture relaxed but purposeful—like he knew exactly where he was going.
Your stomach did that annoying little flip it had started doing around him lately.
You ignored it.
“Well then,” Bill said, straightening slightly as Cedric came to a stop beside you. His tone was light, but there was something amused behind it, “Who’s this?”
You opened your mouth to answer—
But of course, he wasn’t finished.
“We’ve got a lot of siblings,” Bill continued thoughtfully, glancing Cedric up and down as if assessing him, “but I think I’d remember if Mum had another one.”
You rolled your eyes immediately, “Oh, shut up.”
Charlie snorted beside him, arms loosely crossed, watching the interaction with easy curiosity.
You gestured between them. “Cedric, this is Bill,” You nodded toward your older brother, “And that’s Charlie.”
Cedric straightened slightly, recognition settling in almost instantly.
“You need no introduction,” He said, a small, genuine smile forming, “You’re a legend. Best Seeker Gryffindor’s had in years.”
Charlie blinked once—
Then broke into a grin.
“Oh, I like you,” He said immediately, stepping forward and clapping Cedric firmly on the shoulder, jostling him slightly, “Diggory, right?”
Cedric laughed under his breath, steadying himself, “Yeah.”
“Knew I did,” Charlie nodded, as if this confirmed everything, “Bloke with a good head on his shoulders.”
You sighed, already knowing where this was going, “Flattery will get you everywhere with him.”
Cedric’s laugh softened as he glanced at you briefly, something warm flickering there before he looked back at Charlie, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Only the good things, I hope.” Charlie grinned.
“Debatable.” You cut in dryly.
Bill let out a low chuckle at that, clearly enjoying himself as the four of you fell into easy conversation. It wasn’t anything particularly serious—just small talk, Quidditch, the World Cup. There was laughter and teasing, but nothing too serious—just the kind of light, easy back-and-forth that made Cedric’s presence feel completely natural, like he’d always belonged in these small moments with your family.
And every now and then, you caught him glancing at you.
Then—
“(Y/N)!”
Ginny’s voice rang out across the campsite.
You closed your eyes briefly.
"Can you braid my hair?! I want Dutch braids!"
You let out a long, suffering sigh, already pushing yourself to your feet, “Duty calls.”
Charlie laughed immediately, loud and unhelpful.
“Laugh it up,” You said over your shoulder, glancing back at him, “It’ll be you next.”
He scoffed, completely unbothered, “Please. I already did my time with you.”
Cedric, who had been watching the exchange with quiet amusement, tilted his head slightly, “Did you?”
That was all it took.
“Oh, yes,” Charlie said eagerly, clearly delighted to have the chance to embarrass you in front of someone else for once, “You have no idea—she used to cling to me all the time when she was little. Every time I tried to go out with the lads, there she’d be, bawling her eyes out on the doorstep because she didn’t want me to go.”
You winced, covering your face for a moment, but Charlie wasn’t done.
“And there was this rule,” He continued, voice full of mock seriousness, “if I wanted to play Quidditch, I had to put her down for a nap first. Otherwise she would cry the entire game, thinking I’d get hurt on my broom. Every. Single. Time.”
Cedric laughed, genuinely this time, leaning slightly forward like he was savoring every embarrassing detail, “That’s actually kind of adorable.”
You blinked, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Well excuse me,” You said sharply, “for loving my older brother! I shall never do such an unsavory thing again.”
With that, you stormed off toward Ginny, leaving Charlie and Bill doubled over in laughter behind you.
The Great Hall was far more somber than usual. The tables had been cleared, and the usual magical sky that lit up the room with sparkling stars was gone, leaving the Goblet of Fire in the center of the hall as the sole source of light, bathing everything in a delicate, almost eerie blue glow.
You inwardly wished you had gotten to the hall before your brothers had downed the aging potion—if you had, you would have smacked them so hard they might think twice before attempting something so dimwitted.
Unfortunately, it seemed you had arrived just a few minutes too late. Fred and George had ignored Hermione’s warnings entirely and were now rolling on the floor, bickering like children—or rather, old men, considering they looked every bit their great-grandfathers, complete with wrinkles, grey hair, and a beard to match.
You pinched the bridge of your nose and let out a long sigh, stepping forward, “Forge! Seriously?!”
They barely noticed, bickering and rolling against each other as if you weren’t even there. You crouched quickly, yanking their ears in opposite directions to separate them.
“Ow! Hey!” Fred yelped, squirming.
“Oi! That’s cheating!” George shouted, flailing.
“I don’t care!” You snapped, straightening and glaring at them both, “Stop it. Right now.”
They froze, glancing up at you with sheepish grins, like they might actually apologize. But, of course, it didn’t last.
“You could sign up,” Fred said casually, tilting his head with a mischievous glint in his eye, “since you’re seventeen. You could—”
“Absolutely not.” You interrupted firmly. “I am not going to do something as moronic as sign up for a death wish.”
“Harsh.” Came the teasing voice beside you.
You turned, and there he was: Cedric Diggory, hands tucked casually into his pockets, looking absolutely soaked to the bone like he had just gotten caught in the rain.
“You wound me, Weasley.” He said, voice light but carrying that teasing edge you’d learned to expect from him.
You frowned, concern quickly replacing your irritation, “You’d better hope your name doesn’t get pulled, Cedric. The tasks are dangerous. This whole thing is imbecilic.”
“If I’m not mistaken,” He said softly, voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip, “I’d say you were worried about me.”
“Worried the Yule Ball is going to get canceled on account of a funeral, more like it.” You muttered, rolling your eyes.
“Such little faith,” He said, voice lowering in a way that made your pulse skip, “But—uh, speaking of the Yule Ball—I was wondering… maybe you’d like to—”
Before he could finish, the doors of the Great Hall burst open with a dramatic crash, drawing every eye in the room. The tallest, broadest figure you’d ever seen strode in: Viktor Krum.
All conversation ceased instantly. Every student froze, eyes widening, as the Bulgarian Quidditch star made his way confidently to the center of the hall, robes sweeping the floor with every step.
He passed the line, reached the Goblet of Fire, and placed his name inside, sparing only a brief glance at Hermione as he did. You tilted your head, watching the interaction between them with quiet curiosity.
He withdrew his hand, and the hall erupted into cheers, the excitement and tension washing over the room. Just like that, Cedric’s question—and the small, promising moment between you—was swept away.
The stands were packed.
The noise was overwhelming—cheering, shouting, the low hum of anticipation vibrating through the air—but it all felt distant to you, muffled behind the rapid thud of your own heartbeat.
Because down below—
Cedric was stepping into the arena.
You didn’t realize your hands had clenched until your nails bit into your palms, your breath catching as the gates opened and the dragon came into view.
It was massive.
Far bigger than you’d imagined, scales glinting in the light, smoke curling from its nostrils as it shifted, wings twitching with barely-contained power. You brought your hands up almost immediately, fingers splaying just enough so you could barely see through them.
“I’m not watching,” You said, even as your eyes stayed fixed between the gaps, “I’m not watching—”
The dragon roared.
You flinched.
“—I’m watching.”
Around you, people were shouting, gasping, reacting to every movement—but you were locked in on him. Every dodge, every spell, every second he got just a little too close—
Your stomach dropped.
“Cedric—” You whispered under your breath, like he could somehow hear you.
And then—
It was over.
The egg was in his hands.
The stands erupted.
You didn’t even realize you were moving until you were already pushing through the crowd, down the steps, heart still racing as the adrenaline hadn’t quite faded yet. By the time you reached him, he was being ushered toward the edge of the arena, healers already moving in.
You waited until he was back in the privacy of his tent to approach, lest that cow Skeeter see you and decide to write some longwinded lie about how Cedric was madly in love with you.
Cedric blinked, slightly breathless, a little flushed from the heat and effort—but when he saw you, something in his expression softened instantly.
“Well, hello to you too.” He said, voice light despite the situation.
“You’re burned,” You said panicked, ignoring him completely as your fingers brushed carefully along his jaw, already assessing the damage, the skin under your touch began to get remarkably redder and you felt your heart clench, "I told you this was a horrible idea, Cedric."
He huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t stop you as you continued to check him over. The burn wasn’t terrible—but it was enough. Enough to make your chest tighten just looking at it.
“You could’ve been seriously hurt.” You muttered, quieter now, more to yourself than him.
Cedric’s gaze flickered over your face, something softer settling there.
“But I wasn’t.” He said gently.
You didn’t respond right away, finishing what you were doing before stepping back slightly, your shoulders relaxing just a fraction now that he was—relatively—fine.
“…You did well." You said finally, meeting his eyes.
A small smile tugged at his lips, “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” You nodded, “I mean, it was still a completely idiotic thing to sign up for—but you did well.”
He laughed softly, “I’ll take that as high praise, coming from you.”
There was a beat.
The noise of the crowd carried on around you, distant again, like the two of you had been momentarily carved out of it.
Cedric shifted slightly, like he was working up to something again.
"So—about the ball—" He started, a little more confident this time, a little more certain now that he had your full attention.
But before he actually got the words out—
A roar of cheers erupted behind you.
Louder than before.
You turned instinctively, just in time to see Harry enter the arena.
“Oh—”
Your attention snapped away immediately, your head turning fully now, your focus shifting as the crowd surged with excitement again.
“Harry!” You called, already stepping forward slightly, completely pulled into the moment.
Cedric blinked.
Then looked between you and the arena.
Then back at you.
And laughed.
“Well,” He said, shaking his head slightly, a grin pulling at his lips, “way to make a guy feel jealous.”
You glanced back at him, only half-processing what he’d said, still caught up in the adrenaline of it all, “What?”
But he just smiled, stepping back slightly, giving you space as your attention stayed fixed on Harry now.
“Nothing,” He said easily, “Go on.”
The noise from the arena hadn’t quite faded yet.
Students were still talking over each other, replaying every moment of the task like they’d all personally been down there facing dragons instead of watching safely from the stands. The air felt charged, buzzing with adrenaline that hadn’t settled, and even as you stepped away from it all, your heart still hadn’t quite slowed.
You barely made it past the outer edge of the enclosure before a familiar voice cut through the chaos—
“Well, that was something, wasn’t it?”
You froze.
Your head snapped up so fast it almost hurt.
No—
There was no way—
But there he was.
Leaning casually against one of the wooden barriers, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself.
“Charlie?”
The word left you half in disbelief, half in something brighter—something immediate.
His grin widened.
And that was all it took.
You didn’t think—you just moved.
“Charlie!”
You practically launched yourself at him, arms wrapping tightly around his middle as he laughed, already bracing for the impact, catching you easily like he always did.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming!” You said, pulling back just enough to look at him properly, hands still gripping his sleeves like he might disappear if you let go, “I can’t believe you’re here.”
"I couldn't tell you because I'm here for work, love. Someone’s got to handle the dragons.”
You blinked.
“…You brought them?”
Charlie grinned, clearly proud of that, “Course I did.”
"Couldn't you have brought slightly friendlier ones?"
He laughed, "These are the friendlier ones."
The corridors between classes were always busy, but there was a different kind of chaos that came with a castle full of students anticipating something like the Yule Ball.
Voices echoed off the stone walls, laughter bouncing between groups, whispers slipping through in quick bursts—who was going with who, who had already been asked, who was still waiting. Last you heard, Harry was going with Cho, Fred had somehow managed to land Angelina without even properly asking her, and Ron had spectacularly failed every attempt he’d made, growing more miserable by the hour.
You were halfway to your next class, books tucked under your arm, your mind only half on where you were going, when you felt it—that familiar presence falling into step beside you.
You didn’t need to look.
“You really shouldn’t be all alone in these halls,” Cedric’s voice came, light and easy, threaded with amusement, “Who knows what kind of danger could be lurking?”
You glanced over anyway, already fighting the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re right,” You said, nodding thoughtfully, “Who knows when Professor Moody will jump out and turn me into a ferret. I was hoping someone would come rescue me.”
“Lucky day, then.” He said, matching your pace effortlessly, his shoulder brushing yours just slightly as the two of you navigated the crowd.
For a moment, it was easy—just walking, just talking, the noise of the corridor fading into something distant.
Cedric cleared his throat quietly.
“So—about the Yule Ball.” He started, and there was something different this time. Something less certain, less practiced.
You raised a brow, glancing at him, “What about it?”
“Well, I was thinking—” He began, and for once, Cedric Diggory actually sounded unsure of himself. His hand lifted slightly, like he meant to gesture, then dropped again, “I was wondering if maybe you’d—”
“(Y/N)!”
Ginny’s voice cut through everything like a blade.
You barely had time to react before she came rushing toward you, slightly out of breath, clutching a bundle of fabric in her arms like it had personally offended her.
“Look at this,” She said urgently, shoving the material up between you and Cedric without warning, “Look at it!”
You blinked, instinctively taking a step back as she held up what could only be described as… a dress.
A very old dress.
“Ginny—”
“It’s ghastly!” She insisted, shaking it for emphasis, lace and sleeves flopping dramatically, “How am I supposed to wear something that looks like it came from the 1700s and not die of embarrassment?”
Cedric, who had been mid-sentence only seconds ago, paused—but to his credit, he recovered quickly.
He leaned in slightly, examining the dress with surprising seriousness, like this was now his responsibility. “It’s… not too bad.” He offered carefully.
Ginny stared at him like he’d just committed a personal betrayal.
“They’re ghastly!” She repeated, louder this time, as if volume alone would prove her point.
You let out a soft laugh despite yourself, reaching out to steady the fabric before she accidentally smacked someone with it. “Alright, alright,” You said, amused, “What exactly do you want me to do about it?”
Ginny lowered the dress slightly, her expression changing from panic to pleading, “Ron told me you’re altering his dress robes,” She said quickly, “Can you do mine too?”
You hesitated, glancing down at the dress, already mentally deconstructing it—too much fabric, outdated cut, sleeves that needed saving or removing entirely. “I mean… I’m not a professional,” You admitted, “But I’ve gotten pretty good over the years.”
Ginny perked up instantly, “Really?”
You nodded, shifting your books slightly under your arm. “Mum used to buy me these ridiculously long skirts,” You said, rolling your eyes faintly, “The kind that made me look like a complete prude. So I started hemming them myself—just a bit shorter, just enough to make them… wearable.”
As you spoke, you gestured to your own skirt, showing the subtle difference.
Cedric noticed.
Of course he did.
“They are quite lovely.” He said, almost absentmindedly—but his gaze lingered on your legs just a fraction too long, something warmer slipping into his tone.
You blinked.
And then immediately felt the heat rise to your cheeks, your composure slipping just slightly as you let out a small, flustered laugh. “Right—well—I can try.” You said, suddenly very aware of him standing so close, “I’m still altering my own dress to fit properly though.”
Ginny, blissfully oblivious to all of it, grabbed your sleeve and looked up at you with wide, hopeful eyes, “But you’ll do it?”
You exhaled, already giving in. “Come on, then,” You said, turning, “I’ll need your measurements.”
Ginny beamed, instantly tugging you along with her.
Cedric opened his mouth—again.
“Wait—”
But you were already moving, Ginny pulling you down the corridor, dress in hand, talking a mile a minute about sleeves, lace, colors, and everything she hated about it.
And just like that, you were gone again—dragged up the stairs toward your dorm, already mentally mapping out every alteration you’d need to make to salvage the disaster in her hands.
Behind you, Cedric slowed to a stop in the middle of the corridor.
His hand, which had lifted slightly to stop you, fell back to his side.
For a second, he just stood there, watching the space where you’d disappeared, the noise of the corridor rushing back in around him.
Then he let out a quiet breath, shaking his head, a soft laugh slipping out despite himself.
“Unbelievable.” He muttered under his breath, though there was no real frustration in it—just something fond.
The Gryffindor common room had never looked like this before.
It wasn’t its usual warm, slightly chaotic mess of scattered books and half-finished homework—tonight, it was alive in a completely different way. Gold and candlelight flickered against polished shoes and pressed robes, laughter spilling from every corner as people adjusted ties, smoothed hair, and whispered last-minute nerves about the night ahead.
And at the center of it all—
You.
Because somehow, despite not even being ready yourself until ten minutes ago, you had managed to get everyone else sorted first.
Ginny had been first. She’d started knocking on your door in tears, having made a complete mess of the little makeup she’d attempted and having no idea what to do with her hair. You sat her down, ignoring the dramatics, and got to work.
Now, she was practically glowing—her dress, which you had managed to salvage into something far more wearable than its original state, actually suited her. You styled her hair neatly and applied a modest amount of makeup, firmly refusing when she tried to convince you to add more.
Then came Hermione. She’d only meant to ask your opinion on her dress and hair, but the moment you noticed how uncomfortable she was with all the bobby pins, you sat her down without a second thought.
Swapping them out for sticking charms—a solution she hadn’t even considered—you adjusted everything with careful precision, touching up her makeup just enough to settle it perfectly into place.
“You look beautiful.” You told her simply.
And you meant it.
Then came Ron.
Which, quite frankly, had been your last nerve.
You forcibly sat him down, ignoring his loud complaints—really, anyone would think you were attempting to torture him rather than make him look even remotely presentable. You fixed his hair, adjusted his robes as much as they could be saved, and sent him off with a firm warning to behave like a human being for once in his life.
Last was Harry—quiet, slightly overwhelmed, but cooperative enough as you smoothed his hair into something vaguely acceptable.
And only then—finally—did you get yourself ready.
By the time you were done, the common room was already beginning to empty, students drifting toward the Great Hall in clusters of excitement and nerves.
You barely spared yourself more than a glance before grabbing your things and heading for the door.
You were late.
Of course you were. At this rate, you’d be lucky to arrive in time to see the champions’ dance.
You pushed through the last cluster of students, adjusting your sleeve as you moved quickly toward the exit when you saw him.
Cedric.
He stood just off to the side, like he’d been waiting—hands flexing slightly at his sides, posture just a little too stiff to be casual. Like he’d been working himself up to something.
Your steps faltered.
Just slightly.
Your stomach flipped.
Again.
He looked up the second he noticed you—and for a moment, just a moment, he forgot whatever he’d been about to say.
Because he was staring.
And for once, Cedric Diggory—confident, composed, effortlessly charming—looked completely, utterly thrown.
You blinked, suddenly very aware of yourself under that look.
“You look beautiful, (Y/N).”
Heat rushed to your face almost instantly. You lowered your gaze, half to hide it, reaching out instinctively to smooth the lapels of his dress robes, the fine material warm beneath your fingers.
“You look quite beautiful yourself.” You murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
“I—uh—”
But before he could get another word out—
Ron passed behind you, grumbling loudly, “I can’t believe Hermione is going with the enemy.”
Your expression dropped immediately.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
Cedric blinked, “What—?”
“I need to fix that.” You muttered, already turning, fully prepared to march over and set your brother straight.
Because no one—no one—was going to talk about Hermione like that. Not tonight. Not when she finally looked at herself and saw what everyone else already did. And certainly not your little brother.
You barely made it two steps—
Before—
“Oh, Helga—(Y/N) Weasley!”
The room went quiet.
Completely quiet.
You froze mid-step.
Slowly—very slowly—you turned back.
Cedric was standing where you’d left him.
Except now he looked… different.
Still nervous, still unsure—but there was something steadier beneath it now. Like he’d finally decided he wasn’t letting the moment slip away again.
Every eye in the room was on him.
On you.
And he didn’t look away.
“Will you,” He said, voice carrying across the room—firm, but softened at the edges by something unmistakably earnest, “be my date to the Yule Ball?”
For a second—
You didn’t move.
Then your brain caught up.
Heat rushed to your face so quickly it was almost embarrassing, a smile breaking through before you could stop it—bright, relieved, a little breathless.
“Of course.” You said, like it had always been obvious.
Your head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction in playful disbelief.
“I was wondering when you were going to ask me.” You added, a soft laugh slipping through.
“What took you so long?”
You really hated the hospital wing.
In the last four years, you had been there more times than you could count, and not once had it actually been for you. That was the unfortunate reality of having younger siblings who seemed determined to land themselves in trouble in increasingly creative ways, and you had grown used to it—the scolding, the hovering, the quiet irritation that came with it all.
But this time felt different.
The worry sitting in your chest wasn’t familiar. It didn’t feel like the usual exasperated concern you carried for your brothers—it was heavier, sharper, lingering in a way that made it hard to breathe properly. It crawled up your throat and stayed there, refusing to settle, and no matter how many times you tried to reason with yourself, it didn’t go away.
You didn’t really understand it.
Or maybe you did.
There was a difference between platonic worry and something else. Something deeper. Something that made your hands feel restless and your chest feel too tight all at once.
And the stakes had never been this high before.
When Harry had reappeared from the maze, Cedric’s body unmoving beside him as he spoke of Lord Voldemort, something inside you had dropped so suddenly it left you standing there, unable to think, unable to move, unable to do anything but stare.
Like the ground had given out beneath your feet.
You and Cedric hadn’t even been together that long.
After the Yule Ball—after he had finally managed to ask you—you had slipped into something easy, something familiar, something that hadn’t quite had the time to settle into anything fully real yet. Which was exactly why you hadn’t run to him on the grounds like you’d wanted to.
You had stayed back, forcing yourself to let the professors handle it, to let his father reach him first, telling yourself that it wasn’t your place—that whatever this was between you, it wasn’t enough to justify pushing through that kind of moment.
But then the hours had turned into days, and the waiting had become unbearable. Days of not knowing, days of hearing fragments and whispers but nothing certain, days of that quiet, suffocating fear settling deeper into your chest with nowhere to go.
So the moment you heard he was awake—that he had asked for you—you didn’t hesitate.
You ran.
The heavy doors of the hospital wing swung open under your hands, and you stepped inside quickly, your eyes scanning the room before immediately landing on him.
It was easy enough, considering he was the only one in here that began grinning like a fool at the sight of you.
Relief hit you so suddenly it almost made your knees give out.
You forced yourself forward, one step at a time, until you reached his bed, stopping just close enough to touch but not quite letting yourself yet.
“Hi.”
The word came out softer than you intended.
Cedric’s smile shifted, something warmer settling into it, “Well, hello to you too.”
Your eyes moved over him instinctively, taking in the bandaged burns along his arm, the healing cut near his brow, the faint exhaustion he wasn’t quite hiding as well as he thought he was.
“Are you alright?”
“Right as rain now that I’ve seen you.”
A quiet breath of laughter slipped from you, your head shaking faintly, “Only you would say that after facing bloody Voldemort.”
He didn’t argue.
Instead, he reached for you.
His hand found yours easily, fingers wrapping around it before gently tugging you closer, closing the distance you had been holding onto without even realizing it. You let yourself be pulled in, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed beside him, your heart already beginning to beat a little too fast.
Cedric was looking at you—properly looking—but every time you tried to meet his gaze, yours betrayed you, flickering instead to the marks on his skin, the evidence of just how wrong everything could have gone.
Your frown deepened.
“I’m alright." He said gently.
You scoffed, though there was no real bite to it, “You’re in the hospital wing.”
“Which is better than the alternative.”
Your breath caught slightly at that, the words settling heavier than he seemed to intend.
“Cedric—”
“I’m okay.” He repeated, more firmly this time, his gaze steady enough to pull yours back to his.
And then it softened.
His eyes dropped briefly to your hand, still held between both of his, his thumb brushing slowly along your knuckles as though grounding himself in the simple contact. The movement was absentminded, almost, but there was something careful in it too—something that made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
Before you could think too much about it, he lifted your hand slightly and pressed his lips gently against your knuckles.
Your breath hitched.
Your heart stumbled, uneven and sudden, and when his eyes met yours again, something in them had changed—quieter now, a little uncertain, like he wasn’t entirely sure how far he was allowed to go.
“Can I—” He started, his voice catching just slightly.
Your eyes flicked to his lips before you could stop yourself, the movement quick but impossible to hide.
You didn’t trust your voice.
So you nodded.
That was all he needed.
He leaned in slowly, carefully, like this moment might slip through his fingers if he moved too quickly. His hand tightened slightly around yours, the other hovering for a second before resting lightly against your arm, hesitant but certain enough to stay.
And then his lips brushed yours, capturing your upper lip between both of his.
Soft. Barely there.
It was so light it almost didn’t feel real at first, the kind of touch that made your head spin simply because it was happening at all. He lingered there, gentle and tentative, like he was waiting—like he was making sure you wanted this just as much as he did.
For a moment, you let it stay like that, suspended in something fragile and quiet.
Until it wasn’t enough.
You leaned in slightly, closing the space between you properly, and that small shift was all it took.
The kiss deepened—not rushed, not overwhelming, but certain. Your hand tightened in his, your other lifting instinctively to rest against the back of his neck, fingers brushing lightly against his hair as you held him there. He inhaled sharply, tilting his head as he deepened the kiss, devouring you—
“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!”
You and Cedric sprang apart like you’d been hit with a Stunning Spell.
Your heart leapt into your throat as you whipped around—
Charlie.
Standing in the doorway.
Arms crossed.
Oh Good Godric.
“Charlie—”
“No,” He cut in immediately, pointing a finger at you like you were five again and had just been caught stealing biscuits from the kitchen, “No—don’t you ‘Charlie’ me.”
You blinked at him, “What are you even doing here?”
“I came to check on you and golden boy,” He snapped, before gesturing wildly between you and Cedric, “And I find this?!”
Cedric, to his credit, had the decency to look at least slightly guilty. Only slightly.
You, however, frowned, “It’s just a kiss—”
“JUST a—?!” Charlie looked personally offended. Then, without missing a beat: “You’re grounded.”
You stared at him.
“I’m what?”
“Grounded for,” He repeated firmly. Then, after a brief pause, as if deciding to make it worse: “Until you graduate.”
Your jaw dropped.
“For-Until I graduate?!”
“Yes!”
“Why?!”
He looked at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “For kissing that git!”
You turned, incredulous, gesturing toward Cedric, “You’re the one who said he was a nice boy! That he had a good head on his shoulders!”
“I take it back!” Charlie shot back immediately, “He’s a bloody cradle-robber!”
Your eyes widened, “We’re the same age!”
Charlie was already moving, grabbing your arm and hauling you off the bed before you could argue further.
“Charlie—Charlie, let go—!”
“Nope. Absolutely not. You’re coming with me.”
“This is ridiculous—!”
Behind you, Cedric shifted slightly on the bed, looking far too amused for someone who had just been publicly accused of being a menace to society.
And then—because he clearly had no sense of self-preservation—
“Bye, love.”
"I'm not your love." Charlie replied haughtily, tightening his grip on your arm as he started dragging you toward the door again, “You’re never leaving the house again. Ever.”
“Charlie!”
And just like that, you were being dragged out of the hospital wing, your protests echoing down the corridor.
And Cedric was left sitting alone on the bed, an amused smile on his face, "We have such poor timing."
bonus:
The morning had been quiet.
Suspiciously quiet, really.
Sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains, casting soft gold across the bed, the room still wrapped in that slow, peaceful warmth that only came with days off and nowhere to be. No rushing, no responsibilities pressing in—just stillness.
And Cedric.
You were half-curled into him, head resting against his chest, his arm draped loosely around you, fingers absentmindedly tracing slow patterns along your arm. It was the kind of quiet you didn’t get often anymore—the kind you had learned to appreciate in small, fleeting moments.
For once, there were no interruptions.
No chaos.
Cedric let out a quiet breath above you, something content settling into it as his hand stilled briefly against your arm.
“I’m so glad,” He murmured, voice still rough with sleep, “to have you all to myself.”
You smiled faintly, tilting your head just enough to glance up at him, "Truly, we haven't had a quiet moment like this since—”
“Mum!”
“Dad!”
Cedric froze.
You didn’t even try to hide your laugh.
There was a brief, heavy silence as the distant shouts echoed through the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of something—probably several things—being knocked over.
Cedric exhaled slowly.
Then dropped his head back against the pillows with a long-suffering sigh.
“These bloody Weasleys,” He muttered, dragging a hand down his face, “And their innate ability to know exactly when I’m trying to have a moment alone with my wife.”
You laughed properly at that, shifting slightly so you could look at him more fully, your hand coming up to rest lightly against his chest.
“Well,” You said sweetly, “they’re half Diggory.”
“So their complete lack of sense and tact probably comes from you.”
Cedric blinked.
Then let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
“Excuse me?”
Before you could respond—
A loud crash echoed from somewhere down the hall.
Followed by—
“That wasn’t me!”
“Yes it was!”
Right outside the door this time.
You laughed, leaning up just enough to press a quick kiss to his lips before pulling back.
He sighed, finally getting up, "Alright! What have we said about messing about in the kitchen without mum or dad?!"
A beat of silence.
"That we're not supposed to."
To be added to a taglist, please send me an ask! (I might respond to you in comments but I can’t guarantee that I won’t accidentally miss it)
Summary: How is Cedric meant to ask you out on a date when he keeps getting interrupted by your tornado of siblings?
A/N: This was way longer than I expected it to be
Growing up a Weasley meant you always had someone looking out for you.
It also meant you always had to look out for your family.
When you were very little, you didn’t remember being spoiled the way your brothers claimed you had been. That must have happened when you were still a baby—when your mother finally held her long-awaited daughter in her arms after three boys.
But only a year later, she was blessed again with twins. And suddenly, there were two more mouths to feed, two more babies to soothe, two more crying voices in a house that already never seemed to quiet down.
It wasn’t surprising that somewhere in all that chaos, you slipped through the cracks.
Not completely. Never completely.
Your parents loved you—of course they did. You never doubted that. But love, you would come to learn, didn’t always mean attention. And attention was something that had to be divided carefully in a family as large as yours.
But you didn’t grow up alone.
Not really.
Because where your parents were stretched thin, your brothers filled in the gaps.
Bill.
Charlie.
Percy.
But especially Charlie.
Charlie had been the one to carry you around the Burrow as if you weighed nothing, settling you on his hip while he did chores, letting you tug at his hair as he laughed and pretended to complain. He was the one who taught you how to climb trees, who patched up your scraped knees, who tied your shoelaces, who read to you when your mother was too tired to finish the story herself.
He liked to joke that you were more his child than your parents’, considering how much he had done to raise you.
So when Charlie first left for Hogwarts, leaving you home with Percy as the only older sibling, you cried.
And cried.
And cried.
For weeks.
Both Charlie and Bill had to send you letters almost every day just to soothe you, but even then you still missed them terribly.
And then the day came when you were old enough to join them.
The platform was loud in the way only Platform Nine and Three-Quarters could be, full of overlapping voices and rushing footsteps and the sharp whistle of the train cutting through it all. Trunks rattled over uneven stone, owls hooted impatiently from their cages, and somewhere behind you, your mother was still fussing over whether you had packed enough socks.
It was overwhelming, but not in a bad way—not yet. Not when you were surrounded on all sides by your family, by the familiar press of bodies and voices that had always meant safety. You stayed close to your brothers, close enough that your sleeve brushed Charlie’s every few steps, just in case.
“Alright,” Bill said at last, sliding open the door to an empty compartment with an ease that made it seem like he’d done it a hundred times before, “In you go.”
Before you could protest, Percy was already lifting your trunk onto the rack with careful precision, muttering something under his breath about proper placement and weight distribution, while Bill adjusted your smaller bags so they sat neatly in the corner.
Charlie nudged your shoulder gently, guiding you inside, but you lingered near the doorway for a moment instead of sitting, suddenly unsure of what to do with yourself now that everything had become real.
You watched as Bill brushed his hands together in satisfaction and Percy gave a small, approving nod, as though everything was exactly as it should be.
You hovered in the doorway instead.
“…Can’t I just come with you?” You asked, quieter than you meant to, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the compartment door.
Bill glanced at Percy, then back at you, and something in his expression softened immediately. He reached out without hesitation, ruffling your hair in a way that was more fond than teasing, even if it left a few strands sticking up at odd angles.
“If you stick with us like that,” He said gently, “you’ll never make your own friends.”
You frowned faintly, not quite convinced, your gaze dropping for a second before flicking back up.
“It’s only for the ride,” Percy added, adjusting his sleeves as he straightened, already half-turned toward the corridor, “We'll meet you back at the castle.”
They lingered only a moment longer before stepping back into the corridor, already being pulled away by the movement of students and the rising noise as departure drew closer. You moved to follow them instinctively, your body shifting forward before you caught yourself at the doorway, fingers curling slightly against the frame as their voices faded into the general hum.
Charlie hadn’t left.
He stood just outside the compartment, watching you in that quiet, knowing way of his, like he could see straight through the brave face you were trying to hold together. For a moment, neither of you spoke, and then something in his expression shifted—something softer, more certain—as he stepped back inside and slid the door shut behind him, shutting out the corridor noise just enough to make the space feel smaller, steadier.
“I’ll be right down the train,” He said, nodding toward the direction Bill and Percy had gone, “Third compartment on the left, I think.”
“If you get lonely,” He continued, crouching slightly so he was closer to your eye level, his voice lowering just enough to feel like it was meant only for you, “or if anything happens—anything at all—you come find me. Yeah?”
You nodded, the tight feeling in your chest easing just a little.
“Alright.” You murmured.
Charlie smiled then, softer than before, and leaned forward to press a quick kiss to the top of your head. It was such a familiar gesture that it grounded you instantly, made everything feel just a little less uncertain, a little less overwhelming.
“See you in a bit.” He said.
And then he was gone too.
The door slid shut behind him with a soft click, and just like that, the noise of the corridor dulled into something distant, muffled by the glass and wood of the compartment. For a moment, you just stood there, staring at the empty seat across from you, listening to the low rumble of the train as it finally began to move.
It felt strange, suddenly.
Too quiet.
You sat down slowly, smoothing your hands over your skirt more out of habit than anything else, your gaze drifting toward the window as the platform began to slip away. Families waved from outside, figures blurring together as the train picked up speed, and for a brief second, you caught sight of your mother’s bright hair among the crowd before it disappeared entirely.
Students passed by in groups, laughing and talking, already settled into friendships you hadn’t had the chance to form yet, their voices carrying faintly through the compartment door. Every now and then, someone would glance in, hesitate, and then move on.
For a moment, you considered getting up.
Going after Charlie.
He said you could.
But Bill’s words lingered, stubborn and unshakable.
You’ll never make your own friends.
You were still turning that thought over in your mind when the compartment door slid open.
You looked up quickly, your attention snapping toward the sound as a boy about your age stood in the doorway, one hand still resting on the handle as he glanced around the compartment.
“Is this seat taken?” He asked.
You shook your head almost immediately. “No—no, it’s not.”
“Good,” He said with a small, easy smile, stepping inside and sliding the door shut behind him before taking the seat across from you, “Every other compartment seems to be full already.”
You nodded, your fingers curling slightly in your lap as you tried to think of something else to say, aware of that familiar flicker of uncertainty beginning to creep in at the edges. For a moment, the silence stretched just a little too long—
Then he leaned forward slightly, resting his arms against his knees, closing the distance just enough to make it feel less awkward instead of more.
“I’m Cedric." He offered.
You gave your name in return, a little quieter at first, but steadier than you expected, and something in his expression brightened slightly, like he was pleased you’d said it.
“First year?” He asked.
You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips, “You too?”
“Yeah.” He glanced out the window briefly before looking back at you, “Do you know what house you want to be in?”
You hesitated, then shrugged lightly. “My brothers are all in Gryffindor,” You said, as if that explained anything at all, “So… maybe that one.”
Cedric huffed a quiet laugh at that, not unkind, just amused. “My dad was in Hufflepuff,” He said, “So I think I’ll probably end up there. Though—” his mouth tilted slightly as he glanced at you again, “—Gryffindor doesn’t sound too bad now.”
Whether he meant anything by it or not didn’t really matter.
You felt warmth creep up your face anyway.
The conversation came easier after that, settling into something simple and steady. You talked about classes you thought might be interesting—Transfiguration, maybe, or Charms—and the ones you were a little nervous about.
He admitted he wasn’t sure how he felt about Potions, and you told him you thought it sounded exciting, though your brothers had warned you about the professor being a troll. You weren’t entirely sure if they meant that literally or not, and the way Cedric laughed at that—genuine and a little surprised—made something in your chest loosen.
At some point, he excused himself briefly, returning a few minutes later with snacks in hand, setting a Chocolate Frog carefully on the seat between you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“For you.” He said simply.
You blinked at it, a little startled, “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” He replied with a small shrug, “I wanted to.”
There wasn’t anything grand about it, no expectation behind the gesture, and somehow that made it easier to accept.
“Thank you.” You said, a small smile forming as you picked it up.
You opened the box carefully, peeling back the flap and catching the chocolate frog just before it could leap free, your attention shifting to the card tucked inside. Cedric leaned forward slightly, curiosity lighting his expression.
“Who’d you get?” He asked.
You glanced down at it, then back up at him, “Merlin.”
You looked back at the card, then held it out toward him without much thought, “Do you want it?”
He blinked, clearly caught off guard, “What? No—are you sure? You should keep it.”
You shrugged lightly, a small, easy motion, “You seem way more interested in it than I am.”
For a moment, he just stared at you, like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, before slowly reaching out and taking the card, something softer settling into his expression.
“Thanks.” He said, quieter this time.
By the time the train finally slowed, the sky had already begun to darken, the last traces of daylight fading into something softer, quieter, as students poured out onto the platform in a rush of movement and chatter. You stayed close to Cedric as you stepped down, not quite thinking about it, just following the steady presence beside you as a large voice called out for first years to gather.
The boat ride felt like something out of a story.
Lantern light flickered against the dark surface of the lake, reflecting in ripples as the small boats carried you across the water, the castle rising ahead of you in a way that made your breath catch without meaning to. It was enormous—far bigger than anything your brothers had ever managed to describe properly—and for a moment, everything else fell away.
You barely noticed how close you and Cedric were sitting until your shoulder brushed his again, the same way it had with Charlie earlier, only this time it didn’t feel like something you needed for reassurance.
Neither of you said much, but you didn’t really need to.
By the time you reached the castle, the noise returned all at once—footsteps echoing through stone corridors, voices bouncing off high ceilings, the shuffle of robes and the occasional nervous laugh breaking through the tension. You followed the line of students into the Great Hall, your gaze lifting almost immediately to the enchanted ceiling above, stars scattered across it like something impossibly real.
It was beautiful.
And overwhelming.
You barely had time to take it all in before the sorting began.
Names were called one by one, each student stepping forward to sit on the stool as the hat decided their place, the hall erupting into cheers with every announcement.
You stood among them, hands clasped tightly together, your attention flickering between the sorting stool and the tables, searching instinctively for familiar faces. It didn’t take long to find them—Bill sitting tall and relaxed, Percy already watching with keen focus, and Charlie leaning forward slightly, his attention fixed on you, giving you a little wave and a thumbs up when you caught his gaze.
You found yourself watching more than listening, your attention drifting until—
"Cedric Diggory."
Cedric stepped forward, looking just a little more serious than he had on the train, though there was still something steady about him, something calm as he sat on the stool and the hat was placed on his head. For a brief second, the hall went quiet.
Then—
“Hufflepuff!”
The table to your right erupted into applause, loud and warm, and you felt yourself smiling without thinking, clapping along as Cedric pulled the hat off and stood. He glanced toward the crowd as he stepped down, scanning faces quickly—
And then he found you.
He smiled, bright and easy, lifting his hand in a small wave in your direction, like it was the most natural thing in the world to look for you in a room full of people.
You smiled back, returning the gesture without hesitation, something light settling in your chest.
Then he turned, heading toward his table, swallowed up by the group that welcomed him in.
The ceremony continued.
Until—
Your name.
It rang out across the hall, louder than you expected, and for a second, everything inside you seemed to go very, very still.
The walk to the stool felt longer than it should have, your footsteps echoing faintly in your ears as you climbed up and sat down, your hands curling slightly into the fabric of your robes. The hat was placed over your head, slipping down just enough to shadow your vision, and for a second, there was nothing but darkness and the sound of your own heartbeat.
It didn’t take long.
“Gryffindor!”
The word echoed, followed immediately by a burst of cheers from the table to your left, loud and familiar and impossible to mistake.
Relief hit you first.
Then something warmer.
You barely had time to take the hat off before you were being pulled forward, laughter and voices overlapping as you reached the table.
“There she is!”
“About time!”
“Another one for Gryffindor—brilliant!”
Percy clapped for you as you joined the table, patting your shoulder with pride, Bill ruffled your hair before pressing a quick peck to the top of your head and Charlie enveloped you into a tight hug. You laughed, a little breathless, the sound spilling out of you before you could stop it as they crowded around you, hands on your shoulders, your back, your hair—solid, familiar, overwhelming in the best way.
You settled into your seat, still adjusting to the new rhythm of the hall. Plates of food appeared with little fanfare, but everything seemed bigger, brighter, and somehow both familiar and completely new at the same time.
You barely noticed when a familiar blond head turned toward the Gryffindor table again—Cedric, scanning for a glimpse of you before diving into his own group. You caught his eye just long enough to exchange a quick, almost shy smile.
You were just leaving the Great Hall on your way to class when you heard your name.
You slowed slightly, glancing over your shoulder just as someone stepped out of the stream of students moving past you.
Cedric Diggory.
You recognized him immediately, of course. You always did. Not because you sought him out, but because he was noticeable. There was hardly a girl in Hogwarts that didn't know of the Golden Boy Cedric Diggory.
You knew him, in the way that came from shared moments rather than shared time—train rides years ago, the occasional passing conversation, a familiarity that never quite developed into friendship but lingered comfortably in between.
He offered you a small, polite smile when you stopped.
“Hi.” He said when he reached you, slowing his pace to match yours as the two of you fell into step almost without thinking.
“Hi,” You returned, a small flicker of curiosity settling in as you glanced at him, “Everything alright?”
“Yeah—yeah, I just…” He huffed a quiet breath, one hand lifting briefly to the back of his neck in a gesture that almost looked like nerves, though it didn’t quite fit him.
“I was wondering if you’d—well, if you needed a partner for Herbology. Professor Sprout mentioned we’d be pairing up for the next assignment, and I thought…” He trailed off slightly, then smiled, a little more certain this time, “I thought I’d ask before it got chaotic.”
For a second, you just looked at him.
Not because the question was strange—it wasn’t—but because it caught you slightly off guard. You weren’t usually the person people sought out first, not for things like that, and there was something about the way he asked—straightforward, but careful—that made it difficult to respond immediately.
“I—um,” You started, the beginning of an answer forming—
And then you heard it.
Your name.
Again.
This time, it was not calm or measured or easy to miss.
It was strained, uneven, pulled tight with something dangerously close to panic.
You turned instinctively, your attention snapping toward the sound just in time to see Ron pushing his way through the corridor toward you, his face red, eyes glassy, shoulders tense like he was barely holding himself together.
He didn’t even slow down when he reached you—didn’t say anything at all, really—just collided into you with enough force to make you take a half-step back as his arms wrapped around you, his face burying itself into your shoulder.
And then he broke.
Not quietly, not subtly—full, shaking sobs that made his grip tighten as if letting go wasn’t an option.
Any trace of hesitation vanished instantly.
Your entire focus shifted without a second thought, your arms coming up around him automatically as you steadied him, one hand moving to the back of his head in a familiar, grounding gesture.
“Hey—hey, what’s wrong?” You asked softly, your voice dropping into something calmer, gentler, the kind of tone you’d used a hundred times before without even realizing it.
He tried to answer.
“I—she—she sent—” He tried, his voice thick and uneven.
Your brow furrowed slightly, “Slow down, I can’t understand you.”
“A—Howler—” He finally managed, the word coming out in a miserable wail.
And then it clicked.
Of course.
Despite yourself, you glanced up briefly, meeting Cedric’s gaze for just a second, and there was something shared there—understanding, a flicker of quiet amusement that neither of you voiced but both clearly felt.
You looked back down at Ron, your expression softening again as you reached up to wipe at his cheeks, brushing away tears that didn’t seem to stop coming.
“Well,” You said gently, not unkindly, “you did steal and then wreck our car. I don’t think you could’ve expected to get off with only a warning.”
That did not help.
If anything, it made him cling tighter, his voice muffled as he groaned into your shoulder, mortified all over again.
“She didn’t have to do it in front of everyone,” He mumbled, the words thick and miserable, “It was so humiliating—everyone was looking at me—”
“I know,” You murmured, softer this time, shifting slightly so you could look at him properly, your hands steady as you wiped the rest of his tears away with your thumbs. “I know. That part wasn’t very nice.”
He sniffed, shoulders still trembling, but the worst of it seemed to be passing now, the sharp edge of it dulling into something more manageable under the familiarity of your voice, your presence.
You hesitated for half a second, then smiled just a little.
“Come on,” You said, tilting your head toward the corridor, “Let’s go to the kitchens. I think you deserve something after that.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, still blotchy and miserable, but already softening at the suggestion.
“Okay.” He muttered, nodding slightly.
You gave his shoulder a small squeeze before straightening, your hand lingering briefly at the back of his arm. Then, as you turned to leave with him, you glanced back at Cedric, your expression apologetic as you mouthed a silent sorry.
He just shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in quiet amusement, like he had expected something along these lines from the moment your brother appeared.
“It’s fine,” He said lightly, though you were already half-turned away, “We’ll figure it out later.”
Professor Sprout, in the end, did assign partners.
Efficiently, without hesitation, and with absolutely no regard for any quiet arrangements that might have been attempted beforehand. By the time you arrived for the lesson, names were already being called, pairs already being formed, and whatever Cedric had been hoping for dissolved into something unspoken and irrelevant before either of you had the chance to bring it up again.
You ended up with someone from your house—pleasant enough, focused, not particularly talkative—and the lesson passed without incident.
Still, you noticed.
Not in any obvious way, not in a way that lingered too long, but just enough to register the brief glance Cedric gave you from across the greenhouse when the pairings were announced, the small, almost amused exhale that followed before he turned his attention back to his own partner.
It wasn’t disappointment, exactly.
Just something that could have been something else.
And then it passed.
Or at least, it should have.
A few days later, you found yourself alone again—or as alone as one could be in a castle like Hogwarts—standing just outside one of the quieter corridors near the courtyard, adjusting the strap of your bag as you mentally sorted through the next part of your day.
The air was cooler there, the noise of passing students softened by distance, and for a moment, it felt like a pause between everything else.
“Hey.”
Cedric stood a few steps away, hands tucked loosely into his pockets, his expression easy but just slightly more deliberate than usual, like he had made the decision to be there rather than simply ending up there by chance.
“Hi.” You said, a hint of recognition slipping into your tone now, something warmer than before.
He stepped a little closer, glancing briefly down the corridor before looking back at you. “I was going to ask—” He started, then paused, as if reconsidering his wording, “Did you understand the last bit of the Transfiguration homework? The part about switching incantations mid-cast. I was looking over it earlier and—”
It was a better excuse this time.
Though you were questioning why Golden Boy was asking you instead of literally anyone else. It wasn't like he had a shortage of people who were willing to give an arm and a leg to help him.
You opened your mouth to answer, already shifting into the conversation—
And then—
"(Y/N)!"
The voice was sharp, urgent, and far too familiar.
You turned immediately, your attention snapping toward the sound just as Ginny appeared at the end of the corridor, her steps quick and uneven, her expression caught somewhere between panic and embarrassment in a way that made your stomach drop before she even reached you.
With her bright red hair half-falling loose from its tie, her Gryffindor robes swaying around her, and the deep flush spreading across her face, she looked—rather unhelpfully—like a blur of red rushing straight toward you.
She didn’t slow down.
“Can I talk to you?” She blurted the second she was close enough, her voice lowered but no less frantic for it, her hands hovering awkwardly at her sides like she didn’t know what to do with them.
You didn’t even think about it.
“Of course,” You said instantly, your tone shifting the same way it always did, steady and grounding as you stepped toward her, your focus narrowing completely, “What’s wrong?”
Ginny glanced briefly past you—just enough to notice Cedric standing there—before leaning in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that still carried urgency, "In private."
Your eyes racked over her body before they landed on the jacket that she had tied around her waist.
“Oh.” You said softly, not startled, not alarmed—just calm. Understanding. Immediate.
Ginny’s hands clenched slightly at the fabric of her sleeves. “I didn’t know—it just—I don’t know what to do.” She rushed out, her words tumbling over each other now that she’d started, the embarrassment catching up with her all at once.
“It’s okay,” You said quickly, reaching out to steady her, your voice lowering just enough to keep it between the two of you, “It’s alright, Gin. It happens.”
She shook her head, mortified, "A boy from Ravenclaw saw—I'm so embarrassed."
“I’ve got you,” You interrupted gently, already guiding her to turn slightly, positioning yourself just enough to shield her from the open corridor without making it obvious, “Don’t worry about it, okay? We’ll fix it.”
Behind you, Cedric hadn’t moved.
Hadn’t interrupted.
But you were aware of him in that distant way you became aware of anything you had to leave unfinished, the conversation that had barely begun already slipping out of reach.
You glanced back at him briefly, just enough to catch his eye, your expression apologetic in a way that felt almost familiar now.
He didn’t even look surprised.
If anything, there was something faintly amused in the way he exhaled, the smallest shake of his head following like he’d already accepted how this was going to go.
“Go,” He said lightly, one corner of his mouth lifting, “I think this might be more important than Transfiguration.”
You let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh under different circumstances, nodding once in thanks before turning your attention fully back to Ginny, your hand settling at her arm in a reassuring squeeze.
“Come on,” you murmured, already guiding her down the corridor, your voice soft but certain. “We’ll go to the dormitories first, alright? I’ll help you.”
She nodded quickly, still flustered but clearly relieved, her steps falling into place beside yours as you led her away.
You gave one last glance to Cedric, "I can ask Percy to share some of his notes with you?"
He nodded, a smile on his face.
He didn't really have the heart to tell you that the homework was already complete.
By the time the castle began to settle again, you didn’t feel like celebrating.
Everyone else did.
The relief had come quickly, spreading through the corridors like wildfire the moment the truth was out—Ginny was safe, Ron was safe, the attacks were over, and whatever had been lurking in the shadows of Hogwarts had finally been dealt with.
There was laughter again, louder than before, conversations filled with retellings and exaggerations and a kind of excitement that only came from surviving something no one had fully understood in the first place.
You couldn’t quite bring yourself to join in.
Because every time someone said her name—every time someone mentioned what had happened, what she had gone through, what she had almost—
All you could think was:
You hadn’t known.
Not once.
Not when she was quieter than usual, not when she seemed distracted, not when something in her felt… off. You had been there. Right there. Watching, talking, helping with everything that didn’t matter—
And somehow you missed the one thing that did.
So instead of staying in the common room, instead of letting yourself be pulled into the relief of it all, you slipped away.
Down familiar corridors, past the places you knew wouldn’t be crowded, until you reached the kitchens. It wasn’t long before you found yourself sitting at the long wooden table with a mug of hot chocolate cradled between your hands, the warmth of it seeping into your skin in a way that should have been comforting.
It wasn’t.
You stared down into it instead, watching the faint swirl of steam rise and disappear, your grip tightening slightly around the ceramic as everything you’d been holding back finally began to surface.
It was stupid, really.
Your siblings were safe.
That was all that should have mattered.
And it did—of course it did—but it didn’t erase the rest of it, didn’t quiet the heavy, twisting feeling sitting in your chest, the one that kept circling back to the same thought over and over again.
You should've noticed. You should've known.
Your vision blurred before you realized you were crying, the first tear slipping down before you had the chance to stop it, followed by another, and then another until it became harder to pretend you were in control of it.
You ducked your head slightly, one hand coming up to press against your eyes as if that might be enough to hold it back.
You were her older sister.
That was supposed to mean something.
It was supposed to mean you noticed when things were wrong.
It was supposed to mean she came to you.
Like how you would go to your older brothers.
The sound of the door opening barely registered at first, slipping into the background of everything else, until the faint shift in the room—the subtle change in movement, in presence—pulled your attention up just enough to break through your thoughts.
You didn’t look up immediately.
Not until they stopped near your table.
“Hey.”
The voice was familiar.
You blinked, the world coming back into focus in slow pieces as you lifted your head, your eyes landing on Cedric where he stood a few steps away, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it, something careful in the way he looked at you like he already knew he’d found you at a bad moment.
For a second, neither of you said anything.
Then you let out a quiet breath that didn’t quite steady, your gaze dropping back down to your mug as your fingers tightened slightly around it.
“Hi.” You managed, your voice quieter than usual, roughened at the edges in a way you didn’t bother trying to hide.
He didn’t ask to sit.
He just did, pulling out the chair across from you with a quiet scrape and lowering himself into it like he intended to stay this time, like he wasn’t going to be interrupted or pulled away or left with half a conversation again.
“I didn’t see you at dinner.” He said after a moment, not accusing, not even questioning—just stating it gently, like an opening rather than a demand.
You huffed a soft, humorless breath at that, your lips pressing together briefly as you shook your head.
“I wasn’t hungry.” You said, which wasn’t entirely untrue.
Silence settled again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Cedric didn’t rush to fill it, didn’t push, didn’t try to steer you anywhere you weren’t ready to go. He just sat there, patient in a way that made it easier to exist in the quiet rather than feel like you had to escape it.
And somehow, that made it harder to hold everything in.
“I just—” you started, then stopped, your grip tightening slightly around the mug as your gaze fixed somewhere just past it. “I feel like such a bad older sister.”
The words came out quieter than you expected, but once they were there, they didn’t stop.
“I had no idea,” You continued, your voice wavering just enough to give you away, “I didn’t know she was struggling like that, I didn’t know she wasn’t talking to anyone, I didn’t—”
You swallowed, blinking quickly as the pressure behind your eyes built again, “She had to turn to some stupid, sentient journal with the conscience of the bloody dark lord to talk about things. About feelings. About boys.”
"Your her sister. Not a mind reader. Ginny knows how much you love her. No one expects you to know what's going on with your siblings all the time."
You didn’t respond right away.
Your gaze dropped again, your thoughts shifting, not gone—not fixed—but nudged, just slightly, out of the spiral they’d been stuck in.
After a moment, your shoulders sank just a fraction, some of the tension easing in a way you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.
“I still should’ve been better.” You murmured.
“She’s okay now,” He added after a moment, "That's all that matters."
The hospital wing smelled faintly of disinfectant and something sweet, probably from Madam Pomfrey’s constant efforts to make it more welcoming. The low hum of worry and whispered conversation filled the air, punctuated by the occasional clatter of a tray or the soft footfalls of nurses.
Harry lay in bed, pale and bruised, one arm still in a sling and a bandage running along the back of his head. His eyes were closed when you entered with Ron and Hermione, though you could see the tightness around his jaw even from a distance, the way his body refused to fully relax.
Cedric was already there, standing near the foot of the bed, hands loosely clasped in front of him. His expression was a mixture of concern and that quiet, composed kindness that seemed to follow him everywhere. The rest of the Quidditch team lingered nearby, some leaning against walls, others sitting on chairs, their chatter subdued in the presence of the hospital wing’s calm authority.
You made your way forward, letting your eyes meet Cedric’s briefly. There was an unspoken acknowledgment there, a quiet thread of familiarity that had been building for years—the kind that didn’t need words. He smiled softly, and you returned it with one of your own, both of you sharing a moment of warmth amidst the tension.
“I—uh—how are you feeling?” Cedric asked, stepping slightly closer to Harry’s bedside. His voice was gentle, careful, like he was trying to tread without adding any more worry.
Harry groaned softly, opening one eye, but his voice came out a little hoarse, “I fell off my broom. I think that says it all.”
Cedric’s expression tightened just a little, a flicker of guilt crossing his features, though he quickly masked it with his usual calm demeanor. He glanced at Oliver, who was hovering nearby, arms crossed, and then back at Harry.
"The dementors clearly interfered with the game, Hufflepuff has agreed to a rematch."
“No,” Oliver said flatly, “Hufflepuff won fair and square, we refuse.”
Cedric’s shoulders slumped fractionally, but he kept his gaze on Harry. When his eyes flicked toward you, though, there was a quiet softness there, a flicker of amusement and admiration all at once. You smiled at him, a small, fond curve of your lips. He looked so earnest, so sweet, offering a rematch even though he’d been the one to win.
“Don’t worry about it.” You murmured under your breath, letting the warmth in your smile reach him.
Then, inevitably, the calm shattered.
Fred and George, never ones to miss an opportunity, had clearly been lingering nearby, and their grins were impossible to miss even from across the room. “Oi, Harry,” George called softly, leaning against the wall, “you saw the Grim in Divination, didn’t you? That’s never good…”
“Yeah!” George added, elbowing him lightly, “Better start making friends in the afterlife! Any last words, mate?”
Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. Ron’s jaw tightened, though he didn’t speak. Harry’s eyes were already narrowing, more in irritation than fear, though there was a small twitch in his shoulder that betrayed his nerves.
You didn’t even pause. “Forge!” You snapped, your voice cutting through the murmurs like a whip. Both twins froze mid-smirk, turning toward you, and for a moment, the entire room seemed to hold its breath.
Fred and George exchanged a glance, then slowly sank back, their amusement dampened under your gaze. They muttered under their breath but said nothing more, clearly smart enough to know the game was up—for now.
Cedric blinked at you, clearly caught off guard, and then tilted his head slightly, one brow raised in curiosity.
“Forge?” He asked quietly, amusement lacing his tone.
“With the amount of trouble these two get into,” You sighed, “it’s easier just to call them by one name.”
The courtyard was quieter than usual.
Not empty—Hogwarts was never truly empty—but quieter in the way it always was toward the end of the year. Most students were either shut away in their common rooms or the library, scrambling to finish the assignments they had put off for far too long, or sprawled outside, taking advantage of the rare stretch of warm sunlight.
Students lingered in smaller groups, scattered across benches and steps, their voices softer, their conversations unhurried. The air had finally warmed, sunlight spilling over the stone and settling into something almost comfortable.
You sat on the low wall near the fountain, one leg tucked slightly beneath you, your bag resting at your side as you absently traced your finger along the edge of your sleeve.
Cedric stood nearby at first, lingering just long enough to make it seem unintentional before—after a moment’s hesitation—he sat beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost brushed.
“Done with everything?” He asked, glancing over at you.
“Mostly,” You said, exhaling softly, “I think I’ve got one more essay left for Transfiguration, but I’m pretending it doesn’t exist for now.”
He huffed a quiet laugh at that, his head dipping slightly, “That’s probably for the best.”
A small silence followed and you tilted your head slightly, glancing at him, “What about you?”
“Finished.” He said, though there was a faint hesitation behind it, like his attention wasn’t fully on the answer. His fingers tapped lightly against his knee, once, twice—restless in a way you didn’t usually see from him.
“…Everything alright?” You asked, softer now, your gaze lingering on him just a second longer.
Cedric let out a breath, something shifting in his expression—something more uncertain than you were used to. He glanced at you, then away again, like he was trying to find the right words.
“Yeah, I just—” He started, then stopped, his hand lifting briefly to the back of his neck.
“I was wondering if you—” He tried again, his voice quieter now, more deliberate, “if you might want to—”
“Miss Weasley.”
The voice cut cleanly through the moment.
You both turned immediately.
Professor McGonagall stood a few steps away, her posture as straight as ever, her expression composed—but there was something in her eyes, something that made your stomach drop before she even spoke again.
You were already on your feet before you realized it.
“Yes, Professor?”
“One of your brothers has been taken to the hospital wing.”
The words landed all at once.
Your breath caught. “What—?” You took a step forward instinctively, your mind already racing ahead of you, “Which one?”
“Ronald.”
You stared at her for half a second.
Then—despite everything, despite the concern already tightening in your chest—your shoulders dropped just slightly, disbelief slipping in around the edges.
“…Again?” You said, the word coming out before you could stop it.
McGonagall’s lips pressed together, though whether she was suppressing a sigh or a comment, you couldn’t quite tell.
You ran a hand over your face briefly, already turning on your heel.
“Why is it always those three?” You muttered under your breath, more to yourself than anyone else, exasperation bleeding into the worry, “Honestly, I leave them alone for five minutes...”
Cedric immediately fell into step beside you, his usual composure giving way to concern, though his hands stayed in his pockets, tight against himself as if holding on to some semblance of control.
“You—do you need me to come with you?” He asked quietly, looking at you with that soft, careful gaze he always reserved for moments like this.
You shook your head. “No… no, I’ve got this.” But your pace quickened, Cedric matching you effortlessly.
As you hurried down the familiar corridors, the casual moment that had been building—the one where Cedric was clearly about to ask you to Hogsmeade—slipped just out of reach. Instead, the urgency of the hospital wing, the thought of Ron writhing in pain, took over.
“You were going to ask me something...” You said quietly, almost to yourself, stealing a glance at Cedric. His lips twitched, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah…” He murmured, the words trailing off as his gaze flicked toward you, “We’ll have to… save that for another day.”
The doors to the Hospital Wing swung open with more force than strictly necessary, your steps quick and purposeful as your eyes immediately scanned the room.
It didn’t take long to find him.
Ron was propped up in one of the beds, his leg elevated and wrapped, hair a mess, freckles standing out starkly against skin that was just a little too pale—but he was awake. Talking. Complaining, probably.
Alive.
Your shoulders dropped slightly, relief hitting first, sharp and immediate.
And then—
“Ronald Bilius Weasley!”
Ron startled so hard he nearly knocked his own pillow over. His eyes went wide the second he saw you, pure instinct kicking in before anything else.
“It wasn’t my fault!” He blurted immediately, sitting up straighter despite the clear pain it caused, “Scabbers was Peter Pettigrew and he framed Sirius Black!”
You stopped mid-step.
“…what?”
The path had long since stopped resembling anything civilized.
What had started as something that could vaguely pass as a trail had quickly dissolved into uneven ground, overgrown roots, and branches that seemed determined to catch on your sleeves at every opportunity.
You stepped over yet another fallen log with a quiet huff, brushing leaves from your skirt as you glanced ahead.
“Dad,” Ron called from somewhere behind you, already sounding tired, “where exactly are we going?”
“Somewhere in this direction.” Your father replied cheerfully, not slowing in the slightest.
“That’s not very reassuring.” Hermione muttered.
Fred snorted, “He hasn’t the faintest clue, has he?”
“I heard that,” Your father said mildly, “And I’d like to remind you that I am leading us to the Quidditch World Cup.”
“Eventually.” George added.
You huffed a quiet laugh, adjusting the strap of your bag as you stepped over a particularly stubborn root, your shoulder brushing lightly against Ginny’s.
“Do you actually know where the portkey is?” You asked, glancing at your father.
“Haven’t the foggiest!” He admitted, cheerfully.
A chorus of groans followed immediately.
Fred and George exchanged a look, Ron muttered something under his breath about typical, and Ginny let out a dramatic sigh as she trudged forward.
Harry and Hermione, walking just behind you, shared a glance that was somewhere between amusement and mild concern.
The group pressed on, the forest thick around you, the sound of footsteps and rustling leaves filling the space between conversations. Just as you were beginning to think your earlier comment might actually be correct—
“Ah! There we are!”
Your father’s voice lit up with sudden triumph, and you looked up just in time to see him veering slightly off the path toward a large tree.
A man stood beneath it, broad and sturdy, holding onto several bags that looked far too heavy to be carried comfortably.
“Amos!” Your father greeted warmly, striding forward, “Good to see you!”
“Arthur!” The man—Amos—returned just as enthusiastically, shifting the bags in his grip as the two men shook hands.
The rest of you filtered in behind, and introductions began almost immediately.
“This is my family!”
Names were exchanged, greetings offered, and you stepped forward when it was your turn, offering a polite smile.
You offered a polite smile, “It’s nice to meet you.”
“And you, my dear.” He said warmly.
Your gaze flicked briefly to the bags near his feet, and before you could think twice about it, you stepped forward slightly.
“Can I help you with any of those?” You asked.
Amos blinked at you, clearly charmed. “Aren’t you sweet, love? No, no—it’s quite alright.” He waved a hand dismissively before adding, with a touch of amused exasperation, “My son should be carrying them anyway.”
There was a beat.
Then—
A sudden rustle overhead.
Before you could even react, something dropped from the tree above with a solid thud, landing just a few feet away.
You startled sharply, stepping back on instinct, your heart jumping into your throat—
Only to be met with a very familiar face.
Cedric Diggory straightened from where he’d landed, brushing a bit of dirt from his sleeves like this was a completely normal entrance.
“Sorry.” He said, not sounding sorry at all.
Your father lit up immediately, “And this strapping young lad must be Cedric!”
Cedric smiled, polite and composed as ever, “Yes, sir.”
But then his eyes flicked to you. There was a glint of amusement there, a teasing curve to his mouth as he clearly clocked the way you’d jumped.
You told yourself the increase heartrate was because of the fright.
The world snapped back into place all at once.
Your feet hit solid ground, though not gracefully, and for a moment everything spun—wind in your ears, the taste of dust in your mouth, your grip still locked tight around the portkey like letting go might send you flying again.
And then—
Stillness.
Grass beneath your boots. Voices. The distant roar of something massive in the distance.
You let go.
Around you, everyone else was doing the same—stumbling, coughing, untangling themselves from one another in various states of disarray.
“Ugh—” Ron groaned somewhere to your left.
“I hate portkeys.” Hermione muttered, pushing her hair out of her face.
Harry, however, was glaring at you.
“You didn’t have to push my face into the manky old boot.” He whined, wiping at his cheek.
You turned your head, already narrowing your eyes as he pushed himself up from the ground, brushing at his glasses in mild offense.
“I told you to grab the boot,” You shot back without missing a beat, “Twice.”
“I was going to grab it!”
“You weren’t.” You said flatly.
“I was—!”
“Would you rather we’d just left you there?”
He opened his mouth, then paused, “…okay, but you still didn’t have to shove me.”
Behind you, Cedric chuckled, falling into step with you quite easily as your joint families began the trek towards the tents.
“Never a day off, huh?” He said lightly, amusement warm in his voice.
You blinked at him for a second, slightly puzzled by the comment, like you hadn’t quite realized what you’d just done.
“What?” You asked.
He gestured vaguely between you and Harry, his smile widening just a fraction. “You,” He said simply, “And your tornado of siblings.”
You huffed a quiet breath, glancing away for a second as your father’s voice called out ahead, already moving everyone along toward the tents, "They're a circus."
Cedric laughed softly under his breath, falling into step beside you as the group began moving forward, the field stretching out ahead, dotted with tents that grew more and more elaborate the further you walked.
For a moment, things settled—just walking, the distant buzz of the World Cup crowd building in the background, the aftermath of the portkey fading into something almost normal.
Cedric glanced at you again. “So—” He started, clearly picking up a conversation he’d been trying to have earlier, “about—”
“—Charlie! Bill!”
You didn’t even realize you’d cut him off until it was too late.
The second you spotted them—two familiar figures standing just outside one of the tents—you were already moving.
Charlie barely had time to react before you collided into him, your arms wrapping tightly around him as he laughed, catching you easily and lifting you slightly off the ground.
“There she is!” He said, his voice full of warmth.
“Hi!” You breathed, grinning as you pulled back just enough to look at him properly before immediately leaning into Bill next, who didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around you, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head.
“Missed us that much?” Bill teased.
“Not at all.” You shot back, though your smile gave you away.
“Well, well, well,” Fred began, spinning around to step in front of you, hands on his hips like the self-appointed announcer of the world, “look at this! Some would think you don’t like the rest of your siblings at all!”
“I don’t.” You said, perfectly deadpan.
Behind you, the rest of your family caught up quickly, voices overlapping, greetings loud and chaotic as always.
Cedric slowed a few steps back, watching the scene unfold with a small smile on his face.
The tents were set, your parents occupied somewhere deeper in the campsite, and your siblings had already scattered—some exploring, some arguing, some undoubtedly causing problems.
You were just stepping out from your family’s tent when you spotted him again.
Cedric.
He was making his way over, hands tucked loosely into his pockets, posture relaxed but purposeful—like he knew exactly where he was going.
Your stomach did that annoying little flip it had started doing around him lately.
You ignored it.
“Well then,” Bill said, straightening slightly as Cedric came to a stop beside you. His tone was light, but there was something amused behind it, “Who’s this?”
You opened your mouth to answer—
But of course, he wasn’t finished.
“We’ve got a lot of siblings,” Bill continued thoughtfully, glancing Cedric up and down as if assessing him, “but I think I’d remember if Mum had another one.”
You rolled your eyes immediately, “Oh, shut up.”
Charlie snorted beside him, arms loosely crossed, watching the interaction with easy curiosity.
You gestured between them. “Cedric, this is Bill,” You nodded toward your older brother, “And that’s Charlie.”
Cedric straightened slightly, recognition settling in almost instantly.
“You need no introduction,” He said, a small, genuine smile forming, “You’re a legend. Best Seeker Gryffindor’s had in years.”
Charlie blinked once—
Then broke into a grin.
“Oh, I like you,” He said immediately, stepping forward and clapping Cedric firmly on the shoulder, jostling him slightly, “Diggory, right?”
Cedric laughed under his breath, steadying himself, “Yeah.”
“Knew I did,” Charlie nodded, as if this confirmed everything, “Bloke with a good head on his shoulders.”
You sighed, already knowing where this was going, “Flattery will get you everywhere with him.”
Cedric’s laugh softened as he glanced at you briefly, something warm flickering there before he looked back at Charlie, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Only the good things, I hope.” Charlie grinned.
“Debatable.” You cut in dryly.
Bill let out a low chuckle at that, clearly enjoying himself as the four of you fell into easy conversation. It wasn’t anything particularly serious—just small talk, Quidditch, the World Cup. There was laughter and teasing, but nothing too serious—just the kind of light, easy back-and-forth that made Cedric’s presence feel completely natural, like he’d always belonged in these small moments with your family.
And every now and then, you caught him glancing at you.
Then—
“(Y/N)!”
Ginny’s voice rang out across the campsite.
You closed your eyes briefly.
"Can you braid my hair?! I want Dutch braids!"
You let out a long, suffering sigh, already pushing yourself to your feet, “Duty calls.”
Charlie laughed immediately, loud and unhelpful.
“Laugh it up,” You said over your shoulder, glancing back at him, “It’ll be you next.”
He scoffed, completely unbothered, “Please. I already did my time with you.”
Cedric, who had been watching the exchange with quiet amusement, tilted his head slightly, “Did you?”
That was all it took.
“Oh, yes,” Charlie said eagerly, clearly delighted to have the chance to embarrass you in front of someone else for once, “You have no idea—she used to cling to me all the time when she was little. Every time I tried to go out with the lads, there she’d be, bawling her eyes out on the doorstep because she didn’t want me to go.”
You winced, covering your face for a moment, but Charlie wasn’t done.
“And there was this rule,” He continued, voice full of mock seriousness, “if I wanted to play Quidditch, I had to put her down for a nap first. Otherwise she would cry the entire game, thinking I’d get hurt on my broom. Every. Single. Time.”
Cedric laughed, genuinely this time, leaning slightly forward like he was savoring every embarrassing detail, “That’s actually kind of adorable.”
You blinked, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Well excuse me,” You said sharply, “for loving my older brother! I shall never do such an unsavory thing again.”
With that, you stormed off toward Ginny, leaving Charlie and Bill doubled over in laughter behind you.
The Great Hall was far more somber than usual. The tables had been cleared, and the usual magical sky that lit up the room with sparkling stars was gone, leaving the Goblet of Fire in the center of the hall as the sole source of light, bathing everything in a delicate, almost eerie blue glow.
You inwardly wished you had gotten to the hall before your brothers had downed the aging potion—if you had, you would have smacked them so hard they might think twice before attempting something so dimwitted.
Unfortunately, it seemed you had arrived just a few minutes too late. Fred and George had ignored Hermione’s warnings entirely and were now rolling on the floor, bickering like children—or rather, old men, considering they looked every bit their great-grandfathers, complete with wrinkles, grey hair, and a beard to match.
You pinched the bridge of your nose and let out a long sigh, stepping forward, “Forge! Seriously?!”
They barely noticed, bickering and rolling against each other as if you weren’t even there. You crouched quickly, yanking their ears in opposite directions to separate them.
“Ow! Hey!” Fred yelped, squirming.
“Oi! That’s cheating!” George shouted, flailing.
“I don’t care!” You snapped, straightening and glaring at them both, “Stop it. Right now.”
They froze, glancing up at you with sheepish grins, like they might actually apologize. But, of course, it didn’t last.
“You could sign up,” Fred said casually, tilting his head with a mischievous glint in his eye, “since you’re seventeen. You could—”
“Absolutely not.” You interrupted firmly. “I am not going to do something as moronic as sign up for a death wish.”
“Harsh.” Came the teasing voice beside you.
You turned, and there he was: Cedric Diggory, hands tucked casually into his pockets, looking absolutely soaked to the bone like he had just gotten caught in the rain.
“You wound me, Weasley.” He said, voice light but carrying that teasing edge you’d learned to expect from him.
You frowned, concern quickly replacing your irritation, “You’d better hope your name doesn’t get pulled, Cedric. The tasks are dangerous. This whole thing is imbecilic.”
“If I’m not mistaken,” He said softly, voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip, “I’d say you were worried about me.”
“Worried the Yule Ball is going to get canceled on account of a funeral, more like it.” You muttered, rolling your eyes.
“Such little faith,” He said, voice lowering in a way that made your pulse skip, “But—uh, speaking of the Yule Ball—I was wondering… maybe you’d like to—”
Before he could finish, the doors of the Great Hall burst open with a dramatic crash, drawing every eye in the room. The tallest, broadest figure you’d ever seen strode in: Viktor Krum.
All conversation ceased instantly. Every student froze, eyes widening, as the Bulgarian Quidditch star made his way confidently to the center of the hall, robes sweeping the floor with every step.
He passed the line, reached the Goblet of Fire, and placed his name inside, sparing only a brief glance at Hermione as he did. You tilted your head, watching the interaction between them with quiet curiosity.
He withdrew his hand, and the hall erupted into cheers, the excitement and tension washing over the room. Just like that, Cedric’s question—and the small, promising moment between you—was swept away.
The stands were packed.
The noise was overwhelming—cheering, shouting, the low hum of anticipation vibrating through the air—but it all felt distant to you, muffled behind the rapid thud of your own heartbeat.
Because down below—
Cedric was stepping into the arena.
You didn’t realize your hands had clenched until your nails bit into your palms, your breath catching as the gates opened and the dragon came into view.
It was massive.
Far bigger than you’d imagined, scales glinting in the light, smoke curling from its nostrils as it shifted, wings twitching with barely-contained power. You brought your hands up almost immediately, fingers splaying just enough so you could barely see through them.
“I’m not watching,” You said, even as your eyes stayed fixed between the gaps, “I’m not watching—”
The dragon roared.
You flinched.
“—I’m watching.”
Around you, people were shouting, gasping, reacting to every movement—but you were locked in on him. Every dodge, every spell, every second he got just a little too close—
Your stomach dropped.
“Cedric—” You whispered under your breath, like he could somehow hear you.
And then—
It was over.
The egg was in his hands.
The stands erupted.
You didn’t even realize you were moving until you were already pushing through the crowd, down the steps, heart still racing as the adrenaline hadn’t quite faded yet. By the time you reached him, he was being ushered toward the edge of the arena, healers already moving in.
You waited until he was back in the privacy of his tent to approach, lest that cow Skeeter see you and decide to write some longwinded lie about how Cedric was madly in love with you.
Cedric blinked, slightly breathless, a little flushed from the heat and effort—but when he saw you, something in his expression softened instantly.
“Well, hello to you too.” He said, voice light despite the situation.
“You’re burned,” You said panicked, ignoring him completely as your fingers brushed carefully along his jaw, already assessing the damage, the skin under your touch began to get remarkably redder and you felt your heart clench, "I told you this was a horrible idea, Cedric."
He huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t stop you as you continued to check him over. The burn wasn’t terrible—but it was enough. Enough to make your chest tighten just looking at it.
“You could’ve been seriously hurt.” You muttered, quieter now, more to yourself than him.
Cedric’s gaze flickered over your face, something softer settling there.
“But I wasn’t.” He said gently.
You didn’t respond right away, finishing what you were doing before stepping back slightly, your shoulders relaxing just a fraction now that he was—relatively—fine.
“…You did well." You said finally, meeting his eyes.
A small smile tugged at his lips, “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” You nodded, “I mean, it was still a completely idiotic thing to sign up for—but you did well.”
He laughed softly, “I’ll take that as high praise, coming from you.”
There was a beat.
The noise of the crowd carried on around you, distant again, like the two of you had been momentarily carved out of it.
Cedric shifted slightly, like he was working up to something again.
"So—about the ball—" He started, a little more confident this time, a little more certain now that he had your full attention.
But before he actually got the words out—
A roar of cheers erupted behind you.
Louder than before.
You turned instinctively, just in time to see Harry enter the arena.
“Oh—”
Your attention snapped away immediately, your head turning fully now, your focus shifting as the crowd surged with excitement again.
“Harry!” You called, already stepping forward slightly, completely pulled into the moment.
Cedric blinked.
Then looked between you and the arena.
Then back at you.
And laughed.
“Well,” He said, shaking his head slightly, a grin pulling at his lips, “way to make a guy feel jealous.”
You glanced back at him, only half-processing what he’d said, still caught up in the adrenaline of it all, “What?”
But he just smiled, stepping back slightly, giving you space as your attention stayed fixed on Harry now.
“Nothing,” He said easily, “Go on.”
The noise from the arena hadn’t quite faded yet.
Students were still talking over each other, replaying every moment of the task like they’d all personally been down there facing dragons instead of watching safely from the stands. The air felt charged, buzzing with adrenaline that hadn’t settled, and even as you stepped away from it all, your heart still hadn’t quite slowed.
You barely made it past the outer edge of the enclosure before a familiar voice cut through the chaos—
“Well, that was something, wasn’t it?”
You froze.
Your head snapped up so fast it almost hurt.
No—
There was no way—
But there he was.
Leaning casually against one of the wooden barriers, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself.
“Charlie?”
The word left you half in disbelief, half in something brighter—something immediate.
His grin widened.
And that was all it took.
You didn’t think—you just moved.
“Charlie!”
You practically launched yourself at him, arms wrapping tightly around his middle as he laughed, already bracing for the impact, catching you easily like he always did.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming!” You said, pulling back just enough to look at him properly, hands still gripping his sleeves like he might disappear if you let go, “I can’t believe you’re here.”
"I couldn't tell you because I'm here for work, love. Someone’s got to handle the dragons.”
You blinked.
“…You brought them?”
Charlie grinned, clearly proud of that, “Course I did.”
"Couldn't you have brought slightly friendlier ones?"
He laughed, "These are the friendlier ones."
The corridors between classes were always busy, but there was a different kind of chaos that came with a castle full of students anticipating something like the Yule Ball.
Voices echoed off the stone walls, laughter bouncing between groups, whispers slipping through in quick bursts—who was going with who, who had already been asked, who was still waiting. Last you heard, Harry was going with Cho, Fred had somehow managed to land Angelina without even properly asking her, and Ron had spectacularly failed every attempt he’d made, growing more miserable by the hour.
You were halfway to your next class, books tucked under your arm, your mind only half on where you were going, when you felt it—that familiar presence falling into step beside you.
You didn’t need to look.
“You really shouldn’t be all alone in these halls,” Cedric’s voice came, light and easy, threaded with amusement, “Who knows what kind of danger could be lurking?”
You glanced over anyway, already fighting the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re right,” You said, nodding thoughtfully, “Who knows when Professor Moody will jump out and turn me into a ferret. I was hoping someone would come rescue me.”
“Lucky day, then.” He said, matching your pace effortlessly, his shoulder brushing yours just slightly as the two of you navigated the crowd.
For a moment, it was easy—just walking, just talking, the noise of the corridor fading into something distant.
Cedric cleared his throat quietly.
“So—about the Yule Ball.” He started, and there was something different this time. Something less certain, less practiced.
You raised a brow, glancing at him, “What about it?”
“Well, I was thinking—” He began, and for once, Cedric Diggory actually sounded unsure of himself. His hand lifted slightly, like he meant to gesture, then dropped again, “I was wondering if maybe you’d—”
“(Y/N)!”
Ginny’s voice cut through everything like a blade.
You barely had time to react before she came rushing toward you, slightly out of breath, clutching a bundle of fabric in her arms like it had personally offended her.
“Look at this,” She said urgently, shoving the material up between you and Cedric without warning, “Look at it!”
You blinked, instinctively taking a step back as she held up what could only be described as… a dress.
A very old dress.
“Ginny—”
“It’s ghastly!” She insisted, shaking it for emphasis, lace and sleeves flopping dramatically, “How am I supposed to wear something that looks like it came from the 1700s and not die of embarrassment?”
Cedric, who had been mid-sentence only seconds ago, paused—but to his credit, he recovered quickly.
He leaned in slightly, examining the dress with surprising seriousness, like this was now his responsibility. “It’s… not too bad.” He offered carefully.
Ginny stared at him like he’d just committed a personal betrayal.
“They’re ghastly!” She repeated, louder this time, as if volume alone would prove her point.
You let out a soft laugh despite yourself, reaching out to steady the fabric before she accidentally smacked someone with it. “Alright, alright,” You said, amused, “What exactly do you want me to do about it?”
Ginny lowered the dress slightly, her expression changing from panic to pleading, “Ron told me you’re altering his dress robes,” She said quickly, “Can you do mine too?”
You hesitated, glancing down at the dress, already mentally deconstructing it—too much fabric, outdated cut, sleeves that needed saving or removing entirely. “I mean… I’m not a professional,” You admitted, “But I’ve gotten pretty good over the years.”
Ginny perked up instantly, “Really?”
You nodded, shifting your books slightly under your arm. “Mum used to buy me these ridiculously long skirts,” You said, rolling your eyes faintly, “The kind that made me look like a complete prude. So I started hemming them myself—just a bit shorter, just enough to make them… wearable.”
As you spoke, you gestured to your own skirt, showing the subtle difference.
Cedric noticed.
Of course he did.
“They are quite lovely.” He said, almost absentmindedly—but his gaze lingered on your legs just a fraction too long, something warmer slipping into his tone.
You blinked.
And then immediately felt the heat rise to your cheeks, your composure slipping just slightly as you let out a small, flustered laugh. “Right—well—I can try.” You said, suddenly very aware of him standing so close, “I’m still altering my own dress to fit properly though.”
Ginny, blissfully oblivious to all of it, grabbed your sleeve and looked up at you with wide, hopeful eyes, “But you’ll do it?”
You exhaled, already giving in. “Come on, then,” You said, turning, “I’ll need your measurements.”
Ginny beamed, instantly tugging you along with her.
Cedric opened his mouth—again.
“Wait—”
But you were already moving, Ginny pulling you down the corridor, dress in hand, talking a mile a minute about sleeves, lace, colors, and everything she hated about it.
And just like that, you were gone again—dragged up the stairs toward your dorm, already mentally mapping out every alteration you’d need to make to salvage the disaster in her hands.
Behind you, Cedric slowed to a stop in the middle of the corridor.
His hand, which had lifted slightly to stop you, fell back to his side.
For a second, he just stood there, watching the space where you’d disappeared, the noise of the corridor rushing back in around him.
Then he let out a quiet breath, shaking his head, a soft laugh slipping out despite himself.
“Unbelievable.” He muttered under his breath, though there was no real frustration in it—just something fond.
The Gryffindor common room had never looked like this before.
It wasn’t its usual warm, slightly chaotic mess of scattered books and half-finished homework—tonight, it was alive in a completely different way. Gold and candlelight flickered against polished shoes and pressed robes, laughter spilling from every corner as people adjusted ties, smoothed hair, and whispered last-minute nerves about the night ahead.
And at the center of it all—
You.
Because somehow, despite not even being ready yourself until ten minutes ago, you had managed to get everyone else sorted first.
Ginny had been first. She’d started knocking on your door in tears, having made a complete mess of the little makeup she’d attempted and having no idea what to do with her hair. You sat her down, ignoring the dramatics, and got to work.
Now, she was practically glowing—her dress, which you had managed to salvage into something far more wearable than its original state, actually suited her. You styled her hair neatly and applied a modest amount of makeup, firmly refusing when she tried to convince you to add more.
Then came Hermione. She’d only meant to ask your opinion on her dress and hair, but the moment you noticed how uncomfortable she was with all the bobby pins, you sat her down without a second thought.
Swapping them out for sticking charms—a solution she hadn’t even considered—you adjusted everything with careful precision, touching up her makeup just enough to settle it perfectly into place.
“You look beautiful.” You told her simply.
And you meant it.
Then came Ron.
Which, quite frankly, had been your last nerve.
You forcibly sat him down, ignoring his loud complaints—really, anyone would think you were attempting to torture him rather than make him look even remotely presentable. You fixed his hair, adjusted his robes as much as they could be saved, and sent him off with a firm warning to behave like a human being for once in his life.
Last was Harry—quiet, slightly overwhelmed, but cooperative enough as you smoothed his hair into something vaguely acceptable.
And only then—finally—did you get yourself ready.
By the time you were done, the common room was already beginning to empty, students drifting toward the Great Hall in clusters of excitement and nerves.
You barely spared yourself more than a glance before grabbing your things and heading for the door.
You were late.
Of course you were. At this rate, you’d be lucky to arrive in time to see the champions’ dance.
You pushed through the last cluster of students, adjusting your sleeve as you moved quickly toward the exit when you saw him.
Cedric.
He stood just off to the side, like he’d been waiting—hands flexing slightly at his sides, posture just a little too stiff to be casual. Like he’d been working himself up to something.
Your steps faltered.
Just slightly.
Your stomach flipped.
Again.
He looked up the second he noticed you—and for a moment, just a moment, he forgot whatever he’d been about to say.
Because he was staring.
And for once, Cedric Diggory—confident, composed, effortlessly charming—looked completely, utterly thrown.
You blinked, suddenly very aware of yourself under that look.
“You look beautiful, (Y/N).”
Heat rushed to your face almost instantly. You lowered your gaze, half to hide it, reaching out instinctively to smooth the lapels of his dress robes, the fine material warm beneath your fingers.
“You look quite beautiful yourself.” You murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
“I—uh—”
But before he could get another word out—
Ron passed behind you, grumbling loudly, “I can’t believe Hermione is going with the enemy.”
Your expression dropped immediately.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
Cedric blinked, “What—?”
“I need to fix that.” You muttered, already turning, fully prepared to march over and set your brother straight.
Because no one—no one—was going to talk about Hermione like that. Not tonight. Not when she finally looked at herself and saw what everyone else already did. And certainly not your little brother.
You barely made it two steps—
Before—
“Oh, Helga—(Y/N) Weasley!”
The room went quiet.
Completely quiet.
You froze mid-step.
Slowly—very slowly—you turned back.
Cedric was standing where you’d left him.
Except now he looked… different.
Still nervous, still unsure—but there was something steadier beneath it now. Like he’d finally decided he wasn’t letting the moment slip away again.
Every eye in the room was on him.
On you.
And he didn’t look away.
“Will you,” He said, voice carrying across the room—firm, but softened at the edges by something unmistakably earnest, “be my date to the Yule Ball?”
For a second—
You didn’t move.
Then your brain caught up.
Heat rushed to your face so quickly it was almost embarrassing, a smile breaking through before you could stop it—bright, relieved, a little breathless.
“Of course.” You said, like it had always been obvious.
Your head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction in playful disbelief.
“I was wondering when you were going to ask me.” You added, a soft laugh slipping through.
“What took you so long?”
You really hated the hospital wing.
In the last four years, you had been there more times than you could count, and not once had it actually been for you. That was the unfortunate reality of having younger siblings who seemed determined to land themselves in trouble in increasingly creative ways, and you had grown used to it—the scolding, the hovering, the quiet irritation that came with it all.
But this time felt different.
The worry sitting in your chest wasn’t familiar. It didn’t feel like the usual exasperated concern you carried for your brothers—it was heavier, sharper, lingering in a way that made it hard to breathe properly. It crawled up your throat and stayed there, refusing to settle, and no matter how many times you tried to reason with yourself, it didn’t go away.
You didn’t really understand it.
Or maybe you did.
There was a difference between platonic worry and something else. Something deeper. Something that made your hands feel restless and your chest feel too tight all at once.
And the stakes had never been this high before.
When Harry had reappeared from the maze, Cedric’s body unmoving beside him as he spoke of Lord Voldemort, something inside you had dropped so suddenly it left you standing there, unable to think, unable to move, unable to do anything but stare.
Like the ground had given out beneath your feet.
You and Cedric hadn’t even been together that long.
After the Yule Ball—after he had finally managed to ask you—you had slipped into something easy, something familiar, something that hadn’t quite had the time to settle into anything fully real yet. Which was exactly why you hadn’t run to him on the grounds like you’d wanted to.
You had stayed back, forcing yourself to let the professors handle it, to let his father reach him first, telling yourself that it wasn’t your place—that whatever this was between you, it wasn’t enough to justify pushing through that kind of moment.
But then the hours had turned into days, and the waiting had become unbearable. Days of not knowing, days of hearing fragments and whispers but nothing certain, days of that quiet, suffocating fear settling deeper into your chest with nowhere to go.
So the moment you heard he was awake—that he had asked for you—you didn’t hesitate.
You ran.
The heavy doors of the hospital wing swung open under your hands, and you stepped inside quickly, your eyes scanning the room before immediately landing on him.
It was easy enough, considering he was the only one in here that began grinning like a fool at the sight of you.
Relief hit you so suddenly it almost made your knees give out.
You forced yourself forward, one step at a time, until you reached his bed, stopping just close enough to touch but not quite letting yourself yet.
“Hi.”
The word came out softer than you intended.
Cedric’s smile shifted, something warmer settling into it, “Well, hello to you too.”
Your eyes moved over him instinctively, taking in the bandaged burns along his arm, the healing cut near his brow, the faint exhaustion he wasn’t quite hiding as well as he thought he was.
“Are you alright?”
“Right as rain now that I’ve seen you.”
A quiet breath of laughter slipped from you, your head shaking faintly, “Only you would say that after facing bloody Voldemort.”
He didn’t argue.
Instead, he reached for you.
His hand found yours easily, fingers wrapping around it before gently tugging you closer, closing the distance you had been holding onto without even realizing it. You let yourself be pulled in, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed beside him, your heart already beginning to beat a little too fast.
Cedric was looking at you—properly looking—but every time you tried to meet his gaze, yours betrayed you, flickering instead to the marks on his skin, the evidence of just how wrong everything could have gone.
Your frown deepened.
“I’m alright." He said gently.
You scoffed, though there was no real bite to it, “You’re in the hospital wing.”
“Which is better than the alternative.”
Your breath caught slightly at that, the words settling heavier than he seemed to intend.
“Cedric—”
“I’m okay.” He repeated, more firmly this time, his gaze steady enough to pull yours back to his.
And then it softened.
His eyes dropped briefly to your hand, still held between both of his, his thumb brushing slowly along your knuckles as though grounding himself in the simple contact. The movement was absentminded, almost, but there was something careful in it too—something that made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
Before you could think too much about it, he lifted your hand slightly and pressed his lips gently against your knuckles.
Your breath hitched.
Your heart stumbled, uneven and sudden, and when his eyes met yours again, something in them had changed—quieter now, a little uncertain, like he wasn’t entirely sure how far he was allowed to go.
“Can I—” He started, his voice catching just slightly.
Your eyes flicked to his lips before you could stop yourself, the movement quick but impossible to hide.
You didn’t trust your voice.
So you nodded.
That was all he needed.
He leaned in slowly, carefully, like this moment might slip through his fingers if he moved too quickly. His hand tightened slightly around yours, the other hovering for a second before resting lightly against your arm, hesitant but certain enough to stay.
And then his lips brushed yours, capturing your upper lip between both of his.
Soft. Barely there.
It was so light it almost didn’t feel real at first, the kind of touch that made your head spin simply because it was happening at all. He lingered there, gentle and tentative, like he was waiting—like he was making sure you wanted this just as much as he did.
For a moment, you let it stay like that, suspended in something fragile and quiet.
Until it wasn’t enough.
You leaned in slightly, closing the space between you properly, and that small shift was all it took.
The kiss deepened—not rushed, not overwhelming, but certain. Your hand tightened in his, your other lifting instinctively to rest against the back of his neck, fingers brushing lightly against his hair as you held him there. He inhaled sharply, tilting his head as he deepened the kiss, devouring you—
“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!”
You and Cedric sprang apart like you’d been hit with a Stunning Spell.
Your heart leapt into your throat as you whipped around—
Charlie.
Standing in the doorway.
Arms crossed.
Oh Good Godric.
“Charlie—”
“No,” He cut in immediately, pointing a finger at you like you were five again and had just been caught stealing biscuits from the kitchen, “No—don’t you ‘Charlie’ me.”
You blinked at him, “What are you even doing here?”
“I came to check on you and golden boy,” He snapped, before gesturing wildly between you and Cedric, “And I find this?!”
Cedric, to his credit, had the decency to look at least slightly guilty. Only slightly.
You, however, frowned, “It’s just a kiss—”
“JUST a—?!” Charlie looked personally offended. Then, without missing a beat: “You’re grounded.”
You stared at him.
“I’m what?”
“Grounded for,” He repeated firmly. Then, after a brief pause, as if deciding to make it worse: “Until you graduate.”
Your jaw dropped.
“For-Until I graduate?!”
“Yes!”
“Why?!”
He looked at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “For kissing that git!”
You turned, incredulous, gesturing toward Cedric, “You’re the one who said he was a nice boy! That he had a good head on his shoulders!”
“I take it back!” Charlie shot back immediately, “He’s a bloody cradle-robber!”
Your eyes widened, “We’re the same age!”
Charlie was already moving, grabbing your arm and hauling you off the bed before you could argue further.
“Charlie—Charlie, let go—!”
“Nope. Absolutely not. You’re coming with me.”
“This is ridiculous—!”
Behind you, Cedric shifted slightly on the bed, looking far too amused for someone who had just been publicly accused of being a menace to society.
And then—because he clearly had no sense of self-preservation—
“Bye, love.”
"I'm not your love." Charlie replied haughtily, tightening his grip on your arm as he started dragging you toward the door again, “You’re never leaving the house again. Ever.”
“Charlie!”
And just like that, you were being dragged out of the hospital wing, your protests echoing down the corridor.
And Cedric was left sitting alone on the bed, an amused smile on his face, "We have such poor timing."
bonus:
The morning had been quiet.
Suspiciously quiet, really.
Sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains, casting soft gold across the bed, the room still wrapped in that slow, peaceful warmth that only came with days off and nowhere to be. No rushing, no responsibilities pressing in—just stillness.
And Cedric.
You were half-curled into him, head resting against his chest, his arm draped loosely around you, fingers absentmindedly tracing slow patterns along your arm. It was the kind of quiet you didn’t get often anymore—the kind you had learned to appreciate in small, fleeting moments.
For once, there were no interruptions.
No chaos.
Cedric let out a quiet breath above you, something content settling into it as his hand stilled briefly against your arm.
“I’m so glad,” He murmured, voice still rough with sleep, “to have you all to myself.”
You smiled faintly, tilting your head just enough to glance up at him, "Truly, we haven't had a quiet moment like this since—”
“Mum!”
“Dad!”
Cedric froze.
You didn’t even try to hide your laugh.
There was a brief, heavy silence as the distant shouts echoed through the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of something—probably several things—being knocked over.
Cedric exhaled slowly.
Then dropped his head back against the pillows with a long-suffering sigh.
“These bloody Weasleys,” He muttered, dragging a hand down his face, “And their innate ability to know exactly when I’m trying to have a moment alone with my wife.”
You laughed properly at that, shifting slightly so you could look at him more fully, your hand coming up to rest lightly against his chest.
“Well,” You said sweetly, “they’re half Diggory.”
“So their complete lack of sense and tact probably comes from you.”
Cedric blinked.
Then let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
“Excuse me?”
Before you could respond—
A loud crash echoed from somewhere down the hall.
Followed by—
“That wasn’t me!”
“Yes it was!”
Right outside the door this time.
You laughed, leaning up just enough to press a quick kiss to his lips before pulling back.
He sighed, finally getting up, "Alright! What have we said about messing about in the kitchen without mum or dad?!"
A beat of silence.
"That we're not supposed to."
To be added to a taglist, please send me an ask! (I might respond to you in comments but I can’t guarantee that I won’t accidentally miss it)
Synopsis: the party was supposed to be wild and crazy, so you could let loose and have fun, but it wasn't supposed to be so wild and crazy that you don't even remember what happened last Friday night. and definitely not so wild and crazy that you wake up a) with a killer headache, b) in someone else's bed, and c) cuffed to twins?!
now the three of you have to go on a wild goose chase for the person who did this, whilst fighting the insane sexual chemistry vibrating between you and the twins.
what could go wrong?
Warnings: porn with a side of plot, nerdjo and fratjo twins au - twincest (I don't view it as such and that's certainly not what this contains in my opinion but just as a warning so the puritans can back off), threesome/sharing reader, exhibitionism, voyeurism, hidden sex, the twins are annoying af and have asshole tendencies, both are pierced in different ways, college au/non curse au, too much dirty talk, unprotected sex because it's fiction and it's hot, spit roasting, thigh humping, zipper humping, thigh job, spitting, brief rimming, deepthroating, cunnilingus, pervy behaviour, a little masochism and sadism, choking?/asphyxiation, fanart by @smokeigheh on Insta, not proofread - please let me know if you spot typos or inconsistencies (this is too long for me to care about proofreading)
Word Count: 14k
“Hey, Sato?”
“Hmm?”
“Am I still dreaming or is there a girl’s ass pressed to my woody?”
“Unless we’re sharing the same dream, I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s not one — she’s drooling on my chest.”
“Is she hot?”
“Don’t be a creep…”
A pregnant pause passes, then he adds, “Yeah.”
“Nice.”
Groaning, your bleary eyes open. Your head is swimming. The pain is dull but powerful, as though hidden behind a layer, angry and wanting to be let out. Bright light through a window almost blinds you. You groan again, burying your head in a hard wall.
Huh?
Your eyes shoot open. You’re laying on someone’s chest. You look up. Dazzling blue eyes stare down at you through a pair of glasses, a brow cocked up. Then you feel it — something hot and heavy slotted between your asscheeks, and a hand gripping your hip.
With a scream, you jolt up, scrambling to get off the bed, only to fall right back onto the mattress when resistance meets your arms.
Two faces fill your vision from above.
Same dazzling blue eyes.
One smirking.
One not.
Both near-mirror copies of the other.
You scream again.
They wince.
“C-clones! You’re clones! Oh my god, please don’t probe me.”
The one on your left laughs so loudly it becomes your turn to wince. “Dude! She thinks we’re aliens!”
The other sighs and adjusts his glasses. “We’re not aliens. We’re twins. Monozygotic. Monoamniotic-Monoamniotic, to be exact.”
Lightly shoving the other by the shoulder, one of them says, “Jeez, don’t get all sciency around a chick. Just say ‘MoMo’, like I’ve been saying.” He turns to you, smiling. “We’re identical twins — I’m Toru, a Marketing student, and this ugly freak is Sato. Engineering. We’re both third years. And you are?”
Why are they acting so casual?
They’re in bed with a complete stranger, who could be a serial killer, and yet they’re introducing themselves to you like nothing’s remotely odd about the situation. Or maybe you’re in bed with serial killers. Hot serial killers, but that’s how they get you.
Unnerved by their matching stares, you stammer out your name, followed by a, “I’m an Anthropology student. Second year. It’s a pleasure to meet you?”
The sentence comes out less a statement and more a question, and you grimace at your unsocial self.
Toru leans forward, grinning. “You’re so polite. How adorable. Makes me wanna just gobble you up.” He mimics the actions of munching on your face, nom noming.
His twin sighs again and lifts his hand up. Yours is brought up with it. All of you eye the thing that clanks and jingles with the movement. Sato drawls, “Instead of flirting with her, why don’t we address the elephant in the room — why the hell are we cuffed together and in his bed?”
That’s when you finally realise you’re not in your own dorm. The room’s much bigger, much more lived in and homely. Heck, the bed itself is bigger than the stiff single that the school provides everyone. Comfier, too. And with someone’s abs plastered all over the covers.
Posters of sporting legends litter the walls, as do posters of rock bands and carelessly stuck on polaroids of one of the twins, or both of them, or people you can only assume to be their friends.
It even smells differently here than in your room; whilst yours smells of academic pressures and manically drunk coffee, this one smells of leftover thrill and aftershave. Clothes litter the floor, bordered by empty beer cans, and a pair of red lacey panties in the corner.
Toru follows your eyes to it, and then hastily clarifies, “It’s not mine — I don’t crossdress or anything.”
Sato rolls his eyes, and snarks, “She knows that, idiot. She’s thinking what a pigsty your room is.” Glancing at you, he adds, “My dumbass brother’s incapable of cleaning up after himself. Judge him freely, he deserves it.”
Ignoring both of them, you lift your arms up, struggling with the new weight and gawk at the pink fuzzy cuffs adorning your wrists. Slowly, you say, “What…the…actual…fuck?”
You’re handcuffed to two strangers.
Two hot strangers who keep women’s underwear in their rooms.
Frantically, you glance down at yourself and release a relieved breath when you confirm that you’re fully dressed in what you remember coming to the party in the first place: a short skirt you borrowed from a friend, a nice top, and beat up Converse that you wouldn’t mind getting beer spilled on. Your phone’s in your skirt pocket, along with your keycard. So all the valuables you brought to your friend’s apartment are still with you. Nothing feels out of place, which you thank god profusely for.
But what happened after the round of pres at your friend?
“I don’t remember a single thing that happened last night,” you voice aloud, frowning. “I don’t remember why we’re cuffed together, or who you two are to me.”
Not a single thing comes to mind — what you drank, who you spoke to, how much you drank, if you did anything crazy, if you lost some kind of dare and had to face punishment by being bound to two guys, and where your friends are.
Sato knits his brows together. “Neither. I only remember helping set up.”
“I don’t remember anything either,” his brother says, attempting to scratch the back of his head with the hand that’s connected to yours, laughing at himself, then finally using his free hand. He shrugs. “But then again, that’s not unusual for me. The best parties are the ones you don’t remember.”
You want to question how that could be possible, but you keep your mouth shut.
“Anyone feel a key on them?” one of the twins asks, inspecting the holes of the cuffs that bind you to him. He looks displeased at the fuzziness of the thing. Your hand hangs limply in the air.
All three of you look, lifting covers, checking inside your clothes, on the desk, under pillows, and nothing.
“Nope!”
“No.”
“I don’t see anything.”
Your heart begins to race, reality sinking in hard and fast and intensifying your headache. “We’re done for. We’re stuck like this forever. We’re going to die like this!”
“Calm down,” Sato deadpans, totally judging you based on how he fights the urge to look you over the rim of his glasses. “We’re not going to die. We just need to figure out who did it to us, where they are, and if they have the key — worse comes to worse, we don’t find them or they don’t have the key, we can just go to the fire station and ask them to cut us out.”
Toru whoops in the hair and ruffles his brother’s hair. The brother in question scowls and shoves the hand away. “Nice one, big bro. Didn’t even think of that; I was on the ‘we’re doomed’ boat.”
That makes sense.
Yeah, there’s no need to panic.
Except, there’s a major issue.
“Guys,” you start, lip trembling, “...I really need to pee.”
The two of them look at each other, then at you, then at the door, then back at each other.
“C-can you hold it?” Toru asks, sounding more frightened about the idea than you.
You shake your head, legs crossed.
And that’s how you find yourself sitting on the toilet in his en-suite bathroom, flanked by two guys, who at least have the decency to look away. One of them whistles awkwardly, and the other taps on his phone.
This is a nightmare. You don’t want to be pissing with an audience, especially not this close. It’s way too embarrassing.
Sato clicks his tongue, pink tinting the tips of his ears. “Why aren’t you going?”
“‘cause it’s weird,” you mutter, shuffling on the seat. The toilet’s kept pretty clean. It looks practically unused, which just makes you feel worse about defiling it.
“You having performance anxiety, Second year?” Toru teases, rocking on the balls of his feet.
He doesn’t need to sound so amused by the idea, you dryly think. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you grumble, “Anyone would if they were in my position.”
“I wouldn’t,” Toru chirps, swinging the hands you two are joint at back and forth absentmindedly. “Hell, I’ll pee between your legs right now to prove it. I’ve got pretty good aim.”
“Please don’t.”
God, this is the most shameful thing that’s ever happened to you. What did you do to deserve this?
Left with no choice, you let the stream go and grit your teeth.
One of them hums approvingly. “Solid stream — bitches with good pussy piss loud as fuck, and it do be sounding like you’re frying chicken.”
Your jaw drops. Aghast, you shake your wrist and smack his own hand against his leg. “Can you not comment on my pee, Toru?”
His twin smacks him upside the head. “Don’t call women bitches.”
He groans. “Does no one get the reference? Ugh, whatever. Just hurry up and wipe. I need to pee too.”
“Oh no.”
Both of your hands are connected to theirs… One of them’s going to have to get between your legs. When you look up at their suddenly stiff backs, you know they realised it too.
Toru whistles low. “Who’s it gonna be, Second Year?”
“Why do I have to choose?” you ask, though you already know the answer. They’re basically asking you who you’re more comfortable with, and oddly, you don’t want to offend either of them. Is this your Sophie’s Choice?
Sato continues tapping away on his phone one-handedly. “Either one of us is fine to do it. It all depends on who you’d prefer — it’s not like we’re actually wiping for you.”
If you really had to choose, then…
Wriggling a specific hand, you shamefully mutter, “Can you do it with me?”
He sighs, and slacks his arm so you can pull your hand towards yourself. The twin has to bend down at the knee slightly, still looking away. He adjusts his glasses and clears his throat.
Through the whole thing, you’re cringing, cheeks flushed, and wanting the world to open up and consume you whole. Can this morning get worse?
“Done,” you mumble, making sure no one’s looking at you. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Sato mutters.
On the other side, Toru grumbles so depressedly you can practically see a raincloud storming over his head, “Why didn’t you choose me? I’d be a good pussy wiper.”
More rises to your cheeks. You hurriedly pull your pants back up and flush. “No one was asking to wipe anyone’s…ahem. And the fact that you’re so eager is kinda the reason why I didn’t choose you.”
Toru raises his hands, and one of yours, in surrender.
After you, they both take turns peeing. You look away, shutting your eyes tight for good measure. You even hum under your breath to distract from the sounds. Sato, you notice, clears his throat before he goes, whereas Toru mumbles some song lyrics. It sounds like Up by Cardi B.
You hate that you’re hyper aware of every shuffle, every brush against you, every time their knuckles graze yours, and each breath they take.
The twins are hot.
Have you said that already?
Because they are.
Maybe if they were uglier, more normal looking, you wouldn’t be so on edge.
And you know it’s wrong to think like that about strangers, but they are hot. Stupidly so.
They’re the same height, with sharp jawlines and identical signet rings glinting on their pinkies. They’re definitely identical twins, but they look so different from each other, that with or without the glasses, you’d know who was who. Anyone would.
Toru wears a white T-shirt with an arrow pointing upward and downwards ,and the words “Best Seats in the House” printed beneath it, whilst Sato has on glasses and a blue T-shirt layered over a grey long-sleeve, the front patterned with chemical symbols spelling out MoAN.
Toru is broader, his biceps visibly defined beneath the cotton, muscle pressing against the sleeves. The underside of his hair at the back is buzzed. He has a brow piercing. Sato, by contrast, is leaner, his frame slimmer and his hair longer and more shaggy. He’s still quite muscular in comparison to the Engineering students you’ve seen, which isn’t a fair comparison because most of the STEM guys you’ve met look like the stereotype. No offence to them.
Toru wears ripped light wash jeans that hang low on his hips, revealing a Calvin Klein band, and Sato’s the same except his are darker blue. Both jeans hug their asses perf—
No, bad.
Stop noticing things about them.
After you get out of the cuffs, you’re never going to see them again, and it’ll be like this never happened. Don’t get attached. Don’t get too involved. Find the keys and skedaddle!
The three of you wash your hands, taking turns to brush your teeth and wash your face, all awkwardly trying to shuffle with each other. It’s clumsy at first but you do eventually get a rhythm going.
Eventually, you walk back out into the messy room, fresher and cleaner.
“We need to figure out what happened,” Sato states, brows furrowed. “If we got cuffed together during last night’s party, there’s a chance the key’s hanging around the frat house. We should look for it, jog our memories and retrace our steps.”
Toru scratches his stomach, revealing a flash of a white happy trail. His brother catches you looking. He cocks a brow. You snatch your gaze away. Toru says, “We won’t need to do all that — I think I know who did this to us.”
“Who?” you ask, louder than you intended.
He answers, grimacing, “A friend of ours. Sukuna. Well, friend’s a loose term. We’re frenemies, I guess. He’s funny, but he’s not the nicest guy around.”
It’s a vaguely familiar name, but you know you’ve never met a Sukuna before. By the sound of Sato cursing, you get the impression that it’s not the name of a man who you’d be happy to find out has cuffed you to a stranger. And that makes you all the more desperate to get out of the way of whatever rivalry they have going on.
“It’s a prank he likes to pull. He did it to Choso and a lamppost because the guy was giving family weed away for free to some girl, and that’s his literal cousin,” Toru explains. “If we gotta look anywhere, I think we should look at him.”
Smiling, you say, “That’s great! We have a solid plan.”
Sato glances down at you, not looking anywhere near as happy. Adjusting his glasses, he warns, “Sukuna’s an asshole. He’s not gonna be easy to get a hold of. Not to mention, if he did this to us, he must think we’ve done something wrong in his eyes, so he’ll be extra annoying.”
Much more cheerful in comparison, Toru throws an arm around his twin. “Now now, big bro. That’s not the spirit.”
They both look at you; one with a wide grin and the other with a deadpan expression.
“We’ve got an adventure to go on — let’s have some fun.”
.
.
.
“Wait, you’re members of a frat?” you ask, marvelling at the two of them.
What they’d said earlier only registered now, as you’re walking through campus, and now that you think about it, it explains why Toru has a room in the frat house in the first place.
Campus isn’t as busy as it usually is on the weekdays, which is good because it minimises the number of gawking you’re getting. Guess seeing three people cuffed together isn’t a very common occurrence, even in university.
The three of you had decided to track down this Sukuna. Sato looked up something online and informed you that the wanted man’s a hockey player, and the team has practice right now, in preparation for tonight’s game. So you raced out of the thoroughly trashed frat house as soon as you could, wanting to make sure you could catch him, corner him, shake the key out of him all before noon. And before his whereabouts become unknown.
Toru shakes his head, and ruffles your hair. He’s quickly gotten quite familiar with you, not that you mind. “Nah, little lady. Only I am. Frat prez, actually,” he says, nodding proudly. “My brother here just comes along ‘cause he’s a party animal.”
Sato fixes him with a blank look. “I’m not a party animal. I attend these things because someone has to keep you out of trouble.”
Mischievously, Toru leans down to whisper in your ear, “He’s lying; he’s worse than me.” Then, he thinks for a second. “You’re not a frequent party goer, are you? I would have definitely seen you around before if you were.”
“No,” you admit. “I’m not a party person. I just went last night because my friends insisted I go to at least one party this year, and after this, I don’t think I’ll be going to another one any time soon.”
Cuffs aside, the hangover you have is no joke and it’s enough to put you off partying forever.
Toru petulantly whines. “No way! Don’t let this one weird experience give you a bad impression — my parties are legendary. You have to come again. I insist; I want to see you all drunk and stupid, and remember it.”
“Don’t peer pressure her,” Sato scolds before addressing you. “You should come over though. Party or no party. We’d definitely like to see you more. We can show you a good time.”
Their joint invite has your cheeks heating up. They just met you and they’ve already decided you were someone they’d want to hang out with again, and yeah, maybe they were just being nice, but it still had you all flustered. Especially because there seemed to be some hidden layer to the words ‘good time’; both of their eyes twinkled.
Or maybe you imagined it.
On the way, about a thousand people stop to say hi to both Toru and Sato. The twins are clearly popular.
It isn’t subtle, either. It’s not the polite nod-in-passing kind of recognition. People actually light up when they see them. Hands clap shoulders. Someone daps Toru up mid-stride. A girl across the quad calls Sato’s name flirtatiously. One even flashes both twins. Toru laughs. Even professors in suits, holding briefcases pause to exchange some words and inside jokes.
Toru grins wide and effortless, tossing out nicknames, bumping fists, slinging an arm around whoever gets close enough. Sato is smoother about it — a smaller smile, a tilt of his head, a few clever words that make people laugh just a second longer than necessary.
No one even does more than glance at you. To their friends, you’re just another girl they’re in some dramatic predicament with.
Between them, overshadowed by their popularity and fame, you feel out of your element. They’re definitely not the kind of people you could just casually befriend, not the kind of guys you would have ever spoken to, could have joined them casually for lunch, or schedule hang outs and know they’ll be there.
They’re just being polite to you, wanting to ease the discomfort of being cuffed to a complete stranger.
Eventually, you reach the rink. You follow them inside, down hallways, past the people working there. You peek through the double doors and see a bunch of guys skating in full gear. It’s loud in the rink, the shape and emptiness of the stands reverberating the shouts and scrapes of skates on ice.
“Let’s go to the locker room whilst they’re there; we can go through his locker and his bag,” Sato suggests.
The locker room?
Where men get changed and swing their dicks around?
Oh hell no.
“Wait— hold on.” You stop short so abruptly they nearly walk into you. Both of them turn, brows lifting in sync. You scramble for composure, heat creeping up your neck. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Toru squints. “Why not?”
Because I value my eyesight. Because I don’t need trauma today. Because I enjoy not being arrested.
You cross your arms, attempting dignity. “I can’t just walk into the men’s locker room.” They stare. You gesture vaguely, mortified. “I’m a girl?”
It comes out half question, half plea, like perhaps they’ve temporarily forgotten this extremely relevant detail.
Sato blinks. Toru looks down at you, then back at Sato.
“Oh,” Toru says slowly.
“Yes, oh,” you mutter.
The twins share a look.
Hands grip your wrists, dragging you inside despite your protests. They snicker together. You’re powerless against their strength, and you can’t even grip the doorway to pull yourself away because they’ve got control of your hands. Eyes shut tightly, you fumble in the dark, unable to resist their heavy, six foot tall bodies.
Mustiness hits you as soon as the doors open, and you find your nose scrunching in disgust.
One of them laughs. “No one’s here, Second Year. You’re good to open those pretty eyes.”
You swallow the nervous giggle down. Focus!
Eyes hesitantly open.
Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, harsh and unforgiving, illuminating long wooden benches scarred with skate marks and initials carved onto the surface. Open cubbies gape, stuffed to the brim with shoulder pads the size of riot shields, sweat-darkened jerseys, laces tangled in knots, and rolls of white athletic tape unraveling on the floor.
The place’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.
The air is thick — damp cotton, metal, cheap body spray failing miserably to mask the sour, unmistakable musk of hours spent skating in full gear. You’re careful not to touch anything unnecessary, lest you catch something.
“I’ll call his phone,” one of the twins says.
Ringing echoes through the empty locker room, bouncing against the metal benches and cubbies, and dirty towels and clothes haphazardly strewn around. God, men are disgusting.
“Third row down,” the other twin mutters, following the sound.
Your Converse nearly land on a discarded compression shirt, and you jerk back like it might bite. You pass a rack of hockey sticks propped in the corner, tape chewed to shreds at the blades. A laundry bin overflows with damp towels. Someone’s half-empty protein shaker sits uncapped, abandoned, something beige and unidentifiable clinging to the sides.
“Found it,” the other twin says.
The phone vibrates inside an open locker wedged between a pair of shin guards and a crumpled practice jersey. His name is stitched above the number hanging on the hook — red fabric, white lettering, unmistakable.
You hover stiffly behind them, crossing your arms as though that will somehow shield you from the environment.
“See? No naked men swinging anything around,” Toru teases, swaying his hips at you.
“Shut up,” you groan, cheeks hot despite yourself. “This still feels wrong.”
Sato says, “You overthink too much.”
It’s not overthinking, you want to tell him. It’s the plain truth. The girls’ lockers are clean, tidy, and smell much nicer. Here, it feels humid, like you’ve strolled into Satan’s asshole. It’s fine for twins because they probably don’t know how good they could have it on the other side of things, and it’s not like anyone would bat an eye if the hockey team came back and they found them here.
Toru picks up a pair of boxers, making his brows dance at you, then throws it at his brother’s face.
He releases a disgusted sound, swiping it away. “Hilarious.”
They’re both looking. One in the locker, and the other in the bag he pulled out. As they do that, you ask Sato, “So you’re older?”
The twin with glasses nods. “By two minutes — best two minutes of my life.”
Toru says, “Ha. Ha. We both know the best two minutes of your life are when some poor girl lets you hit.”
“Better than your thirty second record.”
You laugh at their petty sibling rivalry. You admire how easily they could talk to each other, and to you, in spite of your situation, of how absurd this all is. It’s a thing to envy, you think.
Pulling his head out of the musty locker, Toru looks down at you with a challenging smile. “You laughing at me, gorgeous? You think I can’t last longer than thirty seconds?”
Emboldened by the friendly atmosphere, you reply, “Proof’s in the pudding, isn’t it? If that’s your reputation, I’m sure there’s some truth to it.”
“Oh yeah?” He tugs, yanking you to his chest suddenly with the arm connected to yours. Hands steady your hips. Forcing your head to crane back to peer up at him, Toru grins down at you wolfishly, using his height advantage to intimidate you. “Care to let me prove you wrong?”
“I-I was just kidding,” you stammer out. “We need to focus and find the key.”
“I looked; couldn’t find it. Knowing how dedicated Sukuna is, he’s probably got it on him,” he responds, much more interested in something else now.
You gulp.
Heat covers your back. When fingers pinch your chin, keeping you from looking back, you realise the hands on your hips aren’t Toru’s. They’re Sato’s.
They’ve got you sandwiched between them, leaving you with nowhere to go. Out of nowhere, the air has turned even more heated, almost suffocating. It renders you dizzy.
Sato whispers in your ear, lips grazing your ear, “Don’t be rude, Anthro. You told him ‘proof’s in the pudding,’ no? You gonna upset my baby brother by turning back on your words?”
The brother in question’s bending down slowly, teasing you by not quite touching your lips. Meanwhile, someone’s nose is running down the length of your neck, sending your hairs standing on edge.
What the hell is happening?
Why are firm hands gripping you, lips brushing your skin, eyes watching your every move, hard bodies squeezing you till you’re panting? And why are you not stopping them? Why are you tingling between your legs?
Noises come from outside.
You all still.
They curse under their breath, scrambling off into the showers.
At the furthest stall, you hide, eyes wide and a hand pressing down on your own over your mouth. Thunderous feet march in. A ruckus enters. The hockey team’s finished with their practice, and you could be caught at any second. Imagine the scandal if they found you between two guys.
Voices bounce off tile and metal lockers, loud and unfiltered.
“Bro, you call that a shot? My grandma could block that.”
“Shut up, you whiffed the puck twice.”
“Suck my balls, Rogers.”
“Gladly, Barnes.”
A bag hits the floor with a heavy thud. Lockers clang open in sharp succession. The sharp scent of sweat and ice drifts through the humid air.
“Who forgot to wash their jersey? It smells like death in here.”
“Pretty sure that’s just you.”
Laughter erupts — loud, careless, echoing. Someone yelps when a towel snaps against skin.
You squeeze your eyes shut as sneakers squeak across tile, as jerseys are peeled off and tossed aside, as the easy, post-practice chaos unfolds only a few feet away. They’re too close. Way too close.
Oh god, they’re all probably butt naked just metres away from you.
How did things manage to go from bad to worse?
“Don’t make a sound,” Toru whispers, panicked. “The hockey guys cannot catch us here; they’re still mad from the time when we filled up their lockers with shaving cream and glitter, which they need to get over. It’s been days.”
“Pretty sure it’s because we’ve taken quite a few of their girlfriends,” Sato says under his breath.
“It’s not even ‘taking’ when they seek us out. Like anyone would say no to puck bunny pussy.”
“You’re both fucking disgusting,” you hiss. They’re just as sleazy as any guy on campus, it’d seem. The only difference is that they hide behind their handsome faces.
You’re leaning on Toru as he presses himself tightly against the tiles, ducking down so they won’t spot his white hair from above the stall, all while Sato’s leaning on you, pushing in so his back won’t protrude.
Packed like sardines, you’re aware of their hard muscles, of their much bigger sizes, and the ridges of their abs. The frat president can probably feel your tits on him, whilst the Engineering student can feel your ass on his crotch. Something hard pokes your stomach at the same time as something equally hard and hot slot right in between your ass cheeks again.
Lord, take me now, you pray, desperate for relief from the humiliation.
A leg slots between yours. You gasp. It’s Toru’s, but one look at his face and anyone would think you’re just imagining it. Don’t move, you tell yourself. Do not start riding his thigh even if you want to.
Sato pushes his hips forward, and consequently yours. You gasp.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, voice husky in your ear. “Got an itch you wanna scratch?”
Toru flexes his thigh, bumping hard against your clothed slit. You bite back your moan, wholly aware of the boyish laughter and shouting on the other side. He says, “If you gotta scratch, you gotta scratch, right?”
They definitely know what they’re doing. Manwhores like them always know.
Laying it on thicker, the frat president whispers, “Don’t hesitate; use me. Go on, Second year. Make my day.”
The twins are urging you to ride his thigh, pushing and pulling. Neither of them care about getting caught, not really. You had initially thought Toru would be the biggest danger, what with his outgoing and flirtatious personality, but Sato’s just as bad as him; he’s guiding your hips with his own, hand sliding up your leg to creep under your skirt.
They’re twins from hell.
Someone flicks your nipples through your shirt. You slump back onto Sato’s chest, breathing heavily as your hips grind on a muscular thigh.
How did things come to this?
And why are you getting swept up in all of it?
“She’s so pretty, isn’t she, Sato?”
“Stunning,” he replies. His hand tugs you down, making sure you’re grinding real good on his brother’s thigh. “How does her pussy feel?”
“Warm, and getting wetter. Fuck, it’d be so much better if she wasn’t wearing panties.” He directs his words to you, muttering, “How about it, angel? Gonna let me feel your pussy?”
“There’s people,” you gasp out, growing closer and closer to your end. This is so degrading — they’re watching you ride his thigh all on your own, watching you thrust your chest out, and squirm between them like some whore.
One of them smirks. “So if there weren’t people, you’d readily give me access? Dirty girl. Isn’t she dirty, Sato?”
“Downright filthy.”
When you shudder, someone slaps a hand over your mouth just in time to muffle your moan. Oh fuck you’re cumming on Toru’s thigh, a man you only met this morning, riding the muscle like it’s your pillow. Tomorrow, when you’re hopefully free and no longer attached to them, you’re totally going to want to never see them again.
Finally, you flop, twitching with the final waves of your orgasm.
Your head’s patted. “Well done. You were very brave.”
You smack it away, and grouch, “That was underhanded, you guys.”
“You enjoyed it, Anthro,” Sato points out, and steps back, steadying you. He peers over, and nods. “Coast’s clear. But that means Sukuna’s gone.”
Simultaneously, your eyes land on the wet spot you left behind on Toru’s jeans. He presses down on it, then sucks the pads of his fingers, winking at you. You look away immediately, wanting to cringe at yourself. Voice shaky, whether from stress or from your orgasm, you wonder, “So what are we gonna do now?”
“We’ll have to ask around for where he’ll be,” Sato replies. “Lay it on him good and intimidate him into giving up this stupid prank of his.”
Frowning, you follow them out of the locker room, adjusting your skirt. “Can’t we just go straight to the fire station? Do we have to go on this wild goose chase?”
Toru fake pouts, and puts a hand over his heart. “You tired of us, little lady? Hate us already? Oh, we’re just terrible, aren’t we, Sato?”
“The worst.”
“No, no,” you hurriedly deny. “It’s not that. You guys are great.”
He beams, stringing his arm over yours and forcing yours to hang loosely from your shoulder.
“Then it’s decided — we’re chasing after our Sukuna goose!”
And once again, you’re left with no choice but to do as they say.
.
.
.
After texting some mutual friends for where Sukuna might be, the three of you wind up at his apartment building. The twins have been trying to get ahold of the man, to no avail. It seems he’s intent on forcing all of you to ride out his cruel prank.
You texted your friends, trying to find out what exactly happened last night that might make this Sukuna person hate you enough to do this. You’re just some random girl, why would you be involved in the beef of some pretty well known guys?
They told you that they didn’t see you much at all during the party, that some time after arriving together, you disappeared and was only seen here and there, dancing and having a pretty good time with — and this is the really surprising part — both the twins, at different times.
Videos and pictures were shared to you: you’d be in the background, always with a drink in your hand, smiling like you’ve never smiled before, and flanked by one of the twins almost all the time. The videos seem to be earlier in the night. No cuffs in sight. There’s definitely videos from later in the night, but the people who took them haven’t woken up yet.
“So we were hanging out a lot last night, huh?”
Sato makes a face that says, guess so, whilst Toru whistles an impressed tune. The latter jokingly says, “We’re meant to be, Second year.”
“Seven of the eleven pictures were of me and her,” his twin points out.
“So? That’s just a one picture difference!”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“Her ass on my dick helped me sleep last night,” Toru fires back, clutching your hand and bringing it up to his face so he can lay a kiss on your knuckles with a wink.
Sato yanks you towards him, and you stumble his way in the narrow hallway. He licks the palm of your hand, one upping his brother.
Face burning, you shove both of them back. “Can you guys stop? We need to work out what happened last night — how did we all get so drunk that we don’t remember how we ended up cuffed and in bed together?” Then, you frown. “We…we didn’t sleep together, did we?”
That was actually a question you’ve had since this morning, but you’d shrugged it off as being an impossibility. There’s no way two hot twins would want you, nevermind share a woman. However, after that little stunt in the locker room, you’re starting to wonder.
The frat twin laughs. “That’s cute. Isn’t she cute, Sato?”
“Adorable.”
They’re both laughing at you, and it’s irritating. Aggrieved, you ask, “What’s so funny? I don’t think it’s a ridiculous question to ask considering we woke up in the same bed with no memory of last night.”
Toru lifts his arm, and yours, rustling your hair with your own hand. “Babe, if you slept with me, you’d never forget. Trust.”
“Your mind could forget, sure, but your pussy wouldn’t; she’d still be feeling with me,” Sato says, matter-of-factly. His bright, all-seeing eyes flit down to the apex of your thighs as you walk, and you have to resist the urge to squeeze them together.
Damn.
“Hey, we’re here — 666.” He snickers to himself, thoroughly amused. Toru nudges you. “Fitting, amirite?”
Before he could knock on, you stop him. “What are we gonna do if he’s in? Are you guys going to fight him?”
Sato drawls, “You watch too many movies, Anthro; we’re just going to ask him to give us the key. Sukuna’s an asshole but he’s not the kind to drag a joke on.”
“Yeah, he probably just forgot in the first place,” his twin added.
“Oh.”
That makes sense. There’s no need to get violent. The prank’s not that harmful, you suppose.
They knock. You wait. No one answers.
“Is he not in?”
Toru tries the doorknob. The door opens. You all share a look. That feels pretty fucking ominous, like a trap laid out for you. “We’re not going in, are we?” you ask, looking up and down the hallway in case someone catches you three trespassing, or is it breaking and entering?
Whatever it is, it’s going to end you up in prison.
Lips graze the shell of your ear as someone whispers, “Scared of entering the devil’s domain with us? Think we’re going to eat you up? Hmm?”
“If you behave, we will,” someone else rasps at the back of your neck.
“Stop fucking around,” you reply, flustered by the tingles erupting where they touched you.
A hand presses in at the small of your back, and as the door’s opened, one of them chirps, “In you go, angel!”
You stumble inside, held up from falling only by the dense weight of two men chuckling at the little yelp you release.
The door clicks shut behind you.
For a second, you all just stand there.
Sukuna’s apartment is…exactly what you’d expect, and simultaneously worse — just aggressively, unapologetically male.
A pair of hockey skates sits abandoned by the entrance, laces trailing like shed snakeskin. A duffel bag, half unzipped, spills tape rolls, spare socks, and a mouthguard case onto the hardwood floor. The faint smell of detergent battles unsuccessfully with sweat and something woodsy, his cologne, probably, clinging to the air.
The living room is small but decent — a worn leather couch with a throw blanket tossed carelessly over one arm, a low coffee table cluttered with protein bars, a TV remote, a half-empty Gatorade bottle, and a stack of lecture notes weighed down by a puck. His backpack is slumped against the couch, as though it gave up halfway through being put away.
On one wall: framed team photos. A hockey stick mounted horizontally. A couple of medals draped over the corner of the frame, like it hardly matters to him.
The kitchen is visible from where you stand. Open plan. Dishes in the sink. Not stacked to the ceiling, but definitely past ‘I’ll wash them later’ territory. A frying pan left out on the stove. A carton of eggs on the counter. A magnetic whiteboard on the fridge with scribbled practice times and what looks like a grocery list that just says: milk, rice, jerk off 3:37pm.
Weirdly specific, but okay.
You all step further in, handcuffs clinking obnoxiously between you. The fuzz tinkles your wrist every time one of them moves too abruptly, and it’s soothed by the brushing of knuckles and the rubbing of shapes by thumbs.
“Maybe he left the key here,” one twin says, scanning. “Let’s have a look around.”
As a unit, the three of you shuffle around. Drawers are opened. Closed. A quick glance under couch cushions. You check the kitchen counter with your free hand, careful not to knock over the precarious tower of mail.
The apartment is messy but lived-in. No mysterious stains. No broken furniture. Just a college athlete who does not evidently prioritise tidiness.
Then—
Voices. From the hallway. Muffled at first: “…you said you were done with her—”
The three of you freeze.
“And I am,” comes the unmistakable low, irritated drawl.
“Oh really? Explain to me why I found her panties in your car!”
“They’re yours.”
“Shut the fuck up. I don’t wear blue thongs. I only wear white.”
“Ain’t nothing white and pure about you.”
“Fuck you!”
Your stomach drops.
It sounds like a lovers’ quarrel. You don’t know this Sukuna very well, or at all, but you’re one hundred percent sure he would not be fine seeing you guys in his place when he’s fighting with his girlfriend.
Keys jangle outside.
“Oh my God,” you whisper.
“Closet,” Sato hisses.
You don’t argue.
They yank you down the short hallway toward what you assume is the bedroom. The space is larger than you expect — unmade bed, sheets twisted, a jersey tossed over the desk chair. His cologne bottle sits uncapped near the nightstand. A lamp. A stack of textbooks. A charging cable trailing off the mattress like something that gave up halfway. But there’s no time to be psychoanalysing this man’s bedroom.
The front door opens.
“You said that last time!” the woman snaps, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.
You’re shoved toward the sliding closet door. It opens with a soft scrape. Inside: hanging shirts, mostly dark. Hoodies. A winter coat. Shoe boxes stacked on one side. A laundry basket half-full.
“All of us?” you hiss.
“Got a better idea?”
The door slides shut just as footsteps enter the bedroom.
You’re crushed instantly. Back against the wall. Toru in front of you. Sato practically plastered behind. The handcuffs force you closer than is remotely comfortable. Someone’s arm is wedged between your ribs and a stack of shoeboxes. A coat hanger digs into your shoulder. How are you back in this position again?
Outside, the argument spills into the room.
“I’m not doing this,” Sukuna says flatly.
“You never do anything! You just— god, you’re impossible!”
A thud. Maybe something dropped on the bed. You hold your breath. Another thud. The mattress creaks. No, please don’t, you beg.
“You knew what this was,” he says, voice colder now.
“And what is it?” she demands.
Silence stretches. You can feel Toru’s heartbeat through his chest where you’re practically pressed against him. Or maybe it’s yours. The handcuffs shift as someone adjusts their balance. The metal clinks. Loud.
All four of you freeze again.
“…what was that?” the woman asks.
You don’t breathe. Not a single one of you moves.
Sukuna’s footsteps approach. The closet door handle rattles lightly as if tested. Your heart actually stops. Like medically dead stops. Then—
A scoff.
“Probably the pipes,” he mutters dismissively. Footsteps retreat. The argument resumes, lower now. Tense.
Inside the closet, you’re still crammed together like contraband. One twin’s breath ghosts across your temple. “If you make another sound,” he whispers so quietly it barely exists, “I’m framing you as the girl with the blue thong.”
You would elbow him if you had the space. It wasn’t even you!
Instead, you stay very, very still.
Their masculine scents engulf you. One of them smells like tacky aftershave done right, somehow, and the other is clean laundry. Both are intoxicating, as is the heat they exude which has you flushing in the cramped space.
It’s tight and cramped here. You barely have room to breathe, barely have room for your lungs to expand. And you’re pretty sure you’re standing on someone’s foot, though no one complains. As slowly and carefully as you can, you adjust yourself, grimacing at the tightness and darkness in the closet.
“Stop squirming,” Toru pleads. When you glance at him, he’s staring up, Adam’s apple bobbing.
“What?”
Sato whispers in your ear, “You’re making him pop a boner. Me too. Nobody tell you it’s rude to get a guy hard and not do something about it?”
“They’re right outside,” you whisper back. “Even if I wanted to, we couldn’t do anything.”
A thumb flicks your nipple. Your moan is stifled by a hand to your mouth. Toru says, and in the darkness of the closet you can hear his grin, “Oh, but you want to, don’t you. You want to so bad. I bet feeling us up like this, knowing you can get caught, is making your little kitty purr.”
“Little kitty? Seriously?”
“Shut up, Sato. Maybe if you said it more, you’d get laid as often as I do.”
“I get laid plenty, asshole.”
“Shut up both of you,” you fire back at the two of them, ear craning to hear what’s happening outside. There’s no more arguing, which is a good sign, but there’s definitely signs of life, which isn’t a good sign; they’re still here. You can hear talking, hushed and intimate, as well as rhythmic creaking.
Oh no.
“Damn,” Toru says under his breath. “Ryomen’s fucking his girl. Guess I’ll finally be able to settle my bed with Fushiguro — does the psycho last longer than thirty seconds? Any takers?”
No one replies to him.
Through your breathing, you can’t help but listen to the sounds of moaning and groaning. There’s even some slapping involved, and a couple, ‘you like that?’, ‘you’re making a mess all over my cock, you little slut,’ and ‘picking a fight just to cum, you ain’t slick.’
That Sukuna guy is an aggressive one.
“Is it weird to say, given our situation, that I think it’s nice that they’re so in love and can easily resolve their problems?” you say, as quietly as you can.
Both twins snort.
“They ain’t in love, Second year. They’re just horny and toxic, which makes for a great combo. And if I recognise the voice right, then that’s Cassie. She’s a mess, no offence to her. She likes stealing her friend’s man. Great tits though.”
“She’s just another girl in his roster; Sukuna doesn’t date. Not unless pigs are airborn.”
“Oh.”
The three of you are breathing heavily, constantly brushing up against each other. Toru’s shirt is scraping your hardened nipples through your shirt. Your ass is grinding behind you. Hands are gripping your hips under your skirt as another set sneaks under your top, clutching your waist and climbing higher and higher till it’s just about grazing the underside of your tits.
Is it the uninhibited moaning outside?
Or the masculine scent you’re enveloped in?
What’s got you so hot and bothered, squirming between them, whining to be touched?
A hand grips your hip, pulling you back. A hot thing hangs heavy behind you. Your breath hitches. Meanwhile, lips press to your temple, then to your cheek, and finally your lips.
Toru doesn’t kiss you. Not yet. He first whispers, “Been wanting to do this since this morning.” Then he kisses you. It’s sweet, soft, and gentle. It gives you butterflies. A metallic thing scrapes your bottom lip, and when you gasp, he’s quick to explain, “Just my tongue piercing, babe. You’ll get used to it. Soon’ll be getting to feel it against your clit, trust.”
Something long and hard slides itself between your thighs. You stiffen.
“What? Did you think I was gonna let my brother have all the fun?” Sato’s hands are gripping your bare hips, pulling you back and forth on his cock, which he ruts right up against your panties, cockhead prodding your clothed clit.
Panicking a little, you voice out, “What if they hear us?”
“You don’t want to be caught, Anthro? You better keep quiet then.”
One of them grope your tits, tweaking the hardened buds through your shirt, carrying your hand with his. You twitch with every flick, every scratch of a nail, and every pinch. Toru swallows your moans, greedily gulping them down. You really are getting used to the tongue piercing; it’s an addictive sensation against your own tongue.
The heat between your legs is almost scalding, and the way it separates your pussy lips, greeting your throbbing clit on its way forward, has your hips working back in tandem.
“Good girl,” one of them mutters.
The veins on the cock are felt by your sensitive skin. God, he’s big. Like really big. Would Toru be big too? Could you take any of their cocks? Both of them? Is that too filthy to think about?
Outside, a feminine voice calls out, “Ngh! Sukuna, right there! Harder, baby, please!”
“Don’t call me baby, you whore. Just take my cock and be quiet.”
You won’t admit it to anyone, but the sounds of skin slapping, headboard banging, and wanton screaming are getting to you. They’re setting the mood, and you’re growing less and less ashamed of the fact that you’re being thighfucked by one of the Gojo twins as the other shoves his tongue down your throat and squeezes your tits.
This is even filthier than in the locker room. More lewd. Obscene.
You’re rubbing yourself all over twins in a closet, hiding, and trespassing whilst the owner of the place is fucking his girl, and they don’t have a clue. If this is how parties end, then you might be inclined to attend another one of theirs.
“S-sato,” you whimper to his brother’s lips, “I’m gonna cum.”
“Fuck, me too.”
“What am I, chopped liver?”
Full body shudders wrack you. You clutch Toru’s stupid t-shirt, hips stuttering, and juices soaking your panties. Thighs tightening in pulses with the strain of your muscles, you wring groans from Sato right into your ear.
“Shit, don’t cum all over me,” Toru hastily says, before picking up a random shirt off the hanger and shoving it between your legs just in time as Sato’s cock pulses in waves. “Ugh, that’s disgusting.”
“Thanks,” his twin mumbles, lifting your hand to his face. You fix his glasses for him, pushing it back up his nose bridge.
“Where are you going now?” the girl asks, voice slightly muted by the barriers between you and her.
Bed creaking before feet pad on the floor, Sukuna answers, “Gotta stop by the ADP.” Silence. “Alpha Delta Phi? Gojo’s frat? Jesus, do you know anything other than how to bounce on cock? Forget it. I just need to go pick something up. Let yourself out whenever, but don’t be back here tonight. I’m having the boys over.”
“Oh, please, we both know that’s just code for having your other girl over.”
“Well if you know, then why bother playing coy about it. Yeah, I’m fucking other women, just like you’re fucking other guys. I don’t care and neither should you. Take a shower, nap, or whatever the fuck you want. Just don’t be here when I get back.”
“Fuck you.”
“You just did, sweetheart.”
Feet pad away and full silence returns to the room. In the distance, a door shuts. You all breathe out a sigh of relief, shoulders dropping.
“What an asshole,” you say, pushing the closet door open for fresh air.
“Told you,” the twins say in unison.
The bed’s been left a mess, with a huge wet patch at the centre that you don’t want to focus too much on. Sato’s tucked himself back in his jeans expertly, and you’d think he’d never taken anything out in the first place.
“Oi, Sato, lift her up for me.”
Sighing, the guy grumbles before lifting you by the back of your thighs. You fall back on his chest, head resting on his shoulder. Legs wide open, Toru kneels between them, grinning up at you. He winks, poking the wet spot you’ve made in your panties.
“What’re you doing?” you ask, startled.
Toru shrugs, pulling your panties aside. He takes a deep inhale, nose skimming and coming back all glossy. “Just wondering what you taste like that. You both got to cum, so it’s only fair I get a little something too, no?”
“It’s logical. Practically a faultless argument,” Sato concurs, leaving a kiss on your heated cheeks to reassure you. “Don’t worry; he won’t bite.” A little hushed and more mischievous, he adds, “Not like me.”
Naturally, that does nothing to wash away the embarrassment of his twin being face to face with your puffy pussy.
His smooth hands soothe the tremor in your thighs. “Just a taste, gorgeous. To tide me over till we make it back to the frat house to catch Sukuna. Besides, I want you to get comfortable with my tongue piercing.”
He pecks your clit, then takes a longer lick of your pussy. You gasp, hands kept down by your sides by their own and unable to push him away. Toru is as unashamed as ever, shoving his whole face in your cunt and forcing squelches out when he tongues your entrance.
“W-we’re going back to the -ngh!- frat house?”
Sato hums, seemingly unbothered by any of what’s going on. It might as well be any other Saturday. “We have to catch him there; I don’t want to spend the rest of my day chasing after him, when I could be buried inside your pussy.”
SLURRRRRP!
You cry out, toes curling.
“So sweet,” the twin down there moans. “You gotta taste her, Sato.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, idiot,” he scolds. “And hurry up.”
“Quit telling me what to do — I like taking my time with good pussy, sorry.”
“Toru!”
Cooing, he mutters an apology to your cunt. “Aw, sorry, babe. Don’t mean to neglect you. Don’t worry, Toru’s here. Toru’s gonna make you feel so good, better than my brother’s tiny ass dick, I promise.”
Said brother scoffs.
But you don’t care about their unnecessary competition. You can only focus on the jolts of electricity zooming from your pussy and exploding in your belly. You’ve never been eaten out so good, and not with a piercing you’re painfully aware rubbing just right through your puffy folds. It rolls against your clit. You moan.
“Feel good?” Toru asks, all smug. “Got the idea from our piercer friend. It’s a real hit with the ladies.”
You frown. “It’s impolite to talk about -hah fuck that’s good- o-other women when you’re between someone’s legs.”
Sato kisses your cheek again, and approvingly inserts, “Put him in his place, baby. Been trying to teach him manners since we were born and he never listens to me. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”
“Quit talking about me like I’m some kind of dog,” Toru grumbles.
“Then quit acting like it,” you bravely snap, possessed by the desperate need to chase another high. “Make me cum already, before I ask your brother to do it instead.”
Another kiss, this time punctuated by a chuckle. “
“Kitty’s got claws. That’s fucking hot.”
Lips wrap around your clit, which is still sensitive from the incessant rubbing of Sato’s cock. That’s why when he finally sucks hard on the little thing, you cum again way too quickly. “Fuck, Toru!”
“Mm, that’s right, baby, ride my face and my tongue.”
Through your writhing and squirming, Sato holds you up, bearing your weight with ease, all while Toru laps up the juices oozing out of your pussy, like a puppy, like a man in a dessert.
That’s three orgasms all in less than an hour. It’s a new record for you, which means your body isn’t used to it. On shaky legs, you’re set down. They hold you up, preventing you from collapsing on the floor.
One of them ruffles your hair. “You did such a great job, Second year. We’re almost at the finish line, think you can manage a slight jog back to the frat house?”
How are they so chill? How can they act like nothing happened? There’s not even a single wrinkle on their shirts, whereas you look and feel like a mess.
“Y-yeah,” you mumble, dazed and still experiencing waves of an orgasm that wasn’t supposed to happen so suddenly.
Sato nods, pulling your panties back into place and patting your pussy. “We know a shortcut — it’ll give us at least fifteen minutes ahead of Sukuna. More if he gets distracted and walks slowly.”
“Great. Let’s go.”
.
.
.
“Oh my god…” you breathe out, staring at your phone. “I was dancing on a table?”
More videos and pictures are surfacing online now that the partygoers are waking up and getting over their splitting headache. And damn it, you wish they hadn’t.
Leaning over, Toru whistles. “That’s fucking hot. It reminds me of when my frat brothers hired strippers for my birthday, except your dancing is so much better.”
You elbow the little kiss up. “We both know that’s a lie. I’m dancing like a drugged up chimpanzee.”
“Like an unstable gas, just shaking about the place,” Sato adds. When Toru and you give him a look, a blush graces his cheeks. He adjusts his glasses and clears his throat. “So he can talk about strippers but I can’t mention anything related to the periodic table?”
That was a slip of his cocky façade, and it brings a smile to your lips.
He rolls his eyes at your look of adoration. Glancing at the screen, he says, “We didn’t have the cuffs then, and that was probably about midnight. Our parties typically end at 3 am, with some people lingering even later. So between then and 3am, Sukuna had slipped cuffs on us.”
“Do you think he drugged us too?” you wonder, speedwalking along the back of a building you’ve never visited on campus. “I mean, I’m just not the type to get black out drunk.”
It’s awful to suggest Sukuna, a man you’ve never met before, would be the type to spike peoples’ drinks, but it would certainly explain things.
Toru shakes his head, running a hand through his messy hair. “I wouldn’t put it past him to slip us something that makes us more susceptible to doing stupid shit. Though, honestly, looking at how I’m twerking on my pledge, Itadori, I don’t think I needed anything more to get black out.”
“That’s just how you are naturally,” his twin snarks.
To that, the frat guy laughs in disbelief. “You’re one to talk considering we have five videos of you writing equations on the entirety of the basketball team’s backs and yapping their ears off about Digimon, which you only do after the eleventh shot. Shots, mind you, you hate but never pass down.”
“Only ‘cause I need alcohol to survive your stupid parties,” Sato fires back.
“Parties you enjoy!”
“Alright, alright, that’s enough, boys. Let’s just agree we all got messy on our own,” you establish, feeling like the two are way too close to tearing each other apart.
When you reach the frat house, Sato opens the door for you. Does no one lock their doors on campus?
You didn’t notice it in your rush to get out of the house earlier, how big and beautiful the house is. It’s old, ornately decorated with impeccable wooden floors and portraits hanging on walls. Of course, there are thongs, bras, streamers, limp balloons, used condoms strung all over the place, and there’s empty cans of beer and bottles of alcohol just lying about. But beneath all of the grime of a party done well lies a gorgeous home.
Cleaners flit about the place, collecting trash and mopping floors.
“Perk of living in a frat,” Toru proudly declares, “we never have to clean up after ourselves.”
“That is pretty cool,” you agree.
Sato huffs. “It’s insanely privileged. And intrusive. I much prefer not having strangers constantly leaving their traces in my home.”
The three of you gracefully ascend the stairs, avoiding mysterious wet puddles and stains you didn’t want to think too much about. Sukuna doesn’t seem to be here, so they were right about the shortcut.
“So you live on your own?” you ask him, nodding a thank you to Toru who carries you over a stack of bottles.
“Yeah, but we’re over at each other’s places so often we might as well not be.”
You giggle. “That’s so cute. You two just need to be together all the time, huh?”
Toru punches his brother’s arm over your head. “She’s laughing at us, Sato. She thinks we’re pathetic and psychotically close.”
“I promise, it’s only circumstance that keeps bringing us together,” Sato dryly says. “If I had it my way, I’d have said good riddance to him a long time ago.”
“My sentiment exactly — pretty sure I tried to eat you in the womb and that’s why you’re so ugly.”
A laugh escapes you.
Eventually, you reach their bedroom.
Right back where you started.
Smiling, you say, “It’s funny that we did all that work just to end up back here because Sukuna was always coming by, isn’t it? Quite ironic actually.”
The door shuts behind you.
“Look, Toru,” a dark voice coos, “she doesn’t know she’s about to be fucked an inch of her life.”
“I know,” an equally dark voice agrees. “I can’t get over how stinkin’ cute she is. Makes me wanna just eat her out till she faints. Think she’ll let me?”
“I think she’s been soaked the whole day and at this point she’ll let us do anything we want…isn’t that right, Anthro?”
The hairs on your arms stand on edge. Two foreboding presences flank you, reminding you that there’s no where you can go that they won’t follow, that you’re stuck with them for good, and that you couldn’t hope to fight them off even if you wanted to. Your panties might as well not be there by how your wetness is trickling down your thighs.
They drag you down onto the bed with them.
Hands make quick work of your clothes: they pull down your skirt, taking your panties with them, they yank your shoes and socks off, and one of them even grabs scissors to cut right through the shirt before you can say anything. The metal grazes your skin, slicing right between your tits.
“Wait, wait,” you yell, overwhelmed by the suddenness of their actions. “Sukuna! Sukuna’s coming.”
Sato says, “Not for twenty minutes — one of my friends said they saw him stop by the Student Council office.”
“Probably going to bother the Prez,” Toru snickers, pressing your panties to his nose and moaning. “Fuck, I love the way your pussy smells. The dirtier the better.”
Heat rises to your cheeks immediately, and you fall back onto Sato’s lap. He licks a stripe up your neck. “My brother’s got weird tastes. Forgive him, angel. He’s just born weird. I like to say I took all the brains in the womb.”
Toru snorts, throwing aside all your shredded clothes. “Sure, let’s pretend I haven’t had chicks crying to me about how you’re so mean to them, asking for me to be the nice twin.”
The three of you kneel on the bed together, cuffs clinking when they clash, the pink fluff tickling skin. They’re both still dressed. You feel Sato’s jeans scratching your skin, the metal zip rubbing right up against your pussy, and Toru’s silly ‘Best Seats’ shirt grazing your nose as he towers over you.
He brings up the hem, biting it, revealing washboard abs. You blink at it.
He says, “Lick it, Second year. Go on.” Hesitating, you run your tongue over his torso, starting from the white treasure trail, over his outie belly button, then his abs, and his chest. Of course he knows he has an impressive body. It’s important he knows you know that too; it’s an ego boost for him. “Such a good girl,” he coos. “I’ll be sure to fuck you real good as a reward.”
“Not until I’m done,” Sato argues. “I’m older so I get first dibs.”
His long fingers are parting your pussy lips, grinding his zipper up and bumping it against your clit. The texture’s weird, and wild, and it has you heaving, no doubt leaving behind your slick all over the metal teeth.
Gripping your face with his free hand, Sato kisses you for the first time. He’s got your neck twisted back, the wetness of your pussy smearing on your skin. There’s no piercing, only a minty taste that you’re obsessed with. It’s messier, filthier, all tongue and spit, so different from how his brother kisses.
You’re dragged back, and lips quickly replace Sato’s. That familiar piercing returns. You’re stolen back again. Then again. And again. They’re fighting over who gets to kiss you. You’re dizzy, breathless, creaming for more.
“Quit taking her,” Toru growls.
“Fuck off,” Sato snarls. “Just sit there and look away. Three’s a crowd.”
“It’s not fair. You’re already getting to fuck her pussy first.”
“Oh? You’re so easy to give up?” He whispers in your ear, all smug, “My brother’s a pushover. Bet it turns you way off, doesn’t it? It’s alright, angel, you can tell him to back off. It’ll just be you and me, won’t that be nice?”
Fingers coat themselves in your pussy juice, rubbing your clit nice and good before pushing inside your pulsing hole. “No, babe, tell the nerd he can fuck off and go research where the clit even is. I’ll fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk away from my bed even when the cuffs are off.”
Neither of them will actually give up, no matter what you say, you know that. So you say, “Both of you. I want to be fucked by both of you. Please!”
“She’s so polite. Isn’t she polite, Sato?”
“Perfectly so.”
If someone had told you you’d be shared by twins in a frat house, you’d have called the police for harassment. Now, as you’ve said those words and they sigh and begrudgingly agree to allow the other to be here, you think this was inevitable.
Toru creeps back, working on his zip and freeing his hard cock. A hand shoves your face forward. If it isn’t for Sato holding you up, you’d be face planting into the sheets.
“A-are you sure Sukuna won’t catch us?”
Fingers push in, scissoring your cunt and prepping your walls. They cruelly curl up against your g-spot. “You think she’s trying to piss us off by mentioning another man’s name, Toru?”
“I think it doesn’t matter — she’s gonna forget there’s anyone else outside these walls when I’m through with her.”
Right in front of you, Toru strokes his dick. It’s pale, flushed red at the tip and already leaking. He’s trimmed neatly. There’s even a tattoo on his hip that says ‘Lucky You ;)’
Your mouth waters.
The salty pre is smeared on your lips. He taps it, once, then twice. “Say ahh, babe.”
Behind you, something pokes your pussy. It slides between your thighs again, spreading your juices on your skin. It enters you, inch by inch, slowly, making you feel every bit of him.
At the same time, Toru’s cock pushes through, filling your mouth. Both ends have to stretch wide to accommodate them. Already, you’re overwhelmed, overstimulated, over the fucking moon at being used so lewdly. Your friends are never going to believe how you spent your Saturday, and your future kids will never know just how wild their mother got back in college.
Soon, they bottom out, and it’s a miracle you’ve been able to take both of them at the same time.
“Damn, what a talented fucking mouth,” Toru breathes out, head thrown back. “A star for you, Second year.”
“You should feel her pussy,” Sato grits out, fingers digging into the plush of your ass with the strain of resisting the urge to thrust over and over again in your cunt. “It’s the tightest thing ever.”
His brother groans. “Shut the fuck up, dude. I can’t stand hearing your voice. Respectfully. You’re ruining this for me.”
“Grow up.”
In tandem, they rut back and forth, starting off in small bursts first to let you get used to it, then steadily growing faster and faster. You’re basically being used as as fleshlight, fucked in the way they want, with little regard for how uncomfortably stretched out and twisted you are. And it feels amazing.
But…
Why does Sato’s cock feel so different?
Your cunt clenches down on it. He grunts, then chuckles. “You’re wondering what’s on my dick, aren’t you? It’s a piercing baby. Thought only Toru has one? Didn’t expect it from me, did you? You feel it scraping your walls? Feel me deep inside your perfect pussy?”
And you can. You can feel exactly where he is, how deep he’s in, how satisfied your gummy walls are to feel something so big stretching you out, like a feeding a sacrifice to a hungry god.
You moan around Toru’s dick. He grunts. “Fuck, babe! You’re gonna make me cum early.”
“Pathetic,” Sato mutters. A cold wetness lands with a thwack right on your puckering hole. You jerk. “Relax. Just trust me.” A thumb circles the hole, pushing in only knuckle deep yet it’s more than enough to have you feeling insanely full. “If we had more time, then I’d prep this tight hole to take me. This’ll have to do.”
Sato’s an ass guy?
Are you?
It’s never occurred to you to play in that other hole, though as he hooks his thumb in, you start to think you’ve been missing out this entire time. Toru, on the other hand, is obsessed with your tits. He keeps groping them, flicking the buds so you’ll moan even more around his cock.
Balls are swinging, bumping against your chin and on your clit. The bed squeaks and creaks with the force of their ploughing, headboard slamming against the wall. You wonder if the other frat guys can hear, if they know you’re a slut squirting around a cock as you get rammed by their frat president and his twin brother. It must be a normal occurrence with how whorish they both are.
Your tongue swirls around the unpierced cockhead in your mouth, licking the salty slit. The guy in front of you curses, still biting the hem of his shirt. You can see his abs constricting, the muscles under his tattoo twitching. .
Sato breathily chuckles. “My little brother’s gonna tap out soon, and I’ll have you all to myself.”
Toru pushes back in immediately, not wasting even a single second. You have to breathe through your nose, the walls of your throat squeezing around the hefty intrusion. Whereas Sato’s long, Toru’s thicker — the difference is minute, yet you can tell.
Feeling challenged, Toru scoffs. He taps your cheek. “Tell him he can spank you. Go on.” He pulls out.
You cough, throat hoarse already. “Spank me, Sato. It’s okay, I can take it.”
SMACK!
You scream around Toru’s dick. His hips jerk forward with a groan. The fucker didn’t waste a single second!
“So fucking tight!” He slaps your cheek again, hitting exactly where he had the first time. You moan, pussy pulsing. “You like that? Well, aren’t you a dirty thing.”
It’s a turn-on for Sato, you understand now. It flipped a switch in him, seeing the mark of his hand blooming on your ass; his hips are thrusting harder, hitting that gummy spot inside you that has you seeing stars and flooding down his cock, which practically rams you mercilessly.
The strength of his thrusting forces your throat to take Toru even deeper, a fact that the frat guy rejoices in as he holds you up by a hand on your tit, groping like he had before. The cockhead’s bumping the back of your throat, no doubt bruising you.
You cum, shuddering, but neither of them seem to care. They only notice the throbbing and rhythmic squeezing of your cunt and throat, groaning and grunting above you.
“Poor nerd,” Toru snickers. “He’s gonna cum so quickly. It’s sad, isn’t it? It’s nice that you’re so charitable, babe.”
“Big talk for a masochist.” The older twin rubs your clit, occasionally pinching the thing just to feel you tighten around him. Darkly, he orders, “Dig your nails into his thigh. All the girls know he’s weak for pain. He even calls the older ones mommy. Sad, isn’t it? Disturbed, even.”
Panicked, he tries to grab your hand before it can grip his thigh through his jeans. But it’s too late. You’re faster. You dig your nails in as hard as you can so he’ll feel it through the material. He whimpers, hips stuttering. “Jesus FUCK!”
Hot cum spurts in your throat. You gag on the salty taste. Tears spring to your eyes.
Sato laughs, yanking you up by the air. Toru’s cock slides out with a pop!
Back flat on his chest, he holds you up with a hand around your throat. It presses in slightly, slowly stopping airflow to your head in intervals, holding enough to make you delirious.
Aggrieved and peeved off for being forced to cum early by a cheap trick, Toru poutily kisses your lips, running that tongue piercing over the seam. He pushes a hand against your belly. You whine, feeling even more of Sato this way. “Let’s see how long either of you lasts like this, cheaters.”
“Fuck off—Christ! Shit!”
It only takes a mere second. It’s more embarrassing than Toru’s premature ejaculation.
At the sudden and impossible tightness, the older twin curses under his breath. White paints your walls. The heat is searing and it pushes you over the edge too.
Quickly, you’re pulled off his dick, which is still spurting. Some cum gets on your face when you’re brought to your back on the bed. They’re manhanding you, positioning you like you’re a ragdoll, like you’re a mere toy for their pleasure. It’s hard to tell where up and down are, left and right, if it’s even the same day.
A cock pushes in, bullying its fat length with no hesitation. The aftershocks wrings out a deeply satisfied moan from Toru, who sinks in balls deep easily. He mutters petulantly, “If her pussy didn’t feel so good, I’d be too disgusted by your spunk all over her to get hard again.”
“Be grateful I’m letting you fuck her at all,” Sato retorts. He removes his glasses, squinting and finding the fogging of the lenses a pain in the ass. As he clears it out with the bottom of his shirt, he adjusts himself over you, obscuring your view of Toru. His heavy cock hasn’t lessened in density. It rests between your tits, soaked and sticky. “Stick your tongue out.”
You do. He makes a noise of approval.
His hands push your tits together, sandwiching his dick. Sato’s shaven. He likes things nice and clean, it’d seem. The metal bars under his cockhead are hot against your skin. You can see them. They look painful.
In between moans, you ask him, “Did the -hngh- piercings hurt?”
He shakes his head, lazily thrusting on your skin. His cock bumps onto your tongue, leaving drops of salty cum. You can taste yourself and him, and it oddly doesn’t disgust you.
Behind his brother, Toru pushes your thighs up, hooking them over his arms. Amused, he says, “He’s lying. He cried after, telling me he regrets it and he wants the piercings taken off. What a little bitch boy.”
“He exaggerates.” But the pink tinting Sato’s cheeks tells a different story.
“Whatever you say, big bro,” Toru muses.
He yanks you back and forth on his cock, not exactly thrusting anymore. You’re back to being used a fleshlight, as a pocket pussy, dragged up and down the veiny length of him. He’s reaching deep, stretching you out even more than his brother did, though he doesn’t reach your cervix as nicely as Sato had. It hardly matters to you. The pleasure’s all the same.
Thumbs brush over your nipples, flicking and rubbing, all while Sato squeezes your breasts tightly around his cock. His veins are prominent too, and they tickle your skin with every thrust. You swirl your tongue around his cockhead, teasing the underside where his piercings are every time he reaches your mouth. He throws his hair back, Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Fuck, that mouth. Real fucking sinful,” he mutters.
Rocked back and forth, bruised and bullied from top to bottom, fingers digging into sensitive flesh, marking and claiming, with sticky juices drying on your skin and tears dripping down your cheeks from the overstimulation — it’s one orgasm after the other.
“Aw, are you crying?” Sato asks, smirking and not looking the least bit apologetic.
Toru chuckles. “For something so tight and greedy, her pussy’s real weak, don’t you think?”
“The weakest.”
Skin smacks against skin. Juices splash. Puddles grow beneath you. You can taste their cum, feel them and hear and see them everywhere. Even when you close your eyes, the shapes of their cocks are imprinted, practically burnt on your retina. They won’t stop talking, won’t stop commenting on how you tremble and tense around them.
One of them moans pornographically. They both laugh.
“Hear how she moans? You’d think she’s on OnlyFans and she’s trying to rack in the subs. Dirty, dirty girl.”
“She does moan pretty loudly. Squeals like a pig too.”
Toru adds, “Oh and her pussy won’t stop talking back to me. Maybe she wants to debate the collegiate system with me, or give me a glowing review on my dick game.”
“Only you’d lose to a debate with a literal cunt,” Sato says, snorting.
“Oh because you’d win one? That’s what you wanna brag about?”
“I won one when I made her cum like three times on my dick today.”
“Pssh, you’re deluded.”
None of what they say gets to you. You’re too deep in the pleasure, in the euphoric bliss, to properly register what they’re saying. You just want them to keep fucking you, to keep stimulating your entire body. You want this to never stop.
Ankles locked around Toru’s hips, you yank him back, wanting more and more of him. It’s never enough. The hairs at his base tickle your clit before he grinds his pelvis against it. Your eyes roll back.
Sato spits a fat dollop on your tit, barely assisting the glide of his cock, which easily slides between your tits — he just wanted to do that. The sight of you all messy, lips glossy, eyes dazed, causes the corners of his mouth to twitch.
Spitting’s his thing. Panty sniffing is Toru’s.
The more you learn about them, the more your invite to Hell solidifies. They really are twins from the Underworld, just so filthy, so lewd, so damned.
“Fucking tight, squeezing me so good,” one of them groans, barely understandable.
“Pretty fucking tits, prettier fucking mouth,” the other says, eyes flitting between your face and your breasts, undecided where it wants to stay.
All three of you moan at the same time, bodies spasming, and clit and cocks throbbing. Everyone gasps for breath, the air humid and tangy.
Finally…
“Ngh! Sato! Toru!”
Cum spurts on your face, and you have to shut your eyes to avoid getting some in there. They land on your cheeks and nose and tongue. More cum fills up your cunt. All of your juices mix together in a warm concoction.
You’ve never been more full and deeply satisfied. You feel it in your bones, in your souls.
The fluff of the cuffs are soaked with your sweat and cum, the metal clammy. There are marks on your wrists from where they’ve pulled too much or too harshly, and the sting only adds to the pleasure.
Best.
Sex.
Of.
Your.
Life.
Probably best threesome too. Not that you’re planning on having any more.
“Fuck that was good,” Toru says, hands rubbing your thigh and your stomach. He pulls out, and you wince. The emptiness is upsetting, although it doesn’t last very long; his long, slender fingers push the cum leaking out back in, keeping you plugged for a little longer.
“Mm,” Sato agrees, wiping cum from your face only to shove it in your mouth for you to suck off.
“What kind of freaky circus act am I looking at right now?”
Heads flip to the door. You almost get whiplash from how fast you turned.
In the doorway, a pink-haired, heavily tattooed man stands. He doesn’t look disturbed, just amused. His eyes drink in your form, from your face to your tits to your pussy, or as much of your body he can see from where he’s standing anyway.
“Oh hey, Ryomen,” Toru says, not making a move to cover himself or you up. He just stands there between your legs, absentmindedly rubbing your clit. “How you doing?”
“Toru!” you scold, still dazed but thinking more clearly than the other two, that’s for sure. “Ask him about the cuffs.”
Does no one care about your dignity?
Nudity between men might be normal, but it’s certainly not between men and women. Despite that, they’re acting like he just caught you hanging out. No one covers you up. The newcomer doesn't look away. They’re all acting like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
Who you presume is Sukuna finally spots the pink cuffs. He groans. “You got it all dirty. God, I fucking hate you dumbass twins. Came back to pick it up, and this is how you repay the favour? You better get me new ones, Gojos.”
You blink.
Static rings in your ears.
“They…borrowed it from you?”
Sukuna quirks a brow, like he’s surprised you’re daring to speak to him. “Yeah, twin fucker. In exchange for the keys to their garage and whatever car I wanted to drive around for the weekend.” Then he seems to piece something together and laughs mockingly. “Jesus, did they sell you some story about how I cuffed you three together in punishment or something? How dumb can you be?”
Sato huffs. “Watch it, Ryomen.”
“Yeah, another insult from your lips and I’m decking you right across the cheek.”
“Whatever you freaks.” A ping goes off on his phone. Sukuna reads the notification. “Alright, I gotta get going. Get me new cuffs and keep me out of your shit. Don’t even know why you didn’t just get your own.”
Toru chuckles, tension disappearing as though it was never there to begin with, and his fingers still fucking inside you. “Lies sell better when mixed with a little truth.”
Disgusted, Sukuna scowls. “You sound like your nerdy brother. Don’t try to sound smart, Idiot Gojo. It don’t fucking suit you.” His eyes fall back to you. He smirks. “If you get tired of their pasty asses, I’m more than happy to fuck you right. You know where I live.”
He knew you were there?
Seeing the bewildered look on your face, he scoffs. “You all breathe so fucking heavily. You think I wouldn’t sense your stupidity radiating from my closet? I mean, I always knew the two of you were in the closet, but I never knew you’d be in there with a girl. Guess sexuality really is a spectrum.”
“Fuck off, Sukuna,” Sato growls, cock soft now and being tucked right back into his pants.
He waves a hand lazily. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going. Unlike her, I’m not interested in doing it with twins. I’ll see you weirdos around.”
“Wait!” you call out before he can leave. “The key! We need the key!”
Sukuna rolls his eyes at you.
“You’re slower than you look,” he mutters, exasperated beyond measure. Louder, he says, enunciating hard so you’ll get it, “I. Don’t. Have. It. The twins. Are. Sexual deviants. Who lie. To get pussy. They have the key. They always had it. You think only with your clit or something?”
A pillow gets thrown at him, followed by, “Fuck off, Ryomen.”
With a middle finger aimed at all three of you, he goes back the way he came, leaving you with guilty looking twins who each fish out a small key from their pockets.
“Oh look,” Toru weakly cheers, “we found it. Yay!”
One winces. “Guess we won’t need to go to the fire station.”
Synopsis: Toji, the TA, won't bump up your latest essay a couple marks, not with just some begging at least, so you try a different method:
good ol' pussy persuasion
Warnings: toji art by @/youKa.i on insta, smut, porn with a lil plot, nerd!toji, a couple years older than reader but both students, reader harasses him but don't save him he's right where he wants to be, some comedy aspect, college au, non curse au, f!reader, blowjob under the desk, unethical behaviour, fingering, cunnilingus, p in v, briefest choking, sex against the window, pússy inspection, belly bulging, overstimulation, spitting, a little fisting I guess or almost, Toji's poor so this is canon compliant jkjk, creampie and unprotected sex, brief pussyjob, size kink/difference, hidden sex, not proofread
Word Count: 10.7k
“For the last time,” he drawls, “I’m not bumping you up a grade.”
You groan, pushing your legs to catch up to him faster.
“Come on, I need this. I’m not asking you to break the rules. All I want is for you to reread my essay and find extra marks, which you will!”
Toji Fushiguro is a tough nut to crack, though he doesn’t look it — one glance at him and one would think he’s a laidback TA. He’s the exact opposite; he takes his job a little too seriously.
For days now, you’d been hounding him, pleading with him and degrading yourself all for him to ‘remark’ your last paper and ‘coincidentally’ find a few extra marks that would push you to the top performing spot you’d been eyeing since forever. Each time you rushed into his office, waited for him after his classes, and followed him to his apartment, he’d shrugged you off with the same ‘I don’t get paid enough for this’ look in his eyes.
Rounding the corner, his long legs making no accommodations for your shorter ones, he says, “No. If you wanted better results, you should have put in a better performance. Surely you’re smart enough to work out that that’s how life works.”
Hands grab his arm, yanking back with all your strength only to be dragged along with him and his burly body. Your heels scrape along the floor. People stare. You don’t care. “Don’t be an asshole. You know my essay was good. It was really good. Just give it a read. A proper one, and not the rushed job you do because you’re overworked and underpaid.”
He stops.
Your face bumps into this back, forehead nearly bruised by the hardness.
His brows rise above his glasses as he fixes you a look. “Kid, your essay was good — decent introduction, clear structure, sufficient evidence — but it’s not good enough for the extra marks to push you into the top band. Your closing argument fell flat ‘cause of your wishy-washy writing style, you didn’t adequately humour the counter arguments and undermine them to strengthen your thesis, and, worst of all, you misspelt ‘complement.’”
A frown graces your features.
“No, I didn’t. C. O. M. P. L. I. M—”
“No. With an I, it’s to flatter someone. With an E, it’s to enhance, pair well, or complete another thing.” Toji explains rather robotically, eyes still dead and voice monotone. “For example, if I said you’re a pretty girl, that’s a compliment. And if I said, your essay goes well with the trashcan over there, that’s a statement that suggests the two complement each other. See the difference?”
He’s already stalking off again, hands in his pockets, huge stature unwilling to accommodate the people walking down the hallway.
You break into a jog, panting embarrassingly by the time you reach him. “Dude, we’ve known each other for three years. We’ve gone through a lot together. We’re basically friends. Can’t you do your best pal a solid?”
Toji glances down at you. He pushes a door open, holding it a second longer than he needed to. You follow behind him. Somewhat amused, he replies, “We know each other because we’re on the same course, not by choice. And I don’t know what you mean by the whole ‘we’ve gone through a lot together’ thing — the most dramatic thing we’ve faced is when the projector didn’t work and we had to go into a different hall. And we’re definitely not friends.”
Well, fuck, you’re running out of rope.
“Then, let’s officially be friends,” you offer, elbowing him gently. “If you ever need help, buddy, I’ll always have your back.” Then, in an act of complete desperation, you begin shakily singing, “You’ve got a friend in me. You’ve got a friend in me. When the road looks tough ahead—”
A heavy hand shoves you away by your head. You stumble into a bulletin board.
“Enough,” he gruffs. “My day’s already fucked because the prof lost his papers and wants to blame me. I don’t need to lose my hearing on top of that.”
Your head flits around. “Did you guys see that?” People give you weird looks. “He just shoved me. The TA just shoved me. We need to protest his violent behaviour by demanding he remarks our papers. Who’s with me?”
Everyone walks past without another look at you.
Toji, on the other hand, lifts his glasses and runs a hand down his face. Muttering something under his breath, he pushes a door open and holds out a hand before you can mindlessly follow. “It’s the men’s bathroom. Tell me you’re not shameless and stupid enough to come in here.”
“I’ll wait outside.”
His eye twitches.
As though an idea comes to him, he straightens ever so slightly. “I’m gonna take a dump; you’ll be waiting a while.”
“That’s okay — I have no more classes so take your time but make sure you don’t stay sitting down longer than you need to,” you tell him, smiling innocently and standing aside to let a guy walk out, ignoring the freaked out face he makes at you. “You can get hemorrhoids."
He groans. “Jesus fucking Christ, woman.”
That seems to be as much of you he can tolerate because he walks in without another word to you. Opposite the door, you lean against the wall, whistling and coming up with alternative lines you can pull on him.
God, he’s so stubborn.
It’s not like giving you the marks docks his pay or lowers the professor’s opinion of him. He’s clearly just being an ass.
If he wasn’t such a good TA, a genuinely intelligent man, you would have gone above his head and asked for the prof’s personal assessment. But no, he has to be knowledgeable, a helpful source of information when you’re lost, someone who seems to know everything about any topic, who knows the exact pages of a textbook you should read to further your understanding, and who’s never declined a meeting for clarification on something you wrote.
For years now, you two have had a friendship-like relationship, often sharing snacks and exchanging brief words before or after lectures and classes, despite what he says.
Everyone gets along with him, though you’ve never actually seen him hang out with friends or go to parties. Maybe he doesn’t have any. Word on the street is he works part time in a couple different places. Some say so he can afford drugs, some for tuition.
The rumours never interested you, apart from any that mused about his love life, which seems to be nonexistent except for the many girls who hit on him. Not that you’re especially interested.
It’s just fun to be in the know.
Who knows how long has passed since he went in there. Your phone says fifteen minutes. Is that a normal amount of time for someone to be taking a dump?
Hesitantly, you push the door open and yell out, “Fushiguro? You doing okay? Is it stuck? For a couple extra marks, I’ll give you a hand.”
No one replies.
Brows furrowing, you bend down, looking through the stalls. No feet. What the hell?
Ahead, a window is ajar. Big enough for a man to squeeze through. Well isn’t that convenient? The kind of convenient that exists only in fiction.
Aggrieved and feeling bamboozled, you stomp back to your dorm room, slamming the door, jumping face down on the bed and screaming into the pillows. You’d feel better if you knew he had a grudge on you, if you bumped into him the first day and spilled his coffee all over himself and he’d never forgotten it. Instead, he’s just like that: does things by the book, does his job well, and achieves the best grades with ease.
Naturally, he’d become the professor’s assistant, a coveted position that seemed like it was made for him from the very beginning, and made your life a living hell because he won’t ever make concessions for you.
Sure, you shouldn’t ask him to, but it’s not like you’re asking for much. You’re generally a high performing student — punctual, hard working, ambitious — but you had one bad day which resulted in one bad essay and it lowered your average and now the internship you’d been eyeing could be snatched from your hands in a blink of an eye.
“It’s just not fair,” you cry out to your teddy bear. “It’s three marks. Three! Would it kill him to reread my essay and find those three marks?”
Mr. Teddy stares back at you and says, “He’s a grumpy man. Don’t take it personally.”
You sit up, blinking and processing his reply.
“Teddy…you’re right. He is a grumpy man, a TA with broad shoulders, yummy arms, and thick thighs with a bubble butt, but a man nonetheless. If he won’t pull favours for me, student to student, maybe he’ll pull favours for me man to woman.”
The plushie falls to the bed as you stand, staring at yourself in the mirror and formulating a plan.
With that you decide to seek him out the next day, sporting a new outfit and a different attitude.
.
.
.
“Hi.”
“Fuck off.”
The cafeteria’s busy. It always is. It’s loud enough that most people wouldn’t even hear the exchange — chairs banging on tile, trays clattering, someone laughing too loudly at a table nearby.
Toji’s hunched slightly over a bowl of udon noodles, chopsticks moving lazily as he slurps them down. Some sports clip plays on his phone, propped against his dented metal water bottle. Commentators yell about something you don’t understand. His sleeves are pushed up over his forearms, revealing ropey muscle and the faint silvery line of an old scar running across his wrist.
An old hoodie hangs off his shoulders over a plain white T-shirt. Distressed jeans, worn sneakers. He’s too big for the plastic chair, long legs spread under the table. When he saw you approach, his feet had hooked onto the chair legs, forcing you to fight to remove it from his clutches so you could take a seat.
So damn rude.
His glasses have fogged slightly from the steam of the noodles.
He doesn’t look up. But he knows it’s you. You can tell by the way his mouth tightens for half a second before he goes back to eating.
You snatch his phone away. His green eyes flick up, annoyed. You smile, arms pushing your breasts together so they spill over your tight top. Toji’s gaze doesn’t waver. He continues to stare at you like you’re a pest.
“You can’t take no for an answer?” he asks though it’s not a question at all. “Might want to retake the consent course.”
Manicured fingers walk up his bare forearm before scratching down from his elbow. His skin is warm. Light dusting of hair tickling your fingertips. “Oh, Toj, have I ever told you how handsome you are? Because you really are. You’re so damn hot I can hardly focus on the lectures.”
He snorts, still eating his noodles and still refusing to look at your cleavage. “That’ll explain why you’re missing marks.”
Jaw dropping, you force yourself to recover quickly. A heeled foot brushes against his calf, sliding his jeans up. You bat your lashes, sultrily saying, “The only thing I’m missing is your cock in me, big boy.”
Toji meets your eyes again. His scarred lips twitch. “I don’t need to tell you that was bad, do I?”
You cringe, foot dropping and whole body slumping back into the chair. “Yeah, I heard it as soon as I said it.” Then you sit up, handing him his phone, and asks, “Are the noodles good? I’ve never had them.”
Phone pocketed, he shrugs. “They’re just the cheapest deal on the menu. Growing girl like you should get something more filling.”
The menu’s extensive, and the only thing sticking out to you is the chicken burger and chicken tenders meal deal. It seems to be especially popular today but you’re not sure you can finish the whole thing.
“Hey, if I get the Meal Super Cluck Blaster, will you share it with me? I’ve got dinner plans later so I don’t want to fill up.”
That finally gets a reaction. Toji leans back a little and gives you a slow once-over. Tight top. Lacy bra peeking up. Glossy lips. More jewellery than usual. His eyebrow lifts. “That why you’re dressed like a hooker?” he asks lazily. “Hot date?”
“Nah,” you reply, waving him off. “Wore this for yo— Wait.” You lean forward, staring at him wide eyed. “Are you jealous? Are you in love with me already? Because for extra marks, I’ll cancel my dinner plans and promise myself to you for all eternity.”
Toji rolls his eyes. “Go get something to eat; you sound insane.”
You hop up. “Okay, but stay there, alright? Take my burger because I only want the tenders. Oh, and will you share a pot of cheesecake with me? I’m lactose-intolerant but I really want cheesecake right now.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
He’s still here when you come back.
As soon as you hand him the wrapped up burger, he scarfs it down the way big men do, like they haven’t eaten in days. You push him the tenders too. You’d actually gotten a double serving of everything so you have your own portion of tenders and he gets to eat another burger. There’s no way a man his size could survive on udon noodles.
“Also, let’s not act like you didn’t leave me hanging outside the men’s bathroom yesterday,” you bring up after sipping your juice. “Can’t believe you left through the bathroom window just so you could get away from me.”
“I didn’t,” he says, mouth full and adjusting his glasses.
You frown, dipping a piece of chicken in hot honey. “No, you definitely did. I peeked and there were no feet in any of the stalls. Unless you’re telling me you can grow invisible.”
“Just lifted my legs when I heard you come in, which I knew your crazy ass would do, so I could finally leave in peace. Didn’t think it’d take you fifteen minutes though.”
A laugh escapes you. “You were waiting me out? Does that sound like the mature thing to do? Jeez, you need to act your age.”
Toji’s eyes meet yours. Your smile falters for the briefest second. “I’m not that much older than you,” he reminds you. “Only by two years.”
“And yet you call me kid or kiddo,” you retort, clearing your throat. Have his eyes always been that green and deep? And is his voice usually that husky and masculine? Because you could have sworn guys your age don’t sound like that.
He shrugs again, second burger finished in a blink of an eye. “Never hurts to remind yourself.”
“Remind yourself what?”
The legs of his chair screech as he pushes it back. He stands, picking up his tray, and answers, “Forget about it. Enjoy your dinner plans. And I’m taking the cheesecake — no one wants a gassy date.”
“Wait,” you call out before he can turn away. “My marks?”
A pat on the head ruffles your hair.
“Still a no, kid.”
.
.
.
“What if I suck your dick?”
Toji lifts his glasses to rub at his eyes. “I’ve got a ton of papers to grade for another class; I don’t have time for you.”
The door shuts behind you. His office is bare, not a single decoration littering the place, not a plant nor a picture.
His office is exactly how you remember it — disappointingly, aggressively empty. The walls are a dull institutional beige that makes the overhead fluorescent light feel even harsher. No posters. No photos. Not even a sad little plant struggling for life in the corner.
Just a desk. A filing cabinet. Two chairs that look like they were stolen from a waiting room. It’s the kind of office someone occupies temporarily, like he expects to leave at any moment and doesn’t see the point in settling in.
Leaning against the desk anyway, your fingers drum lazily along the edge.
You’ve been here before: once to argue about a paper he’d shredded with red ink, once because you’d missed an exam and needed him to sign a form, and once because you’d sworn you heard him swearing loud enough to be heard halfway down the hallway.
You grip his shoulder, squeezing as you scan the fat stack of papers on his desk — the prof’s particular about handwritten essays. There’s so much to read through; you do not want to be him.
“God,” you mutter, flipping through a few pages of the stack. “There’s like fifty here.”
“Seventy-two,” Toji corrects without looking up. His handwriting is sharp and aggressive, red ink slashing through entire paragraphs like he’s committing academic murder. You wince in sympathy for whoever wrote the paper currently being dismantled.
“Good thing you can multitask, can’t you? I’ll suck your dick under the desk, you grade papers, and you bump me up a grade. Easy.”
He shrugs you off, hulking body hunched over and pen scratching on the papers, leaving harsh circles and comments like, ‘what the hell does this mean?’ and ‘you can’t just say perchance.’
Toji gruffs, “I’m serious. Take your jokes elsewhere.”
Nah, you think to yourself.
With a massive struggle against his weight, you yank his chair back, wheeling him a distance from the desk and clambering under before he can fill the space again. He makes some noise above you but you pay him no mind. Your hands rest on his meaty thighs through his sweatpants, marvelling at the density, at the strength you find in them.
“You’re fucking ridiculous.” His foot nudges your knee. “Get the fuck out. I’ll cropdust you if I have to.”
You call his bluff by clutching his clothed cock. He jolts, grunting. Laughing softly, you muse, “You say all that but you have a semi already — did my proposition get you hard, Toji?”
You’re rubbing his hard on, trying not to get flustered by how big he feels, and how fat the girth is. Of course he’s big. In hindsight, you really shouldn’t have been so surprised; he’s a big man so naturally the proportions will match up.
“Suck my dick, don’t suck my dick, it doesn’t matter,” he says, sighing and probably pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re not getting those marks.”
He thinks that’ll stave you off because he knows you’re whoring yourself out for a grade. What he doesn’t know is that your stupid little brain’s already forgotten about all of that the moment you felt his cock. Now all you can think about is how you’ll have to stretch your lips nice and wide to take him in, and even then, even when your throat is lax and loose, you won’t be able to take him to the base.
Toji grunts again, peering down at you. “You mouthing at my dick? Did’ya not hear what I said?”
Like you’ve been possessed, you press kisses to where his tip is, humming around it. “I heard, but your dick’s saying other things to me, and I know which I prefer to listen to.”
“My dick’s not marking your paper, so get the fuck up,” he growls.
“Don’t wanna.”
“You’re fucking killing me here.”
A heavy hand bundles your hair up, pulling but you fight against it, hooking your fingers under the waistband and releasing him from the constraints. His boxers have a hole, and yet you only find it endearing. Freeing his cock so it bounces up and smacks your cheek, it leaves a wet mark on your skin.
Tutting, he wipes away the wetness from your skin.
Oh fuck, he really is big.
With nothing between you and his dick, you can see him in all his glory in the partial shadow of under his desk — long, thick, flushed red, already shiny at the slit, veiny as hell, hairs at the base wild and unruly, with weighty balls to match. You’ve never seen anything better.
Tongue out, you lick him from base to tip, prodding at his frenulum.
“Quit it,” he commands through gritted teeth.
You moan wantonly, already addicted to the salt on his kin, to the texture of his veins, to the softness of his cockhead. “Toji, you’re so big. I don’t think this’ll fit inside me.”
The thing throbs, bobbing. A droplet oozes out and you quickly lick it up. The hand that was pulling your hair has grown slack, simply resting on the back of your head, keeping you from bumping the wood.
Voice hoarse, he mutters, “If anyone can make it fit, it’ll be your stubborn ass.”
Your eyes meet his from under the desk, mischief sparkling in them you’re sure. His cock throbs again. “I thought you had papers to mark, Fushiguro. Maybe you should get on that, no?”
A calloused thumb presses down on your lips, shushing you. It slides down, bringing your bottom lip down with it, before releasing it so it’ll bounce back in place. That same thumb holds your jaw open, hand guiding your mouth to his tip. You know what he wants. You also know that he knows that you both know that you won this time.
Wide as you can, you take as much of his length as possible. You don’t get much further than a third of the way, full beyond belief and overwhelmed by just how much of him there still is. Your nails dig into his thighs.
“If this is supposed to convince me to give you extra marks, then you’re failing real hard, doll,” he notes, gripping the base. “Can barely fit the head, can you?”
He’s acting like it’s your fault he’s so big.
Challenged, you loosen your throat to take him an inch deeper. You gag around the length. Toji curses under his breath. “Careful,” he mutters. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
You ignore him in favour of shallowly bobbing, sucking and licking what you can, as though he’s a lollipop. It’s actually kinda fun.
The familiar sound of pen scratching on paper and paper rubbing on paper echoes in the relatively quiet office. Only the wet sounds of your mouth sucking his cockhead pierces the silence.
Growing more and more used to his size, you flick your tongue around the head, letting your hands wrap around the rest of him, squeezing and tugging in time with your mouth. Occasionally, he makes a couple breathy noises — low grunts when your tongue laps up his tip, gravelly groans when you hollow your cheek to suck, and rough exhales through his nose when you grip his balls, massaging them, thumb rubbing the seam.
It becomes easier to forget why you were here in the first place; you’re just blowing him for your own entertainment now, wanting something to occupy your throat.
Then, he asks, as though he’s making casual conversation, “How was the date?”
“Hmm?”
Toji rolls his eyes. “The date,” he repeats. “How was it? He pay for the meal? Open doors, see you to your door, kiss you goodnight and shit?”
Your lips stretch into a smile. You release him with a pop! “I didn’t go on a date,” you tell him. “My friends hosted a housewarming party because they moved in together. I had a great time, thanks for asking.”
Is he pleased? Unaffected? Genuinely just making conversation? Hard to tell, except for the pushing of his hand, urging you back to his dick, and taking him further inside your throat, till his tip bumps the back of the gummy walls.
“Good,” he exhales out, thighs flexing around your body. “That’s real good.”
“My blowjob skills or that I had a great time?” you ask, words muffled and barely understandable.
“Both,” he answers. “Both, doll.”
A knock on the door has you both stiffening. Toji glares down at you and whispers, “It’s the prof. Do not make a sound.”
He didn’t need to tell you that — you’re well aware that if you get caught, you’ll both face disciplinary action, and will likely be kicked out of the university. That’s worse than not getting the internship.
The office falls quiet so suddenly you can hear the ticking of the wall clock. Toji’s hand tightens briefly against the desk as the knock comes again. “Come in,” he calls, voice steady.
The door opens before he even finishes the word.
“Ah, Fushiguro, there you are,” the professor says, stepping inside with a stack of papers tucked under one arm. “I wasn’t sure if you’d left already.”
From your position under the desk, you can only see shoes. Polished leather. Slow steps across the floor. You don’t slide his cock out of your throat, lest it makes a sloppy noise that’ll give you both away. So you breathe through your nose, being very, very quiet.
“No, I was just finishing up some grading,” Toji replies, cool as a cucumber.
His tone is annoyingly normal. Completely unbothered. He’s really convincing. Has he done this before? Is this a normal occurrence? Do a lot of girls offer to blow him for better marks, and does he take them up on it? Are you the one exception to his generosity?
“Good, good.” Papers shuffle. A chair creaks as the professor sits across from the desk. “I actually wanted to ask about the research methods essays.”
Of course he did.
You squeeze your eyes shut.
Toji shifts slightly above you — just enough that the movement brushes your shoulder — and then he leans back in his chair. “Yeah?” he says.
“I noticed something odd in the submissions this year,” the professor continues. “Half the class seems to misunderstand the section on sampling bias.”
He hums thoughtfully. “You mean where they’re supposed to explain the limitations of convenience sampling?”
“Exactly.”
A sheet of paper slides across the desk.
“You see this one here—”
From below, you hear Toji pick it up.
“—they describe the method correctly, but their conclusion contradicts their own analysis.”
There’s a pause whilst the TA reads. You stare at the underside of the desk and try not to shift your knees. God, this is like torture. Having a cock lodged in your throat and not being able to do anything with it is hell. Above the desk, they’re chatting away, talking about your fellow students, with the professor none the wiser that one such student’s under the desk.
“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “They’re treating correlation like it proves causation.”
“Precisely!” the professor says, sounding delighted. “It’s surprisingly common.” Another pause. You hear a pen tap the desk twice. “I was thinking next year we might restructure the lecture slightly,” the professor continues. “Maybe introduce a short case study before the assignment.”
“Could work,” Toji replies. “Give them something concrete, tangible, to analyse.”
Your legs are starting to cramp. Your lips tighten around his hot cock. Toji brushes your hair back from your face, a quiet act to show he hasn’t forgotten about you. The professor keeps talking, completely unaware.
“Also,” he says, shuffling more papers, “the literature review sections were stronger this year.”
“Mm.”
“I suspect the workshop helped.”
Toji lets out a quiet huff that might be agreement.
“You handled that well, by the way,” the professor adds. “The students seem to respond to your feedback.”
This is way too boring, you decide. In an act you might end up regretting for the rest of your life, your offended tongue prods his tip where he’s still leaking salty precum.
He grunts, knee crashing up on the wood.
The professor asks him if he’s alright, and Toji replies, “Fine. Sorry. Just had a cramp.”
A triumphant smile pulls at your lips, which is quickly wiped away by the sudden pinch at your cheek. You wince, unable to smack him in retaliation.
A sigh fills the room. “I fear you work too hard, Fushiguro. You ought to take a break here and there. Do something fun and wild, or whatever it is people your age do nowadays.”
“I am having fun,” Toji says, hand coming back to rest on your head, growing heavier and heavier until you’re forced to take him inside your mouth, deeper and deeper. “In my own way.”
He’s filling you up more than he was before, now more insistent, no longer so passive. You’re struggling to take him but he’s not letting up. Fuck, you’re soaked between the legs. Who knew you had an oral fixation?
“Well, good,” the professor says. He pushes his chair back. Your heart jumps in joy. “I won’t keep you any longer, I know those papers won’t mark themselves. Boy do I not envy you.” He laughs. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You too, Professor.”
Footsteps move toward the door. The handle turns. The door opens. Closes. Silence. Two seconds pass.
Then Toji peers down, licking his scarred lips, and mutters under his breath, “You needy fucking girl. Couldn’t wait, could you? Couldn’t resist not being a pain my fucking ass. If you want cock so badly, then here you go.”
His hips thrust up, hand keeping you in place. Your eyes fly open, throat stretching to take all of him in. Oh, he was as pent up, as frustrated, as you were. The force in which he’s rutting inside your throat displays that nice and clear.
“You’ll do anything for a good grade, won’t you? Even debase yourself like this. God, you drive me crazy.”
You gag around his cock but he doesn’t pay any mind to that. No, Toji’s just rutting inside your mouth over and over again, grunting louder and louder now.
Meanwhile, your hand seeks out the heat between your legs. You grind against the heel of your palm, moaning around his length. The vibration has his balls tightening up.
“Fuck!”
Hot cum bursts inside, coating the walls of your throat and your tongue.
Toji leans back in his chair, which creaks. You pull him out, coughing at the salty burn. Damn, even his loads are big. It’s like a cream puff exploded inside your mouth.
Hands carry you up, sitting you on his thigh. One rubs your back in circles, the other wipes away the tears at your eyes, licking at the wetness he’s collected on his thumb. “You good, kid?” he asks, brows furrowed.
“Yeah,” you respond, voice hoarse and not fooling anyone. “I’m good.”
You take a sip of his water from his water bottle, not caring about the fact that you’re drinking from where he had been, and if he cared that your mouth which had been sucking on his dick and cum is on his cup, he didn’t say.
He sighs, tucking himself back in and says, “Come by my place tonight. Hand me your essay again and I’ll reread it. But I’m not making any promises about finding extra marks, alright? It’s just a second chance, and the only one you’ll get.”
Dopily, you smile at him. “Throat game that good, huh?”
His lips twitch. He shoves you away, smacking your ass as you walk away.
“I’ll text you the time and place. Don’t be late.”
Nodding, you head for the door, not leaving however till you ask, “Should I wear matching underwear, or is this a strictly keep your clothes on meeting?”
“Fuck off before I regret it.”
“Lacy thong it is!”
.
.
.
“Should I spread my legs now or do you want me to fluff you first?”
Toji’s deadpan face meets you when he opens the door. He sighs as though he’s regretting this already. Regardless, he lets you in.
You can tell he showered recently — there’s the scent of cheap soap lingering on his skin and his hair is still a little damp.
His apartment is nice and clean, which surprises you somewhat. Most guys your age tend to be messy. But you should have known the TA would be neat and organised.
“I’m serious,” you begin, snuggling up to his side and batting your lashes up at him, “what position do you want me? I’m not the most flexible but I’m not too bad.”
Shaking you off, he pushes you in the direction of the living room where the coffee table is covered with carefully laid out papers he no doubt carried from campus to continue working on. “Go sit down, you horny gremlin. Make some room for your essay and let’s get this over with.”
You do as he says, folding your legs so you can sit by the coffee table on the rug. You take the essay out of your bag, shoving all the others to the side. With a frown, you ask, “So we’re really not fucking?”
He folds himself down too, sitting beside you, knee brushing yours. “I don’t solicit sex in exchange for academic favours. Dunno why you’re so surprised by that — can’t recall having done anything to make you think otherwise.”
“Well, you did give in after I blew you, so…”
“I was gonna offer before you did all that,” he informs you, snorting. “Just never promised to give you the marks.”
Toji adjusts his glasses, taking your papers and starting his reassessment of it. His lips purses, brows furrows, and he stares at the thing like it could tell him the answers to the universe. That or it’s so bad he just can’t fathom what you were thinking.
“Second paragraph, third line, why the hell is it so convoluted?” he asks, voice returning to that grumpy tone you’re more than familiar with now.
It’s the latter, it would seem. He really meant business. You shaved and everything for nothing. What a shame.
Leaning over, you rest your head on his big bicep, and, with a pout, reply, “I thought it sounded smart; I was pretty proud of that line actually.”
“No, doll,” Toji says, sighing. “The simpler the better. Don’t purposefully complicate your syntax. Only do what’s necessary to get the point across. If I, an expert in this topic, can barely understand what you mean, how is the ordinary person supposed to?”
“Yeah, okay. Simple is better, I get it.”
He continues reading, red pen in hand and making annotations as he goes. Meanwhile, you’re worming your way into his lap: one hand resting on his thigh at first, then a leg thrown over his. He notices what you’re doing — there’s no way he doesn’t know — but he doesn’t put up a fight. Eventually, you’re sitting in his lap, his chin resting on your head, and his arms caging you in.
Toji’s warm. He’s comfy to rest on despite all the muscles. Closer now, his soapy scent envelops you. It goes straight to your head. You find yourself squirming.
“Keep still,” he reprimands, underlining a phrase twice for emphasis. “You can’t just use jargon if you’re not going to explain it. It’s bad practice.”
“Got it.” Fiddling with his spare hand, running your fingers down his and over his palm, you ask, “Are academics supposed to have calluses?”
“They bother you or something?”
“No, not at all. I’m just curious.”
He hums. “I do odd jobs here and there, some more manual than others so yeah I built up some calluses.” Without missing a beat, he pivots the topic. “Tell me again what the difference is between compliment and complement.”
You bring that hand up to your breast, imploring him to grope your tits as you reply, “With an I is to praise someone or something, and with an e is to say something matches well with another.”
A moan escapes your lips when he squeezes in approval. Toji mutters, “Good girl. Guess you do listen to me.” Thumb brushing your hardened nipple through the thin material of your top, you squirm in his lap. His lips move against the top of your head. “No bra?”
“I figured you were going to take it off me anyway so I didn’t bother,” you say, still pressing his hand to your tit, riding the motions of every grope and flick of your nipple.
Another hum.
Slowly, you guide that hand down lower. He must know what you’re doing, where you want it to end up, but he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t reprimand or put up any resistance; he’s curious to see how far you’re willing to go. And you’re curious to see how much restraint he has, how long he can hold out before his façade of nonchalance breaks and he’s fucking up inside you.
You tease yourself, and him, first — his fingers, with your guidance, tease your bare thighs, following the hem of your tight skirt. Growing breathless, you ask, “What kind of odd jobs do you do?”
Toji’s calluses tickle the sensitive skin in your inner thighs just right. He’s still marking your paper, occasionally fact-checking your ideas and his theories in a textbook on the table. Amused, he retorts, “You curious about me, doll?”
“Hmm, I want to know exactly whose cock will be stretching me out in a minute.”
He snorts, patting your clothed pussy. You jolt with every impact. “I tutor on the side. Fix up some cars in the garage in town. I’m a physical trainer for three clients at the local gym too. And when I’m low on money, I sell risqué pictures of myself. That disgust you?”
All while he answers, Toji’s blunt nails scrape your slit through your panties. He’s not applying much pressure at all, if any, and yet every skim, every travel up and down has goosebumps rising on your skin.
“N-no,” you answer quickly. “I think that’s really cool. If I had a body like yours, I’d take pictures all the time too.”
His laughter rumbles in his chest. An odd sense of pride warms your own. He says, “Your body’s more than good enough to sell too, you know. Don’t act like you don’t know guys give you double takes all the time, or that your ass could stop traffic.”
Giggling, you lean back, gazing up at him with a smile. “Do you stare at my ass sometimes, Toji?”
God, you’re soaked. You can tell, though you’re not embarrassed whatsoever. If anything, you’re just itching for him to pull your panties to the side and touch you skin to skin, to plunge inside your pussy and make a mess out of you.
“Tell me where you can, and should, insert a semi-colon in paragraph six, and I’ll give you an honest answer.”
He nudges you with his chin. “Go on. Quit thinking with your pussy and give me the right answer.” A little aggrieved, you sit up straight, holding his wrist to keep his hand between your legs. Your eyes scan the section. Tentatively, you point to a full stop on the second line. Toji shakes his head and smacks your clothed pussy again. “Try again, and don’t guess.”
“Here,” you snarl, feeling way past pent up. “Now give me my reward.”
Toji huffs. “Semi-colons help for varying sentence structures. It’s in the little ways you can convey your points compellingly. Don’t underutilise the right punctuations.”
“Yeah, yeah, smarty pants. Rub my clit and answer my question already.”
Cool air brushes against your swollen, glistening lips. You sigh when his warm hand covers the entire slit barely a second later. His middle fingers are instantly coated in your wetness. He groans. “Fuck, doll, you’re dripping.” Toji doesn’t give you a moment to respond to that; his fingers rub at your throbbing clit in tight circles, drawing it out of his hood. You moan, back arching.
Finally, he answers, “I stare at your ass all the fucking time after I glare at the losers whose eyes wander from their laptop screens . I’m a big, fucking hypocrite — that what you wanna hear?”
“Fuck yes!”
Rustling of paper reaches your ears. Then two hands are on you: one furiously rubbing the bundle of nerves and the other gripping your throat. He squeezes threateningly. Your vision spots, jaw dropping. “Look at you, all desperate to have my cock inside you. And for what? For a couple marks? You’re not ashamed?”
Your ass is grinding back on his boner, sandwiching the hard thing between your cheeks as your own answer. How could you be ashamed when he wants you so bad too?
“I’m horny! Are you gonna fuck me or not?”
In a split second, you find your world spinning. Your back falls on something hard. You’re staring up at the ceiling, papers scattered beneath you. Rough hands tug you down by your thighs. When you peer down, Toji’s staring up at you from between your lips.
“Yeah, I’m fucking you. You already knew I was gonna. You gonna let me taste your pussy first?” A challenging brow quirks up, like he’s waiting for you to push him away.
Instead, your legs hook over his shoulders, ankles crossed. You grin at him.
Panties pulled to the side, his fingers spread your pussy for him. Those eyes scan every inch. He releases a shaky breath, cheeks flushed and Adam’s apple bobbing. “Even your pussy’s pretty. Fucking gorgeous.” Running a hand through his hair, he says, “You’re always such a pain, aren’t you?”
“I can’t help that every part of me’s pretty,” you reply, twirling your hair.
“Shut up and play with your tits — I like a show with my dinner.” Toji spits a fat dollop right on your clit. It slides down your slit but before it can disappear in the crevice of your ass, his tongue is collecting it and shoving it inside your cunt.
You gasp. “Fuck, Toji!”
In spite of his aggressive tone, you pull down your top, letting your tits bounce out. Those eyes follow every jiggle. “Good girl,” he rasps. “Squeeze them for me nice and hard. Good. Real fucking good.”
His glasses are foggy now with your own humidity, rattling with every movement. He’s eating your pussy out like he’s starved, like he’s never tasted anything better, like he’s going to make sure not a single trace of you can be found in his apartment after he’s done with you.
Growling, he spread your thighs wider. “Course you’ve got a sweet pussy,” he says, brows furrowing in what appears to be anger. “Course it’s sweeter than that fucking cheesecake. Course I’ll be craving you till I die.”
Fingers tangle in his hair, tugging for purchase. “Ngh, Toji, my clit…suck my clit!”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Those scarred lips, the very ones you’ve stared at more times than you can count, wrap around your clit, sucking hard the way you did when you were blowing him under the desk. Electricity sparks inside, sending tremors up from your lower belly to your tits to the very tips of your fingers. “Oh fuck, that’s so good.”
Filthy squelches are being wrung out of you, and you know he’s doing it on purpose, addicted to how responsive your body is to him.
Two fingers worm their way through your pulsing hole, basking in the rough textures of your entrance, stretching your gummy walls on their way to curling against that spot that has you oozing more cum out.
“You’re fucking tight,” he hisses. “You’re gonna struggle taking all of me later.” Then he barks a laugh, spare hand pressing down on your belly where the pressure builds up. Your toes curl. “A better man would take pity on you, go slow or wait another day, but I’ve already had my tongue inside your cunt so I’ll spare you the gentleman act.”
More fingers shove in, ignoring the screech that you let out. You’ve never had more than two and yet all four of his thicker, longer fingers are inside pushing your walls to their very limits.
Despite that, he remarks, entertained by the shock on your face which he studies through his glasses, “Suck it up, buttercup — my cock’s thicker than this, you know that.”
You do.
It’s all you’ve been thinking about all day. Hours after, your jaw’s still stretched out, sore and creaking after the workout you put it through. The thought of having something even thicker, longer than his four fingers has you growing dizzy, head handing over the coffee table.
“Yeah, my cock can’t wait to feel you too,” Toji says, not to you but to your pussy which is squelching lewdly and loudly. “Had to resist jerking my dick raw all day so you better make it good for me.”
Is it seconds later, or minutes, maybe hours, when you cum?
How ever long it is no one can deny it’s the strongest orgasm of your life.
Your entire body trembles, spasming beyond control. Are you screaming or silently moaning? Are your eyes shut or have you gone blind? And is he still pistoning his fingers inside you, damn near pushing all of his hand in?
“Stop,” you cry out. “No more, please!”
Mercifully, he yanks his hand out. Unfortunately, it leaves you feeling so empty you immediately crave the feeling of his hand gripping you from inside.
Lips and chin glistening, he kisses both inner thighs, which tremble.
Toji gathers you with one arm, showing off his strength as he carries you off the table and to the glass door which leads out to the balcony. It’s dark out and all you can see are the lights of people’s rooms in the apartment across. There are families lounging, dogs sleeping, TV’s blaring.
Behind you, you hear the rustling of his shirt as he throws it off carelessly. Bare skin grazes your own soon after his hands make quick work of the clothes you’re still wearing. In a flash, you’re naked. He bends down to pick up your fallen panties, inhaling the gusset deeply. Your legs cross tightly at the deeply satisfied groan he lets out.
“Next office hour,” he starts, lazily spreading your pussy lips and smearing your juices around so he can listen to the squelches and keep your squirming, “you better leave your panties with me. Consider it payment.”
You laugh. “Sure.”
Groggily, you try to keep your head up, wondering what you’re doing by the window, still a little out of it. A hand clutches your jaw, aiding you.
“I’m gonna fuck you against this window,” he announces, leaving no room for arguments. “You want those extra marks? Then you’re gonna be a good girl and take my cock like a champ.”
Ass gyrating back against the hot, heavy thing still confined in sweatpants, you wonder, “Do you have an exhibitionism kink?”
He lets go of you. You have to catch yourself by pressing your palms to the cold glass. Toji drags your hips back, foot kicking your legs apart. His cock plops onto your ass, scalding. “No, I have a ‘get my time’s worth from shameless women who waste my time with demands for better grades by humiliating them’ kink.”
“Sounds long. We should get that shortened,” you drawl.
His cockhead slides through your pussy, coating itself in your wetness. The fat thing bumps against your clit. You shudder.
Satisfied with your natural lubrication, he prods your entrance. “Yeah, we should. Let’s call it, Shut The Fuck Up And Take It.”
Then he enters you in one go.
You scream.
The window fogs up with your breath. Your eyes roll to the back of your head.
You’re taking so much of his length so quickly that it should be painful. Despite that, there’s not an ounce of pain, not one you didn’t like at least — only the overwhelming pleasure of being filled up is resonating.
Toji grunts. “Almost had to fist this cunt and you’re -hah fuck- still too tight.”
Pummelling his cock in, his hips don’t pause for a second. You gasp for breath, palms slipping and sliding on the condensation that’s built up on the glass. It’s like you can feel him in your lungs, so impossibly deep, so hot, so intimidating.
“God, it should be a crime to have a body like this,” he says, hands groping every part of your flesh he can reach. He slaps your ass to watch it jiggle for him. He’s an ass man, that much is clear.
The force of his thrusting has you pushed closer to the glass, so close now that almost your entire front is flush with the surface. The coldness grazes your nipples. You moan.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
He tugs you back to him, body sliding down the glass till your ass is jutted out. Toji carries your hips up so you can reach him, but it means your toes are only brushing the floor. You cling to the glass door as much as you can. Through the glossy haze, you see the marks you left on the glass, from the oils and sweat on your skin. You see the outline of your tits, all round and fat, the handprints you left and the smearing of them all over the place because you couldn’t grapple with one position to have them in.
Are people watching? Are you flashing a poor old man, are you reigniting a sexual appetite in a pitiful divorcee, making a housewife jealous, creating fantasies for some guy your age? Are people rubbing one out to the flashes of ecstasy on your face, to the swaying of your tits, to the rippling of your ass?
Toji’s fingers creep under you, furiously teasing your clit. You whine. “I think I’m gonna cum again.”
“Go on, gorgeous,” he rasps. “Lemme feel you cum around my cock. Make my dreams come true.”
Two fingers gather the cream that’s formed a ring at his base. He draws three letters on the glass for you to stare at. It spells out c u m.
God, he’s dirty.
Another orgasm ripples through you. Your thighs shake. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Toji!”
He growls out, hands tightening their grip on your hips, threatening to bruise, “Shit, you’re gonna make me cum early.”
Without waiting for you to come down from your high, he flips you around. Your back thuds against the door. His cock reenters you in a clean, easy slide, cunt beyond soaked and stretched out. Your arms and legs wrap around him.
Those glasses of him have fogged up so thickly now that they fail to serve their purpose. Toji takes it off with one hand, sliding it onto your head, like a headband keeping your face clear of your hair. “Don’t let them fall,” he orders. “They break and you won’t be getting that internship.”
And his lips?
They smack against yours.
He kisses you, all tongue and teeth and drool dripping down chins, like he’s been waiting weeks, months, perhaps years to do that. And you kiss him back just the same.
Inside you, his cock throbs. Toji’s hips swing back and forth, pelvis grinding on yours, rubbing your clit and wringing our more obscene squeeeelches.
“Oh god, I’m so full, Toji. You’re so fucking big.”
“You’re -hngh- t-taking me so well,” he praises, littering sloppy kisses all over your face and neck all while he pinches and rolls your nipples. “Moaning so adorably, all pretty and finally keeping this mouth quiet of smartass comments. You should be like this all the time.”
The rocking of his cock inside you is even better like this. The closeness, the warmth, the taste of him — you wonder why you waited so long to do this.
Tits squashed to his chest, your nipples scrape his skin, slipping and sliding with the sweat beading down your bodies. The hard planes of his chest feel magnificent. Nothing about his muscles are for vanity only, and the knowledge of the strength he’s holding back has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.
“You’d miss my smartass comments,” you tell him, head thrown back and hips working their way down on his cock of their own volition.
Toji groans against your neck, licking droplets of sweat. “Yeah, maybe. I definitely wouldn’t miss your spelling errors though.”
Smiling, you tug his head up by his hair, and bite his bottom lip. You pull and let go so it’ll snap back into place like he’d done with your lip when you were under his desk. “Maybe if you taught me like this, I wouldn’t -hah- make so m-many mistakes— deeper, Toji! Fuck me deeper.”
His hips plough deeper inside, like you wanted, hitting that spot inside you till you’re sure it’ll be bruised in the morning. Moans after moans are fucked out of you; his neighbours will give him an earful tomorrow, you’re certain.
“Book more office hours just to see me and not because you want something from me, then we can see if I can fuck your stupidity out of you,” he retorts.
You peck his lips. “Aw, does poor, needy Toji want me to give him more attention? Does he miss me when I’m not there? What a cute little baby.”
“Yeah, he does, actually,” he says, smirking. “That a problem?”
“It will be if you don’t make me cum.”
Toji reminds you, “You’ve been cumming around my cock this entire time; you still want more? Greedy girl.”
He pulls away from the window, stalking over to the sofa instead. Each step burrows him deeper inside you, kissing your cervix and pushing out gasps from your lips, all of which he swallows.
Carelessly, he throws you on the sofa. You bounce with an oomph!
Ankles held by one hand, he keeps your legs upright, hips lifted up to meet his. Toji presses a kiss to your ankle bone before he pushes his cock back inside. Your back arches with a mewl. Like this, his huge body becomes even more glaring — he’s casting a shadow over you, completely dwarfing you, reminding you how easily he could break you, how he could take whatever he wants from you.
Every time he buries himself to the hilt, a bulge pops through your tummy, right under your belly button.
“Look at that,” he mutters, brushing a thumb over it. You whine. “Feel me deep inside you? You’ll be feeling me inside for days, won’t you? Once it starts to fade, you can always come back for another fill, you know.”
“Promise?” you ask, grinning ear to ear.
Toji pulls out, leaving just his tip before he slams back in, jostling you down on the sofa. His abs contract, cock throbbing at the sudden clenching of your walls around him. “Fuck, yes, doll. Promise. I fucking promise.”
His glasses have slid off, rattling somewhere on the sofa with the impact of every thrust. He doesn’t seem to care about them anymore. You’re nearing another orgasm, head whipping around at the intensity of the pressure building in your core. He’s bullying his cock relentlessly in your cunt, chasing after his own high and sending you to yours.
When your eyes clash with his piercing, green ones, unobstructed by his glasses, you explode with a scream.
“F-fuck,” he grunts, following soon after.
Searing cum spurts inside you, cock pulsing, cum painting your walls. His thumb rubs your clit, aiding you through your orgasm. Your moans are vibrating against the walls, definitely disturbing his neighbours, but so are his groans.
He slumps over, rolling the two of you on the sofa so you’re resting naked on his heated body, his heavy arm preventing you from falling off. Your pussy’s sore, a mix of your cum and his dribbling out and creating a sticky mess on your inner thighs.
Absentmindedly, as you both catch your breath, he rubs your back. You draw shapes and letters on his chest. Toji combs his hair off of his forehead, chest rising up and down with his breathing. The dirty marks you two left are still on the glass, though it’s no longer foggy.
Reaching up above him, he gracefully finds his glasses, sliding them on his face. You like him with and without them.
“So,” you begin, “about those extra marks.”
Toji lifts his glasses up to rub a hand down his face. “Jesus, yes, you’ll get the marks.”
“Thanks!” you chirp.
“God, you’re a pain in the ass.”
.
.
.
“Fuck, Toji,” you moan. “I already came three times. It’s too -hic- too much.”
Your TA ruts his cock inside you, face buried in the crook of your neck. His glasses are on your nose bridge, blurring your vision; he gets so frustrated when the thing gets in the way of kissing you or eating you out.
“Shut up,” he rasps, hand pressing down on your lower belly so you can feel him even more. “You’re the one who dragged me here. Take every orgasm I give you and be grateful.”
That’s true — you were supposed to have an office hour with him, which is really an excuse to see your boyfriend before you have to attend the internship induction session, but then you took one look at him and his amazing body and started soaking through your panties so here you two are.
Oh yes, you did say boyfriend.
After he blew your mind out, you’d been visiting his apartment after classes so often, you were practically living there, and he didn’t mind. It started out casual, but after realising you two would go grocery shopping, watch movies together, and text each other practically every day, you decided to just seal the deal and make it official.
In short, he fucks good, and he can tolerate your personality, so you two stuck together.
A month in, neither of you are really regretting it. At least, if his desperate thrusting and sloppy kisses to your neck’s anything to go by.
“Missed you so much, Toji,” you whine, hips fucking back into him.
Toji groans, hand groping your tit from under your shit. “Yeah, baby?”
“Mmm.”
“Missed you too,” he confesses, licking a stripe up your neck and scraping his teeth down. Goosebumps rise on your arms. “Been wanting to see you all morning.”
You giggle, holding onto the stall for purchase and so his thrusting won’t make you smack face first onto the door. “You’re so cute w-when you’re needy.”
“Fuck off,” he says with no real heat to his words.
In the near distance, the door to the men’s toilets opens with a dull metallic creak, the sound echoing faintly off the tiled walls. Feet pad in—slow, unhurried. The steady rhythm of someone who expects the place to be empty.
“Fushiguro?” a voice calls out. “You in here?”
The two of you go very, very still. Toji’s entire body stiffens behind you, muscles locking. His hand clamps firmly over your mouth for extra measure, warm palm pressing tight enough that you can feel the tension in his fingers.
Your heart slams against your ribs, loud enough that you’re half convinced it might echo under the stall. What the hell is the professor doing here?
“Susan told me she saw you walk in this direction. You got a minute?”
Toji releases a tense breath through his nose, annoyed at the interruption but left with no choice but to answer. He lifts you up so your feet hang over the floor and won’t be seen by the outsider. “Yeah, prof. But I’m kinda in the middle of something.”
The professor laughs. “Yes, yes, I’m sure. I do apologise for interrupting you. I was just locked out of my account and can’t send emails for the next hour. You know how terrible I am with technology.” He enters the stall next door. He unzips his pants. You cringe. “I only wanted to ask if you’re prepared to host the internship induction later.”
You go still, this time for a different reason.
Your boyfriend releases your mouth. Fingers creep over to between your legs, where you’re still connected to him, where he’s still throbbing inside you. He slowly rubs your clit, keeping you from squirming in complaint with his strong arms. Toji responds, “Yeah, got all my notes ready.”
The bastard’s trying to distract you…
“Ah good, good,” the older man joyfully responds. His stream hits the water, and you fight the urge to face palm. “I had a look over the plans and the schedule. Very well organised, I must say. The competition was fierce, which is a testament to the success of the event, so props to you.”
Do men hold conversation so casually in the toilets?
Toji carefully begins moving in slow and shallow thrusts, prodding your g-spot over and over with his fat cockhead. You bite your lips to keep from moaning. Your nails dig into his thick arm. He ignores you.
“Don’t mention it, Professor.”
The man zips himself back up and flushes, exiting the stall. Outside, the tap runs, and you’re both still as quiet as rocks, afraid that any sudden movement will out you both as sexual deviants.
He adds, “Oh, and thank you for handling the applications for me; you know I hate all that paperwork nonsense.”
Your jaw drops.
Beyond tense, Toji replies like he’s aware of the weight every word exchange carries, “I do what I can do to help out.”
“I couldn’t do what I do without you,” the professor continues, sincere and ignorant to the fact that you’re there. The rustling of paper towels echoes. “Well, I’ll see you later. Apologies again for interrupting.”
The exit door swings open and you relax, but then his voice fills the space again.
“Do say hello to your pretty, little girlfriend for me.”
Your heart?
Drops to the fucking floor.
Toji’s grip on you tightens just slightly, barely noticeable unless you’re pressed this close to him.
Your mind races. Did he see you come in? Did someone tell him? Did Susan, whoever the hell she is—
Toji speaks before you can spiral further, his tone sharper now, suspicion threading through it. “What do you mean, Professor?”
“Oh, you know, the girl you’ve been eyeing for a while now — she’s on the internship, yes?” Then he laughs the kind of laughter old men do, all paternal and wise. “Don’t worry, son, I’m not accusing you of pulling strings; I know she’s a very intelligent young woman. Ambitious too. Almost as ambitious as you. I hope you two work something out.”
Your heart slows its beating but you’re not any less tense.
Sighing, Toji responds, “I’ll let you know if we do.”
“Yes, yes,” the professor says before he leaves for good.
Finally, it’s just you two in the men’s toilets again. The silence and emptiness is maddeningly relieving. Although, you’re seething, practically vibrating with accusations and anger.
Toji lets you down. Your feet touch the ground again. You pull him out, whirling on him with a disbelieving glare. You snatch his glasses off your face with one hand and smack his chest with the other. The man doesn’t budge.
“You sneaky piece of shit!”
He gathers both of your wrists with one hand, rolling his eyes. Toji takes his glasses from you and slides it on his face. Seeing you clearer now, he guides his cock back to your pussy, re-entering with ease. You moan, allowing him to hike your leg over his hip so he can press in deeper.
Kissing your lips, he mutters against your lips, “I did what I had to to get your attention. Sue me.”
“God, you’re the worst,” you breathe out, chest jutting out to his, nipples aching and clit throbbing.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “I’m the big, bad wolf, and you’re creaming all over my dick right now. Let’s not act like you got the short end of the stick here.”
“Master manipulator,” you hiss, kissing him back, fingers tangling in his hair as soon he lets go of your wrists to grope your tit and ass.
“Whore,” he fires back.
Then the two of you smile, clutching each other tightly as you both rock into each other, nearing your mutual orgasm and riding the pleasure growing in your bodies. Fuck, he feels so good.
“We’re gonna be together forever and ever, aren’t we?” you ask.
❥ itoshi rin is the biggest cock blocker when it comes to you and his brother.
୨୧ ONE !
you’re making out with sae next to the lockers room after a game, praising him and giggling.
“sae, the journalist are asking for you” rin appears next to both of you, staring at your joined bodies with a flat expression. “hi, rin” you smile sweetly, and he blushes faintly, greeting you back.
sae huffs, “don’t you know that this isn’t a good moment?”. rin simply shrugs and his teal eyes look at you. “go with him, baby. see you later at home” you smile, kissing his cheek before pulling away. he nods reluctantly and squeezes your hip gently.
“she’s nice. have no clue what she’s doing with you” he says amused as both of them walk. sae glares at him, “shut up”
୨୧ TWO !
you love showering with sae, moans filling the room as he fucks you against the wall. he growls, fingers digging further into your hips when your pussy clenches around him.
until the hot water turns cold and a loud, “sae, leave already! it’s my turn” comes from out of the bathroom. your boyfriend looks like he’s about to kill someone as he helps you drying your shaking body with a towel. you sneeze and he huffs, “sorry, beautiful. next time we visit japan, we’re staying at the hotel”
“but your mother seemed excited about us staying over” you say, dressing up. he arches an eyebrow, his silence making you chuckle. “okay, maybe you’re right” you cup his face, but when you’re about to kiss him… “sae!” rin knocks the door loudly, and he finally opens, glaring at his brother on the door. “finally— oh”
“hi, rinnie” you smile, tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear. he swallows and greets you back with a soft smile, immediately erasing when sae whispers something about cockblocking and killing someone.
୨୧ THREE !
you’re watching a movie with sae, cuddling on the couch as he kisses your jaw. one arm is thrown over your shoulders, keeping you close, and the other traces your inner thighs.
“baby, we’re at your parents’ couch” you whisper, smirk on your face. “so? don’t worry, just don’t be messy” he says huskily against your neck.
“hi, guys. what are you watching?” rin sits down next to you, and you feel sae’s anger radiating off his body. you smile with a soft blush on your cheeks, “just some thriller”
“great, those are my favourites” he says, making himself comfortable. sae glares at him, teal eyes mentally killing him. “leave” he grunts, and his younger brother arches an eyebrow. “this isn’t your couch, you should’ve booked an hotel room if you wanted to be an alone emo boy”
your hand on his chest is the only thing keeping him from strangling rin.
the sunlight was the first thing that betrayed you. it was too aggressive, pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows that definitely didn't belong in your apartment. it made your head throb.
for a moment, you just lay there, drifting. the sheets were like silk against your skin and the air smelled like expensive cedarwood and something cool. it was the kind of comfort that made you want to disappear back into sleep forever.
i must have treated myself to new bedding, you thought. good for me.
but then you tried to roll over, and the world came crashing back in.
your movement was stopped by a heavy, solid weight across your waist. a thick arm, corded with lean muscle, was draped over you like an anchor.
wait.
you didn't have a boyfriend either. you didn't even have a cat. and you definitely didn't remember inviting anyone over after that chaotic brand gala in roppongi.
your heart did a frantic, jagged rhythm against your ribs as you looked down. a large hand was splayed across your stomach, his thumb hooked into the waistband of the silk sheet. the skin was pale, his knuckles dusted with a light tan and there was a strength to the limb that made your breath hitch.
who the fuck was that? were you dreaming?
so, slowly, praying that this was just a very vivid, very muscular dream, you turned your head.
the first thing you saw was dark, reddish hair messy against a charcoal pillow. then, the sharp, almost aristocratic profile. the high cheekbones. the straight bridge of a nose that looked like it had been sculpted by van gogh himself.
sae itoshi.
wait. sae itoshi?
the prodigy? the boy genius? japan's greatest treasure? the man who looked at the media like they were dirt under his cleats? and right now, his face was nestled in the curve of your neck, his warm breaths fanning across your skin?
that sae itoshi?
oh, God.
oh, no.
no, no, no.
the flashes came back brutally: the vip lounge where you'd shared a drink, the surprisingly deep conversation that had made you forget he was supposed to be unapproachable, the way he'd looked at you. the back of his car. the way his hands had felt on your waist when you'd reached his penthouse ...
"sae," you whispered, your voice trembling. you didn't want to wake him up, but you desperately needed to not be here when he fully woke up.
no response. for someone who was so sharp and alert on the pitch, he was an infuriatingly deep sleeper.
you tried to gently lift his arm, moving as slowly as humanly possible to avoid a scene. but as soon as you created an inch of space, his grip tightened, pulling you back against his chest until there wasn't a single millimeter of air between you. he let out a low hum against your shoulder, his nose brushing against your ear.
"stop moving," he muttered, his voice a deep vibration that sent a shiver straight down your spine.
"sae," you tried again, your voice cracking with a mix of desperation and mortification. "sae, please... did we... why am i here? did you kidnap me?"
you tried to peel his fingers back, but it was like trying to move iron. instead of letting go, he let out a sharp, exhaled breath against your neck. a sound of pure annoyance at being disturbed. slowly, his eyes flickered open.
up close, those teal irises were lethal. there was no morning fog in his gaze. within seconds, they sharpened so fast, it made you want to pull the duvet over your head and never come out.
he didn't move his arm. if anything, he shifted his weight, pinning you more securely to the mattress as he watched you more nervous within seconds.
"you're here because you were too tired to give the driver your address, he said, his voice low. "and you're in this bed because you didn't seem interested in the guest room last night."
your jaw dropped, your mind racing. "i- i don't- sae, did we... did something happen?"
a slow smirk began to pull at the corner of his mouth. he leaned in just a bit, his nose brushing against yours. "your memory is surprisingly fragile for someone who was soo vocal a few hours ago."
"vocal?" you asked, your hands coming up to press weakly against his shoulders. "i wasn't- i'm sure i was just... being polite?"
sae let out a short laugh, the vibration of it traveling directly into your palms. he didn't pull back. if anything, he tilted his head, his gaze dropping to your lips for a second before meeting your eyes again.
"polite isn't the word i'd use for someone who spent twenty minutes arguing that my technical precision was overrated," he murmured. "right before you decided to test it for yourself."
you squeezed your eyes shut, a memory of you grabbing his tie in the elevator hitting you like a physical blow. you had definitely challenged him.
"oh no," whispered into the space between you, your forehead thumping weakly against his shoulder. "i actually said that? to you?"
"repeatedly," sae countered, his smirk widening as he felt you go limp with shame. his arm, still locked around your waist, tightened just enough to remind you that you weren't going anywhere.
"you were very specific about the lack of heart in my playstyle," he added, his breath warm against your temple. "you said i was like a machine, so i felt obligated to prove that i had human components."
"sae i'm so sorry," you groaned, your face hidden against his skin. "i'm not- i don't usually do this. i've never done this before and i didn't mean to actually- i think i just got caught up in the moment and i wanted to prove a point, but i didn't mean to be so ..much."
"wait."
sae pulled back just enough to force you to look at him. his teal eyes were no longer lazy but scanning your face so intensely that it made your heart do a nervous flip.
"you've never done this?" he asked, his voice dropping. "as in... i was the first?"
you tried to look away, but he caught your chin with his free hand, forcing your gaze back to his.
"i've been busy! my career, the traveling, i just hadn't found anyone i actually wanted to.. you know.. until last night. please don't make it weird, i'm already dying of embarrassment."
sae stared at you for a long moment, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.
"so, the model of the century gave her debut performance to a, what did you call me again, boring footballer?" he murmured, the smugness returning ten-fold. "that's nice."
"don't let it go to your head!" you huffed, trying to push him away again, though you were trapped by his legs.
"too late," he murmured, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulled you flush against him again. "it's already there. along with the fact for someone who claims to be so busy, you were incredibly focused on me at three in the morning.
"hey! i was... i was overstimulated! the lights, the music, your face, your outfit, it was a lot."
sae let out a laugh again, his hands moving from your jaw to thread through your hair, tugging gently until you were forced to look at him again.
"if it makes you feel any better, superstar, i don't bring anyone to my penthouse. especially not girls who spend the whole night trying to act like they aren't looking at me."
you blinked. "you were watching me?"
"i've been watching you for months," he admitted. "every billboard, every campaign. you're the only one in the industry who looks like she actually has a thought behind her eyes. i've been waiting for this moment."
a small, surprised laugh escaped your lips. "oh! so sae itoshi had a crush on me?"
"don't use such word," he said, though the faint tint of color on his own cheekbones betrayed him. "let's just say i'm a fan of real talent, and since you decided to give me your debut, i feel a certain responsibility to make sure you don't regret it."
"i don't regret it," you whispered, the embarrassment finally turning into something genuine. "i just, i just don't remember everything.."
"you don't? then my job isn't finished. i can't have you walking around with a blurred memory of the most important night of your life. it's bad for my reputation."
"since when do you care about your reputation?" you peeked one eye open, wary of the smug look on his face.
"since now. care for round two?"
your breath hitched as his hand began a slow wander down your spine. "sae, wait- i have a fitting in two hours-"
"the only thing you're fitting into right now is this bed," he rasped, his lips ghosting over yours. "cancel it."
"you're so arrogant," you whispered, though your fingers were already tangling in his messy hair, pulling him closer.
"and you're still here," he murmured against your mouth before pulling the duvet over both of your heads, cutting off the morning light.
you and kaiser had been hooking up for the past two months now, you’re a rising model and kaiser? you already know. kaiser has a wife at home, and he had been sooo careful to hide his dual life. but shit hit the fan when you, out of pure impulse, kissed him at an award show and paparazzi works fast! you both were on the news in less than an hour.
which lead you to..
“you listen to me.” kaiser spat, grabbing a handful of your hair and giving it a rough tug. “did you really have to go and embarass me infront of everyone?”
you gasped sharply, nails scratching at his biceps. “fuckin’ hell, kaiser, you already embarass yourself more than enough!” your neck hurt from how hard kaiser was pulling on your hair.
his hips moved in a staccato rhythm, pelvis slapping against your ass everytime he shoved his dick to the hilt inside of your sopping pussy, “yeah? you think? thought we had a deal our relationship wouldn’t go public?”
he took a deep breath, chest heaving. his tatted arm only flexed as he tugged on your hair harder, “what would my wife think? that i’m hooking up with a groupie model?” kaiser cursed, running a hand through his hair. truth is, he could barely give a fuck about his wife, his wedding ring stuffed somewhere in a drawer in the hotel suite.
“groupie model? oh please, you know you love this pussy—oh fuck! slower!” you moaned whorishly, eyes rolling back. kaiser didn’t respond, only angled his hips just so that his tip mashed against your sweet spot with every thrust.
“scheiße—i hate you so much.” kaiser muttered, burying his face in the exposed crook of your neck. “don’t lie to yourself.” you clocked back, smirking.
“fucking shut up, little slut.” kaiser used your hair to shove your face in the pillows, almost suffocating you. “love this sweet pussy, just when you stop running that chatty mouth of yours.”
you muffled your moans into the pillow and struggled around, flailing your arms but kaiser just grabbed the two of your wrists in one hand to press against the small of your back.
“stop moving.” kaiser demanded, he leaned over your back, crushing you under his weight. “you’re going to take my load, like the little bitch i know you are.” he whispered in your ear before nipping at the lobe.
you wailed into the pillows as kaiser fucked you harder, his tip pushing against your cervix by now. “g’na breed you, schatz.” he laughed.
with a few more thrusts he buried himself deep inside of you, and released ropes and ropes of his hot, sticky cum inside of your warm womb.
“oh yeah, shit..” he panted as he rode out his high. he then pulled your face out of the pillows, taking a good look at your ruined, messy face.
“see, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
a/n: i mixed 2 reqs into one heh..
2025-2026 — @reositos ★ don’t copy/modify/translate/repost to other sites. also don’t feed my work to ai.
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