📝Author notes: This was originally on quotev but I want to post it everywhere cuz this guy was SOO hard (not really i'm just dramatic).
⚠️Warnings: hurt/comfort,, fluff, ranpo shares his sweets😨
✍ Synopsis: reader is a bit of a considerate wart that has a chocolate tooth and doesn't like stopping things halfway, especially if it's for someone else and Ranpo TRIES to help.
🚨word count: 0.9k
You rub your bleary eyes aggressively, sighing into the palm of your hand. It's after work hours and you decide to stay late to finish up on Dazai, Kunikida and Atsushi. Dazai now wasn't unusual but the 2 others certainly were. Especially Kunikida. But after a particularly difficult case that made them look extra tired, you offered to lessen their load. They relented and that is how you're doing their reports on a Friday evening.
Strangely enough, Ranpo volunteered to stay behind too, under the guise "I don't need a reason! I'm a master detective!" Which you didn't really understand, but you chose not to dwell on it cause it didn't directly concern you. These reports did.
But, despite how much you can try to deny it, you were growing exhausted by the time you finished Dazai and Kunikida's reports. Atsushi had gone on many dangerous missions, more than any newbie usually does at the start, so naturally he had more longer reports which made it even harder to keep your eyes open.
You slap your forehead, snapping you out of your thoughts. Not the time, [Name], you cannot fall asleep. You have GOT to do this or else everyone will consider you useless and you'll die from the degradation and shrivel up like a burning leaf after a massacre. You sharpen your eyes, clicking the keyboard pieces hard and concentrated. That is until you hear a clink of glasses.
You lift your head up only to see Ranpo standing there, sliding a plate of brownies and a mug of hot chocolate with cream dollops everywhere. "Huh?" you find yourself unable to say a coherent sentence, trying to fight between focusing on the reports or the yummy, inviting aroma of chocolate-
"[Name], quit overthinking and just appreciate my generous gift. Do you know how hard it is to find the exact sweet shop that sells the perfect goods and that has a good price for them too?" Ranpo huffed, tapping his finger against your desk. He tilted your head with his hat, his green eyes piercing through yours.
"Forget about the reports. It's Atsushi's own fault for meeting Akutagawa all the time. He's like a magnet of trouble, I swear. Doesn't even have the proper intelligence to back it up and I have to save him." He rolled his eyes, but you knew he didn't harbor any actual resentment. Whether Ranpo liked it or not, Atsushi was apart of the family and family doesn't stop caring. Even if you're a selfless idiot like he was.
You scooted back in your chair to avoid Ranpo's hat (or barret??) and your lips parted as you finally found your tongue again. "Ranpo it's fine. I'm the one who offered to help them, they looked tired anyway," you say the first thing on your mind, not caring if it sounded absurd or not.
Ranpo promptly took a couple of brownies and shoved it into your mouth to shut you up. He found your words utterly ridiculous. Dazai, tired? Even after lazing around all the time and just pissing off Kunikida, who still found ENERGY to break his pens, and Atsushi who still managed to fight even if his limbs (*cough* his legs) were teared off like a gazillion times? Yeah, he thinks they can handle some measly reports.
"Nah, nope, not hearing it." he shook his head, shuffling all your papers and binding them with a binder clip, sliding it into its individual folders. He cleaned up your desk, brushing away the dust and closing your laptop and putting it into your bag, before he patted your shoulder to snap you out of your daze. "Now eat up. Or else I'm finishing it. I know you're hungry, don't deny it." He smirked when he saw you hesitantly sip your hot chocolate, accidentally getting whipped cream on your mouth.
Ranpo turned back over to his chair, moving it and situating himself next to you. "What are you doing?" You ask, a tint of pink flushing on your cheeks. He shrugged, smirking a little as he swiped a brownie and dipped it into your hot chocolate. "Hey!" You exclaimed, but the smile on your lips betrayed your irritation.
"What? You think I'm going to let you have all of them? I'm the one who brought them anyway." Then he did something unexpected, he wiped his thumb on the side of your lip, licking it afterwards. "Mhm, tastes like strawberry. Was that your lip gloss flavor?" He asked the question mockingly, but you blushed anyway.
"H-how did you even know??" You ask, slightly flabbergasted. By now you had completely forgotten that Atsushi's reports were still uncompleted, now all your attention focused on Ranpo. He smiled, more softer and genuine. He guessed sharing sweets did bring sweet results. This being your sweet little giggle as you touched the corner of your lip. Ohhh, he couldn't take it anymore.
He leaned forward, cupping your cheeks as he pecked your lips in one quick motion. Before you could even kiss back or even process it, he lurched back and swiped all the glass objects to put away in the little mini fridge-sink thing he had for whatever reason. You bet the president did it for him, because of his insistent whining.
When ranpo came back, after pulling his chair back and cleaning everything up (and you'd think he was messy), his eyes twinkled and he looked like he was in a mischief mood. "What?" you ask, only for him to tackle you, squeezing you tightly.
"I demand a reward with love and affection."
You blinked, letting out a breathless chuckle. "Okay, Ranpo."
synopsis: we'll save the origin story this go around, since we all know how it goes. you are juggling life, romance, family, and college while being coined tokyo's kumo. all while having to prevent your hyper observant - nosy - boyfriend, dazai, from learning your secret. plus, you're so used to him coming to your rescue, you want to be the hero saving him for a change.
introduction: man, we're doing this again? alright, here we go: welcome to tokyo, where even radioactive spiders travel for vacation looking for someone else to make a hero. there's no uncle ben nor aunt may, no dead parents, and the boyfriend's family seems to be intact and mentally functional. the only biggest threat is if he finds out about your secret - oh, and the newest villain lurking in the depths of shibuya. also, that level 300 biology exam coming up next week that someone forgot to study for since they were too busy swinging around the districts protecting civilians from harm.
i wanted this to be perfect, or as perfect as i can make it, and i fear i fell a little flat. so, this is a semi-comedic take on spider-man, where you are the superhero tokyo didn't know it needed, and dazai is a rather scrappy damsel.
contents: ~8.7k words; sfw some comedy with canon-typical superhero violence; college, spider-man au; hero gn!reader; civilian mj!dazai; established relationship; a mix of toby mcguire's and andrew garfield's spiderverses; secret identity, identity reveal; fluff(?); i kinda gave dazai andrew's peter parker's personality; loserzai (if you squint) and he sticks up for you a lot
a/n this took longer than expected because i had to completely rewire my brain from what i originally planned to write. i made it sillier. kind of proofread.
You sigh heavily when you see Dazai wobbling and trudging his way up to you, a crooked smile on his bust lip, and his glasses dangling from his fingers. He tosses a hand up at you in a wave, and as he gets closer, you see his eye is beginning to bruise. “Hey, there’s my favorite flower.” His voice is a bit scratched and groggy; you cock a brow.
“Osamu,” you drag his name out in a warning, arms folded as you stand in front of your off-campus apartment door. “What have you done now?”
“What? I can’t go around defending your honor?” He coolly lets out, but it’s a bit of a whine. You roll your eyes, practically in defeat, and shake your head.
“We’re adults now. Why are you entertaining high school shit?” You murmur, ushering him inside and leading him to the kitchen where he plops down, his opened hoodie splaying out at his sides, and he winces as his arm comes around his stomach. In the light, he looks way worse than you expected, and some blood is trickling down his chin. He sees the way you’re inspecting him, and he offers another cheeky grin.
“I know, I look hot. You can say it,” he breathes, but he’s wrecked. Your fingers carefully push back his mop of hair, then set his glasses off to the side as you go in search of an ice pack.
“I told you before, you don’t need to go fighting my battles for me anymore,” you sigh inward, grabbing a bag of frozen corn you have no intention of actually using, wrapping it in a towel, then offering it to him.
“Yeah, well, it’s what I’m supposed to do,” he grimaces and grunts under his breath when he resituates himself, pressing the bag carefully to his gradually swelling mouth. “It’s part of being a boyfriend.” He mumbles then, eyes downcast when his hand slips under his shirt to gingerly massage his stomach. You shake your head again, not necessarily disappointed but some other thing close to it; he’s been getting in between you and bullies for as long as you’ve known him, feeling the need to protect you since he wasn’t afraid – he should have been though, since it always ended with him being injured in some way, shape, or form. You have felt the guilt follow you your entire life, nursing him back to health, having to tell his parents the wounds are because he was protecting you, and while they never yelled at either of you, you had it in the back of your mind they didn’t really want him talking to you any longer.
However, no matter how much they quietly protested behind your back, it was the only time he defied them, because he loved being your friend more than worrying about being in pain.
“Where else did they get you?” You’re already grasping the hem of his shirt, lifting up to see some bruising under his hand that he tries to hide. “Dammit Dazai!” You scold, brows downturned as you shove his hand to the side to get a better look: the color appears normal, but it’s big. “You antagonized them, didn’t you?!” You’re storming back to the freezer, jerking it open and aggressively rummaging around in for another bag of frozen vegetables, and he just has to sigh, to brush you off, since you often react this way after he comes stumbling home in this condition.
“I didn’t,” he weakly defends, a sharp inhaling causing the pain to sting worse in his side. “They were running their mouths, one v three.” He tells you, eyeing how you’re shaking your head with disappointment and irritation, wrapping another towel around the bag then stomping back over to hold it on his bruise to at least prevent swelling. “Why are you so upset?” He asks, dumbly, his free hand reaching to brush his fingers through your hair.
“Because you’re an idiot,” you mutter, kneeling down to sit on the floor, and allow your head to cautiously rest on his chest.
“You used to call me your hero,” he jokes, struggling less to speak, but it’s hidden in his tone he’s bothered you aren’t calling him that right now – or much less anymore. “Would you prefer the Kumo to be coming to your rescue?” He goes on, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, and your eyes roll at that comment. He’s been frequently mentioning the hero that has run rampant in the different districts of Tokyo, dubbed “Kumo” since they have spider-like powers, leaving behind webs in their wake, anonymously helping police arrest criminals, prevent murders and gang wars, help kids find their parents, and the occasional cat stuck in a tree or dog in a fire get safely to their owners. Journalists, gossip rags, and the head of the police force have been trying to find out the identity of Tokyo’s Kumo, given they wear a mask and full-body suit to hide every aspect of themselves; the media bounty for any information on this superhero is rising higher with each passing day. The last you had heard, it was over eighty million yen. And you want in on it – that kind of money is life changing.
The thing is, “the Kumo” can’t exactly come to your rescue, and you can’t exactly turn them in for cash since you are Tokyo’s Kumo. You haven’t gotten around to telling Dazai about this, a secret you’ve been keeping to yourself since freshman year of college. Somehow, while at a bio-engineering laboratory for a random zoology course you took merely for the credit, you got bit by a spider during the tour and haven’t been the same since. Your eyesight wasn’t necessarily terrible before, but you had woken the next morning with beyond perfect vision, seeing clearly near and far; your hearing was heightened, able to pick up on many different voices and sounds within the city; your reflexes were beyond compare, sensing things before they happen; and you were… sticking to stuff. Your hands clung to anything they touched – walls, doorknobs, posters, leaves, buildings, clothes, hair – and that made for some rather interesting scenarios that you had to try explaining away to your boyfriend, who for once found your behavior strange, but couldn’t nail any solid evidence to use to confront you on it. There’s also the matter of a new, completely random spider infestation going on at your shared place – unsure if that is related.
At first, you didn’t really know what to do with your abilities, learning at the worst time that you can shoot spider webs from your body, which added to the constant sticking, and you were stuck in one for about twenty minutes – because this might as well happen. You had gotten out eventually, after essentially sitting in a forced time-out to think about this absolutely insane situation you have gotten pulled into, just before Dazai came home, and had the mess conveniently cleaned up without a single trace of excess webs – however, spiders were still lurking in the corners. It was when you had bumped into a simple thief, someone that had taken what looked like a standard gym bag, and all it took to get it back was a flick of your wrist to shoot a string of web to yank it backward. Much to both yours and the robber’s surprise, it was stronger than you expected, and the guy wasn’t willing to stick around to ask you questions, especially considering who they stole from was approaching. They definitely didn’t ask you anything, just grateful to have their belongings back, and you were left standing there utterly confused by the reflexes you exhibited in the moment – as if it was second nature.
The webs being sturdy gave you a bright idea, and you learned had to web sling through the city for faster transportation. Not without a little trial and error, of course, littered with bruises and busted or scraped skin, but it is so much more fun than walking.
Thus began your newfound purpose of helping others, tinkering with a costume until it was perfect to conceal your identity while giving you flexibility to move, learning and training to better understand these powers, and coming to the realization that people actually enjoyed having you around in their time of need. However, it was difficult to keep up with the monumental task you had set for yourself, considering underneath your mask, you’re still a college student trying to make it to graduation, working at your part-time job, and maintaining your relationship. There are days you want to give up, disappear, and hope for the best that you can get by in life having these extra abilities that annoyingly but rather conveniently help you with your day-to-day.
Then there are other days, when everyday civilians are thanking you for your services, kids looking up to you, and ensuring safety of the place you live that pushes you to keep going. Those people don’t care who is hiding under the mask, marveling at your powers and selflessness, your capabilities and willingness to help, your strong will, and all around the nicest person most of them will ever interact with in their lifetime.
Alas, you’ve been doing this for about four years now, and you’ve been able so far to keep your identity a secret from Dazai. You don’t like that you’ve kept something this serious from him, but you have convinced yourself it’s for the greater good, as well as for his own safety. You have had a few run-ins with menial villains, as any superhero would, and yeah they weren’t all that terrible, but it’s better if you keep them separated from your private life. He’s suspicious, though, and you’ve almost slipped up in front of him on numerous occasions, but for now, at least to your current knowledge, he has no clue. This isn’t to say there have been strains on your relationship, given crime and trouble isn’t ever on pause, and you would be out all different hours of the night before you come trudging back into your place, exhausted, a bit battered and bruised, and plopping down on the couch to sleep for the evening. You’re also a horrible liar.
There had been a small handful of nights you shuffled in, wearing your normal clothes and suit stuffed in your bag, that the light flipped on to reveal Dazai standing there in his pajamas, a confused but disappointed expression etched into his features, and he’d have questions you weren’t sure you had appropriate answers to.
“Where were you?” He asked one particular evening after you had a run-in with a low-level gang that was rampaging Shibuya, causing trouble and starting to get violent, a special request from the police that if the Kumo was listening on the report to get to the scene immediately. You made it out primarily unscathed, at least in the face, and you stared at him wide-eyed for a moment too long while you conjured up an excuse. “It’s almost two in the morning.” He added, brows knitting together, eyes distraught behind his glasses, and you hadn’t been checking on the time.
“Uhm…” You started, swallowing, adjusting your grip on the bag strap, and your gaze started darting around to come up with any reason at all that he would believe that you were out until almost two o’clock in the morning without checking in with him. “I-I decided to pick up a late-night shift at the store. You know, stocking during close and stuff.” You rushed out, but that isn’t something your location does – they stock off-hours in the morning before open, and Dazai knew that because you always complained if you were asked to come in at five in the morning and would rather stay later at night. “We received a big shipment that we had to get stocked quickly, couldn’t wait until morning.” You cleared your throat, beginning to step forward when you noticed the change in his demeanor. An eyebrow raised as you stared at him, watching, and his jaw flexed.
“Are you cheating on me?” He forced the question out, not one he would ever have thought he’d need to ask, but it had been weighing heavy on both his mind and heart, no other explanation as to why you would be running around all hours of the night, making up half-assed excuses for why you’re tumbling in that late, and you unintentionally had been distant with him. You were stock-still in place, blinking rapidly, and at a loss for words at such an accusation. A labored breath escaped, and you weren’t sure if you could keep this up any longer. “If you don’t want to be with me–”
“What?” You interrupted, voice hoarse, and bag shrugging down to the floor with a thud at your feet. “No! No, Osamu, no, I’d never cheat on you!” You stepped closer, but his hands were in his pockets instead of reaching for you or wrapping you up in a hug. “No, it was work, I’m serious.” You continued with the lie, desperate to claw and cling to any old thing your tired brain could think up, and so many ‘I’m sorry’s were already following. He wanted to believe you, everything telling him he should, but he knew you weren’t at work – he called, and no one was there.
“Okay, okay!” He had to pump the brakes on your mouth running a mile a minute, but he still didn’t make any moves to seek physical touch or comfort from you. “Just… Go take a shower or something.” He gestured up the stairs, vaguely in the direction of the bathroom, and you merely nodded, grabbing your bag to sling back over your shoulder, and climbed each step as if it was its own individual mountain.
After that day, he was more suspicious than ever, beginning to get increasingly more nosy, and you’ve caught him a few times too many rooting around in your stuff. You try not to be angry with him for it, considering you are keeping a ginormous secret from him, but you also are nervous he might start figuring things out by putting two and two together. He’s been asking to share locations – the both of you – and you are running out of reasons why you are against that, and he keeps every terrible lie in the back of his mind, noting you haven’t given the same reason twice. He’s been wanting to spend even more time with you once classes are done and if neither of you have work to do – he’s been closely monitoring your work schedule, making it harder for you to say ‘I’ve picked up an extra shift’, considering you’re supposed to be part-time. He’s been visiting you more frequently at work for lunch breaks, and picking you up after your shift, since he had noticed you are always running off elsewhere when your shift ends.
On the outside, Dazai is an overbearing and borderline controlling boyfriend. On the inside, you’re panicking because Tokyo needs their Kumo but your already clingy boyfriend suddenly needs all of your undivided attention. You are just so grateful he wasn’t accusing you of cheating, considering you’d never, but also didn’t know how to prove you weren’t. On top of that, he ended up coming up to you a few days later and said: “I’m not sure why I even thought of that. We’re both total losers, there’s no way you’d be able to find someone else to date.” You hit him upside the head. And then your hand stuck to his hair that you had to pretend was on purpose until you could figure out how to release it. He just thought you were really mad at him and taking it out on him hardcore.
Needless to say, you’re just glad he hasn’t kicked you to the curb, and he’s getting one step closer to figuring you out.
You sigh, readjusting the frozen bag better on Dazai’s stomach, and shake your head against his rumpled shirt. “The Kumo’s too busy with more important things to help me with bullies that peaked in high school.”
“That’s what I’m here for, then,” he reiterates, combing his fingers through your hair before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “We don’t need to bother a superhero with something I’m perfectly capable of handling.”
“I really wish you’d quit engaging with them,” you sit back up, getting to your feet, and walk off in the direction of the bathroom to get the first aid kit. He watches after you, sucking in a breath then carefully exhaling, shifting in his seat to be as comfortable as possible, and wondering what your deal was with this spider person running around. Anytime he mentions them, you seem to be disinterested, or feigning interest, acting as if you don’t really know too much about them, sometimes implying he was a mere “fanboy” on the hero. To prevent eyebrow raising, you engage in enough conversation about it until you can segue the conversation elsewhere.
He never used to question you, your actions, your terrible lies, having known you for so long he figured he knew you inside and out. He did notice, after freshman year, you were different, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. Before, albeit more on the passive end, you always looked to him to solve your bullying problems, no matter that you two were in college now, since it seemed people are mean no matter their age; after the odd and mysterious change, you didn’t seem to ask him for help anymore on your issues. He truly can’t do too much for you, but he is more than willing to fight your battles if it means ensuring your safety; if he has to take a few blows to the face and stomach, he will – he always has, and he always will.
You have just been so strange.
Though, while you are under the impression your identity as Tokyo’s anonymous superhuman has been well-hidden up to this point, since he had calmed down on the helicopter tendencies, Dazai actually has plenty of evidence that he is gearing up to present to you on why he is confident in pinning you down for all of this. He just… doesn’t know how to address it. For the past year, he had dropped asking you too many questions, which was a relief, but it was primarily because he had decided to follow around the Kumo. Clearly asking you directly wasn’t getting him anywhere, so he figured he’d have a better chance at watching the superhero in action firsthand.
He and every other civilian believes the hero doesn’t have a set schedule, available around the clock, always on time whenever they need them to show up and save the day. However, he has noted that the Kumo is most active in the afternoons, coincidentally when classes are done – more specifically, your classes. He knows that isn’t sufficient, as there are plenty of people available in the afternoons, so it doesn’t rule anyone out completely, other than night class attenders or people with late-night jobs. Your shifts can vary, since you work at a convenience store nearby campus, meaning you may be available in the afternoon or you may not be, it depends; Kumo happens to be available when you are and are not working, but he can’t bring himself to rule the hunch out completely. That has made his eyebrow arch at the thought when he was jotting it down in his notes, since that implied you were either lying about working or taking off mid-shift to go handle business – both things typically uncharacteristic.
Sometimes he’ll sneak around town when he sees the Kumo swinging by on their string of web, momentarily captivated by the ability, seeing them zoom by, flicking their wrist effortlessly to shoot another string to swing from one building to the next. He’ll forget about his personal mission to uncover the identity when he continues watching their body fly and flip around, envious of the gymnastics, and has almost counted you out completely from the stunts alone – you cannot do any sort of flip to save your life, barely a somersault. That’s when he has to remind himself that this person has powers, enhancing their usual capabilities, possibly making someone who previously was an athletically inept loser become an Olympic contender.
Caution is not his forte, just as he interferes with your personal fights, he will try to get involved with fights from strangers and gangs, his thoughts consumed with being right that it’s you under that mask, the sheer idea of you being in potential danger kicking in his instincts to protect you as he is running into the middle of a gang war – only to be swept up by Kumo and swung off to a safer location and scolded by them that ‘this isn’t a job for a civilian’ and to ‘head home’. He watched closely to the demeanor of the masked hero, watching their hands fly and move around as they spoke, how a fist would place on their hip, and the voice was obviously changed in pitch and tone in a lousy attempt to disguise it, to be undetectable. He noted how similar it was to getting scolded by you, especially when he was at home with you the next day, he purposefully knocked something off the counter, an extremely cheap and ugly mug he purchased strictly for destruction, and paid close attention to your demeanor at how you berated him for knocking the cup over, hands flying and moving around, a fist on your hip, but your voice was normal. Recognizable.
He’d be lying if he wasn’t thinking about trying to hitch another ride on that swinging web.
The two of you only had two classes together, early mornings on Mondays and Thursdays, back-to-back, and Dazai would have the news quietly playing in his earbud in those classes, listening for anything life threatening that would call for the need of a superhero. So far, nothing has come up, and you are always in perfect attendance for both classes, unless you have told him otherwise due to being sick at home – definitely not faking since he can see the sniffles and redness on your nose and in your eyes, and you’re too weak to even get out of bed to send him off. He has, weirdly enough, on those days still seen Kumo swinging around without a care in the world, preventing bank robberies and armed theft at the corner store, and even being held at gunpoint by someone trying to run away from the scene. He may or may not have heard a nasty sneeze coming from underneath that mask shortly after disarming and wrapping the perpetrator to a streetlamp to await the police’s arrival for a proper arrest, a stuffed and clogged voice speaking into the phone.
Dazai has tried researching until his heart gave out on such a phenomenon. It took him countless days and meaningless hours scouring the internet for anything that would point toward spider-like superpowers that could infect a human being, the idea so illogical. However, he has no choice but to believe it, since someone is literally flying and swinging around on spider webs, he is fairly certain emit from their body, just like the arachnid.
It took quite a bit of that wasted time for him to find a possible connection, coming across an article deep within Google’s archive of searches, past new articles and fanfiction and apparent interviews, was a report on findings for genetically modifying living creatures to enhance their senses and lengthen their life span, and if they were successful, it could be considered ‘the most revolutionary discovery in scientific history’. Starting with a little spider. The document was hundreds of pages long, and Dazai spent hours diligently reading every single word on the pages, pounding back can after can of coffee with his glasses pressed up high on his nose, and his tired eyes couldn’t stop taking in everything he was finding out.
“‘O.M. Industries?’” He murmured as he read the company over and over again, his weary brain doing everything it can to connect the dots. It isn’t until his gaze veered off, eyes crossing from exhaustion, to a picture of you in a lab coat and laboratory, that he saw the bio-engineering’s name stitched faintly on the front of your white coat, and his heart dropped. There were plenty of other students in your class that went, the zoology enrollment huge, it seriously couldn’t be you. He decided the next morning to call in for an appointment to meet with the lead scientist of the lab and project to find out more, which is coming up here soon.
Meanwhile, you are seriously just trying to survive. You have done this for four years now, you’d think it would all be easier by now, but it isn’t. If anything, it feels harder. You want to tell Dazai, but with him running up on the sidewalk trying to interfere with your superhero business when you’re the Kumo is stressing you out beyond belief and is exactly why you haven’t gotten around to it yet. Being out in the general public, being counted on for things primarily handled by the police, made you come to the realization you had been blind completely to the way people are. They’re dangerous and violent if they feel like that’s all there’s left for them to do, and pulling your boyfriend into it makes your heart twist and clench, sick to your stomach, and incredibly irritated that he thinks he’s "big and bad" enough to jump in the midst of gang wars or robberies.
The first time he stepped on the scene, running up as if he alone could stop a bullet, your jaw fell to the concrete. You faltered, almost getting yourself hurt in the process, a pocket knife zooming through the air past your head.
“You need to go!” You commanded with your altered voice, panic settling in while you held him back, being a human shield, and he had the audacity to argue.
“No way! You can’t do this on your own!” He scoffed, and a small part of you then thought that maybe he already knew, since he was speaking as if he was aware that was you under there. You had sensed it before you heard it, the world seeming to move in slow motion compared to you, the slow pull of someone’s finger on the trigger, the sonic boom of the gun going off, and having scoop him up in your arms to quickly evacuate the scene. He clung to you, shaking some in your hold, eyes squeezed shut as he hid his face in your covered neck, and you rolled your eyes while moving between buildings with your webs. This is the guy who insists on solving all of my problems.
You dropped down to the ground, him not letting you go, unaware he was also standing upright without fear of gravity pulling him down, and you lightly patted his back. “Look, you can’t run around doing things like that.” You lectured, finally peeling him off of your body, and he actually pouted. “While it is always appreciated to receive assistance from a citizen, this is a dangerous job dealing with dangerous people. You aren’t equipped with taking on the duties I do.” This was not a new speech you have had to give, mostly to teenagers and children, which I guess is the same difference when it comes to Dazai.
“How are you better capable to take on such danger?” He challenged, arms folded, and he glared down at you – that didn’t help your anxious mind in thinking he already knew. You’ve seen that look before, one he gives when you’ve been out-of-character or letting people torment you.
“I shoot webs,” you countered, swiftly lifting your wrist to shoot a web at his mouth, and he stared at you with big, accusatory and angry eyes. His fingers came up to try clawing away at it, but it was thick, and if he could speak, he’d be interrogating you and asking how you became the Kumo in the first place – because that is such a “you” thing to do. “Go home. Stay out of danger, I’m sure you have someone worried sick about you.” And you left him with that, leaping up into the air and firing off another string, latching to the nearest building to swing back to where you once were. Your mind was preoccupied as you tackled the group of gang members, unsure if you handled that correctly, if you had given yourself away somehow; why he felt the need to come to your aid. Even if there was the possibility he still didn’t know, that would mean he was trying to help a random, masked stranger with the yakuza merely because they were outnumbered. And that was certainly not the last time he did that, either, somehow at your side to help with fists up and determination in his expression.
That sounds exactly like my Osamu, and how can I be mad at him for that?
Dazai had a difficult time that night working to get the web mouthguard removed, astonished by how sticky it was. When you walked in, you found him in the bathroom, frozen, a pair of sharp, pointed scissors near his face, and you had to pretend to be shocked at the state. Your eyes locked in the mirror, his narrowing briefly before correcting, then turned to hand the scissors to help get him free.
“Oh, I dunno, ‘Samu,” you giggled, taking the sheers regardless. “I kinda like you being this quiet.” His brows had downturned in a cartoonish manner, and muffled sounds tumbled out but it only made you laugh more. “I guess the Kumo’s got a sense of humor!” He rolled his eyes and plopped down on the toilet seat, folding his arms, and pouted.
Why, yes, yes you do.
You have been avoiding the police radio all day, needing a break, falling behind on your studies, needing to ease up on superhero duties since you have caught Dazai on a handful of occasions following around the Kumo with a notebook, pen, and sometimes even a camera like a little undercover investigator. You’ve been wanting to make a joke to him about capturing some pictures to turn into the tabloids for a bit of extra cash, but you knew there’d be no way to explain away your knowledge of him sneaking around since he hasn’t mentioned to you directly, his partner, that he’s stalking the hero. You have made attempts to rummage around for said notebook, but he keeps it at his hip at all times and hides it with diligence because you have yet to come across it. I just wanna know what you think of me.
In your rooting around, mutual nosiness, you did find a note off to the side where he has an appointment with “OMI” in a couple days, it flying over your head completely. You couldn’t even be bothered to wonder if it was a doctor’s appointment.
While you can avoid listening in on the police radio all you’d like to, crime and villains never cease, and your senses are going haywire, every nerve in your system sending signal after signal for your feet to move. You’re hardly over the threshold of the bathroom before the movie theater crashing sound of a car barges through the side of your apartment, where the kitchen is, and your eyes are trembling in their sockets so badly, you can barely make out Dazai’s figure stumbling along the hallway while he holds onto the wall. His eyes are bugging, whipping over his shoulder to look at the damage, and sees a standard four-door sedan lodged in a giant hole, knocking out the table he was previously sitting at.
“Holy shit,” he breathes, arm moving slowly as it scrambles for you when you rush to his side, hands all over his body to make sure he’s in one piece, completely ignoring the fact that a vehicle is just… there. His arm wraps around your shoulders, hand pressing your head to his chest, amazed and terrified gaze trained on the catastrophic mess, and you’re not even sure what this could have caused it. Suddenly, this may be out of your wheelhouse, considering you live on the third floor. “I didn’t think that happens in real life.” He swallows, holding you tight, forgetting about his pain in an instant.
“It usually doesn’t,” you whisper, daring to break away from him, inching your way to the ginormous opening that the car is half-hanging from, and there is more noise, yelling, screaming, and a roar of an unknown beast sounding in the middle of the street. You peer down, heart catching in your throat at the height, your suit not on to placebo you out of the fear, and your brows twitch together at the sight of a somewhat familiar body rampaging the street. He’s large, as big as the Hulk, but less green, and his fists are the size of wrecking balls, slamming them down into the asphalt to create craters. People are running left and right, screams for help, asking what’s happening, who that is. Where the Kumo is. Your hand fumbles to rest on the metal door, to steady yourself, and you feel a chest behind your arm with shuffling perking your ears.
“He grew,” Dazai murmurs, astonished, audible bafflement in his tone. Your head whips in his direction, distraught and puzzled, looking up at his pale face.
“What are you talking about?”
“Reks,” he nods in the direction of the hulking giant of a human, those absurd fists continuously coming down and knocking around, picking up more cars to toss in the air, and the billowing of his deep voice tells you this can’t possibly be real. And yet, you got bit by a radioactive spider that gave you superpowers, but this. This is what’s unbelievable. “He wasn’t that size when I last saw him.” You dart your line of sight back to the scene, watching equally large feet stomp around, and you whirl your entire body around to face Dazai.
“You fought that?!” You scream, pointing backward at him.
“In my defense, he wasn’t that big when I did!” He argues, gesturing in the same direction, and you scoff. “He was maybe only a little taller! And… And his clothes fit!” He adds, indicating this is an incredibly sudden change to see in your usual antagonizer.
“Dammit Dazai!” You stomp your foot. “No wonder you look so busted up!”
“How was I to know he was Reks on ‘roids?!” He counters, pointing back at him so your attention is on that and not your boyfriend. “He is demolishing the city! What are we gonna do?” Your head shakes in bewilderment, holding a hand up and blinking rapidly as you collect your thoughts.
“We?!” You exclaim. “We are leaving! Go, get a move on!” I demand, starting to shove him in the direction of the front door, but he’s fighting with you, trying to push your hands away.
“You can’t run away from this!” He emphasizes, stopping you both in your tracks, trying to essentially let you know he knows. “They need you!” Just as he tells this to you, an inhale that feels too heavy and weighing down on your lungs freezing in your chest, another guttural bellow comes from the enlarged Reks outside, faint, but clear.
“Bring out the Kumo!” Another car horn blares, getting quieter and quieter with the assumption it is flying in the opposite direction to a different building. You’re stopped cold, staring up at Dazai, feigning cluelessness because you don’t know when to quit, and you have to ignore everything happening outside until you are sure he is safe. “Come out, little spider! I wanna squash ya!” Reks continues antagonizing, trying to draw you out, and the helplessness and hopelessness of the city is coming crashing down on your shoulders while they are in terror, and you’re nowhere to be found.
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shake your head again, lowering your gaze and beginning to shove him again toward the door, leaning down to snatch his shoes so he can get them on to run as far away as he can. “I can’t help people. I’m not a hero. I mean, shit, look at you, you’re in that condition because I can’t defend myself.” You ramble, avoiding looking at him, forcing your own shoes on and grasping the knob. However, his hand comes out over yours, and your heart is hammering in your ears. Your nerves are lighting up once more, making your teeth chatter with anxious anticipation, and fingers tighten around it against his protest. “I can’t save anyone from this. I’m just a person like you. There’s nothing we can do other than save ourselves–”
“You keep saying I can’t fight your battles for you. Now’s the time to take him on yourself,” he says, gentle but firm, and the sentence hits your heart like a ton of bricks – similar to the car hitting the building. “You’ve always been stronger than you think, and I knew it in the back of my mind, but I just wanted to be the one to protect you. Prove it then that you don’t need me.”
“I always need you.”
“I can’t fight that,” he tells you, honest for once that this far exceeds his match. You keep avoiding him, letting his words sink in, not surprised in the slightest such an inspirational speech is coming from him at a time like this, somehow knowing when it’s best to take things seriously, and letting you know he has full faith in you.
You nod slowly, letting out that breath you had been holding onto, and twist the knob to hurriedly push him out of the door. He is already protesting, asking you what you think you’re doing, and simply slam the door in his face to lock before he can try getting back in. “Run as far as you can! Get to safety! Kumo should hopefully be here soon!” You tell him from the other side as he is kicking and banging on his end, rattling the doorknob, and repeatedly calling out your name, demanding to be let back in. You have to ignore him, racing off to your room to find your suit, feeling silly that you have to change before going to fight off an overpowered version of your high school – and now college – bully that’s been trying to lure your superhero persona out this entire time.
You have to discreetly get yourself up to the roof of your building, tugging your mask on as you climb up the wall out of the bedroom window that is facing away from the villain, but kind of near where you last left your boyfriend. Careful steps get you there, nervous you have to face this guy on your own, unsure how he could even get to be this ginormous, and realize the wreckage is getting far more worse that you cannot buy yourself enough time to calm down. You stagger to your feet, stepping up on the ledge, and bite down on the inside of your cheek when you kneel down in position, staring over at the mess he’s made. The city is gonna have a hell of a time cleaning this up.
A quick, shrill whistle catches Reks’ attention, his head whipping around, but due to his large size, it comes off more as slow motion, until he ultimately thinks to look up and notices the Kumo he has been calling out to has finally arrived. You offer a two-finger salute, and he is mildly annoyed you’re so high up off the ground level. “There you are, Kumo!” He shouts, pointing an extra meaty finger in your direction. “Come down here and fight me so I can take you back where you belong!” His feet stomp down again, more craters emerging, while objects and people around him bounce into the air from impact. Cars bigger than the one in your kitchen lift off the road, and you have to fight against your fears – while ignoring that incredibly strange comment.
“Man, Reks, I know they said you needed to strengthen up to stay on the wrestling squad, but don’t you think you’ve gone a little overboard?!” You shout in return, maintaining a nonchalant composure with such a great distance between you two.
“The name is ‘Rex’ now!” He corrects with a smash of his hand into a streetlight pole, and you blink at him from behind your mask.
“Yeah, that’s what I said, ‘Reks’!”
“No! ‘Rex’!” He repeats, and you stare at him.
“Yeah, ‘Reks’!” You call back, and the civilians are now scrambling to run away while the two of you continue to shout “Rex” and “Reks” to one another, enough of a diversion for everyone to escape, knowing that underneath that engorged skull is still the dimwitted lowlife that only got into the same university as you because his parents are the largest donors. Not because of his brains.
He lets out a roar, something like an ogre that has been hidden away in a cave for hundreds of years, grabbing someone’s abandoned vehicle as if it’s a Hot Wheel, then ripping the thing clean in half. “Stupid spider!” He chucks them backward, colliding into more buildings behind him, and a few people start spilling out of them in the opposite direction. “It’s ‘Rex’! R-E-X!”
“Oh!” You drag out, snapping your fingers. “Sorry, I don’t speak English.” Every nerve in your body sparks, your feet kicking you up in the air on instinct and just miss getting hit by a dulled traffic light, the wires sticking out grazing our heels. You sling a string of web out across to the other building, swinging down and closing your legs tightly together with your feet upward, and knock into his nose on the way down, before flying to the rooftop; his head falls backward, but he remains upright, not that you were expecting to actually get him down. He yells out in pain, the attack more an inconvenience than an actual blow, and you crouch down with your elbow propped on your knee. “Oops, sorry there! Didn’t see you. They really should consider installing web crossings for me.”
“I’ll crush you!” He shouts, visibly enraged, face bright red and teeth bared. An extremely large vein is protruding in his forehead, and he kind of looks like a military reject.
“How cliche!” You gasp, feigning fear, and your hands come up to your mashed cheeks. “A giant human being threatening to crush a tiny spider? Whatever will I possibly do?” You antagonize, your hand now placed on your forehead, trying to keep him distracted with eyes on you so that there aren’t any more innocent bystanders getting stuck in the crosshairs. You think for a moment, him standing there seething, not used to having people make fun of him, until you hold your finger up. “Oh! I know!” Quickly, in rapid succession, you start swinging from different rooftop buildings, circling him, arms coming out with every cross of his path, masses of webs sticking his feet to the concrete, and he’s too busy trying to grasp you to notice.
You can’t help laughing, getting a bit of a satisfactory enjoyment out of it all, taking on someone who has been a jerk to you for years finally getting what he deserves without actually, physically, hurting him back. While your webs are strong against the average human being, they aren’t much to this monstrous thing; it slows him down enough to make him have to free his feet, then get stuck with every fwip in his direction, leaving you to wonder how much of this will it take to tire him out.
As you’re having your good fun with attempts of tuckering out Rex, stomping and stumbling around like a giant man-baby, spider webs everywhere, a voice that brings everything to a halt – including your heart – rings out in the empty street, garnering his attention and causing you to lose your grip, falling down to the ground in a rolling heap. “Hey, Reks! Come finish that fight we started!” Dazai provokes, the other whirling around to look at him, and squints, his molecularly rearranged brain trying to remember who he is. “You know who I am.” He puts his glasses on, and Rex points at him when the realization hits, a vein in his neck now popping out.
“Freak!” He roars, the newfound, boiling anger fuel for his inhuman strength to worsen, his trapped feet tearing themselves away to start a slow tromp toward your unbelievably moronic boyfriend. “It’s ‘Rex’!” You are rushing to your feet, pushing yourself off the ground, and coming up behind Rex to reach Dazai.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” You scream, tackling him mid-run, not stopping – even when he yelps and grunts in agony from the impact on the giant bruise on his stomach that now makes more sense – him clinging to your body in a frantic mess as you shoot a string up to a nearby building to soar through the sky to avoid the oversized mits reaching for both of you. “I told you to run away!” You scold while you two swing deeper into the city, trying to get him closer to a medic or hospital, and he heaves, wrapping his arms tight around you. Your nervous system is wrecked, senses firing off at different intervals, not able to tell what is what, and you can’t hear him at first – despite being right by your ear.
“…–ar! Car, car, car!” He’s screaming, eyes popping out of his skull at the sight of another sedan coming your guys’ way. You gasp when your senses come back to you, tossing him effortlessly in the air as high as you can, swinging yourself up toward a higher building just to twist and flip back in its direction to push off of, sending it back to the ground and you to Dazai. Who is screaming and flailing as gravity tries bringing him to the street.
“I got you!” You both collide with one another, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, breathing heavily, and never have been happier to see you in his life. His heart is hammering into yours, his body trembling, and he’s muttering to himself incoherently while you start looking for a closed off alley, absolutely certain Rex isn’t following that Dazai will be safe tucked away here so you can handle this issue without worrying he’ll interfere again. “It’s alright, you’re okay.” You reassure when you hear his teeth chattering in your ear canal and feel his nails trying to claw through your suit.
You swing into the nearest alleyway you spot, no one else around, and Rex so far behind it’ll take him twenty years at his pace to catch up and find you guys. A web sticks to a streetlamp, allowing for you to lower your bodies slowly, him not daring to release you even when his feet connect with the asphalt. “It’s okay, you’re safe now.” You soothe, rubbing his back, but he shakes his head that is hidden away in your neck. “You won’t be bothered here, I promise. I have to get back to stop him.” You make the attempt to break away, but he’s scrambling for you, the distress evident on his features, and part of you wants to rip the mask off to properly comfort him. Then you remember: you’re the Kumo right now. In the intensity of the moment, you completely forgot you needed to conceal your identity, but instead you practically gave yourself away.
You clear your throat, putting on your fake voice, and toss a thumb over your shoulder as you place a hand on his chest to keep some distance. “I-I need to go. Will you be alright here?” It takes him a moment, but he is suddenly looking at you as if you’re absolutely deranged – his eyebrows are deeply furrowed, lightly shaking his head, and small, confused sounds are coming from his shuddering lips.
“Wh-Wha…” His hands grip your arms, bringing you close, then begins shaking you. “I know! I know it’s you under there! Quit acting like I don't!” He pleads, helpless, shaken. His eyes are glassy behind the lenses, red, and his face is paling. Your hands carefully come up to gingerly grab at his, to make him stop, and you have to hush him like a startled animal. “I know. I know it’s you. I know you anywhere.” He whispers, fingers reaching for the edge of your mask, and you have to snatch them, pushing them away, and maintaining your composure is harder than you thought it’d be.
“How? How did you know?” You ask, defeated. You can feel his freezing, frigid skin through the suit, and you’re worried he’s going to send himself into shock.
“You’re not subtle,” he steps closer, and you can hear his heart still pounding in his chest. “Plus, your voice. I’ve known you since we were seven, I hear it everyday. It’s my favorite sound, how could I not recognize it?” Your lips part, getting ready to say something in return, but there’s faint crashing in the distance, back where you left Rex, and you hate that this is happening right now.
“Look, I need to go, I need to stop him,” you have to force his trembling hands away, ignoring the expression etched into his features, him begging you not to leave him there alone. The sight is heartbreaking, your strong and brave boyfriend who fights every single one of your battles is now weak while you have to go save the day. “Stay here, please. I will be right back here to get you, I swear to you.” You’re already slinging webs to the streetlamp, feet off the ground, and he’s still clamoring for you.
“W-Wait! Wait!” He breathes, fingers brushing your ankle, and you sigh, knowing prolonging leaving Rex to his own devices will cause more destruction than necessary. You flip yourself over, hanging upside down like an actual spider, and you stare at him expectantly through your mask, holding onto the webbing tight.
“What is it?”
“I-I wanna give you good luck,” he says, a bit childish, and your brows come together. At a time like this? His fingers come back toward the hem of your mask, gradually pulling it down, but only just under your nose.
“Osamu–” His large hands are holding the sides of your face, cracked and bust lips pressing to yours, and somehow the tension in your body melts away. You don’t mean to, but you sigh with relief, this enough to remind you he is okay, and so are you, and you have your nerves back in check to take on the villain.
When he pulls away, not without landing one more lingering peck, he struggles but manages to get your mask back in place, and he still looks distraught. “Go on, my spider lily, my favorite flower.” He swallows, not wanting to send you off, but he knows he doesn’t have a choice. “I know this whole damn city thinks it needs you, but not as much as I do.”
“I’ll come back in one piece,” you promise, taking a deep inhale before shortening the web so you can better flip upright and swing through the city, to get yourself back to Rex, and Dazai just has to watch you leave.
He stands there, sucking in a big breath, then shouts as loud as he possibly can, so not only can Tokyo but the entire world hear him: “You’re my hero, Kumo!”
╰› warnings ♯ fem reader, swearing, might be ooc, established relationships, character death, grief, mourning, loss of a loved one, one-sided conversation, heavy angst, no comfort ⋆˚࿔
them texting their deceased lover
ahh i'm so slumped! But I'm glad I'm able to at least post this amidst my responsibilities as a student :DD, it's like 2 am rn and I'm pushing through ok?? Exams are literally next week so this might be my last post for a longg while, so sorry :(( Anyways, enjoy this angst smau! Tell me if i've done them justice hihi. based on this req.
.ᐟ.ᐟ : established relationship , fluff , humor , mutual crushing (very subtle, not very noticeable ngl) , Dazai is really REALLY bad with feelings , female!reader , physician!reader , pm!reader , reader's kind of a tsundere(?) , might be a bit ooc , young mafia executive Dazai x mafia's personal physician Reader.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ based on this request here !!
a/n : I absolutely LOVED making this request so much, it truly warmed my heart while writing this they're so aughhh😭😭 I'm so sorry it took so long for me to get to u anonnie, please forgive me just this once😞🩷 I made this EXTRA long as an apology hehehe
𝓣 he first time Dazai Osamu found out you liked astronomy, he thought it was stupid.
It was yet another normal day in the Port Mafia's old clinic—the little physician ran around the clinic doing her weekly inventory and organization, while the little prince of the port mafia watched her work from his comfortable seat on the medical bed.
Dazai tracked your movements as you scurried around the small clinic, idly swinging his legs. his curious, dark eyes managed to always make you feel a little bit uneasy. he hadn't even come in injured or anything that day, he was just… there.
somewhere along the way, he had randomly developed a habit of visiting the clinic more often—even when he had openly complained that he dreaded the place a lot compared to anywhere else in headquarters.
whenever you asked him about it, he always just shrugged and gave you a half-assed answer that went along the lines of: "just making sure you're doing your job, doc", whatever that meant. you couldn't be bothered to think about it too much, honestly. he was far too unpredictable for you to figure out.
after a while of just watching you walk around the clinic organizing the equipment and whatnot, Dazai finally slid off the medical bed, stretching his arms and legs as he stood straight and scanned the room with a bored sigh. you silently cheered to yourself, hoping he would finally leave out of sheer boredom. It was hard to work properly when someone was watching you so intensely— especially when that someone was the mafia's demon prodigy.
you swore you looked away from him for only a split second. but the moment you turned around again, he was already hovering near your personal work desk, humming as he picked up a book you had been reading during your rare free moments.
“astronomy? I didn't know you read this type of stuff”, he hummed in curiosity, turning the book around to skim the synopsis on the back. before he could even open the first page of the book, you were already by his side, snatching it right out of his hold.
“that's none of your business”, you huffed, hugging the book defensively against your chest as you turned to walk towards the bookshelves. he blinked at you in utter bafflement, his hands frozen in mid-air where he had just been holding the book.
“how rude. I just wanted to take a look”, he called out after you dramatically.
he watched your back and huffed a little under his breath when you didn't take the bait. “the stars are millions of light-years away, it's not like you could ever reach or touch them”, he said flatly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants as he watched you carefully tuck the old, worn out astronomy book securely onto the shelf.
“you're telling me that as if I didn't already know”, you shot back at him, your hands busying themselves with arranging the surrounding books to hide the slight tremor in your fingers.
“then I don't understand the curiosity you have for such things”, he countered. he walked forward until he was standing right next to you, staring at the few other astronomy books that had blended into the shelf full of heavy medical books.
your fingers paused on the spine of a book. slowly, you pulled it out and started flipping through the pages, stopping on a particularly eye-catching illustration of a constellation. for a second, your defensive posture melted and your eyes softened just a tad bit. “because they're beautiful”
Dazai stopped scanning the bookshelf, turning his head to look at you instead. he stared at you for a long moment, noticing how your eyes had softened more than he's ever seen before. after a few more seconds, he finally looked away with a quiet, dismissive huff.
“…that's a boring answer”
—
this week had been absolute hell on earth for you. you were exhausted to say the least. a particularly large turf war had been happening all week and your clinic was flooded almost every single day with wounded men. It was nothing out of the ordinary for you, really, turf wars were normal and so was having to treat a couple dozen injured men. but whenever it did get like this, you could barely even get any rest for yourself. despite that though, you still forced yourself to keep an orderly workspace.
the clinic was empty and eerily silent by now, save for the sound of your pen scratching against a medical chart you were filling in. at this hour, you had already finished up with treating and healing for the day, with only a few more paperwork to finish up before you could try to rest for a bit.
a sudden rhythmic tapping could be heard from the small glass window of the door, jolting you awake from your exhausted daze as your grip around the pen you had been holding tightened out of pure self defense instincts.
“relax, doc”, Dazai hummed as he pushed the door open and invited himself in. the nerve of this guy, really. “geez, you look like a corpse”, he snickered and walked towards your desk.
you consciously rubbed your eyes, as if that would help get rid of the dark circles under your eyes faster. “I'm busy”, you grumbled and whirled your chair around to continue doing your paperwork. “unless you're dying or bleeding on my floor, get out”
“always so harsh to your favorite patient”, he sighed, leaning his hip against your desk.
you rolled your eyes and averted your attention back to your work. just as you were about to get back to work, your blinking clock suddenly caught your attention from the corner of your eyes. It read 11:45 P.M.
your tired eyes suddenly widened as it dawned upon you what date it was today. according to the newspaper and journals you had managed to smuggle in, there was supposed to be a meteor shower tonight believed to be at exactly 12:00 A.M.
you looked from the clock to Dazai, second guessing yourself before you finally let out a little huff. it wasn't a bad thing to be selfish just this once, right?
you suddenly sprung up from your chair and grabbed your discarded coat, turning towards Dazai who was blinking at you, completely caught off guard by the sudden boost in energy.
“if you're going to bother me anyway, you might as well come with me”, you declared, not giving him a moment to register your words as you grabbed him by his sleeve and started marching towards the back fire exit.
“now wait a minute, doc. where exactly are we going?? this is basically kidnapping! do you know how bad it's going to be for you if word travels that the psychiatrist had kidnapped an executive?”, you ignored his nonsense and opened the fire exit, dragging him out with you with a sudden boost of bravery. you'd slap yourself later for acting like this towards an executive—said executive being Dazai nonetheless.
“at least tell me where we're going”, he sighed, not really trying to set himself free from your hold despite the dismissive tone.
“up”, you finally replied shortly. “there's a meteor shower tonight. since you love complaining about how unreachable the stars are, you might as well watch them fall”
there was actually another reason you had dragged Dazai with you. the headquarters' rooftop was strictly forbidden for anyone, even for high ranked members and executives. but you knew well enough that Dazai knew his way around more than anyone else in the mafia. he knew all the blind spots, all the bypassed codes, and that was exactly what you needed.
“eh? we're gonna stand in the cold just to watch some rocks burn up? sounds incredibly tedious. I'd rather not”, he said dismissively, yet still trailed along behind you.
“well, too bad. you're coming”, you huffed. you were mentally scolding yourself for talking like that to him. geez, if they didn't need your skill, you would've probably bit the curb by now.
though he kept up a theatrical whine, Dazai didn't actually resist the hold you had on his sleeve. in fact, he easily took the lead when you reached the elevators and the rest of the way up towards the rooftop was smooth sailing.
after punching in the code, Dazai pushes open the heavy metal doors to the rooftop with ease, the cold night air hitting the both of you immediately. you stared at the sky in awe for a moment. the Port Mafia's headquarters was tall, so tall that you felt like you could almost touch the stars at this height.
you made your way towards the edge of the concrete barrier, gripping onto the metal railings as you stared at the sky. Dazai lazily trailed behind you, stopping a few meters away from you as he also tilted his chin up to look at the sky.
“this is boring”, he complained, watching the stars blink in the sky with an almost deadpan expression. truthfully, he had no interest in stargazing at all, let alone astronomy in all it's ridiculousness.
before you could shoot an answer back to him, as if on cue, a brilliant streak of silver light cut across the dark expanse. followed by another, then another. and then dozens more.
your eyes lit up with childish glee as you watched the meteor shower with a triumphant smile. “not so boring now, is it?”, you exclaimed, turning around to look at him. he watched the streaks of silver light fall, shrugging his shoulders as he moved to stand beside you.
“I'm not interested”, he answered, putting up an act of yawning in boredom.
you clicked your tongue and turned your attention back to the sky. “you don't get it!”, you huffed, focusing your attention solely on the meteor shower now.
Dazai rocked back and forth against the balls of his feet in a fidgety boredom. he opened his mouth and turned his head to you to shoot another comment but stopped himself mid-way before he could even say anything.
he stared at you, really stared at you. because for once, he's seeing a side of you he's never seen outside of the all-knowing and mature physician facade.
working for the mafia at such a young age meant that people forgot the children who worked with the mafia were all just—well… children. children who were taught to harden their hearts and to act far too mature for their age.
for the first time, Dazai is seeing a childishness from you that he's never even thought you'd have. something that seemed entirely too pure for someone working in a hell hole like the Port Mafia. how curious, really.
the way the stars reflected in your eyes made them look less dull, made them look so…full of life, for once. and if he was to be honest, he preferred that look on you more than the dull, lightless eyes he'd grown accustomed to.
“I don't particularly care about the sky”, he finally murmured after a while of being completely silent. his voice had dropped into something very quiet, heavy and intensely focused.
“..but, I guess the stars aren't that bad”
you turned your head towards him to scold him for being a killjoy, but your words caught in your throat almost immediately.
instead of looking at the meteors, or even the sky, Dazai was quietly staring at you—only you. another meteor streaked through the sky and you caught the reflection of said meteor through his eyes. it seemed like in that moment, his dark, almost hollowed eyes seem to shine. even if it was only for a split second.
you snapped your head around quickly, trying to calm the sudden rapid heartbeats in your chest. what exactly was that?
“you say that yet you're not even looking at the stars”, you coughed and cleared your throat, feeling your cheeks involuntarily heat up so suddenly.
Dazai blinked, as if snapping himself out of some type of trance before turning his head away from you to actually look at the sky this time. he hummed and shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants.
“eh, they're still boring though”, he mumbled, not the slightest bit amused at the falling meteors.
CUZ, I'M JUST A TEENAGE DIRTBAG, BABY, LIKE YOU .ᐟ.ᐟ
╰› pairings ♯ Kaoru Kanzaki x reader
╰› oneshot word count ♯ 2k
╰› tags ♯ fluff, romance, they're both awkward, loser boy behavior, down bad behavior, he is trying so hard to act cool, comfort, mutual pining, crushes, shared interest, BSD mentioned, Chuuya Nakahara is the goat˚. ᵎᵎ
‧˚꒰🍨꒱ Summary!! ₊˚⋆
You're a classmate of Eugene and Mogari, a diligent and friendly girl to those who approach her. Kanzaki takes notice of you every time he visits his two Class-A pals. He doesn't know why, but his eyes always find themselves settling on you whenever you're in sight. He tells himself it's nothing, you're just someone who naturally captures people's attention.
On one faithful school day, he's reading a manga series he just currently picked up. Whilst reading, he heard approaching footsteps, he payed no mind. It could have been Mogari, or a stranger passing by. He expected it to be anyone, anyone but the pretty girl he's been pining over. Kanzaki figures out maybe the two of you aren't that different.
"Yoooo, Zaki! What's up? You've been zoning out so much!!", exclaimed Mogari. The boy Mogari acknowledged was currently seated upon a vacant chair in the room of A-class. Whereas, the phantom-eating exorcist was situated at a position which has him at Kanzaki's left, standing. Their other two club members were present in the room as well, with Eugene sitting snug at his rightfully designated seat, and Tamon, who dragged a chair all the way to Kanzakis right.
There were but a few (living) souls in the room they currently reside in. Most students opt to venture the school institute during the minutes of lunch break, enjoying their fleeting moment of freedom before they are dragged back to the four corners of a classroom full of dread. A handful of students choose to enjoy their lunch in the solace of their own classroom. Before the not-so fated recruitment of Kanzaki to join the Phantom Busters, the boy would rather enjoy his time in the scene of the rooftop, but that was then, he's here now.
Here, in a classroom that was not even his assigned one. Here, in a classroom which gives him the chance to share the isolated same space as you.
It dawned on Kanzaki as a miniature speck of interest. But later on, he found himself lingering at Class-A's proximity. He tells himself it's because of Mogari, and the British ginger. Despite so, his purple hued eyes always travelled to where ever you were, seldom ever at his two club members.
"He's long gone...! Is he possessed?! What should we do??", the green haired male cried out immediately when he witnessed Kanzaki not replying to any of their advancements.
With the sheer volume of Tamon's voice , Kanzaki was startled out of his trance. "I ain't possessed! Stop screaming, ya bunch!!" A ticked face made itself present on the white-haired boy's face, yet it disappeared the moment it made itself known. A calmer expression was now worn.
"You're all loud. At this point, go to you own classroom, you lot!", said Eugene whilst organizing a stack of paper in which Kanzaki presumes to be research paper.
"But seriously, Zaki, what's gotten into you?" Mogari once again asked, with his hands tucked into his pants now.
"Huh? I dunno what you all are on about. Nothings wrong with me." Kanzaki leaned further backwards on the chair. He truly thought so. He perceived himself as slick with his (very evident) interest. Who's gonna tell him? With how intense his gaze is towards you, who's currently enjoying your own meal a few seats away from him, the crush makes itself obvious to anyone who has the equivalent of two braincells.
Like take for example; at this fateful moment, all the raven-haired boy had to do was follow Kanzaki's line of sight to understand what had been weighing the hot-headed male. Tamon did as well, and it dawned on them both akin to a bucket being dumped upon the crown of their heads. Mogari's mouth fell wide open; "No way! Man's having a crush on (Name)?"
"Quiet down, you blockhead!", exclaimed Kanzaki. Oh dear lord, please let whatever Mogari said fly right over your brain. Kanzaki wouldn't dare bear the embarrassment.
Because Kanzaki, himself, knows that he and you are in completely different realms. Many would associate you as the girl one can barely reach, whereas Kanzaki would be the synonymous teenage dirtbag, only able conceit a universe where the two of you are comparable in any manner of tendency, habit, or quirk. You are the star humans were never supposed to reach, no matter how advanced they engineer those space rockets to be. While he is so painfully human.
The secrets of the universe, he'd find and grasp amidst your words. Secrets that a man like him have no business in knowing, in the same way a girl parallel to you possesses not; the business in knowing the name 'Kanzaki'. Such is the cruel truth, no white lies need to be said in his presence. Kanzaki understands the reality of the situation. Maybe such is why the boy's in such a deep denial regarding the frenzied beating of his heart.
It's all just so infuriating! Out of all people, why does his subconscious choose the very one who he can only dream of having? Whatever sorcery you're casting on the white-haired student needs to be halted, effective immediately!
"Why don't you approach her? (Name)-san is very friendly with people.", the British ginger advices. Easy for him to say, truthfully. Unlike Eugene, Kanzaki has never experienced being envied, being idolized. Eugene is just perfect in every aspect where the otaku lacks.
"Yeah, no thanks. I don't even like her that much. Just think she's pretty, that's it. You guys better not make it a huge deal, or anything!!" Ahem, a lie. A blatantly, poorly executed lie. The redness of the boy's cheeks confesses everything that his mouth would never have the courage to admit.
But sure, let us indulge in the teen's sea of denials, shall we? Kanzaki does indeed; quote: 'not like you that much' Undoubtedly so.
He doesn't even like how your features are highlighted whenever the sun shines on your face, it's mediocre at best (he can't force himself to look away). Honestly, you aren't all that. He isn't even fond of your beautifully carefree laughter that springs his heart to life, the laughter that bounces inside the cocoon of his brain even when you've long stopped giggling. Not even that personality of yours that he oh so desperately wants to comprehend! He doesn't like that either. It's not as if he spends his time thinking about such a thing. And, it's not like he likes-like you, or anything!
"Whatever floats your boat bro...", the poor Tamon was then executed on spot.
A handful of days had already passed since that conversation. It just so happens that Kanzaki spent those days further observing your being. His fellow clubmates would give him a knowing stare whenever the purple-eyed boy showed the signs of being even the slightest measure of distracted. Kanzaki hasn't been this bothered at any point of his life, not the kind of bothered where a ghost would be pining over him. The specific type of' weighed' that has him going through sleepless nights.
He has not; the strength to endure this torture you have subjected him into! He's starting to think being haunted by a ghoul stands as a kinder fate. It's something he has lived to tolerate, after all. Way better than aiming for someone he shan't have. All his life, Kanzaki has been the boy people keep their distance from, the boy called names for seeing things he didn't wish to see in the first place— liar, weirdo, creep— numerous things, he's been called. He has always been labeled— the kid with a permanent scowl, never to be known outside of what people chatter of him.
Truth be set free, it aggravates him more than he parades. But, its ok! He'll get by as long as a manga volume is within his grasp. Like right now!
Helios' rays of light shine directly upon him in his snug position at the rooftop. Mogari and Eugene went to the student council to print more posters, hoping of advertising the newly formed club to those interested in the exorcising services the ghoul-eating boy offers. And only god knows where Tamon is, perhaps off to chat with a ghost he's heard in the corridors? Kanzaki just decided to leave the anxious lad alone.
Which leaves him forsaken by everyone who might have kept him company. Something he'd dread nevermore. With the latest released volume of the manga 'Bungo Stray Dogs' in hand, he happily reads away the minutes of his lunchbreak.
A recess like any other, spent at his usual post— at the rooftop he's painfully familiar with. The same location where he had first been inquired by Mogari to join the Phantom Busters.
It's normal.
Everything's ordinary. The Earth spins on its axis, endlessly orbiting a star whose sheer mass holds it into place. Kanzaki's submerged, attention completely honed and directed towards the manga he's reading. So indulged that he rids his mind, heart, as well as his soul of any remnants of your existence. BSD is just good like that, I fear.
So amusing that the ghost-seeing boy had not heard the forthcoming footsteps, not until a voice follows to make the presence known—
"Ah! You like that series too, Kanzaki?"
"Yeah, I do—" Wait. What.
Kanzaki looks up to be greeted with a sight he never sought to witness. You. YOU. Flesh and blood, bone and skin, soul and body, YOU, standing over him as if he were someone you've grown to know.
Holy shit. Just—
"Uhm, I read manga, too— Especially that one, it's one of my favorites- actually... I'm (Name), nice to finally talk to you, Zaki!" You blurted out when the silence stretched on for a mile long. Effort was exerted into appearing desirable, and well put—but internally your mind was screeching; 'He's not saying anything! Scary! His face looks so annoyed, was it he wrong idea to have approached him after all?!' You finally work up the courage to talk to him... and the second the words leave your mouth, you're convinced you've just blown your first impression— the chance of a relationship with him flew out the window the instant you opted to walk over this guy!
All the while, Kanzaki sits frozen in place, a silent storm unraveling within him—questions weaving through his thoughts: how do you know who he is, and why do you speak to him as though you care to know? The fact that he's been painfully mute leaves his mind.
"Who's—who's your favorite character?" you ask with a gentle smile, never noticing the way your words ripple through his chest.
Be cool, Kanzaki, you face the gore of the undead every day of your life, surely facing the girl you've been eyeing ain't as hard as that! "Chuuya," he answers, a careless calm in his voice that surprises even him.
At his reply, excitement blooms within you, a rush of warmth spreading until you feel light and sparkly from head to toe. "I totally understand! He's so cool, the coolest!"
Kanzaki can no longer remember what color is the sky the two of you are under. He's just completely baffled, head blown from its place on top of his shoulders. He's able to sense his heart faltering from the sheer speed of its beats, as though the organ is running a race he wasn't aware of ever joining.
You're talking to him as though he isn't the outcast of society, you're raving to him about something he, himself, is passionate about— Kanzaki could only stare at you as though this whole experience is a dream, glaring towards your being even when you did the most mundane thing like taking a seat next to him. This has to be fake, some stupid dream of his— surely. These lips of his are beginning to shake, beginning to fumble— for this all appears so unreal.
He's the scum under the sole of everyone's foot, a teenage dirtbag whose never been approached by any (living) girl, with the sole exception of his sister and mom. So, why—?
Unbeknownst to both parties, the two teens harbored the exact same feelings for the other. Just as you were oblivious to the lingering glances coming from those uniquely designed eyes, Kanzaki was completely unaware of your advances to befriend him (considering you don't trust yourself enough to waltz over to Kanzaki's proximity when he's in the company of his friends).
"A-actually, I was wondering—", you started.
"Wondering about what?" He replied with that same cool tone.
"Are you free this Friday after school?"
"This Friday? Why?"
"A friend gave me two tickets to a premiere of an anime movie... I didn't really have anyone to go with, so I was wondering if you—"
"Yeah, sure. I'm down.", said him, a little too eagerly, considering his nonchalant persona.
Well, turns out, you and him weren't so different after all—two restless souls tangled in the same awkward silences and shared glances, chasing fleeting moments of something that felt like something meaningful... both, at heart, just teenage dirtbags.
fic made by @reasaph !! Leave a like if u enjoyed :DD ۶ৎ
in your pursuit to become a part of the popular clique ; a group of 4 kids who "exorcise" ghosts ruins your perfect chance of doing so.
OR in which, you find people as weird as you. however you're not willing to join this "phantom busters" club, so in mogari's stubborn fashion ; he chases you.
notes: implied! sapphic reader, also we need more phanbus content 💔💔 and, I didnt plan this throughout so this is ass AF ; this is more off a way to let steam out. chapter two will be up right after (I hope) , not proofread!
edit : chapter two is out!
reblogs are highly appreciated, need more phanbus moots!
CHAPTER ONE : (name), this is calculus.
You fought well.
HE tries to tell himself, even if his body is mangled with bruises - aching when even the slightest tap of his feet lands the ground. With the last of energy, the tremble of his muscles, the stringing of veins combine to stand : to protect, repeats in his mind.
In a final breath, he stances his body, letting the cocky smirk emerge from his pristine face. But, as his eyes meet the opponent -- a slash of blue enters in eyes.
All he hears is nothing, before feeling lighter, soft lined blankets hovering over the heavy mass --
"-And here's where Gojo " an excited quip emerges from your mouth. Placing the linen-doll down a wooden board, hands grabbing the plastic handle of a cutter.
A loud thud echoes in the quiet class, eyes focused, pupils set. There, they see the Gojo-like dolls, sapphire-like orbs bulge out -- it's small, felt body spliced to two pieces, with a red silk emerges akin to blood spilling.
"Gets cut in half!"
Turning away for a while, "no worries, there's way more bloodier scenes like --"
"Nope," something blocks your view, looking at the pillar between you. "Don't even try to finish that."
You stare awkwardly at your teacher.
Slowly looking behind her broad shoulders, the scene before you ; people were chuckling behind their campus notebooks, girls giving eachother looks like they'd debrief this later, and students napping when their drool seeps in the wood.
Shifting hastily, a glance of hope flickered when a man sat by the window ; who's hair looked like strings of falling snow, eyes swirling in different hues of greens, purples, a warmth of yellow -- paired with scars over them (like a mysterious chosen-one, you awe). Even if the way his lips curl look unsightly, his body leans closer, head almost urging for more.
"Dear," a concerned reply comes from your teacher. Fingers gently tapping onto her clip board, shifting her sharp gaze between the dolls in your hands to the smile etched on you.
"What are you doing?" She sighs, the intense search-over providing nothing.
Tilting your head, raising the mangled Gojo to her face. "Giving my book report?"
"This is calculus," huffing, putting down the doll. "Go back."
The quiet classroom puts on howls of laughter, countless whispers that egg on you, their words letting your head down in shame.
Just be yourself, a ghastly tone whispers in your ears.
Bullshit, you reply back in your head. I did, and look -- they think I'm some freak.
Inside, the thought pangs, it bounces and pierces through you. Like a reminder of something, an outcast -- an alien obsessed with pages and pages of words.
"Won't you all just leave her alone!" an authoritative tone enters the room, her words alone stopping the laughter.
Her hair falls gracefully over her shoulder, annoyed grunts falling from her pink-glossed lips. The sharp gaze panging through every person in the gaze -- even yours. It's piercing, the obsidian almost taking you in. Once it quiets down, she heads you a small nod and an amused smile -- a pretty one.
It makes your lungs tie, depriving itself of oxygen.
You feel yourself grow flustered, looking away. Yet, when you hit your forehead on the soft confines of the dismembered Gojo plush, your lips morph itself to a small smile.
She defended me, you think, like a giddy child.
Maybe, maybe I won't be so alone anymore.
WHEN the days pass, even if Kamakura was a small, tight-knit town. You never seem to find her, never catching a glimpse of the ringlets with every bounce or the smell of cherries that waft over.
Kikuchi Hotaru.
The excited, almost awed rumors who say. As if a goddess decided to descend on their trails, basting them with flowers, blessings, or glittering light that'll sparkle a path of dimmed alleyways.
"Man, Kikuchi was seriously gorgeous today," a boy whispers to his peers.
"Course she is, always is. "
"You think she'll like the chocolates?"
Stopping behind the two, you slowly back down a corner. Ears leaned in to oversee this conversation (and maybe even find her.)
"Dumbass, like she'd like weirdos like you," he chuckles, jabbing his friend. "Maybe someone like Eugene can match up to her though, who knows."
"Eugene? Like Korekishi? Nah, he's in that club ain't he? Phan..."
"Phantom busters?"
"Yeah, that exorcist stuff with the four guys."
"Oh," the boy let's out in agreement,
"Seriously, what a waste."
The two shake their heads, continuing onto their walk -- when the school bells rings the familiar tune. Your eyes widen at the door, hearing her voice run through the halls. With a little pat on the chest, your legs start to march.
"You are hopeless," someone chuckles, immediately looking up. The translucent, almost sea-like figure floats above -- picking at his nose.
"And you're dead."
"How creative, can't say the same your gift," he retorts, his sassy hisses erupting something in you.
Pointing at the paper clutched on your fingers, you jumped. "She'll... she'll like it," you mumble, keeping it close to your chest.
"Yeah yeah, she'll like calling the police by how much you're following her."
"It's called, fate, dumb ghost."
"It's being a damn stalker -"
"Get off me!" you hiss back, tucking the paper safely. "Stop following me, why don't you reach Buddha..." giving him a harsh look. "Bet even they don't want you there."
Instead of offense, he shrugs. "I'll reach Buddha when you get rejected." He gives a smug smirk, floating through the air.
All you manage is a rude gesture, which he returns. "I don't even like her, just wanna be friends that's all."
He raises his brows, before shaking it head -- following alongside you. Inching closer to Kikuchi, her body surrounded by other people. Your lips dry at the sight, legs trembling when your fingers grip tight. Once your feet step in her space -- her space, your mind almost jumps.
However, before a word falls beneath your lips, a loud thud washes through the hallways. Finding your sight changed ; instead of her thick, bushed hair -- your eyes meet the brown of the school floor. Body pressed on it, another weight on you -- it's bulky, heavy, choking you of air.
"No worries!" the person on top of you happily chuckles, "you'll be safe from hhe ghost now!"
Boy, what?
Finally finding the sweet air to enter, you are entangled in the arms of someone. Looking up in your panic, his black messed-up hair, a toothy-fanged grin, and his red, striked eyes look down on you. A free-hand showing a half-made thumbs up.
All you do is give him a look of disgust.
He stumbles a bit, letting go of your body -- before you hear garbled high-pitch screams. It immediately makes you look up, the scream reminding you of a certain ghost. With open eyes, you find the fang-toothed boy chase the ghost with a crazed smile.
"Ohhh," he taunts, bouncing off the hallways with his tongue out. "Don't run, it won't hurt, just a taste!"
Your ghost companion just evades him, fear. seeping in his rather calm, annoying face. "No! Don't eat me?!"
The sight before you makes you lean back in awe, a hyper-energetic man who looks like a blur of white chasing the ghost you prayed to get rid of.
But, even with the highs, your fingers twitch -- urging to help him.
"Help me! Help!" he cries out like a child, his tears puffing at every moment. With one swoop, you grab the boy holding him down with all your strength. But, you struggle, feet flying dumbly in the air.
"You!" you breathe out, trying to pin him. "Don't... don't eat him!" you plead with desperation, "he maybe an annoying ghost -- but eating him is too kind!"
Then, you find yourself in a weird fight -- if you could call it that. The two of you rolled on the smooth wooden hallways, struggling all while you hurled pleas. You exchanged insults, pulled eachothers clothing and hair.
"Mogari?" a series of voices interrupt you two, as he was pulling on your hair. Stopping in his actions, crimson shifting to meet the three people.
"Koreshiki!" he happily utters, letting go of your hair. "Zaki told me he saw a ghost and..."
"I know," a deadpanned reply, looking to see the other boy, you were stunned.
He has foreigner origins definitely, his bright-ginger hair clipped and wide-round frames that suit his face. Seeing the others, you find the same mysterious dude, and another who's gaze was away -- his body shaking, like it was holding in the urge to vomit.
"Oh," Mogari chuckles, before hastily looking around. "Where is it?"
"More like, where is your mind right now?" Koreshiki states, pointing between the two of you.
"Here?" Mogari points to his temples, chucking his head.
"No, let... let go of the girl," he replies back, removing Mogari off your body.
Finally, you felt like breathing.
Sitting up, you find more than three ; a whole crowd just gawks -- their phones up, small chuckles. Your heart drops, they saw that stupid fight, looking around you catch the gaze -- her gaze. She's staring at you, no amused smile, no emotion, it was a blank. You find her peers whispering their lips close to her ears, girlish laughs entering your earshot.
She saw, your body shuts down, like she'd like weirdos like you, the boys words re-enter your ears.
You don't hear the gossips of laughter, or the phones shuttering, all there is -- is the long stare between the two of you, before she twists her body and walks away.
No, no wait. I didn't get a chance.
"Wait," you try to voice out, reaching out -- before a hand brings you back in. Turning your head back, you're once again faced again with Mogari. He has that stupid grin, showcasing those fangs -- what does he want?
"You, you saw that ghost right?" his smile gets impossibly huge, almost ripping at his skin.
"What?" you choke out, brows furrowing.
You don't get to reply, as he continues to ramble. And all you get is phantom busters, exorcism and ghost. Those words pang passion, yet it brings you to the depths of the cruelty -- their chants of insults, the freak, the outcast.
No, you weren't gonna fall for that -- you promised, you promised her. Even if you wanted to grasp on that string, that thread that could tug on that still heart. But a beating heart, the one that sang every passion you sang to the world -- greeted you with slaps of reality.
You won't be lonely again, right? No one can protect you now. Get off your fantasy, please!
Muffling all the words he's been rambling on, you push him harshly. Yet, his build deterred a slightest bit of impact.
"Leave me alone," you cut harshly, avoiding his eyes. "I don't wanna join you or that freakish club, ghosts don't even exist! Are you out of your mind?"
You turn to the four boys, stance straight and eyes cold (colder than you hope.)
"Get away from me, freaks." you spit with venom, ushering yourself away.
Yet, the small part of your heart beats, even when you forced it to stay still -- and when you try to remove her ; she pleads.
No, please come back, don't keep me here.
MOGARI is stunned. Watching your body flit away, your words stunt his head.
Freaks.
Yet, you utter it less of an insult to them, to his ears -- there's hints of a pained hiss. The words, you don't hurl them in typical bully fashion.
"You think she's a psychic too?" Eugene cuts him off, leaning a finger to his temples. "Or did you just wanna fight?"
"No," Kaoru butts in, shifting his colored eyes. "I saw them talk to the ghost too, in class. " Then, taking on a serious facade, "and someone with a passion for Jujustu Kaisen, she truly must be one."
No one gives a notice to his last words.
"Yeah," Tamon shifts on his feet, "there's some voice that lingers near her, Mogari may be real."
"So," Eugene flickers his gaze to the three, lips pursued in thought. "You're planning to recruit her? After... that?"
All Mogari does is stare, continuously look at the never-ending halls.
He sees the hints of longing, the dots of sadness that paint your stare -- as if a ghost came to posess you, he theorizes.
Your trembles, your hesitance, it really does seem like a ghost of a person he wants to know. Outside of what you show, with that faux confidence and strides.
And instead of wave her away, he sees it like a challenge ; a new exorcism goal for him to fit.
Because after all, if there's a ghost -- it's his job to exorcise. And damn well, he'll do it perfectly -- to remove whatever makes you tremble, what made you seem scared.
can i request a highschool au w skk x reader student council reader. The reader has been instructed to watch them throughout skk detention.
He Started It! | Highschool!Dazai, Chuuya x Reader | Oneshot
A/N: Hiya! Thanks for requesting. I had so much fun writing this :D
Tags: high school AU, slice of life, comedy, skk shenanigans
Word count: 3.5k
“So, two hours with the school’s number-one martial artist and the vice president of the poetry club.”
A heavy sigh dragged out of you as you swept your eyes over the classroom.
“Sure, can’t think of a better way to spend my Friday afternoon. This should be fun.”
In the left back corner sat an increasingly irritated fluff of orange hair, a scowl marring his petite face, his legs kicked up on the desk in front of him as his chair swung haphazardly on its back legs. A bead of sweat rolled down your temple. You were going to have to reprimand him for this later.
Meanwhile, directly in front of you in the very first row was Dazai, a head of shaggy brown hair eclipsing one of his eyes, bandages poking out of his uniform sleeves and collar. Where he went off to acquiring such injuries you’d never know. You had never seen him lift so much as a tennis ball in your life.
It was like the sun and moon were sitting on direct opposite ends of the class, forcing your gaze to bounce endlessly between them.
Dazai was absolutely beaming at you over laced fingers. His posture all prim and proper in spite of his dire situation.
You quirked your eyebrow at him. Arms haughtily crossed over the front of your blazer as you leaned against the teacher’s desk.
“What are you looking so smart about?” you quipped, chin tilting up. “You do know why you’re here, don’t you?”
“If you mean getting to spend two hours staring at a beauty like you, then yes, I know exactly why I’m here.” The line slipped out as easily as breathing air. His hands extended in front of him like a camera and his exposed eye squinted. “My, look at the way the sunset frames your face. It’s like watching the painting of the Mona Lisa.”
Geez. No wonder this guy was so popular.
“Shut the hell up,” growled Chuuya. His foot slammed against the desk’s surface. “I’m missing jiu jitsu practice because you, stupid ass mackerel."
“Language,” you hissed with closed eyes. “And feet off the desk.”
This earned you a staredown with those fired up azure eyes, but eventually, Chuuya turned his head to the side with a “tch,” then dropped his feet.
“It’s bad enough you guys were punished with a week of detention. Don’t make it any longer.” Your hands flew up to massage your temples. “Why did they have to make me the unwitting babysitter?”
Dazai’s response slid in uninvited like leaves under a door. “Because you’re the student council’s beloved and dependable secretary?” he offered up.
“And you,” you snapped. “Stop talking before I wrap one of those bandages around that pretty mouth of yours. I bet you think you’re quite the charmer.”
The devilish smirk that crept onto his face warned you you’d fallen right into his trap. “Oh~ careful, secretary Y/n, you just called me pretty. It’s working, isn’t it?”
“No,” you blurted out immediately, despite the heat rising to the tips of your ears. “It’d be prettier if it stayed shut.”
Dazai made a zipping motion across his lips then tossed the imaginary key over his shoulder.
A loud scrape sounded further behind where Chuuya shoved his desk into the chair in front of him. “Oi, if you’re gonna punish me then at least put me in a different room than this smartass.” An accusatory finger jabbed toward Dazai’s direction. “This shit’s worse than just getting detention.”
“Then maybe next time you’ll think before ruining all the festival decorations,” you countered, your palms hitting the teacher’s desk. “The only reason I’m here instead of the teachers is because they’re all busy helping the rest of the council clean up the mess in the courtyard.” You jutted your chin towards the windows on the right overlooking said courtyard.
Stray strands of ribbon were tangled in the trees and strewn between the lamp posts. A handful of teachers were mopping around a spot where a red paint bucket fell over the concrete. To make matters worse, the paper-mache mascot was split in half, lying face down in a flower bed.
“It’s like a crime scene out there,” you mourned, “and after we spent all week making the preparations too.”
Dazai whistled when he followed your gaze. “Beautiful. The splash of red really ties everything together.”
“It’s this idiot’s fault. He started it so you should blame him, not me,” Chuuya huffed, sinking further down his chair, legs stretching in the most improper position possible.
“Is that so?” A skeptical brow raised. “Let’s take a look at the security footage together, shall we?”
You swiped the remote off the desk and summoned the projector canvas screen down with a click of a button.
Behind your back, Dazai snuck away from his chair to turn off the lights. “For cinematic effect,” he whispered across the room to an enraged Chuuya.
Soon enough, the recording loaded on the screen.
You cleared your throat and began to narrate like a sports commentator, “Here, we have a lone Chuuya punching and kicking at the air behind the gym while there in the background, various student council members run around setting up decorations for tomorrow’s festival.”
“I don’t know a lot about sports, but I don’t remember jiu jitsu having any special kicks,” Dazai remarked.
“That’s because those are karate moves,” Chuuya interjected. “Idiot.”
“You look even smaller in 2x speed,” Dazai found himself choking on his own laughter.
“I’LL SHOW YOU DEATH IN 2X SPEED.”
Both were already on their feet until you snapped your fingers at the screen. “Eyes up, we haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.”
“Yes, Y/n-san,” they answered in unison, which somehow was another cause for glaring at each other before sitting back down.
Your announcer voice returned, “Chuuya continues this for another, say, five minutes before— oh, what’s this? Dazai appears around the corner and says something, which unfortunately the cameras don’t pick up, and then tosses a beverage to Chuuya, which hits him square on the face. A perfect hit!”
Dazai was failing miserably to stifle a laugh when Chuuya marched up behind him and grabbed him by the collar. “HOW COULD YOU MISS SUCH AN EASY TOSS??”
Dazai’s hands were raised in a placating gesture which didn’t seem to be helping his case at all. “In my defense, I don’t usually toss to someone of your height, chibi.”
“You wanna go again? Alright let’s go,” Chuuya seethed under his breath.
A firm grip landed on Chuuya’s shoulder, tearing him away from the brunet. “I could have you kicked out of jiu jitsu, Nakahara,” you said in a sickeningly sweet tone that didn’t match your death grip. “Don’t test me.” Miraculously, he stopped resisting and you shoved him into the seat next to Dazai.
You unpaused the recording and proceeded to narrate, “Now here’s where it gets interesting. Chuuya swings… Dazai evades… but wait— Chuuya’s fist catches the support wire hanging around one of the poles. The whole string of banners comes down!”
Chuuya winced at the recollection.
“Oho, better work on your aim, Chuuya,” Dazai chided.
Before Chuuya got a chance to retaliate, you pressed on, “The banners fall around Dazai like a second set of bandages, but as Chuuya was about to walk away, Dazai tugs on the wire and stops him from leaving. Outraged, Chuuya turns around and throws another punch straight at Dazai’s face. Unfortunately for Dazai, he was not quick enough to dodge this one.”
“Serves you right,” Chuuya muttered.
Dazai gingerly rubbed the adhesive bandage across his right cheek. “So mean…”
“Anyway, this time, Dazai decides to fight back! He returns the punch to Chuuya’s jaw, and then…” you squinted at the screen. “Well, folks, it looks like our duo moved so fast that the only thing the camera picked up was a tumbleweed of arms and legs. This tumbleweed then proceeds to roll across the courtyard, tearing up every ribbon, prop and paint set in the way.”
“Those ribbons only fell because he tripped me,” Chuuya pointed.
“I was trying to steer you towards the pond but it seems I underestimated your negligible mass.”
“SAY THAT AGAIN—”
“Would either of you like to explain the exploding paper-mache mascot, hmm? Who caused that?”
For a moment, neither answered.
And then Dazai added, “That thing is even taller than you, chibi, hehe.”
“Hey we’ve still got a perfectly good unused pond, right?”
All you could do was sigh, unpausing the video for the last time. “Eventually, you manage to knock over the ladder where a student council member is holding a bucket of red paint.”
The recording ended with them staring shamefully at the ground while the student council president scolds them.
Said pair now exchanged half-guilty-half-agitated glances at each other while you merely pinched the bridge of your nose. “Now, because of you two, tomorrow’s festival will look depressing with half of its decorations torn up. We’ll never be able to remake them all in time.”
Chuuya’s eyes flickered up at you, scratching the back of his head when he mumbled, “Sorry… I know you worked hard on that, Y/n.”
“What’s this?” Dazai gasped much too dramatically. “You hit your head harder than I thought, Chuuya. We should rush you to the infirmary asap.”
“Y/n, please, just one punch,” pleaded Chuuya. “Then I’ll sit down all nice and quiet these two hours.”
He was staring at you with the most earnest ocean-blue eyes you’d ever seen. You had to shut your own before you sank in.
“Thanks for apologizing, but no.” The hope in Chuuya’s eyes died. “I appreciate it, really, but sorry doesn’t fix the courtyard.”
“Neither will us sitting here, but I digress,” Dazai sighed.
“Maybe not.” A smile slipped onto your face. “But it’ll give you something to think about. I know that sounds like heaven to you Dazai but try not to have too much fun. You will both spend the next—” You threw a glance at the clock on the wall. “—97 minutes sitting here in complete silence.”
“But—”
“Not. A. Word.”
“Can I at least go back to my seat?” Chuuya asked.
“Fine.”
“Complete silence” lasted all of twenty-five minutes.
All this while, you sat at the front with this weekend’s homework spread across the desk. Chuuya, who seemed to have exhausted all his explosive energy, dozed off with his head down. His arms were still crossed and his fingers twitched as if he were grappling in his sleep, and he was muttering something about “freaking mackerels" in his sleep.
You supposed being the school's top athlete drained his body of much needed rest. Maybe that’s why he wasn't growing much.
When Dazai noticed, he whipped out a notebook from under his desk and made quick work of tearing up some of the pages. By the time you looked up again, a paper airplane arced through the room and poked Chuuya's shoulder.
Poor Chuuya grumbled in his sleep and swatted at the spot, probably assuming it was a fly. Unfortunately for him, the disturbance was much more persistent than a fly.
Said disturbance wasted no time in folding up another plane and, tongue stuck out, sent it flying— where it hit its target directly on the forehead.
Chuuya's eyes flew open. “THE HELL WAS THAT.”
Immediately Dazai turned back to the front and twiddled his thumbs together, whistling like he wasn't the menace he was.
Chuuya found the plane at his feet, crumpled it into a ball and launched it at the mop of brown hair.
“Hey~ Chuuya, what'd you do that for?” Dazai whined, rubbing the back of his head as if it actually hurt. Knowing it was Chuuya who threw it, it probably did.
“You started it!”
A pathetic frown dawned on Dazai's face. “Do you have any evidence for that?”
“Who else could've done it?” growled Chuuya.
“Y/n-chan, obviously.”
You merely shot him a deadpan look, and then returned to the desk where one hand was still furiously scribbling away integration by parts while the other held the calculus textbook open. “Yes, because I clearly have the time and energy for that.”
Chuuya continued glaring daggers at Dazai but miraculously chose to stay in his seat. Before long, he was in dreamland again.
Until—
Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap.
His eyelids twitched.
Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap.
A sharp inhale sounded from the other end of the room.
“Dazai.”
“Yes~?” he replied much too innocently.
“Did you pick up drumming recently or is your life’s only purpose to make mine miserable?”
The brunet merely spread his hands in a shrugging gesture. “Your problem, dear Chuuya, is that you think much too small. I don’t see why I can’t do both.”
Chuuya paused, pondering something with exquisite intensity. “Y/n.”
“Don’t rope me into this,” you groaned.
“The bastard’s smiling, isn’t he,” he asked as more of a statement than anything.
You took one glance at Dazai before responding. “Why, yes, it appears he is.”
Tap tap tap.
And because you knew better, you threw your notebook over your head and flopped over the surface of the desk.
In a single blink, Chuuya managed to lunge across the room and choke Dazai by the collar. Dazai had the courtesy of letting him get a few strangles in before he wrestled Chuuya back.
The catfight went on for as long as it took for your self-preservation to fully leave your body.
Under your calculus notes, your eyebrow twitched.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Eventually, you dragged your will to live back inside, kicking and screaming much like the pair in front of you.
“BOTH OF YOU STOP RIGHT NOW BEFORE I ASK THE VICE PRINCIPAL TO GIVE YOU ANOTHER WEEK OF DETENTION.”
“But Y/n-chan, he started it this time!” Dazai disputed through a nose bleed.
“Don’t even start you damn—”
You drew in a sharp breath and clasped your hands together. “I SAID STOP IT, THIS INSTANT.”
Both of them froze as if they’d been paused on a replay. Then the weight of your threat sank in.
“Wait, you can’t do that! I have a competition next week, I can’t waste jiu jitsu practice time on detention,” Chuuya protested, hands dropping from Dazai’s collar.
“I literally could not care less.” You crossed your arms. “It’s bad enough you two had to ruin the festival, now I can’t even get my homework done in peace. Can you selfish brats think of anyone but yourselves for one afternoon?”
Despite all the fighting he’d done, this was the first time Chuuya looked genuinely injured. He averted your gaze to the floor and shuffled one of his feet.
Meanwhile, Dazai had the nerve to look remarkably pleased with himself. He studied you with a keen gleam in his eye, wiped the trail of blood from his nose, and then said in an even voice, “I’ve got an idea.”
“Like I said, I don’t care,” you huffed.
“It’s more of an offer, really.” Dazai rubbed his hands together. “You might want to hear this, Y/n.”
“No.”
“I know how we can get the festival ready by tomorrow.”
You hesitated, turning over his words like a figure-8 ball, trying to decide if he was bluffing. Eventually, you relented, “...I’m listening.”
A smile slipped onto Dazai’s face as he began outlining his proposal. “You know, I happen to know that Kyouka-chan from arts and crafts club is quite adept at scissors. She could help remake all the ribbons and string decorations.”
“You’re offering me one girl?” you snapped.
“Patience, Y/n.” Dazai winked. You suddenly understood Chuuya’s urge to slap him out of this room. “Whoa, where’d the sudden bloodlust come from?” He hugged his arms and shivered as if he heard that thought. Impressive.
“Anyway, I also know that our dear poetry club president, Kunikida-kun is rather handy at paper. I’m sure he could rebuild the mascot in a jiffy.”
The knit between your eyebrows slowly relaxed, the appeal of the offer now revealing itself to you. But you let Dazai continue.
“Not to mention Kenji-kun can move tables with the lift of his finger. And Atsushi-kun would drop anything after I give him a call—”
“That’s not a brag, you sleazy dirtbag,” Chuuya interjected.
You held up a hand. “I’m listening.”
Dazai planted his hands on his hips. “In fact, I could call up the whole poetry and arts and crafts club here right now. We’ll have the whole place cleaned and ready to present by tomorrow, no sweat.”
How a person like him could have this much influence you had no idea. But the look in Dazai’s eye told you this was no joke. He was serious about getting the job done. Far be it from you to refuse.
You heaved a heavy sigh and stuck a hand in front of Dazai. “Has anyone ever told you, you should’ve joined public relations club instead?”
Dazai grinned. The look of someone who knew they would get what they wanted.
“All the time. Everyone wishes they had me.”
You and Chuuya simultaneously rolled your eyes.
Dazai’s hand moved but before it met yours, he added, “This is, of course, in exchange for cancelling our detention time.”
Your hand nearly dropped, but then your eyes flicked to the window overlooking the courtyard, where the student council treasurer was still desperately picking loose confetti out of a tree. Only half a dozen people worked on the scene. Any chances of them finishing all the work by nightfall were as good as gone.
“Even this week’s?” you asked tentatively.
Dazai nodded, loose brown curls falling across his forehead. “Well, can’t have Master Sensei here missing his practices and embarrassing our school, can you?”
“YOU’RE ONE TO TALK ABOUT EMBARRASSING.” Chuuya raised his fist but before he could think about using it, he gave you an anxious stare.
You squinted. Looked between Dazai’s annoyingly smug face and Chuuya’s unease.
“...Deal.”
Your hand received a firm squeeze from Dazai. Chuuya was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“—On one condition.”
Chuuya’s feet planted firmly to the floor again when you looked straight at him.
“You call over the jiu jitsu and karate clubs too.”
His jaw dropped open, an indignant look took over his face. “Hah? And why would I do that?”
“Do you want your practice time back or not?”
“...Fine.”
It was at this moment that Chuuya should have known he was better off picking detention.
(...)
“What am I looking at?” Atsushi whispered as a drop of sweat rolled down his forehead, stack of boxes in hand.
Kyouka followed his gaze but continued cutting around the chain of paper bunnies. “Dunno. Seems like they’re not gonna move though.”
A train of karate club members passed between them and the spectacle, each struggling with uncontrollable laughter as they helped move props across the courtyard.
Kunikida materialized behind them and knocked a rolled up sheet of newspaper on both their heads. “Will you two quit staring and get back to work?” he screeched.
“But Kunikida-san, look,” Atsushi instructed, lifting his finger once the train passed.
The newspaper in Kunikida’s hand went slack, his jaw dropping by just a millimeter. Then he sighed, “Dazai… why am I not surprised.”
The view was, in fact, a billion dollar sight to behold.
Two fold-up chairs were planted in the middle of the courtyard for all to see. Sitting in them were Dazai and Chuuya. In the space between them, Dazai’s left hand clasped firmly around Chuuya’s right, while everybody else worked around them and watched.
Dazai flashed the brightest grin and threw up a peace sign when a group of passersby snapped pictures.
Meanwhile, Chuuya looked like he was visibly holding himself back from spontaneous combustion. One hand was obscuring his face, shoulders positively heaving with tales of wrath untold.
You strode up to them with an exceptionally satisfied gleam in your eyes. A job well done indeed.
“So this was why you wanted me to call over my friends?” Chuuya hissed between his fingers.
“Mhm,” you hummed, tilting your head at him. “Much better than two weeks of detention, wouldn’t you say?”
“Y/n,” he pleaded once again, “why don’t you just let me help out with everyone else, huh? Wouldn’t I be more useful that way?”
You wagged a finger in his face and clicked your tongue. “Nuh uh, everyone agreed the most useful thing you two can do is stay. Right. Here.”
Dazai seemed to have taken this as a sign to lace his fingers with Chuuya’s and swing their joined hands back and forth in the air. Chuuya desperately began to twist and wriggle his way out before you interrupted, “If either of you let go, the weeks of detention come back.”
His arm went limp. It looked like Chuuya was physically trying to shrink into himself against all laws of physics.
At this point, he was making incomprehensible noises you couldn’t even begin to decipher. If you had to wager a guess, it was probably some obscene mix of profanities and your name, as well as Dazai’s.
Speaking of, he was positively beaming from his seat.
“This is funnn, Chuuya. We get to sit back and relax while everyone else does the heavy lifting,” Dazai proclaimed, his free hand waving at the stunlocked trio of Atsushi, Kyouka, and Kunikida.
“I would not call this public humiliation ritual fun.”
You slowly bent down to whisper in his ear, “Maybe you’ll remember this next time you think about roughhousing on school property.”
In the setting sun, Chuuya’s face somehow burned even redder.
And yet at the end of the day, you had to admit you could almost see how Dazai could enjoy provoking him to the brink of insanity every day.
“No fair, Y/n-chan~ why don’t you hold my other hand and whisper in my ear instead?”
“Absolutely not.”
Almost.
The ending was inspired by this one meme I saw years ago and somehow felt was perfect for this scenario >:)
Should there be a sequel :0? Vote here
Psst if you liked this, you might want to check out my Chuuya long-fic :)
Summary: Theodore never wanted children. The day his mother died was the day he had sworn off any semblance of a family. That was until a child appears before him, claiming to be his daughter.
A/N: This is the second part and since you waited so patiently i included 3 bonus scenes teehee posting it early for my babies
Special mention to @for-the-love-of-puppies and @luffysprincess who predicted this turnout lol our brains are in sync
Credits to @dividers-are-us for the divider
Part 1
Bianca was a blur of movement by the Great Lake.
She darted along the grassy bank, boots thudding softly against the earth as she zig-zagged around rocks and half-buried roots, stopping every few seconds to crouch down and inspect something with intense focus before bolting off again. A stick became a wand, a pebble became treasure, and the reeds at the water’s edge were clearly hiding something very important.
You watched her with a fond smile, arms folded loosely as you leaned back against the cool stone.
“She has too much energy.” You said, though there was no real complaint in your voice—only wonder.
Theo huffed a quiet laugh beside you, eyes never leaving her, “She’s a firecracker.”
Bianca shrieked with laughter as she nearly tripped over her own feet, caught herself at the last second, and then stood very still—carefully regaining her balance before continuing on her way.
Theo tilted his head slightly, watching her, “She takes after you.”
You laughed, startled, “Are you crazy?”
He glanced at you, amused, “What?”
You nodded toward Bianca. “Look at her. She’s observant. Thoughtful. She watches everything. She’s lively, yeah—but she hardly ever leaps without looking first.” You smiled softly, “That’s all you.”
Theo went quiet at that, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his mouth.
He watched Bianca sprint past a patch of wildflowers, slow just enough to avoid stepping on them, then take off again.
“…Maybe.” He conceded.
A moment later, he added, half-thoughtful, half-teasing, “She’d be a good Chaser.”
You snorted, “Of course you’d say that.”
“Did you see that turn?” He said, nodding toward her as she swerved sharply to avoid the water’s edge, “She'll be a star quidditch player.”
You hummed, considering it. “I don’t know,” You said slowly, “I kind of see her as a Magizoologist.”
Theo glanced at you, “Yeah?”
“She’s gentle,” You said, “Curious. She doesn’t just want to look—she wants to understand.” You smiled as Bianca crouched again, whispering something to a very unimpressed-looking duck, “I think she’d love creatures.”
Theo’s expression softened.
“Whatever she chooses,” He said quietly, “she’ll be brilliant.”
The words lingered between you.
The lake rippled softly. The breeze carried the scent of water and grass. Bianca’s laughter echoed across the shore, bright and unburdened.
And then—slowly, inevitably—the conversation faded.
Neither of you spoke.
Because the truth settled in like a weight neither of you wanted to name.
There were futures you were imagining that you wouldn’t get to see. First matches. First discoveries. First failures. First triumphs.
Theo swallowed.
You hugged your arms closer to yourself, eyes fixed on Bianca as if memorizing the way the sunlight caught in her curls.
For a moment, it was almost peaceful.
And for a moment, that made it hurt so much more.
Bedtime was always a gamble.
There were nights when Bianca conked out long before she was meant to, curled boneless and warm in Theo’s arms, and you and him would exchange a silent look before jointly deciding it wasn’t worth the risk. No pajamas. No teeth brushed. Not if it meant waking her. You’d just lay her down as she was and hope she didn't wake up.
Some nights, she went down like a dream—padding excitedly toward bed because she was looking forward to the story that Theo read to her. When it was your turn, Bianca would read to you instead, you'd study the pictures with exaggerated seriousness, and make enthusiastic oohs and ahhs at all the right moments while Bianca beamed in pride at her reading skills.
And then there were the nights she refused.
It would almost be easier if she weren’t tired—at least then you could burn the energy off. A walk around the castle usually did the trick. More often than not, she’d be asleep in Theo’s arms before you even turned back toward the common room, her cheek pressed into his shoulder, breathing slow and even.
But the worst nights were when she was exhausted and still couldn’t sleep.
Overtired, overstimulated, and furious about it.
The crying cut through you in a way nothing else did—sharp and relentless, scraping along your nerves until you felt hollowed out. Theo held on as long as he could. When it became too much, he’d quietly excuse himself.
"Ten minutes." He promised, "I'll be back."
But when fifteen passed and he still hadn’t returned, you didn’t go looking for him. You knew where he was—the common room, breathing, grounding himself. You let him have those extra minutes.
You held Bianca instead, her small body tense in your arms, her face damp with tears. You hugged her close and rocked back and forth, humming softly at first, then singing—a lullaby from a film you used to love as a child.
Gradually, the sobs quieted.
Her breathing evened out.
And when you were absolutely certain she was gone—truly asleep—you tucked her into bed, smoothing the blankets, lingering just long enough to make sure she didn’t stir.
Only then did you leave.
You closed the door quietly behind you and let out a long breath.
“She’s finally down.” You murmured, collapsing onto the couch beside Theo like your bones had simply decided they were finished.
He looked up from the parchment spread across the coffee table. His hair was mussed, sleeves rolled up, dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come back up.” He said quietly.
Your head tipped against his shoulder without thinking. “It’s okay, Theo,” You replied softly, “You deserved the break after the fight to get her into pajamas.”
He exhaled—a deep, exhausted sigh—and let his head fall forward for a moment. The common room was dim, fire crackling low, everything wrapped in that hazy, end-of-day quiet where the world felt temporarily paused.
After a beat, Theo straightened slightly, shaking his head like he could physically shake himself awake. “Okay,” He said, gesturing to the parchment with his chin, “Do you want to start writing the Charms essay?”
You nodded, eyes already heavy. “In a second,” You murmured, “Just… give me a second.”
Your eyes fluttered shut.
The fire crackled. The room softened. The parchment remained untouched.
And sometime in the night, Theo’s head tipped gently against yours, his breathing evening out as sleep finally claimed him too—the two of you tangled together on the couch like you belonged there.
Morning crept into the Slytherin common room slowly.
Pale light filtered in through the tall windows, casting faint shapes across the stone floor and catching on the dying embers in the fireplace. The room was quiet in that in-between way—too early for students rushing to class, too late for true solitude.
Sometime during the night, the distance between you and Theo had disappeared entirely.
Your head was tucked beneath his chin now, his arm slung loosely—but securely—around your waist. One of your legs had somehow ended up tangled with his, your body curved into his like it was the most natural thing in the world. His cheek rested against the crown of your head, breath warm and steady, fingers curled faintly into the fabric of your sleeve.
You looked… settled.
Theo hadn’t slept that deeply in weeks.
The first voices shattered the quiet.
“Oi—what the hell?”
Blaise stopped short just inside the common room, halfway through a yawn. Mattheo, behind him, followed his line of sight—and froze. Then a slow, shit-eating grin spread across his face.
“Mama y papà.” He said cheerfully.
Theo stirred at the sound, brows knitting together. You shifted too, burrowing closer on instinct, your face scrunching in your sleep in that exact way Bianca did when she didn’t want to wake up yet.
Theo’s eyes fluttered open.
It took him a moment to piece things together.
The couch. The dying fire. The weight against his chest.
You.
His arm tightened before he could stop himself.
Draco let out a low whistle. “Merlin,” He drawled, “You leave one kid with him for a week and suddenly he’s playing house.”
Theo’s eyes snapped fully open, “Shut up.”
Lorenzo folded his arms, unimpressed but unmistakably entertained, “Are we interrupting something?”
You shifted again, mumbling something soft and unintelligible into Theo’s chest. Your hand slid up, fingers curling into the front of his shirt like it was a lifeline.
Theo held his breath.
For a moment, he stared up at the ceiling—at the stone arches, at the faint greenish light—fully aware of his friends staring like the two of you were a particularly scandalous exhibit in a zoo.
And still, despite himself, his eyelids felt heavy again.
“Bianca?” He murmured, voice barely there.
“Still fast asleep.” Mattheo supplied easily.
Theo didn’t even fight it.
His eyes slid shut again, arm tightening just a fraction more around you as his head tipped back against the couch.
Out cold.
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
“Oh my God,” Blaise whispered, “He’s actually asleep."
Lorenzo stared, "My old man used to do the same too. Fell asleep through a whole movie once."
The Slytherin common room was almost unnervingly quiet at that hour.
The fire burned low in the hearth, casting slow-moving shadows across the stone walls, green flames reflecting in the tall windows like something alive beneath the lake outside. Most of the lamps had been extinguished, leaving only a soft pool of light near the couches where you and Theo sat—books spread open, parchment littered with notes, ink smudges marking the evidence of three solid feet of Transfiguration essays each.
You were officially on a break.
You shivered, tugging the blanket tighter around your shoulders just as Theo stood, rolling his neck once before moving toward the small table where he’d set up the kettle. You watched him quietly as he brewed tea—precise, unhurried, like the ritual itself grounded him.
When he returned and placed a cup in front of you, you couldn’t help the smile that curved your lips.
The teabag was still steeping.
You took a careful sip. It was perfect. Strong, but not bitter. Exactly how you liked it.
A soft chuckle slipped out of you before you could stop it.
Theo glanced up, “What?”
You shook your head, lifting the cup slightly, “Nothing. Just—thank you.”
He nodded once, but his mouth twitched like he knew there was more to it.
Then, almost without thinking, you said, “You know… before meeting her, I didn’t think I’d ever even look twice at you.”
Theo’s quill froze mid-scratch.
Slowly, he turned to face you, one brow lifting. “Wow,” He drawled, “I feel incredibly flattered.”
You winced, “No—wait. That came out wrong.”
He studied you now, the teasing edge fading, curiosity sharpening his expression.
“I just mean,” You continued, fingers worrying the hem of your sleeve, “before Bianca, I honestly thought we’d graduate and pass by each other without ever really being in each other’s lives.” You hesitated, “But now…”
“Now what?” He asked quietly.
You gestured vaguely between the two of you—the firelight, the late hour, the way his knee brushed yours and neither of you moved away.
“You know exactly how I like my tea,” You said softly, “And I know how you like yours. I’m allergic to smoke, and you stopped smoking before this even became…” Your voice trailed off as you ducked your head, unsure how to name what sat between you, “Whatever this is.”
“Whatever this is,” You finished, almost to yourself, “It’s funny, isn’t it? How sometimes things just… happen. Completely out of order.”
Theo leaned back slightly, watching you like you were something fragile and dangerous all at once.
“She changed things.” He said.
“Yes,” You whispered, “She certainly did.”
Silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable.
“I never thought about it before.” He admitted finally, voice low.
“About what?”
“Any of this,” He said, “A family. A future. I didn’t think I was capable of it, to be honest.” His jaw tightened. “Thought I was too screwed up to deserve one.”
Your chest ached.
“And now?” You asked softly.
“Now,” He said, barely above a breath, “I want it more than anything in the world.” His eyes met yours, “Bianca. And you.”
Your heart stuttered painfully.
“I don’t know when it happened,” He went on, “Or how. I just know that somewhere along the way, I stopped yearning for my past—and started anticipating the future instead.”
The fire popped, sharp in the stillness.
You looked at him—really looked. The shadows beneath his eyes. The tension he carried like armor. The boy who had let himself love without realizing how deeply it would cut.
“I think,” You said, voice trembling just slightly, “I feel the same way, Theo.” You swallowed, “I want a future with you.”
You reached for him before fear could catch up, your fingers brushing his wrist. He went utterly still at the contact, breath hitching like you’d struck something vital.
You hesitated, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as you lifted your gaze to his—and then your hands began to tremble when you saw it. The want in his eyes. Bare. Unguarded.
Theo leaned in slowly, deliberately—giving you every chance to pull away.
You didn’t.
His forehead rested against yours first, warm and steady, grounding you both.
“Ti amo.” He whispered.
You didn’t need to understand Italian to know what he was saying.
The kiss started softly, tentative—his lips brushing yours like a question he was afraid to ask too loudly. When you responded, just as gently, his breath shuddered, relief and emotion tangling together.
He kissed you again, deeper this time, slower. Like he was learning you. Like he was afraid that if he rushed, the moment might fracture.
His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as if anchoring himself. You melted into him, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater, the firelight warming your skin as the world narrowed to this—this quiet, impossible thing that had found you both.
When he finally pulled back, it was only by a breath, foreheads still touching.
You really did love him.
Theo had been in a mood.
It settled over him the moment the owl arrived—thick parchment, precise handwriting, the professors’ seal pressed into the wax like a finality. You’d read it together at the kitchen table in the common room, Bianca swinging her legs beneath the chair, humming to herself as she colored, blissfully unaware.
We believe we have found a way to reverse the spell.
Preliminary tests indicate a high probability of success.
We are confident we can return the child to her proper time.
Ever since then, something in Theo had gone quiet.
Not angry. Not cruel. Just… withdrawn. As if he’d folded inward, brick by careful brick, building walls he refused to name. He spoke less. Smiled less. When Bianca reached for him, he held her a little tighter, a little longer—like he was memorizing the weight of her, the way she fit against his chest.
You told yourself you understood.
Of course he was going to miss her. You were going to miss her too. Somewhere between shared breakfasts and bedtime stories, scraped knees and tangled curls, Bianca had taken root in your heart. The thought of watching her vanish—of returning to your normal lives and pretending these weeks hadn’t rewritten you—made your throat ache in a way you didn’t know how to soothe.
That night, Bianca went to bed easily.
Too easily.
She pressed a sticky kiss to your cheek, murmured something sleepy in Italian, and curled beneath her blankets without protest. No fuss. No tears. Just acceptance.
It felt like a bad omen.
Theo waited until the door clicked shut behind you before he spoke.
“What if we don’t send her back?”
You turned slowly, the words not quite registering, “What?”
“What if we keep her here,” He said, voice low and urgent, like if he spoke too loudly the idea might shatter, “What if we just—don’t go through with it. We have time with her. Real time. Why should we give that up?”
Your stomach dropped.
“Theo,” You said carefully, “What are you talking about?”
“We’re her parents,” He said, like it was obvious. Like it had always been obvious, “And if we send her back, we’re sending her to a life where she doesn’t have a mother. At least this way—” His voice cracked, just slightly, “—at least this way she has both of us.”
“Theo—”
“I know it hasn’t been perfect,” He rushed on, stepping closer, words tumbling over each other, “But we’re learning. We can do this. We already are. You see her—she’s happy here. She’s safe.” His eyes searched yours desperately, “She doesn’t have to lose you.”
Your chest burned.
“I know we could do this,” You whispered, “I know that. But Bianca isn’t our child. Not really. No matter how badly we want her to be.”
His jaw tightened, muscles jumping beneath the skin.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” He said sharply, “To grow up without a mother. To wake up every day knowing there’s a hole in your life you’ll never fill.” His voice dropped, rough and raw, “If she stays here, she doesn’t have to lose you. Whatever it is—whatever happens to you—we can catch it early. We can fix it.”
Your vision blurred.
“If Bianca stays here,” You said, voice breaking, “the you in the future loses his daughter forever. He’s already lost his wife, Theo. Don’t make him lose his baby girl too.”
Something in him snapped.
“Screw him.” He said hoarsely.
He reached for you suddenly, hands cupping your face, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes like he could stop the tears if he tried hard enough. He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard, like he was holding himself together by sheer will.
“I have everything I’ve ever wanted right here,” He whispered, “Right now.”
Your sob escaped before you could stop it, fingers clutching at his sleeves like an anchor.
“Theo,” You breathed, “you know as well as I do… she isn’t meant to be here.”
He sucked in a breath—and this time, he couldn’t hold it back.
The sob tore out of his chest, raw and broken, his grip tightening like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.
“Don’t make me give you up, (Y/N),” He choked, voice collapsing on your name, “Please. I can’t— I can’t lose you too.”
His forehead stayed pressed to yours as his shoulders shook, grief and fear and want spilling out all at once. He wasn’t just pleading for Bianca.
He was pleading for you.
For the life he’d tasted and already couldn’t bear to lose.
And you held him there, crying quietly into his collar, knowing that love—no matter how real—was not enough to change fate.
The second Theo entered the hospital wing, every instinct in his body screamed the same reckless, impossible thing.
Grab you. Grab Bianca. Apparate.
Disappear so completely that no one would ever find you again.
His mother had family in Italy—old blood, old names, people who still believed hospitality was sacred. They would open their doors. They would help you. They would protect you.
How hard could it be, really, to end up on their doorstep with a frightened child and a woman he loved?
Too easy.
Too selfish.
You didn’t even look at him when the thought flickered across his face. You simply squeezed Bianca’s hand and guided her forward, gentle but firm. You knew if you looked back at him, you would be all to convinced to leave together.
Theo swallowed hard, the bitterness rising sharp and ugly in his throat.
All he wanted—all he had ever wanted—was for the three of you to be happy. Together. Why was that such an impossible thing to ask for? Why did it feel like the universe kept dangling it just close enough for him to taste before ripping it away?
He knew the truth, even if it tore him apart.
Bianca belonged with his older self.
The man who chose to have her.
The man who could protect her.
The man who could stay.
But she was his daughter too—damn it. Flesh of his flesh. Blood of his blood. And the thought of letting her go felt like carving something vital out of his chest.
You knelt in front of Bianca, pulling her into a tight embrace. You kissed her forehead, whispered words she couldn’t possibly understand, and said as little as you could. Her fingers were small and warm in yours, but they grew slick with sweat as she glanced around at the unfamiliar adults. She tightened her grip, grounding herself the only way she knew how, holding onto you like she could anchor the moment in place.
Theo watched, throat burning.
Then he knelt too.
He’d done it a thousand times—tying her shoes, wiping tears from her cheeks, crouching to her level when he needed her attention—but this time his knees hit the stone floor harder than usual. Pain flared and vanished, eclipsed by something far worse. His hands trembled as they came up to cup her cheeks, thumbs brushing over her skin slowly, reverently—like he was trying to memorize the exact warmth of her.
“Hey.” He said softly.
His voice cracked immediately.
He closed his eyes, jaw tightening, and tried again, “Bambina.” (Little one)
Her eyes lifted to his.
Just like yours—wide, glassy, endlessly deep. Like looking into a pool of pearlescent ink that reflected too much truth.
“Ti vedrò presto, amore.” He said gently, brushing a curl back from her face. (I’ll see you soon, love.)
“Le cose saranno un po’ diverse…” His breath hitched, “Ma devi avere pazienza, va bene? Andrà tutto bene.” (Things will be a little different… but you need to be patient, okay? Everything will be fine.)
Bianca studied him with grave seriousness, like she was weighing his words carefully.
Then—suddenly—her face lit up.
“Oh!” She said brightly, “Come quella volta.” (Oh! Like that time.)
Theo blinked, “Come quando?” (Like when?)
“Come quando sei andato via con la mamma.” She explained easily. (Like when you went away with Mama.)
His chest tightened, “Quando?” (When?)
“Quando siete andati in ospedale.” She continued, rocking on her feet. (When you went to the hospital.)
"E poi sei tornato a casa felice." (And then you came home with happiness.)
Theo’s breath caught violently.
The room tilted.
"Felice?" He asked quietly, feeling like hell. (Happy?)
The word felt wrong in his mouth.
A cold, sickening thought slithered into his mind.
Was he happy when you passed?
His chest tightened, panic blooming sharp and fast, bile rising in his throat. His hands trembled where they rested, heart pounding so hard it hurt.
Then—
Bianca tilted her head, frowning slightly—confused by his confusion.
“Quando sei tornato con il mio fratellino, Felice.” She said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. (When you came back with my little brother, Felice.)
The world went very, very still.
Blood rushed through Theo’s head so fast he swayed, knees locking as though a feather could knock him over.
“Tuo… fratello?” He repeated hoarsely. (Your… brother?)
She nodded, curls bouncing. “Sì.” (Yes.)
“È piccolo,” She added solemnly, “Piange tanto.” (He’s little. He cries a lot.)
The hospital.
You being sick.
Too sick to carry her.
Too sick to eat breakfast.
The reason Bianca hadn’t seemed sad.
The reason she’d been so independent.
Not because you were going to die.
But because you were making room for someone new.
Felice.
Happiness.
Everything slid into place with sickening, breathtaking clarity.
“Oh." Theo breathed.
Bianca reached up, cupping his cheek with her small, warm hand.
“Non piangere, papà,” She whispered. (Don’t cry, Papa.)
He hadn’t even realized he was crying until that moment.
Salazar—this was mortifying. Breaking down like this. In front of professors. In front of you. In front of a three-year-old.
And yet—he couldn’t stop.
Tears spilled freely now, hot and unrestrained.
Because now he knew.
He would be happy.
He would love you.
And you would love him back.
You would build a life together. Two children. Maybe more. A family so warm and whole that Bianca would speak of it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
His children would never have to imagine a future without their mother.
He would never have to watch them grow up with that hollow ache he’d carried his entire life.
He would never have to watch you get sick, watch you leave this world, leaving him alone to raise your daughter, the last remaining memory of you.
Theo pulled Bianca into his chest, holding her like he could imprint the feeling into his bones—her weight, her warmth, the steady beat of her heart.
“Ti amo.” He choked, “Ti amo tantissimo.” (I love you so, so much.)
Her arms wrapped around his neck—fierce and small.
You stared at the pair of them, heart aching, mind reeling. You felt for Theo—deeply—but shock quickly overtook sympathy.
Because between the two of them, you had absolutely not expected him to be the one crying.
“…Wait,” You said slowly. “What’s going on?”
Bianca turned her head as best she could while still buried against Theo’s chest.
“Papa says he loves me, mamma,” She announced cheerfully, “You’re too slow these days.”
Both of you froze.
“…You speak English?” You and Theo said in unison.
bonus:
The room was finally quiet.
Bianca was gone—sent back to a future that suddenly felt more real than the present—and Theo’s bedroom felt too large without her small presence filling it. The curtains were half-drawn, moonlight spilling across the sheets in pale silver bands. You lay on your side facing Theo, your head tucked beneath his chin, his arm resting loosely around your waist.
Theo was on the cusp of sleep, just as he had been for the past hour, but your incessant thinking refused to let him go.
“But if Bianca hadn’t come back,” You murmured, staring up at the shifting shadows on the ceiling, “we would’ve just… gone on with our lives.”
He hummed softly, half-asleep but listening, his thumb tracing absentminded shapes into your side.
“And we wouldn’t have fallen in love,” You continued, the words tumbling out faster now, like if you didn’t say them you’d drown in them, “And if we didn’t fall in love, she wouldn’t exist. Which means she wouldn’t be able to come back and make us fall in love in the first place.”
You turned your face into his chest, your voice muffled, “So at the center of the loop—at the very beginning—there had to be a version of us that fell in love and had Bianca without any intervention at all.”
Silence stretched between you, heavy but not empty.
Then Theo sighed, fond and exhausted and deeply amused in that way that meant he loved you too much to be irritated.
“(Y/N), my love… amore mio,” He said gently. He had taken to repeating everything in Italian after English so it would help you learn faster. You felt his chest rise as he spoke again, slower and deliberate.
“My future bride… la mia futura sposa. It is four in the morning.”
You groaned softly. “I know,” You sighed, “I just… I miss her.”
His arm tightened around you, grounding and warm, “Me too.”
For a moment, that was all there was—breathing, moonlight, and the quiet certainty that somewhere, somehow, the two of you were happy and whole.
Then Theo shifted.
You felt it before you saw it: the subtle slide of his hand, warm fingers sneaking beneath the hem of your shirt like he thought you wouldn’t notice.
“Say the word, dolcezza,” He murmured, his voice dipping into something unmistakably dangerous, “and I’ll bring her back to us.”
You slapped his hand away without even looking.
“It is four in the morning.” You said flatly.
He chuckled, low and unapologetic, eyes still closed like this was all part of his master plan, “Italiano, per favore.”
You hesitated, “Um… sono...sono le… una, due, tre, quattro… quattro del mattino?” (Um...it's....one, two three, four....four in the morning?)
“Perfetta,” He said smugly, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Your accent is getting better.”
bonus bonus teehee:
The front door closed with a quiet, final click behind you.
For a moment, you just stood there.
The house felt different somehow—too still, like it had been holding its breath. Sunlight spilled through the front windows, dust motes floating lazily in the air. The sofa. The stairs. The framed photos waiting to be filled with memories that hadn’t happened yet.
Home.
You looked down at the bundle in your arms, your baby boy wrapped in impossibly soft blankets, his face pink and sleepy and perfect. Tears blurred your vision before you even realized they were coming.
Theo stepped in behind you, arms full—hospital bags slung over his shoulders, a car seat awkwardly balanced against his hip. He froze when he saw your face.
“Hey.” He murmured gently.
You turned, blinking hard, then leaned into him anyway, pressing a soft kiss to his lips—slow, grounding, full of everything you didn’t have words for. Then you kissed Felice’s tiny forehead, breathing him in like you’d been afraid he might disappear.
“Bentornato a casa, piccolo,” You whispered, voice shaking, “This is where you’re going to grow up.” (Welcome home, baby boy)
Theo swallowed, eyes shining. He reached out, brushing one finger over Felice’s cheek like he couldn’t quite believe he was real.
And then—
“MAMMA!”
Footsteps thundered down the stairs.
Bianca came flying into the hallway, curls bouncing wildly, socks half-slipping off her feet. Mattheo, her godfather, was right behind her, laughing and reaching out uselessly like he could actually stop her.
“Bianca—piano, piano!” He called, “Slow down—!”
Theo reacted instantly.
He dropped the bags without a second thought and scooped Bianca up mid-run, lifting her clean off the ground just before she could crash straight into you. She shrieked with laughter as he spun her once, relief spilling out of him in a dozen breathless kisses pressed to her cheeks, her temple, her nose.
You watched them with a soft, aching smile.
Your heart lurched at the sight of your baby girl in his arms—hair wild, eyes bright, whole and glowing with excitement. You had missed her more than you’d allowed yourself to admit during the last few days. Every quiet moment in the hospital had carried the echo of her laughter, the absence of her small weight climbing into your lap.
You had been waiting eagerly to acquaint your children.
Theo had insisted it was better this way. Better for your recovery, better that you didn’t have to juggle between children so soon. He’d been gentle but unmovable about it, the same way he’d been your entire pregnancy—this one and Bianca’s.
At the first sign of discomfort, he’d been apparating you straight to the hospital wing or summoning your healer for a home visit without hesitation. You’d teased him once that your obstetrician must be thoroughly sick of him by now.
But judging by the way Theo paid—promptly, generously, without ever blinking—and by the fine silk scarf and expensive purse he’d gifted the healer who brought both of his children into the world, you suspected annoyance was the last thing they felt.
If anything, they were probably fond of him.
“Hey—hey—hey,” He murmured into her hair, “Careful, amore mio. Papà’s got you.”
Theo finally stopped spinning, still holding Bianca securely against his chest. He pressed one last kiss into her curls and rested his forehead briefly against hers, eyes closed like he was grounding himself.
And you realized, with a sudden, overwhelming tenderness—
And despite the 36 hours of grueling labor, you realized that, for this man, you would do it all again in a heartbeat.
Theo shifted Bianca onto one hip, still holding her tight as if she might vanish if he let go. Her laughter softened into a happy hum as she curled into him, arms looped around his neck.
Then her eyes finally landed on you.
On the bundle in your arms.
“Mamma?” She whispered, voice suddenly small.
You felt your throat close instantly.
“Vieni qui, amore,” You murmured, smiling through the sting behind your eyes, “Piano, va bene?” (Come here, love. Easy, okay?)
Theo crouched, keeping Bianca safely lifted as he guided her closer, one protective hand braced at her back. Mattheo lingered a few steps behind, unusually quiet, waiting for the family to have their moment.
Bianca leaned forward, peering into the soft folds of the blanket.
The baby stirred, tiny fingers flexing, lips puckering in a half-sleepy frown.
Her gasp was barely a sound.
“È… piccolo,” She breathed, "He's smaller than me."
Theo huffed out a soft laugh, eyes glassy.
You tilted Felice just enough so she could see his face properly. His eyes fluttered open for a brief second—dark, unfocused, brand new.
Bianca’s hand twitched like she wanted to reach out, then froze mid-air.
“Posso?” She asked, glancing up at you for permission. (Can I?)
“Yes,” You whispered, “Gently.”
Felice shifted again, a soft sound leaving him, and Bianca’s eyes went impossibly wide.
"He spoke to me." She gasped.
Theo pressed his lips together hard, eyes shining as he bent to kiss the side of Bianca’s head, then yours. His free hand came up to cradle you, thumb stroking slow, careful circles like he was afraid the moment might shatter.
“This,” he said quietly, voice thick, “is Felice, your little brother.”
Bianca straightened immediately.
“Felice,” She repeated, testing the name. Then she smiled, bright and sure, “Ciao, Felice. Io sono Bianca.”
The baby slept on, oblivious.
Mattheo cleared his throat, rubbing at his eyes like something had gotten in them, "Merlin, enough to make a grown man cry."
And standing there in the doorway of your home, with laughter in the air and your children between you, you knew—
This was it.
This was the life Bianca had promised.
Happy.
bonus bonus BONUS scene for my patient babies:
The one thing about living in Italy was that you missed the company.
Not the weather, not the food—certainly not the wine—but them. The loud, sharp-edged comfort of people who knew you before the life you’d built now. The friends who felt less like friends and more like family, forged in dungeons and late nights and shared survival.
The friends you’d left behind at Hogwarts.
You thanked every higher power you could think of that Mattheo had moved here a few years after Bianca was born. It softened the ache. Made the distance feel survivable.
And now—now that it was Bianca’s sixth birthday, the first child in the entire group to hit that milestone—the rest of them had descended to Italy like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Thank goodness Slytherins were rich.
Draco and Blaise were already deep in conversation near the terrace doors, voices low and animated, catching up like no time had passed at all. Lorenzo and Mattheo, meanwhile, had somehow been tricked—lured, really—into assembling Bianca’s princess castle in the middle of the sitting room.
That would teach them to bring gifts that required instructions.
Bianca hovered nearby like a general overseeing her troops, crown slightly askew, offering entirely unhelpful instructions. Felice, on the other hand, had claimed the discarded wrapping paper as his own, even though his uncles had been kind enough to bring presents for him as well.
Instead, he toddled around the sitting room, triumphantly dragging the empty box the princess castle had come in behind him, until Theo scooped him up at the last second—saving him from the scattered screws as Mattheo struggled to put the thing together.
Theo hovered near you like a shadow, as he always did these days. One hand rested habitually—possessively—against the small of your back, grounding, warm. The other balanced Felice on his hip, your son’s face still slightly sticky with cake frosting as he played absently with the little tie you’d put him in today.
Then the front doors flew open.
“MISS ME, YOU MISERABLE BASTARDS?”
Pansy Parkinson’s voice sliced clean through the manor.
Theo barely had time to turn before she was already there—flinging her coat into Draco’s arms without looking, heels clicking furiously across the marble floor. Her eyes found you instantly.
Her face lit up.
“Oh my God—” She started, already smiling—
Then she stopped.
Her gaze dropped.
Paused.
Lifted.
Dropped again.
You barely had time to blink before—
SMACK.
Theo yelped, jerking back, hand flying to his arm, “What the hell—?!”
Pansy rounded on him like a woman possessed, “Can you PLEASE stop climbing on top of this poor woman?”
You laughed helplessly, one hand instinctively moving to your stomach.
Theo stared at her, scandalized, “Excuse you—”
“Salazar’s balls,” Pansy cut in, eyes wild, “How many children are you planning on having? Fancy your own Quidditch team, do you?!”
“How many children we decide to have is none of you—”
“And she is not an oven to keep popping out your buns,” Pansy said sweetly, patting his shoulder like she was doing him a favor, “Control yourself.”
Theo spluttered, “It’s not like I could carry them myself, now could I?!”
“You’re a wizard,” She snapped back, “I think you could figure it out!”
You tried—tried—to regain control, “Pansy—”
She turned on a dime, expression melting instantly as she crossed the space between you and pulled you into a careful hug.
“Oh, come here,” She murmured, “Look at you. Absolutely glowing.”
You laughed against her shoulder.
“I get it,” She added thoughtfully, pulling back to look at you again, “If I were Theo, I’d be filling you up with kids too.”
Theo opened his mouth.
SMACK.
“Do not.” Pansy warned.
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: Theodore never wanted children. The day his mother died was the day he had sworn off any semblance of a family. That was until a child appears before him, claiming to be his daughter.
A/N: this is NOT a pregnancy fic you guys i promise also i didn't want to split this into two parts but tumblr deemed it too long so um two parts ig
credits to @dividers-are-us for the divider
Part 2
Theodore Nott had read enough books to know that the day his entire life changed was supposed to feel different.
The air would be heavier. The world sharper. Something—anything—would be off. A subtle wrongness, a warning. Foreshadowing of the wrench about to be thrown into his carefully ordered life.
He had felt it once before, when his mother died and left a hollow space behind that never quite filled.
But that was the thing.
Nothing felt wrong about today.
Had everything gone as it usually did, it would have been completely mundane—monotonous, even. Theodore woke up, ate breakfast, slipped outside for a smoke. Double Potions. Another smoke. Transfiguration. Lunch. Arithmancy.
And now he was stuck in Charms.
Professor Flitwick had been lecturing about advanced spell interactions—something about like and unlike spells, wand movements and intent—when the first spell fizzled.
Then another.
Then three more went wildly off course, sparks ricocheting off desks and dissolving into the air like fireflies gone wrong.
Theo leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, unimpressed.
“Focus,” Flitwick snapped, wand raised, “Clearly someone here has—”
The room cracked.
Not shattered. Not exploded.
Cracked—like reality itself had split open for half a second.
There was a blinding flash of gold light, a rush of displaced air, and then—
Silence.
Sitting in the middle of the classroom floor was a little girl.
She couldn’t have been more than three or four years old. Dark curls fell into her face, dressed in pajamas, and her small hands were clenched into fists as she looked around, eyes wide and terrified.
For exactly two seconds, she was quiet.
Then her lip trembled.
“—Papà?”
Her voice broke.
And then she started crying.
Not soft sniffles. Full-on, panicked sobs—the kind that came from being suddenly, completely lost.
“Voglio il mio papà!” She cried, scrambling to her feet, “Voglio andare a casa!” (I want my daddy! I want to go home!)
The classroom froze.
“…Did she just Apparate?” Someone whispered.
Another voice, baffled, “She’s a child.”
A Ravenclaw girl cautiously stepped forward, “Hey, it’s okay—”
The girl recoiled instantly, backing away as if burned, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“No! No, no, no!” She sobbed, shaking her head violently, “Non ti conosco! Voglio il mio papà! Voglio papà!” (I don't know you! I want my daddy! I want daddy!)
She spun in a slow, desperate circle, looking at all of them with pure, unfiltered fear.
“Papà! Dove sei?!” (Dad! Where are you?!)
Theo stared at her from his seat.
He wasn’t heartless—of course he wasn’t. There was something about the way she wailed, the sheer terror in her voice, that made his chest tighten painfully. And yet, he stayed where he was.
Blaise nudged his arm, “Oi, Nott. You speak Italian, don’t you?”
He didn’t bother answering. Everyone already knew—thanks to the absolute slew of Italian curses he’d hurled at Weasley during the last Quidditch match.
“Great,” Blaise said immediately, “Do something.”
Theo’s eyes flicked back to the girl.
She had dropped to her knees now, small hands pressed to her face as she cried, her breathing beginning to hitch dangerously. A Hufflepuff girl hovered nearby, concern written all over her face, but every step closer only made the child cry harder.
“Voglio il mio papà… per favore…” She sobbed between gasps. (I want my daddy… please…)
Something twisted uncomfortably in Theo’s chest.
“I’m not exactly a baby person.” He muttered.
“Nott,” the Ravenclaw girl hissed, “She’s a toddler. She’s about to have a panic attack, and she can’t understand a word we’re saying.”
The girl let out a sharp, breathless sob, her chest stuttering as she tried—and failed—to calm herself.
“Papà…” She whimpered.
Theo closed his eyes for a brief second and exhaled.
“Cazzo.” (fuck)
He pushed his chair back and stood.
The entire classroom fell silent as he took a step toward her.
Theo approached slowly, hands raised in a placating gesture despite himself.
“Ehi,” He said gently, crouching a few feet away from her. His voice was low, careful, “Va tutto bene. Respira, sì? Piano, piano.” (It’s okay. Breathe, yeah? Slowly, slowly.)
The girl barely registered him.
She was still crying hard, hiccupping sobs shaking her tiny frame as she shook her head over and over, “No, no, no… voglio papà… voglio papà adesso…” (No, no, no… I want daddy… I want daddy now)
“Io so,” Theo murmured, trying to keep his tone steady, “Ma sei al sicuro. Nessuno ti farà male. Guarda me, piccola.” (I know, but you're safe. No one's going to hurt you. Look at me, little one.)
He reached out slightly—then stopped, unsure.
“Come ti chiami?” He asked softly. (What's your name?)
She sniffed, wiping her nose with her sleeve, eyes squeezed shut as if refusing to look at the world around her. “Voglio papà,” She repeated stubbornly, voice breaking again, “Ho paura…” (I want dad, I'm scared)
Theo swallowed.
“Papà non è lontano,” He said, choosing his words carefully, “Va bene? Respira con me.” (Dad’s not far away, Okay? Breathe with me.)
That was when she opened her eyes.
Really looked at him.
Her crying hitched mid-sob.
For half a second, her face went utterly still—eyes widening, breath catching like she’d forgotten how to breathe.
Then—
“Papà!”
She surged forward.
Theo barely had time to react before a small body collided with his chest, tiny arms wrapping around his neck with desperate force. She buried her face into his robes, clutching him like he might disappear if she let go.
“Papà, papà, papà,” She cried, the word tumbling out between sobs, “Ti ho trovato… non andare via… per favore…” (I found you… don't go away… please…)
Theo froze.
Completely. Utterly.
His arms hovered awkwardly at his sides, unsure what to do as the child clung to him, shaking with leftover fear. Her tears soaked straight through his uniform as she pressed closer, like she was trying to crawl into him.
The room was dead silent.
Theo’s eyes flicked up.
Every single person was staring.
Flitwick looked like he might faint. The Ravenclaw girl’s mouth hung open. Blaise had gone eerily still, eyebrows raised so high they were nearly in his hairline.
Theo slowly mouthed, Get this child off me.
No one moved.
The girl sniffed loudly and tightened her grip, small hands fisting in the fabric of his robes. “Papà.” She whimpered again, quieter now, exhausted.
Theo looked down at her—at the way she fit far too easily against him, at how natural it felt for her to be there—and felt his brain short-circuit.
“I—” He cleared his throat, voice coming out rough, “Io… eh…”
She tilted her head just enough for him to feel the movement, her grip loosening slightly as the tension finally drained from her small body. Her breathing stuttered once more, then evened out, warm against his chest.
Theo looked down just in time to see her eyelids flutter.
Once.
Twice.
And then she was gone.
Fast asleep.
Her forehead rested against his collarbone, tiny fingers still curled tightly in his robes like she was afraid to let go even in sleep. A quiet, shaky sigh left her, the last echo of fear finally spent.
Theo swallowed hard.
The hospital wing smelled faintly of antiseptic and lemon polish. Sunlight slanted through the tall windows, but it did nothing to calm the chaos of the little girl in Theo Nott’s arms. Professors Flitwick, McGonagall, and Snape hovered nearby, wands and parchment at the ready, while a few house-elves scurried nervously at the edges of the room.
Theo wasn’t sure how he’d ended up here—one hand on her back, the other awkwardly supporting her legs—and frankly, he didn’t care. All he wanted was to set her down in a cot and get the hell out of there.
“She appears… well, as far as magical diagnostics go." Pomfrey said uncertainly, trailing off.
Flitwick rubbed at the crease between his brows and sighed, “I’m not even sure what spells were cast. Perhaps someone transfigured an object into a child… though it seems highly unlikely. I did a head count, but maybe a student from another class managed to get de-aged? It will take me some time to get to the bottom of this.”
“During which,” McGonagall added crisply, “We need to figure out where exactly she is going to reside.”
All eyes turned to Theo, still awkwardly seated on the bed. The green tie in her grubby hands was clutched tightly, her shirt streaked with snot from her tears. He stared at the ceiling, silently praying to whatever deity listened that this problem would disappear.
“All right,” Flitwick muttered, “We need… more concrete information. Perhaps a simple veritas test to confirm basic biological markers…”
He waved his wand carefully over a tiny strand of her hair, muttering under his breath. The result came up empty. Flitwick let out a frustrated sigh, before his gaze fell on the way her small body curled naturally against Theo. Her fear of strangers was… painfully clear.
He waved his wand again, more deliberately this time.
“It would seem, Mr. Nott,” He began cautiously, “that you are biologically related to her.”
Theo blinked in shock, his grip faltering. The little girl nearly toppled in his arms.
“Excuse me?” He managed, voice tight, heart racing, utterly refusing to acknowledge what Flitwick had just said.
Flitwick adjusted his glasses nervously, “I—I understand this is… unusual. But the magical markers are clear. There is no doubt: you are biologically related to her.”
McGonagall stepped forward, arms crossed, her voice calm but firm, “Mr. Nott, we must consider all possibilities. Clearly, she has appeared here through some magical anomaly."
Snape, leaning against the wall with an unimpressed frown, muttered, “Magical anomaly is one way to put it. Unprecedented, more like.”
Flitwick cleared his throat, “We may need to consider the… temporal aspect. Combined with the accelerated spellwork and residual transfiguration energy from earlier… it is conceivable that she has been displaced here from another point in time.”
Theo blinked, “…You’re saying… she’s from the future?”
“Yes,” McGonagall said carefully, though her eyes softened as she looked at the child curled against him, “And until we can stabilize whatever magical interference brought her here, we will need to come up with a plan to care for her."
Theo exhaled slowly, a sound somewhere between frustration and disbelief, "Alright then, take her."
Flitwick hesitated, frowning. The professors exchanged glances.
Theo’s heart thumped in a way that was decidedly unhelpful. The child pressed closer, nuzzling her face into his chest, hiccupping softly.
"Perhaps, it would be best for the child to stay with her fa—"
“I’m not her father,” He said firmly, “…And she is not my responsibility.”
“If you truly refuse,” McGonagall said quietly, “then the staff will care for her until we can determine a safe way to return her to her own time.”
McGonagall nodded once and gestured toward Madam Pomfrey, “Very well.”
Pomfrey stepped forward gently, arms outstretched, “Come now, dear. Let’s get you settled—”
The moment she felt herself being pulled away from the warm chest she’d been clinging to, the effect was immediate.
The little girl stiffened in Theo’s arms, eyes flying open as she registered that the hands lifting her did not belong to him. Her face crumpled, breath hitching once before she broke into loud, panicked sobs.
“No—no, no!” She cried, voice high and shaking, “Papà! Papà, portami!” (Dad! Dad, carry me!)
She twisted against him, burying her face into his chest as if trying to disappear. Tiny arms wrapped around his neck with desperate strength, her small body trembling violently.
“Papà, per favore,” She sobbed, words tumbling over one another, “Ho paura… non voglio… non voglio…” (Daddy, please. I'm scared… I don't want… I don't want…)
Theo’s jaw tightened. He stared straight ahead, pulse pounding, every instinct screaming at him to hand her over and walk away. But her grip only tightened, her cries growing sharp and breathless.
She was shaking.
“Alright,” Theo snapped suddenly, sharper than he meant to, “Stop—just—don’t—”
Everyone froze.
Theo swallowed and glanced down at her. Her face was blotchy and red, lashes clumped with tears, chest hitching unevenly as she struggled to breathe. She looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes, like she was bracing for him to vanish.
Something twisted painfully in his chest.
“…Va bene,” He muttered, the Italian rough but instinctive, “Va bene. Basta piangere.” (All right. No more crying.)
Her sobs stuttered—not stopping, but slowing.
Awkwardly, he adjusted his hold, one arm settling more securely around her back while the other patted her shoulder once—too stiff, too careful. He cleared his throat.
“Shh.” He said quietly, glancing around like he’d been caught doing something illegal, rocking her back and forth like a rusty robot that hadn’t been oiled in years.
She sniffed hard, still clutching him, but the panic ebbed enough for her breathing to even out. Her head tucked beneath his chin, warm and damp against his collar.
McGonagall studied the child for a long moment, then Theo. Her expression softened—just a fraction.
“It seems,” She said evenly, “that she has made her preference quite clear.”
Flitwick nodded, rubbing his hands together nervously, “Yes… yes, I’m afraid forcing the issue would only distress her further.”
Theo exhaled sharply through his nose, “…Unbelievable.”
The girl whimpered once more, fingers tightening in his shirt as if reminding him she was still there.
Theo stiffened, then sighed.
“…Fine,” He said quietly, “Okay. She can—she can stay. For now. Until you figure this out.”
The walk back to the Slytherin dorms was… an experience.
Theo kept his pace measured, one arm secured firmly around the sleeping weight against his chest. She’d fallen back asleep somewhere between the hospital wing and the dungeon corridor, her curls tickling his jaw every time she shifted, breath warm against his collarbone.
He ignored the stares.
The whispers.
The way a passing Hufflepuff nearly walked into a wall trying to figure out why Theodore Nott was carrying a child through the corridors like this was a perfectly normal occurrence.
The Slytherin common room fell silent the moment he stepped inside.
Lorenzo blinked once. Then twice.
“…Is this some sort of social experiment?”
Mattheo’s grin spread slowly, wicked and delighted, “Papa's home.”
Theo shot him a glare sharp enough to draw blood. “Say another word,” he warned quietly, “and I’ll hex you.”
Blaise tilted his head, eyes flicking between Theo and the small, curled form in his arms. “Congratulations,” He said lightly, “When were you planning on telling us you’d been leading a double life?”
Theo didn’t dignify that with a response. He adjusted his grip slightly when the girl shifted, instinctively tightening his hold, and turned toward the stairs.
Behind him came a chorus of barely-suppressed laughter and stage-whispered “Night, daddy!” that followed him all the way up.
He noticed the change in his dorm the second he stepped inside.
Not because it was loud.
But because it was wrong.
Sitting neatly on his bed were things that had absolutely not been there that morning.
Tiny clothes, folded with precise magical care. Soft socks. A small blanket charmed with a low, steady warmth. Even a stuffed creature—some sort of dragon, judging by the horns—rested near the pillow, its stitched eyes cheerfully oblivious.
Theo just stood there.
Staring.
This was real. This was happening.
He looked down at the small, sleeping child in his arms, her face slack with sleep, lashes dark against her cheeks. A living, breathing human being. And somehow—somehow—he was now responsible for her.
His stomach twisted.
This hardly seemed responsible.
Did the staff really just let him walk out with an entire child and no follow-up instructions? No pamphlet? No checklist? How was he meant to keep one of these things alive? What if she woke up hungry? Or scared? Or—Merlin forbid—started crying? Again.
Theo swallowed hard, dread creeping in like a cold chill down his spine.
He crossed the room slowly and carefully, as if any wrong step might shatter the fragile reality holding this together, and lowered her onto the bed. She stirred faintly but didn’t wake, curling instinctively toward the lingering warmth of his body.
He hesitated.
Then, with movements stiff and unsure, he pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and tucked it in the way he vaguely remembered adults doing when he was small—firm but gentle, like it mattered.
He stepped back.
She looked… peaceful.
Completely unaware that she had just detonated his entire existence.
Theo dragged a hand down his face and turned toward the door.
He needed a cigarette. Immediately.
Just as his fingers brushed the handle, a small sound stopped him.
“Papà…”
It was barely audible—a sleepy mumble, her brow knitting faintly as one small hand twitched against the sheets.
Theo froze.
“…Papà.” She murmured again, softer this time, like she was reaching for him even in her dreams.
He closed his eyes and let out a slow, resigned breath.
“Merda.” He muttered.
If he left and she woke up—
He glanced at the chair beside the bed.
Then back at her.
“…Unbelievable.” He whispered.
Theo pulled the chair closer and sat down, leaning back with his arms crossed, eyes never leaving her face. He flinched every time she so much as twitched, every uneven breath sending his pulse spiking.
Just for tonight.
That’s what he told himself as exhaustion settled heavy in his bones.
Just until she woke up.
Theo woke to pins and needles.
A sharp, unpleasant numbness shot up his legs, like they’d ceased to exist sometime during the night and were only now remembering their purpose. He sucked in a quiet breath and shifted—immediately regretted it.
There was weight on him.
Warm. Solid.
Theo froze.
Slowly, carefully, he looked down.
She was asleep in his lap.
At some point during the night—at some point he did not remember authorizing—the little girl had migrated from the bed, curled herself into the space between his arms and legs, and settled there like she belonged. Her head rested against his bicep, curls splayed messily over his chest, one small hand clutching the fabric of his shirt.
Theo stared.
His mind helpfully offered no explanation.
He vaguely recalled her stirring sometime in the early hours. A soft whimper. A half-formed Papà breathed into the dark. He must have reached out—must have pulled her close without fully waking, murmuring something useless and soothing under his breath.
Apparently, his subconscious had decided this was his life now.
He didn’t move.
Couldn’t, really—his legs were numb to the point of concern, and any shift risked waking her. Her breathing was slow and even, lashes fluttering faintly as she slept, utterly unbothered by the fact that she was using him as a mattress.
Theo let his head fall back against the chair with a silent groan.
“This is a disaster.” He whispered.
She stirred at the sound, nose scrunching slightly, fingers tightening in his sleeve as if anchoring herself. Theo went completely still, heart hammering like he’d been caught committing a crime.
He tensed, eyes snapping down just as she stirred properly, lifting her head and blinking blearily up at him.
For a long second, they just looked at each other.
Then her face brightened.
“Buongiorno,” She said, voice thick with sleep. A pause, “…Papà.” (Good morning.)
After getting her dressed for the day using the clothes the professors had provided, Theo could only thank Salazar that whoever—or whatever—had sent her back in time had at least had the decency to send an older child.
Because Merlin help him, she was competent.
She managed socks on her own. Shoes, too—wrong feet at first, but she fixed it herself with a sharp little huff of frustration. He didn’t even have to supervise. He just stood there, half-awake, watching in stunned silence.
The only time he stepped in was when the shirt became her enemy.
She wrestled with it valiantly, tugging it halfway over her head before getting stuck, arms flailing wildly as she wobbled on the mattress like a headless chicken. For one terrifying second, Theo was certain she was going to pitch forward and crack her skull open on the floor.
Just as he reached her, hands already out, she stamped one socked foot and protested indignantly.
“Papà! Sono una bambina grande—faccio da sola!” (Dad! I'm a big girl, I can do it on my own!)
He waited—hands hovering uselessly in the air—until she finally relented with an irritated sigh and allowed him to tug the shirt the rest of the way down. She immediately smoothed it herself afterward, chin lifted proudly.
Theo pinched the bridge of his nose.
This was going to be a long day.
By the time they stumbled downstairs, the Slytherin dorm was already awake and in motion. Mattheo, Draco, Lorenzo, and Blaise were halfway through getting ready, bags slung over shoulders as they headed out for breakfast.
Theo was still in his pajamas.
He didn’t care.
The professors had given him permission to skip class until further notice—something he had accepted with a detached nod, too tired to even question how serious this apparently was.
He was already mentally charting a course to the kitchens. Quiet. Private. No gawking students. No questions.
He turned toward the common room—
And she bolted.
“—Oi, wait—!”
Too late.
She launched herself down the stairs at an alarming speed, feet barely touching the steps. Theo’s heart stopped dead in his chest.
“Slow down!” He snapped, already moving after her, “You’re going to—”
She did not fall.
Instead, she hit the common room floor at a full sprint and beelined straight for Mattheo, slamming into his pant leg with the force and commitment of a homing missile.
Mattheo yelped, stumbling half a step, “What the—”
“Zio Mattheo!” She chirped joyfully, arms wrapping around his leg like she’d just found a long-lost treasure.
The room went dead silent.
Draco stared.
Lorenzo choked.
Blaise pressed his lips together, shoulders shaking.
Mattheo looked down slowly. Very slowly.
“…Little girl,” He said carefully, “how do you know my name?”
Theo stopped behind her and closed his eyes.
“She can’t speak any English, you idiot.”
Mattheo glanced up at him, affronted, “I see recognition in those beady eyes—”
He looked back down at her just in time to see her grin widen, all teeth and delight.
“Buongiorno!” She announced brightly.
Mattheo snorted despite himself.
Then she lifted her arms toward him, wobbling slightly on her feet, “Portami! Portami, zio Mattheo!”
Mattheo blinked. Once.
Then he looked up at Theo, eyebrow raised.
Theo sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, the tips of his ears burning.
“She’s asking her uncle to carry her.”
Mattheo’s grin turned downright smug as he crouched and scooped her up like she weighed nothing—slung against his arm with all the care of someone carrying a sack of potatoes. She giggled, utterly delighted, legs kicking happily.
Theo moved instantly.
“Oi—if you drop her, I swear to Merlin—!”
Mattheo adjusted his grip lazily, unfazed, “Relax. I’ve got her.”
Blaise smirked, “Wow. Someone’s being all fatherly for a bloke who isn’t a baby person.”
Draco leaned against the stair rail, grinning, “Yeah, daddy. Love this look on you."
“…I hate all of you,” Theo muttered darkly.
The girl twisted in Mattheo’s arms, peering over his shoulder. “Papà!” she called brightly. “Voglio fare colazione con zio Mattheo!” (Daddy! I want to have breakfast with Uncle Mattheo!)
Theo opened his mouth on instinct.
“Non puoi chie—” (You can't ask)
He stopped.
Because she wasn’t crying.
She wasn’t reaching for him.
She wasn’t clinging to his sleeve like the world might end if he stepped two feet away.
She was perfectly content. Happy, even. Nestled comfortably in someone else’s arms.
Theo’s brain stalled.
Then—click.
The realization hit him like divine intervention.
An hour.
A whole, uninterrupted hour without tiny hands grabbing his clothes. Without panicked crying. Without being someone’s emotional anchor.
The synapses in his brain fired one by one like fireworks. Sweet, blessed relief bloomed so fast he was pretty sure he could feel tears—possibly drool—gathering.
He lifted his gaze slowly and locked eyes with Mattheo.
“You,” He said calmly, decisively, “are on babysitting duty.”
“What?” Mattheo barked, “Oi—wait—!”
Theo was already turning away.
“Feed her,” He called over his shoulder, “Don’t drop her."
Out of the common room. Down the corridor. Gone like a wanted man escaping Azkaban.
“HEY!” Mattheo shouted after him, “That’s not how this works!”
The girl waved cheerfully from his arms, “Ciao, papà!”
Mattheo looked down at her.
Then back at the hallway Theo had vanished down.
"Well, I hope you enjoy being an orphan. Take it from me it's better than having a shit dad." He said absently, carrying her toward the door.
Theo didn’t even remember reaching the usual alcove.
He only knew his hands were shaking by the time he lit the cigarette, breath dragging deep and slow as the smoke filled his lungs. The burn grounded him. Anchored him. For five blessed minutes, he was just Theo again—no professors, no timelines, no small human being calling him papà.
He shouldn’t feel guilty for this.
Dammit.
It wasn’t like he was some kind of deadbeat. He wasn’t even her actual father. Her actual father existed a decade in the future and had—presumably—actively chosen to have this suctioning little tentacle of a child.
He exhaled, staring at the stone wall.
And yet.
She adored him. Wanted him. Chose him over everyone else without hesitation. Which meant—somewhere in the future—he must be doing something right.
Sometime in the future… I’m a good father.
The thought unsettled him more than the panic ever had.
He had never imagined children in his life. Never thought himself capable of it—not after losing his mother so young. How would future him handle this? How would he guide her, discipline her, protect her from the quiet, unrelenting cruelties of the world?
How would he keep her safe?
Theo exhaled again, watching the smoke curl upward and vanish.
Merlin, he needed that.
When he finally returned to the common room, the laughter hit him first.
She was being levitated up and down—up and down—by Mattheo, shrieking with unrestrained delight. Chocolate smeared her cheeks, and it was painfully obvious Mattheo had absolutely no sense when it came to not jostling a child who had just eaten her body weight in breakfast.
Theo stepped closer.
Her face lit up the moment she saw him.
“Papà!”
Something eased in his chest.
At least future me doesn’t screw this up, he thought faintly.
Mattheo gently lowered her into Theo’s arms.
And immediately—
“—achoo!”
She blinked. Sniffed.
Then again.
“Ach—ah—choo!”
Theo froze.
Her nose scrunched as she rubbed at it clumsily, eyes beginning to water, cheeks flushing, “Papà…?”
Theo’s heart dropped straight into his stomach.
Was she sick? Had he missed something? She’d been fine an hour ago—
Mattheo’s gaze flicked from her red nose to Theo’s ash-stained fingers. He sighed, already reaching for her and lifting her back into his arms.
“…Go shower,” He said calmly, “I’ll skip first class.”
Theo blinked, “I—I didn’t know—”
“I know,” Mattheo cut in easily, “It’s all good. Go.”
Theo swallowed.
“…Right.” He muttered.
He hesitated only a moment before turning toward the stairs. As he passed, she reached out, fingers brushing his sleeve.
“Papà?” She asked softly.
Theo stopped.
“I’ll be right back,” he said quietly—then corrected himself, Italian rough but sincere, “Tornerò subito. Promesso.” (I'll be right back. Promise)
Her shoulders relaxed instantly.
Mattheo watched him go, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
When Theo returned—hair damp, robes changed, skin scrubbed raw of smoke and ash—the little girl didn’t sneeze once.
Instead, she wriggled free of Mattheo’s arms and launched herself at him with a delighted squeak, wrapping her arms around his neck like she’d been waiting.
Theo caught her automatically.
She settled against him, warm and content.
And for the first time, the weight that settled in his chest had nothing to do with panic.
It felt a lot like guilt.
And something dangerously close to resolve.
Theo was collapsed across his bed, utterly defeated. The day had been… long. He hadn’t even gone to class, but that was before the small human currently treating him like a jungle gym had decided it was time for her daily inspection.
He didn’t even have the energy to move her. She clambered over him, tugging at his robes and sniffing at his hair, and he let her—somehow, it was easier than trying to resist. Five minutes of relative respite came only when she discovered something else interesting: the top of his dresser, the ceiling, the corner of the bedpost.
Every so often, one of her “uncles” captured her attention—Blaise, Draco, and Enzo—each appearing just long enough to be ignored by the child, much to Theo’s surprise. Somehow she recognized them, somehow she liked them, and somehow they had managed to reconcile the fact that she adored Mattheo more than all of them combined faster than Theo had reconciled her existence at all. He watched them all patiently endure, his mind boggling at how quickly they’d adjusted.
Currently, she had his hair in a death grip, determined to tug out every last strand with her clammy little hands. Theo winced as she yanked again, a protest lodged somewhere deep in his chest. She scrambled backward across his chest—kicking him squarely in the face in the process—then crawled toward the edge of the bed and started opening the drawer of his bedside table.
“Oi. Cosa fai?” He asked, tone half-scolding, half-exasperated. (What are you doing)
“Voglio un elastico per capelli! Mamma sempre ne tiene qui.” She declared, fumbling through the drawer. (I want a hair tie! Mom always keeps some here.)
Theo froze.
Mom? She has a mom?
The thought hit him like a bucket of ice water. All this time, he had assumed—stupidly—that she had appeared out of thin air, some magical anomaly he had to manage. Now the idea that she had a mother… a real, actual human mother… knocked the air out of his lungs. He felt absurdly unprepared.
She pulled something plastic-sounding from the drawer and held it up.
“Papà… cos’è questo?” (Papa... what is this?)
Theo’s heart skipped. He blinked, eyes widening. And then the aneurysm in his brain fully bloomed: a condom wrapper. In his daughter’s hand.
“Oi! Restituiscilo!” He shouted, leaping upright just in time for her to bolt, giggling, around the room. (Give that back!)
“Get that out of her hand!” He yelled again, spinning to intercept her, but it was too late. She dashed past Blaise, who was already doubled over laughing, and then past Draco, who had his hands pressed over his mouth to keep from cackling. Even Lorenzo had tears in his eyes from the absurdity.
“Little girl,” Lorenzo called, trying to sound authoritative but failing miserably as he wiped tears from his face, “wait a second—what is her actual name?”
Theo froze mid-chase, mind scrambling.
“You… you don’t know her name?”
The little girl shrieked with laughter from the foot of the bed, completely oblivious to the chaos she had caused, while Theo felt like the universe was quietly reminding him that, yes he was an utter fool.
The little girl zig-zagged across the room, still clutching the condom wrapper like it was some kind of treasure. Theo lunged, arms flailing, but she ducked under his reach and squealed with pure delight.
“Papà! Prendimi!” She shouted, her voice ringing with mischief. (Papa! Catch me)
“Merlin’s beard, why am I even doing this?!” Theo groaned, diving forward again, only to collide gently with Blaise, who had fallen onto the floor laughing.
“Oi! Watch it, Nott!” Blaise gasped between giggles, brushing off his robes, “Maybe if you had been as enthusiastic about birth control as your little girl there, you wouldn't be having this problem."
Theo didn’t even glance at them. His focus was entirely on the girl, who had somehow vaulted onto the armrest of the sofa and was teetering dangerously.
“Oi! Scendi di lì, immediatamente!” He barked. (Hey! Get down from there, right now!)
“Papà!” She chirped again, holding the wrapper above her head like a flag, “Guarda! Guarda!” (Papa! Look! Look!)
Before he could reach her, Mattheo appeared like a hero in the last second, levitating gently above the floor with his wand, and swooped in. “I got her!” He said triumphantly.
He glanced down at the pile of humans scattered around the room—Blaise doubled over, Draco snickering, Enzo leaning helplessly against the wall—and grinned, “You really gave them a run for their money, huh, Bianca?”
Theo froze mid-lunge.
“You… you know her name?” He asked, voice tight with disbelief.
Mattheo raised an eyebrow, utterly flabbergasted, “You didn’t?”
Raising children, Theo decided, was an absurd amount of work.
He handed Bianca over to Madam Pomfrey the second she woke up.
He had tried—really tried—to delay it, holding out hope that the professors would have some sort of solution by now. But it had been three days. Three days of dungeon air, sleep-mussed curls, and the unmistakable stickiness that came with being a toddler. She desperately needed a shower.
And while Theo was getting increasingly comfortable handling her—some might even say paternal—he was still very much not prepared to be the one responsible for that particular task.
Pomfrey had taken one look at the state of Bianca’s curls, the faint smudges on her cheeks, and Theo’s exhausted expression and immediately agreed.
Theo sighed in relief, already imagining a shower of his own. Or maybe collapsing onto a bed and stealing an extra hour of sleep. He didn’t understand why he was so tired—he was sleeping the same amount he always did.
Still. He felt wrecked.
He promised he’d come back.
Repeated it, even.
Swore on—well. Something. He wasn’t sure what, but it sounded convincing enough.
It didn’t help.
She cried anyway.
Clutched his robes with tiny hands, face crumpling as she begged him not to leave, words tumbling out too fast and too panicked for him to catch more than Papà and non andare. Theo pried her fingers loose with a wince, murmuring reassurances the entire time—but he couldn’t will himself to walk away while she was screaming like that.
Especially now that he knew the difference between her cries.
So, one of the girls’ bathrooms had been cleared out for the morning.
Pomfrey, Bianca, and Theo occupied it alone, the echoes far too loud for his liking. He stood just outside the stall while Pomfrey bathed her, hands shoved deep into his pockets, posture stiff—like a chastened criminal awaiting judgment.
The child sang.
Loudly.
Badly.
And every time Theo stopped responding—
“Papà?”
—her voice wobbled, threatening to tip into tears.
“Sono qui,” He called back immediately, instinctive, “Brava.” (I'm here. Good job)
She giggled and continued singing something that sounded vaguely like a nursery rhyme and vaguely like a direct threat to musical theory.
Theo leaned his head back against the tiled wall and exhaled.
My God, was she clingy.
Then again… he supposed he couldn’t fault her for it.
If Flitwick was right—if she truly had come from the future—then she’d been ripped away from her home. Likely somewhere warm and familiar in Italy. Dropped into damp, grey Scotland. Surrounded by strangers. Spoken to in a language she didn’t understand.
Clinging to the only constant she recognized.
Him.
The thought settled heavy in his chest, sharp and unwelcome. Theo swallowed, fingers twitching as the familiar urge for a cigarette crept in—persistent, comforting.
He resisted.
Inside the stall, the singing faltered.
“Papà!” She called, sharper now.
“I’m here,” Theo answered immediately, softer this time, “Sono qui. Non vado da nessuna parte.” (I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.)
The singing resumed—quieter. Sleepier.
Theo closed his eyes.
Unbelievable.
Bianca emerged from the bath wrapped in a towel with a warming charm woven into the fabric, her pajamas peeking out beneath it. Her curls were still damp, springing in every direction, cheeks flushed pink and clean, eyes already heavy with sleep. Madam Pomfrey handed her over with a satisfied nod and a stern warning about drafts, and Theo took her automatically, settling her against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He was now only dimly aware of how absurd this entire situation was.
They stepped out into the corridor together, the stone cool and quiet at this hour—
—and promptly ran straight into you.
You froze.
You’d heard the rumors, of course. Everyone had. Whispers carried between classes, exaggerated retellings murmured in the Slytherin common room. Nott has a kid. From the future. Ridiculous. Entirely ridiculous. There were more reasonable theories floating around—some magical accident that accidentally teleported a child here from outside Hogwarts walls. Others were more creative, claiming Theo had a secret child hidden away in Italy and the time-travel nonsense was just a cover story.
You firmly belonged to the former camp.
This—whatever this was—had to be some sort of misunderstanding.
You opened your mouth, ready to apologize for bumping into him—
“Mama!”
The word rang out, bright and clear, echoing far too loudly down the stone corridor.
Bianca lit up like she’d been waiting for this moment all day. She wriggled out of Theo’s already-loose hold with surprising strength, arms stretching toward you, the towel slipping dangerously as she leaned forward.
“Mama! Mama!” She chirped, utterly delighted, fingers grasping at empty air, “Sei tornata! Mi sei mancato!” (You’re back! I missed you!)
You stared at her.
Then at Theo—who looked just as stunned, mouth parted slightly, grip tightening instinctively around her before he even seemed to realize he was doing it.
Then back at the small, very real child reaching for you like this was the most obvious thing in the world.
You stared at her.
Then at Theo—who looked just as stunned, mouth parted slightly, grip tightening instinctively around her before he even seemed to realize he was doing it.
Then back at the small, very real child reaching for you like this was the most obvious thing in the world.
You forced a smile, gentle and careful, lowering yourself slightly so you weren’t towering over her.
“I’m not your mama, little one.” You said softly.
You spared Theo a glance, silently pleading for him to say something—anything—but he looked like a statue carved from pure shock, arms still locked around Bianca as though letting go might shatter reality itself.
Bianca frowned.
Just a little.
Her brows knit together as she studied you, head tilting to one side in confusion. Then she turned in Theo’s arms, small hand gripping the front of his robes like an anchor.
You spared Theo a glance.
He hadn’t moved.
Not an inch.
He looked like a statue carved in shock, Bianca still tucked securely in his arms, as though letting go might shatter something irreparable.
Bianca’s smile faltered.
Just a little.
Her brows knit together as she studied your face, head tilting in quiet confusion. Then she turned slowly toward Theo, curls brushing his collar.
“Papà?” She asked, uncertain now.
Theo swallowed.
She pressed her cheek against his chest and spoke again, voice small but earnest—
“Papà… ora che la mamma è tornata, possiamo andare a casa? Ho sonno.” (Papa… now that mama is back, can we go home? I'm sleepy)
“There is absolutely no way I’m her mother.”
Your voice echoed far louder than you intended in the hospital wing, ricocheting off white curtains and cold stone with humiliating clarity.
Madam Pomfrey paused mid-sentence.
Flitwick blinked.
McGonagall’s lips thinned—just slightly.
Theo, seated stiffly on the edge of the bed with a sleeping Bianca curled against his chest, did not move. He looked like someone who had accepted his fate three hours ago and was now simply watching the universe pile on for sport.
It was hard to believe he’d been standing in this exact position less than a week ago, being told the very same thing.
Honestly, he wasn’t even sure the news had fully settled yet. He hadn’t had time to properly panic—not just about Bianca having a mother, but about who that mother apparently was. A girl he’d never given a second glance to. Someone who, in some unfathomable future, he had fallen in love with. Married. Chosen to have a family with.
Theo Nott. Married. A father by choice.
The thought felt so foreign he thought he might throw up.
“For one,” You continued, gesturing vaguely at yourself like the evidence should be self-explanatory, “I would remember giving birth. I am quite certain of that.”
Pomfrey cleared her throat delicately.
“And second,” You added, beginning to pace, panic sharpening every word, “there are processes involved in creating children. Processes which I have never done—” You pointed sharply at Theo, “—with him.”
Theo didn’t react. Didn’t even flinch. He just adjusted his grip slightly when Bianca shifted, instinctively tucking her closer as she sighed in her sleep.
Flitwick glanced down at his parchment, “…The magical diagnostics are, I’m afraid, quite clear.”
You stopped short. “So you’re actually telling me,” You said slowly, incredulously, “that this child is from the future? A future where I have a baby with Nott of all people?”
McGonagall folded her hands calmly, “Miss (Y/N)—”
“You’re joking, right?” You cut in, letting out a hollow laugh, “I mean, everyone here can see that there isn’t even a modicum of possibility that the two of us would date—let alone get married, let alone have a child.”
Theo’s jaw tightened.
He wanted to argue—wanted to back you up, to scoff and insist this was ridiculous, that there had to be some enormous mistake, some elaborate cosmic joke with particularly poor timing. A week ago, he would have done exactly that.
But he’d been standing in this same position barely days earlier.
He knew now that arguing would get him nowhere.
Soon enough, Bianca would wake up. She always did. And when she did, she would cry—sharp, panicked, desperate cries that cut straight through stone and reason alike. She would call for you the same way she had called for him, voice cracking, hands reaching for something familiar in a world that made no sense.
And if you were even remotely a decent person, you wouldn’t be able to ignore it.
The thought sat heavy in his chest, uncomfortable and inescapable.
But Bianca only shifted in his arms, letting out a small, congested sniff as she rubbed at her itchy nose against his robes. Theo adjusted his hold without thinking, brushing his thumb gently along her back until her body went slack again, weight settling against him.
Theodore Nott was not a single father.
Absolutely not.
He wasn’t even a father if one wanted to argue technicalities—and frankly, he did. Loudly. Frequently. If he wasn’t considered a father, then you certainly couldn’t be considered a mother. It was only fair. Balanced. Logical.
And yet.
If he was being forced to look after a suction cup turned human child—day in and day out—then he didn’t see why you got to take the easy way out and keep avoiding her. Avoiding them.
It felt less like co-parenting and more like he was chasing you down for childcare payments.
So he handed Bianca off to Mattheo—who was, once again, skipping class and therefore had no grounds to complain—and went looking for you.
He caught you just as Potions let out, students flooding into the corridor in clusters of laughter and complaints. Theo slipped through them with singular purpose and grabbed your elbow just outside the classroom doors.
You startled, turning sharply, “Nott? What do you need?”
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what this is about,” He hissed, releasing you only to cross his arms over his chest, “Go see your child.”
You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, “She’s not my kid.”
“She’s as much yours as she is mine,” Theo shot back, frustration flaring hot in his chest, “and it’s not fair that I’m the one looking after her all day.”
“We can’t even speak the same language.”
“She’s three,” He snapped, “All you need to do is watch her while she plays with toys or draws or—Merlin—something.”
“She doesn’t even want to come with me.”
The words hit harder than he expected.
“Maybe she would,” Theo said, quieter but still sharp, “if you spent more time with her.”
The conversation had officially crossed into absurd territory. Theo felt like every dramatic woman in those ridiculous telenovelas his mother used to watch—hands flying, emotions everywhere, dignity nowhere to be found.
You scoffed, “Oh, come off it, Nott. Don’t you find it strange that she can only speak Italian? Nothing else? Not even my first language?”
Theo frowned, but you weren’t finished.
“She never comes to me first,” You continued, voice tightening, “Never asks me for help when she’s eating. Never reaches for me when she wants something. You’re always her first choice. Have you noticed that?”
His mouth opened—closed again.
“And,” You went on, softer now, more brittle, “you know she never lets me carry her? Not even once. And believe me, I’ve tried. She squirms out of my arms every time.”
The anger he’d carried with him faltered.
He could see it then—the hurt etched into your expression, raw and unguarded. Theo shifted, frowning, “She’s just… not used to—”
“I don’t think that’s it.” You interrupted quietly.
You hesitated. Took a breath.
“What if,” You said, voice barely above a whisper now, “what if in the future… I’m not there?”
Theo’s chest went cold.
“No,” Theo said quickly, the word cutting through the silence like he could sever the thought itself, “No. That’s—there are other explanations.”
You looked at him, eyes searching his face.
“Like what?” You asked.
He exhaled sharply, already reaching, “Maybe we just—split up. In the future. People do that. All the time.”
Your mouth twisted, humorless, “Right. So either I’m dead, or I’m a deadbeat.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“That’s exactly what you said,” You shot back, “Because if I’m alive and well and present, Theo, then why doesn’t she know my language? Why doesn’t she come to me? Why doesn’t she trust me?”
His jaw clenched, “You don’t know that she doesn’t—”
“She doesn’t,” You said quietly, firmly, “And you know it.”
He felt like he couldn't breathe. His hand twitched at his side.
Theo shook his head, hands curling into fists at his sides, “You’re making assumptions."
"I don't want to confuse her," You snapped, "What if I spend time with her now and she goes back to a future where she's confused that future me doesn't? Don't you think it's better for her to not be left with any painful memories?"
"Fuck this." He said harshly.
You stared at him, stunned, “Theodo—”
He turned away before you could finish.
He needed a fucking cigarette.
Theo didn’t look at you when you spoke.
“I thought I might find you here.” You sighed, stepping into the Astronomy Tower. The night air was sharp, the stars cruelly clear.
He only glanced at you once before turning back to the edge, exhaling smoke into the dark. The orange tip of his cigarette flared, then dimmed.
He hadn’t gone back before bedtime like he’d promised Bianca.
The thought twisted in his chest—but he shoved it down. Mattheo would handle it. He told himself Mattheo would’ve worn her out enough that she’d gone down on her own. That she’d fallen asleep surrounded by noise and laughter and familiar faces. That she wouldn’t notice.
But he couldn’t go back now. Not like this. Not smelling like smoke and guilt and the kind of fear that hollowed you out from the inside.
You shifted, eyes flicking to the small graveyard of cigarette stubs at his feet, and visibly bit back a comment.
“You can’t seriously be that upset at the thought of me dying, are you, Nott?” You said lightly, like it was a joke you didn’t quite believe in, “After all, we aren’t anything to each other.”
Theo’s fingers stilled.
Truthfully, he wasn’t.
Not in the way you meant.
It wasn’t you he was grieving.
It was the future he thought he was building.
He had thought—Merlin help him—that he was doing something right.
Thought that maybe—maybe—this was him breaking the cycle. Overcoming his own childhood, his own grief, his own scars. The way she clung to him, trusted him, sought him out—he’d taken that as proof. Proof that he was doing something right. That he was raising her in a house full of warmth. Of love.
A home that wasn’t cold.
A father who didn’t disappear into silence.
A childhood that didn’t feel like walking on broken glass.
He had thought he was undoing the damage his own father had carved into him.
Breaking the curse.
And now it felt like he was watching history fold back in on itself.
Bianca would lose her mother. Just like he had.
She’d be left in a cold home, one that hollowed out instead of held you together. She’d grow into something sharp and distant and unfeeling—just like him. Just like his father.
Would he turn into him?
Would he still be able to love Bianca if every time he looked at her, all he saw was you? Would he sit across from her in silence at meals, watching her struggle to eat in the tension, only to hear her throwing up later—alone on the bathroom floor, crying for a mother who wasn’t there?
Would he say the same vile things? Lock her in the same closet?
Would his hands—
Theo’s breath hitched.
He’d never imagined hitting a child. Never.
But perhaps his father hadn’t imagined it either. Not at first.
Perhaps he was driven to it.
He took one last drag from the cigarette and flicked it away, crushing the ember beneath his heel before reaching for another with trembling fingers.
He never got the chance to light it.
Your hand closed around his wrist.
Firm. Steady.
He stilled.
Slowly, his focus shifted—really shifted—to you.
For the first time since Bianca had seen you, since the world had tilted on its axis, he truly looked at your face.
And there it was.
Your eyes.
Or rather—
Bianca’s.
His throat closed, eyes flickering over your face as he began to compare the two of you when your nose began to twitch, the smell of the smoke finally getting to you.
"Achoo!"
Theo couldn't help but let out a dry breath of laughter.
“You should spend time with her,” He said finally, voice rough—scraped raw by smoke and something dangerously close to tears, “I wanted nothing more than to remember my mother when she died.”
The words hung between you, fragile and devastating.
Theo swallowed.
“She deserves that,” He added quietly, “And so do you.”
Morning came quietly in the Slytherin dorms. The others had already left the dorm to get breakfast and begin classes.
Theo had been awake long before it—again. He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the small lump buried beneath his blankets. Bianca had twisted herself sideways sometime in the night, curls exploding in every direction, one chubby foot sticking out from under the covers like a silent rebellion.
“Bianca,” He murmured gently, nudging the lump, “È mattina.” (It's morning.)
She made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a whine and promptly rolled onto her stomach, hugging the pillow tighter.
“No,” She mumbled sleepily, “Ho sonno…” (I'm sleepy)
Theo blinked, staring at the blanket-wrapped lump that was technically his responsibility. For a fleeting moment, he considered letting her sleep—just fifteen more minutes, surely that wouldn’t hurt.
But experience had already taught him better.
If she slept in, she’d be feral by noon. No nap. No quiet. No sleep later. Which meant another night of pacing the dorm with a squirming toddler while his own body begged for rest.
He sighed. The deep, tired, fatherly kind—the one he was rapidly perfecting.
Just as he leaned forward to try again, there was a knock at the door.
Theo froze.
His mind leapt immediately to the all possibilities.
Professor McGonagall, stern and efficient, here to inform him they’d finally found a way to send Bianca back to her own time.
Or worse—here to say they couldn’t.
Another knock followed. Softer. Hesitant.
Theo stood slowly, smoothing a hand through his already-mussed hair, heart doing something distinctly unhelpful in his chest. When he opened the door, he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been expecting.
But it was you.
You stood there awkwardly, hands clasped in front of you like you might bolt at any second. You weren’t in your uniform—dressed casually instead—and floating just behind you was a small enchanted tray, stacked with breakfast.
Theo’s brows lifted despite himself.
“Oh,” He said. Guarded. Careful. “…Morning.”
You hesitated, then offered a small, tentative smile.
“I brought breakfast.”
Behind him, there was sudden movement.
Bianca’s head popped up from the blankets, curls crushed on one side of her face, eyes still hazy with sleep.
She stared at you for half a second before her entire expression lit up.
“Mama!”
Theo barely had time to react before she scrambled upright, tangling herself in the covers.
“Buongiorno?” You said, tilting your head as you stepped inside, “I—uh. I’m hoping I'm pronouncing that right.”
Theo stepped aside as you entered, watching carefully as Bianca scooted closer, clutching her blanket around her shoulders like a cape. You set the tray down on the bedside table and sat beside her without hesitation.
Breakfast became a quiet, shared thing.
Bianca sat between the two of you on the bed, half-awake but cooperative, munching on cut fruit and toast while you worked patiently through the knots in her hair. She winced once, then relaxed when your touch stayed gentle.
“I used to have curls like this too.” You said softly, lifting a section of her hair.
Theo glanced over, wondering why you were saying this. Perhaps you were just getting sick of being out of the loop while Theo constantly reminded Bianca not to chew with her mouth open, “Really?”
You hummed, “Yeah. Until I spent one entire summer swimming. Completely ruined them.”
"Oh." He muttered.
“And then,” You continued, amused, “I discovered Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion and never really went back.”
You began sectioning her hair, fingers moving more confidently now, twisting it into neat little ponies.
Theo slid the tray closer to you, “You sure you don’t want some?”
You shook your head lightly, “I already ate.”
Bianca paused mid-bite, brows knitting together. She looked up at you, then spoke quietly.
“Mamma… stai male di nuovo?” (Are you sick again?)
Theo stiffened slightly, “…Cosa intendi?” (What do you mean?)
Bianca shrugged, matter-of-fact in the way only children could be, “A volte la mamma sta male e non riesce a mangiare.” (Sometimes mommy gets sick and can’t eat.)
Theo looked at you slowly, something uneasy settling in his chest.
You tilted your head, confused, "Am I missing something?"
The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet.
Theo had never realized just how quiet it could get when everyone was actually in class. On the rare occasions he skipped, he was usually surrounded by his noisy gaggle of friends—laughter, insults, the scrape of chairs. Now, with most of the students gone, the space felt cavernous, almost reverent.
Sunlight poured in through the tall windows, casting lazy rectangles of gold across the stone floor. The lake beyond the glass shimmered faintly, shadows drifting slowly along the walls.
Theo sat at one of the long tables, a textbook open in front of him. Beside him, Bianca occupied her own chair, perched atop a cushion to give her some height. Even then, she barely reached the tabletop—her upper body completely propped up on her elbows as she strained forward, tongue poking out in concentration.
A piece of parchment lay in front of her, covered in colorful scribbles, and a box of crayons sat nearby—formerly one of Theo’s cigarette packs, now successfully transfigured.
You sat on his other side.
Your space had slowly expanded until it spilled over into his—parchment and quills scattered between you, a textbook here, a notebook there. You leaned in to show him a particularly complicated potion formula, pointing at your notes with the tip of your wand.
“So yesterday, we covered the difference between tinctures and infusions,” You explained, flipping through your notebook until you found the relevant lecture, “I wrote the key points here—see? You mostly just need to memorize the ratios.”
Theo scanned your notes, brow furrowing as he compared them to the questions listed beneath. He tapped one section with his finger.
“What about this one?” He asked, “It doesn’t match the ratio.”
You leaned closer to see what he was pointing at, scooting nearer without thinking, “Oh—okay, this one’s an exception. It’s considered an infusion because of the brewing process, not the base ingredients.”
You were just about to continue when Bianca suddenly sat upright, eyes wide, like she’d uncovered a great secret.
“Papà! Mamma! Guarda!” She chirped, spinning the parchment toward you with pride.
You leaned in immediately, your expression softening.
It was a drawing—very clearly the three of you. Stick figures, yes, but unmistakable. One tall with dark hair. One beside him with longer hair. And a much smaller one in the middle, curls drawn in chaotic loops. Behind you stood a crooked little house, flowers floating inexplicably in midair, and a tiny sun tucked into the corner of the page.
You laughed quietly, “This is adorable.”
Bianca smiled, satisfied, but said nothing—already basking in the praise.
You turned to Theo, “What’s wow in Italian?”
He shifted his gaze from the drawing to you, and it was only then you realized just how close you’d gotten—practically halfway into his seat. At this distance, you could see every individual lash, the faint shadows beneath his eyes.
You froze.
Theo leaned in, lowering his head toward your ear. When he spoke, his voice was low and lazy, far too close.
“Wow." He said simply.
You pulled back just enough to glare at him, “You’re unbearable.”
A corner of his mouth lifted, “You asked.”
Theo hadn’t planned on going to the Hufflepuff house party.
Not really.
But you’d insisted—gentle, firm in that way that made it hard to argue without sounding like an idiot.
“Go,” You’d said, already kneeling to help Bianca with her pajamas, “You haven’t been out in days. You deserve a night that doesn’t involve a sticky toddler."
Bianca had protested briefly, arms looping around his neck like a vise, but you’d distracted her with some Jaffa cakes. That seemed to do it.
So he went.
There was music. Laughter. Too many people packed into a common room that smelled faintly of firewhisky and bad decisions. Mattheo handed him a drink almost immediately.
Theo stared at it.
Then thought of Bianca—overtired, unfamiliar bed, the very real possibility that she’d decide midnight was an appropriate time to throw a tantrum and demand to be taken back to Theo's dorm only to be greeted by his drunk self.
He handed it back.
“No?” Mattheo blinked.
“No.” Theo said flatly.
He stayed long enough to prove he’d tried. Not to himself but to you. Who he knew would give him a teasing scold when he'd come back early, tail tucked between his legs.
And then—quietly, without much fanfare—he left.
The Slytherin dorms were dim when he returned, the corridors hushed and cool. He moved carefully, like any loud noise might break something fragile.
When he opened his door, the first thing he noticed was the lamp.
Low. Warm. Soft golden light spilling across the room.
The second thing—
You were there, curled on your side beneath his blankets, Bianca tucked against your chest like she belonged there. One of your arms was draped protectively around her small body, fingers curled instinctively at her back. Bianca’s face was pressed into your collarbone, curls splayed wildly across the pillow.
Fast asleep.
Theo stopped just inside the doorway.
Something tight in his chest loosened. Something else replaced it—heavier, warmer, far more dangerous.
You’d kicked off your shoes, throwing off your jacket as well in favour of casting a warming charm over the two of you right as you had fallen asleep. Bianca’s tiny hand was fisted in the fabric of your shirt, anchoring herself.
Theo approached slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed.
He studied your face.
A loose strand of hair had fallen across your cheek, brushing your lips. In your sleep, your brow pinched faintly, nose scrunching in the exact same way Bianca’s did.
He let out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle before he could stop himself.
Carefully—so carefully—he reached out and brushed the strand of hair away from your face with two fingers.
You stirred.
Not fully awake—just enough to shift closer to Bianca, murmuring something soft and unintelligible. Your hand tightened reflexively around her back.
Theo froze.
Bianca was going to lose this one day.
She was going to lose this—the warmth, the safety, the arms of her mother.
He was going to lose this someday.
He didn't want to lose you.
He wanted you for the rest of his life.
The thought hit hard and fast, knocking the breath out of his chest.
He swallowed, jaw tightening, eyes fixed on the slow rise and fall of Bianca’s back. On the way your fingers curved protectively at her spine even in sleep, like your body knew the job before your mind ever caught up.
Then you shifted again.
This time more sharply.
Your eyes blinked open, unfocused and glassy with sleep, lashes fluttering as you took in the dim room. For half a second, you looked confused—then awareness snapped in all at once.
You stiffened.
“Oh—Merlin—” You whispered hoarsely, lifting your head an inch before immediately freezing again when Bianca huffed and burrowed closer.
You blinked.
You slowly sank back down, mortified.
Theo watched as realization dawned on your face.
Then, horrified, you wiped at the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand.
“I—” You croaked, then cleared your throat quietly, “I wasn’t… I wasn’t actually asleep.”
Theo raised a brow.
You winced, “Okay. That’s a lie. I was trying not to fall asleep.”
He stayed silent, letting you dig.
“I was pretending,” You continued in a rushed whisper, cheeks warming, “I thought if I stayed really still she’d think it was bedtime and settle down and—well—apparently I fell asleep first.”
Theo huffed out a soft breath that might’ve been a laugh.
You shot him a look, “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
You sighed, rubbing your face with one hand, careful not to jostle Bianca, “This is so embarrassing.”
Theo didn’t respond right away.
Instead, he stood, crossed the room quietly, and took the blanket draped over the chair. His movements were careful—deliberate—as he unfolded it and drew it up over you and Bianca, tucking it in around her small shoulders before letting it settle across your waist.
“You can sleep here tonight,” He said finally, voice low. Then, after a beat, softer, “If you want.”
You blinked up at him, the last of sleep still clinging to you.
“Here?” You asked, whispering like the room might object.
He shrugged one shoulder, “She’s already settled. No point moving her.”
You hesitated.
Then nodded, “Okay.”
Theo’s jaw loosened, just a little.
A few days later, Theo was running on fumes.
The bone-deep exhaustion that settled behind his eyes and refused to leave. The kind that made time blur and thoughts lag half a second behind reality. Between the staggered schedules, half-missed classes, and nights that never quite counted as sleep, he felt like he was permanently five minutes behind himself.
You weren’t doing much better.
The professors still hadn’t found a way to send Bianca back, which meant the two of you had fallen into a strange, grinding rhythm: one of you attending class while the other watched her, trading off half-written notes—if by some miracle you hadn’t fallen asleep mid-lecture. You were grateful the professors were granting you at least that much grace.
The rest of the time was spent cramming together right before bedtime while Bianca threw a tantrum of truly mythological proportions.
It turned out she’d woken up once to find the two of you studying together and had somehow come to the conclusion that whenever she went to sleep, you and Theo threw secret parties without her.
So now—despite being exhausted—she refused to sleep.
You hadn’t known children could get overtired before.
Apparently, it was a thing.
A loud, shrill, nails-on-a-chalkboard thing.
Bianca was a small whirlwind. All limbs and laughter and boundless, feral energy that refused to burn out indoors.
So when you suggested a picnic by the Black Lake, Theo thought you’d finally lost your mind.
“You want to let her run free,” He said flatly, “near a giant squid.”
“She just needs to run,” You insisted, rubbing your temples, “Like—really run. Until her lungs give out.”
Theo stared at you, hollow-eyed.
“…You’re a genius.”
So there you were.
The grass near the lake was warm beneath the afternoon sun, the water dark and glassy, the mountains reflected on its surface like a painting. A blanket was spread out behind you with food you’d asked the house-elves to make—and while it looked incredible, you were deeply offended by the lack of sweets.
Apparently the elves had decided Bianca didn’t need sugar.
Who cared about Bianca?
You wanted a chocolate lava cake, damn it.
Bianca, meanwhile, had already abandoned the blanket entirely.
She shrieked with laughter as Theo lifted her into the air, spinning once before tossing her just high enough to make her squeal—then catching her easily.
“Ancora!” She demanded, breathless. (Again.)
Theo obliged.
He laughed—really laughed. Not the tired, guarded version you’d grown used to, but something lighter, freer. He threw her again, caught her, bounced her once on his hip before setting her down just long enough for her to sprint off in a wild, crooked circle.
You watched from the blanket.
At first, it was just fondness. Relief. Gratitude that she was finally burning off that impossible energy. You couldn’t deny it—the sound of a child laughing so freely tugged a smile from you before you could stop it.
Then your gaze shifted.
Theo crouched when she spoke, his attention completely zeroed in on her. When she stumbled, he steadied her without thinking. When she reached for him, he went instantly—lifting her with an ease that felt instinctive, like muscle memory he’d never known he had.
And something in your chest shifted.
Warm.
Tight.
Soft in a way you hadn’t expected.
He stole your breath.
You stared at him.
At the boy you’d never really noticed. The boy you’d fully expected to graduate without so much as a conversation between you. Someone who, before all of this, would’ve been nothing more than a footnote—if that—in the story of your life.
Not your ending.
And yet the realization hit you so suddenly you almost laughed.
Somewhere—somewhen—years from now, a version of you would love him enough to choose to have a child with this man.
And now?
You got it.
You got the vision your future self must have seen when she decided to lock him down.
You supposed it made sense that you’d never seen Theo like this before. He was just a boy—how could you possibly know whether a teenage boy would grow into someone steady? Someone safe. Someone capable of love that endured, of support that didn’t waver.
A man you could build a life with.
But watching him now—watching him lift Bianca again as she squealed, watching the way his hand stayed firm at her back—your stomach flipped.
Your brain short-circuited.
Your ovaries, traitors that they were, staged a full rebellion.
And for the first time, the future didn’t feel impossible.
It felt inevitable.
You stood abruptly and joined them, brushing grass from your skirt. “Alright,” You said, “My turn.”
You bent to lift Bianca—
“No!” She protested instantly.
She wriggled out of your arms with shocking strength for someone so small and darted straight back to Theo, wrapping herself around his leg like an anchor.
Your smile slipped. Just for a heartbeat.
“Oh—okay,” You said quickly, forcing it back into place, “That’s fine. Totally fine.”
You took a step back, suddenly unsure of where to put your hands, your weight, yourself. The breeze off the Black Lake felt colder now. You stared out at the water instead of them, swallowing the strange tightness in your chest.
Theo noticed.
He frowned, glancing between you and Bianca, then crouched so he was level with her. Gently, carefully, he loosened her grip just enough to look at her face.
“Perché non vuoi che mamma ti prenda?” He asked softly. (Why don’t you want mamma to pick you up?)
The word mamma hit you even before you processed it.
You turned away a little more, heart stuttering. You didn’t understand the rest of what he said, not really. You suddenly felt like you were standing on the edge of something sacred and private, like you’d wandered into a family photograph you didn’t belong in.
Bianca’s face scrunched up, serious in that way only children could be when they believed they were being very reasonable.
“Mamma è troppo malata per portarmi, papà,” She said firmly, “Lo sai.” (Mamma's too sick to take me, papa. You know that.)
Theo froze.
The world seemed to tilt, just slightly.
Theo’s eyes flicked to you slowly.
You tilted your head, not knowing how spines began to claw up his hands and feet, making him feel cold, "What's wrong?"
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Divination was stupid. Theo knew it. Enzo knew it. But unfortunately for the two of them, Daphne Greengrass did not. She was quite the believer in fact—spending hours charting stars to gauge compatibility, gazing into her crystal ball, and practicing her palm reading. A load of bollocks and a complete waste of time in Theo's opinion, but, he wasn't a monster and so he humored his friend, content in blocking out Professor Trelawney's incessant babbling for an hour at the start of his day.
Theo was just admiring how particularly gray the walls of the castle were looking this fine morning when a sharp elbow to the ribs pulls his attention back to the old bat's class. Theo shoots a glare Enzo's way as he rubs his wounded ribcage pointedly. To only further his agitation, Theo notices that Trelawney is now stood directly in front of him extending a deck of tarot cards to him as she blinks her wide owlish eyes at him expectantly.
With a deep sigh and a rather dramatic eye roll, Theo plucks a card from the deck and hands it back to the witch without even bothering to glance at it. Trelawney doesn't seem to mind much though as she inhales sharply, a grin that seemed much too wide for her face forming as she flips the card back to Theo.
"Yes, yes. Just as I predicted dear boy. Just as I predicted. The Two of Cups!" She announces proudly, brandishing the card out towards the class.
Daphne squeals.
"Oh Teddy—"
"Don't call me that."
Daphne ignores him.
"How exciting. How romantic," she continues, clearly far more interested in the pull than Theo was.
She pulls out a script of parchment, finger tracing down the lines of notes until she finds what she's searching for. Then she shoves the parchment under Theo's nose.
"Look there. The Two of Cups—signifies mutual attraction and deep connections. A representation of kindred spirits in the early stages of falling in love. That's so romantic," she gushes, continuing on in her notes.
Enzo snorts doing a horrible job trying to stifle his laughter. Theo glowers, not even wanting to deign such a ridiculous concept with a response. This was ludicrous. The whole thing. Theo had been attending Hogwarts for well long enough to know that there was not a single present student in the school that he would even dignify having a romantic relationship with. He can't help but shake his head and scoff at the mere idea.
"Oh lighten up Teddy, heaven forbid you let Daphne have this," Enzo snickers, clearly enjoying the discomfort the whole thing brought Theo.
It was easy for him to say. It wasn't his love life being carefully dissected by their mystic enthused friend.
Being the new student at any new school was always going to be nerve wracking. But being the new student at a new school in a whole new country was significantly worse in every aspect. Whispers float down the corridors, your name echoing off the high ceilings of the castle, and eyes flicker towards the ground as you pass as if they hadn't just been staring shamelessly the moment prior. Normally the stares wouldn't bother you much, but the constant hushed voices were beginning to be unnerving. Your lips tighten as you move swiftly through the halls and you can't help but feel a bit self conscious as you smooth out your unfamiliar, deep blue robes.
You weren't exactly enthusiastic about your new school to begin with. It was different—of course it would be—but no matter how much you had prepared yourself for all the changes, it just hadn't been enough. Like really, they let a ratty, old—albeit sentient—hat determine house placements? You hadn't wanted that thing anywhere near your head, but it just couldn't be helped. Then, once you had been placed into your house, you come to find that yours is the only one in the entire school that requires you to solve a freaking riddle just to get into your damn room. Asinine. And to top it all off, the wretched school was literally impossible to navigate because the staircases, apparently, were also sentient and did whatever the hell they wanted.
All that to say, when you finally collapse into a seat in the back of, what you hoped was the History of Magic classroom, you were more than a little miffed. With an agitated huff, you try to stay invisible as more students begin to file into the classroom, taking their seats closer to the front. As seats fill, the extra buffer of breathing room melts a bit of the tension in your shoulders. When your professor—a ghost you notice dryly—begins to write on the chalk board, you finally feel yourself start to relax, pulling out a roll of parchment from your bag and carefully copying down each line.
Just as you're about to finish—The Gargoyle Strike of 1911—the classroom door swings open once more and a boy with brown hair and dark, calculating eyes saunters in. You're content with giving him a quick, uninterested glance before getting back to your notes, but unfortunately for you, the boy is rapidly approaching. His bag hits the floor next to you with a dull thread and you feel your lips turn downward into a frown as you look up at the boy once more in annoyance.
You watch as the boy's mouth opens as if to say something, but then his eyes meet yours and you watch him freeze, mouth agape for a moment then two. Just as it's becoming a bit uncomfortable, he seems to awaken from his trance looking shaken, brows furrowing as if he were wondering why on Earth he was just standing there like a fool. Still though, he tilts his head awkwardly—chin gesturing towards the rest of the class—and for the first time you notice that every other seat in the room seems to be occupied. With a sigh of defeat, you wordlessly turn back to the board, preparing to scramble to write down whatever you'd missed just now, content with simply ignoring this boy's existence for the the rest of class.
"A 'wildcat strike' refers to a stopping of work by unionized workers without authorization from the union. In 1911 the wildcats were winning, meaning things were moving in favor of the gargoyles—"
Good god this was horrible. You weren't even ten minutes into your first day of this new class and you already wanted to throw yourself off the top of Ravenclaw tower. It seemed as though many of the other students in class felt similarly as one of the boys sitting a few rows in front of you lets out a concernedly loud snore. You have to choke down a snicker as your eyes flicker up to the ghost at the front of the room, but he doesn't seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn't care.
"That's Finnigan. There's a running bet on how long it'll take him to fall asleep after Binns starts monologuing," the boy next to you murmurs, a smirk tugging at his lips.
You turn to look at the boy, surprised to hear him speak after all, and for the first time take a good look. Shit. He was hot. You don't really get the chance to dwell too much on it though because he speaks again.
"That one next to him is Thomas. Any second now he'll start piling things on top of 'em. See how high the stack gets before it falls over or Finnigan wakes up. Whichever comes first."
As if on queue, the boy next to the snoring kid carefully places a thick text book on his friend's back. Then another. It's like you can't look away as you watch on in morbid fascination.
"They friends of yours?" you find yourself asking as the boy, Thomas, adds an ink well to his tower.
Your desk partner snorts.
"Hardly. Lions and snakes don't exactly get along," he says smoothly.
You have no idea what that's supposed to mean, but you don't want to ask. Instead you continue to watch as a bag of Bertie Bott's jelly beans, three quills, a sweater, and someone's pet frog is added to the pile. A potted plant is about to be placed on top when a sneeze sends the whole thing crashing to the floor. Professor Binns doesn't even blink as he just continues on. Finnigan's head shoots up as he takes in his surroundings once more, shoulders slumping when he apparently realizes where he is. Understandable.
The rest of class is an absolute drag as you flit in and out of different thoughts and daydreams. Anywhere was better than here, listening to this ghost drown on. If he were any less interesting, you're sure the entire class would die of sheer boredom and be cursed to haunt this very classroom with the old professor. Doomed to be subjected to the very thing that killed you all in the first place for all eternity.
After what you're certain is the longest hour of your life, class finally ends, but to your dismay, you realize that halfway through class you'd simply given up on taking notes. Dammit. As though reading your mind, the boy next to you slides his parchment towards you. His notes are impeccable. Perfectly neat rows in dark ink with not a smudge in sight.
"I can get them back tomorrow," he says simply, before returning the rest of his materials into his bag.
You open your mouth to thank the boy, but before you even get the chance he's gone in a swoosh of emerald green and black.
The whole thing leaves you a bit stunned. It was the first real interaction you'd had with, really anyone at your new school and you couldn't tell if you'd completely blown it or not. He'd seemed decent enough, whoever he was. And that's when it occurs to you. You hadn't even bothered to ask the boy's name.
"Mmm. What was their name again?" Theo asks, trying to appear nonchalant as he inserts himself into Enzo and Daphne's conversation.
The three of them occupied their usual spots inside the Slytherin common room, the soft glow of green flames painting their faces as their voices mix in with the other echoes of the dungeon. Enzo eyes Theo suspiciously, noting that—despite the unbothered front he put on—Theo's fingers couldn't seem to stop tapping anxiously against his knee. See, usually when Enzo and Daphne were participating in their daily debrief, Theo was staring off into the abyss, pointedly ignoring them. So it didn't take an intuitive genius to pick up on the sudden spike of interest he was showing.
"Y/n. They're from America," Daphne says helpfully, seemingly oblivious to the way that Enzo was trying to dissect their friend's inner most thoughts.
"Why all the interest? They catch your eye? Are you two already falling into the early stages of love?" He taunts when he isn't able to get a proper read on his friend.
Theo's heart stops beating in his chest for half a moment before he juts out his chin defiantly.
"All anyone will talk about. Just curious to know who all the fuss is about," he retorts, forcing his voice to remain steady as he continues to stare ahead, avoiding the curious glances of his friends.
He can tell Enzo doesn't quite buy it, but that simply isn't his problem to worry about at the moment.
So they were from America. Huh.
Truthfully, Theo didn't know much about America. Hadn't ever really cared to find anything out. He was familiar with Ilvermorny of course. Which was presumably your former school, but that was pretty much the extent of it. Maybe he'd ask you about it tomorrow.
Assuming he didn't freeze up again at the mere sight of you. Salazar's ball sack that had been bloody embarrassing. Theo couldn't think of a single other time he'd ever frozen up like that, brief as it had been. Usually Theo liked to consider himself to be quite suave. Charming even, if he did say so himself. And he did. It was completely unlike him to be rendered speechless. Especially not by the mere presence of someone with a pretty face.
But it simply hadn't been his fault. How was he supposed to expect that some great, higher power was going to reach deep into his inner most thoughts and desires—pull together every single physical trait that Theo could possibly fantasize about—and combine them all into one single heavenly creature, and then plop them down right next to him in History of Magic of all classes.
Fate was cruel.
And speaking of fate, there was also all that nonsense from Divination that morning to think about. Theo leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. Surely the fact that batty, old Trelawney had predicted that he would fall in love was a complete coincidence in relation to him practically being prepared to propose to the new student in History of Magic a mere few hours later. How could it be anything else? Divination wasn't real. The whole class had been so close to being completely scrapped so many times that you either had to be a fool, or Daphne to believe in it.
Okay, so maybe Theodore was starting to believe it. A little. But what was he supposed to think as he watches you drag your feet through the door scowling? He feels his chest tighten as the two of you make eye contact and he watches as you make your way over to him.
"This seat taken?" you ask, already dropping your bag to the floor. "Didn't take you as one to be into this kinda stuff," you say conversationally as you pull parchment and a quill from your bag.
Theo scoffs, rolling his eyes.
"I'm not," he assures, "But Daph is," he adds, head tilting as he gestures to his friend.
He watches as your eyes dart over to the pretty blonde sitting happily between him and Enzo, assessing.
"Oh. Are you two?" The question lingers on your lips and Theo is quick to shake his head no.
Salazar he was being stupid. Of course you would assume—Why was he being like this?
"Nah. No. Daph's an old friend. Enz and I are just here for moral support. And an easy O." Theo hears himself drawl. "What about you? Training to become a seer?"
"Hardly. This was the only elective left that fit into my schedule apparently."
Salazar's balls you were perfect, Theo thinks to himself as Trelawney comes sweeping into the room. Her eyes are closed and her fingertips are pressed against her temples as she swooshes around the room, humming lowly.
"I feel new energy. An unfamiliar presence. You!" Trelawney screeches in her trembly voice, stopping in front of a poor, innocent Hufflepuff with an accusatory finger hovering dangerously close to their eyeball.
Theo can't help but let out a dry snicker and is delighted when he sees you out of the corner of his eye trying to hold back a laugh too. When it's clear to the old professor that the student in front of her had actually been present all year, her eyes scan the room, finally coming to a stop when they rest on you.
"Ah, there you are my dear! Your energy feels so concentrated on this side of the room, it simply drew me over," Trelawney babbles as she makes her way over. "Now let's see here. Palms up dear, palms up, let me have a look."
Theo watches amused, ignoring the weird kissing faces Enzo is making at him, as you sigh but still present your palms facing upwards to the professor. Her bony talons quickly engulf your hands, her eyes fluttering shut once more as her head tilts back, a low hum starting once more.
"Yes, yes. How interesting," the hums get louder as the professor's fingers dig into the lines of your palms. "I see. In the darkest hour, a dark shadow, it will over take you. Consume you."
Trelawney's eyes snap open and Theo watches her face melt back into a warm smile as she gives your hands one last squeeze.
"Welcome to class dear. We have much to learn, so much to see!"
Theo finds that he rather likes the way his heart swells when you turn to look at him, brow raised as you shake your head ever so slightly as if to say, 'what a nutter'.
"How many freaking goblin rebellions is it going to take before the British Ministry finally takes the hint and leaves those poor goblins alone?" you huff, slamming your books a little too loudly onto your table in the library.
You can feel Madam Pince attempting to burn a hole through your back as she glares at you, but you ignore her.
"Probably at least—" Theo checks his notes from the day's lesson, "six or seven. Unfortunately not every revolution to rid oneself of British rule is successful," he teases lightly.
You glare at the boy pointedly.
"I'm not even particularly, patriotic," you grumble, the word actually quite sour on your tongue, "but nothing brings Americans together quite like our mutual hatred of the British."
"Mmm. Do let it go on record now that my family is Italian," Theo replies dryly.
Theodore had very quickly become your closest friend at Hogwarts. From that first day in History of Magic the two of you just seemed to click. It also definitely helped that not only did he share your dry sense of humor, but he was also insanely smart, and very easy on the eyes. You'd been worried for a split second when he first introduced you to Daphne Greengrass, a familiar turning in your stomach that you'd quickly identified as jealousy flaring up, but it had been quickly squashed when Theo assured you that they were indeed just friends. But that was neither here nor there. You and Theo had become practically inseparable in the month that you'd been at your new school, much to the chagrin of his friends. You liked them too of course, and they'd been good sports about welcoming you into their little group, but with Theo it was just easy.
You slide your potions notes across the table just as Theo hands over his Charms essay for you to look over. No words exchanged, but you were both perfectly in sync. Easy.
It's far past dark when you finally push your chair back, the old wood scraping against the floor, and you force yourself to stifle a yawn.
"Alright. I'm calling it a night," you announce as you begin packing up your books. "I should head back in case it takes an hour to get that damn eagle to open up the common room door again."
You hear Theo let out a snort at your last comment. He'd heard well and good your complaints about that stupid hunk of metal.
"Guess I'll head out as well. Mattheo has been complaining that he never sees me anymore, but he's just mad he can't copy my notes anymore."
The two of you quickly gather the rest of your things, slinking out of the library right as Pince begins making her rounds to toss the last lingering students out before closing the doors for the night. The walk to Ravenclaw tower is made in comfortable silence as you walk side by side, both of you trying to ignore the way the back of your hands were brushing against each other as you went. When you finally arrive, a whole group of students in black and blue are outside the door when it swings open. Not wanting to miss your chance, you toss Theo a smile over your shoulder before disappearing with the crowd of students through the door.
As soon as you enter your room, you dump your bag on the ground at the foot of your bed, trade your stiff school uniform for a more comfortable track set, and turn right back out the door—a disillusionment spell on the tip of your tongue. You move silently against the walls, retracing the same steps you'd just taken, leading your right back to the library. It's dark now—you knew from experience that as soon as the clock hit ten, Pince was out the doors. You lift your wand, ready to cast the usual alohomora but tonight something stops you. Call it a gut feeling. You grip the handle of the heavy, wood door and without so much as a squeak, the door swings open. Huh. Maybe the cranky librarian had been in such a rush to leave she forgot to lock up.
Without giving it so much as a second thought, you slip through the doors, following the familiar path that lead you right to the heart of the restricted section of the library. Really, you often found yourself wondering, why on Earth did they have a so called restricted section, and then not even bother to put up a single ward to keep students from entering? Wasn't very restricted if they asked you. Your fingertips brush over the spines of different books as you pass through the shelves, pulling one from the shelf every so often if it catches your eye. The silence of the empty library was deafening, but you relished the way you could hear your footsteps echoing on the tile and the rustle of pages turning as you flipped through your nightly finds.
You're on your tiptoes, straining to reach a large tome from the top shelf when you catch sight of a dark shadow appearing out of the corner of your eye. God, you hoped it wasn't that old man Filch. He wasn't as bad as everyone made him seem, you'd been able to talk him out of snitching on you thus far, but it kind of ruined the mood. Your hand drops to rest on the handle of your wand as the shady figure draws closer and you prepare to throw one of your books its way just in case.
"What are you doing here?" the confused voice of Theodore rings out just as you're about to launch your copy of Moste Potente Potions at his head.
You feel your shoulders sag in relief. You hadn't been scared of course. Just vaguely alarmed. Then you let out a laugh.
"And what's funny?"
"Oh, nothing. Just Trelawney and her whole 'A dark shadow is going to overtake you' spiel," you snicker. "And what do you mean what am I doing here? What are you doing here?" you ask rather indignantly, turning back to focus on the book that was just out of your reach.
"I come down to the library at night all the time," Theo replies, crossing his arms defensively.
"Well it's obviously not all the time because I've been here every night this month and I've never seen you down here," you reply casually.
You can practically hear Theo rolling his eyes at you.
"Well of course not all the time, Filch would start getting—sorry did you say you've been here every night? How has Filch not caught you?"
You shrug your shoulders noncommittally, glaring up at the book that seemed to be just taunting you.
"He has a few times, but we usually just chat for a little and then he'll send me on my way."
You don't see the absolutely stunned look on Theo's face.
"You chat? With Filch. About what?" Theo asks incredulously.
You let out an exasperated sigh.
"The weather. Cat toy recommendations for Mrs. Norris. His mother's retirement in France. I don't know, we chat about a lot of things."
You still aren't facing Theo, but if you had been, you probably would have laughed at the completely gobsmacked look that was written across his face.
"Now will you be useful and get that book down for me?" you ask, foot stomping impatiently on the ground.
Still too shocked to respond, Theo reaches up over your head, placing one hand on your shoulder for balance as he easily plucks the book you'd been reaching for off the shelf. Just as he's about to hand it to you though, it seems he comes back to his senses and that smug grin that you'd become so familiar with recently finds its way back to his lips.
"Uh uh uh, where's my reward?" he teases, holding the book just out of reach once more as he smirks down at you.
"Reward?" you ask dryly, looking up to raise an eyebrow at your friend.
Had he always been standing so close?
"I'm a Slytherin. I don't do something for nothing now," he says, voice like honey in your ears.
"What do you want?" you ask, eyes narrowing.
Theo tilts his head as if pretending to think.
"A kiss."
You blink, shoulders shrugging as you turn to face the boy properly. Seemed fair enough to you. You were definitely getting the best end of the deal. So you tug on the collar of Theo's sweatshirt, before crashing your lips into his. His lips are warm and soft and that's all you take note of before pulling away quickly. Theo is clearly stunned once more so you take the opportunity to finally get your hands on the book you'd been eyeing this whole time.
"Thanks Theo!"
Theodore Nott was dangerously close to never brushing his teeth ever again. Because you had kissed him last night. In some sudden, stupid burst of confidence he had asked you to kiss him and you did. It had been a complete joke—Theo hadn't even remotely considered that you'd actually do it, but you'd grabbed the collar of his jumper and then your lips were on his and he knew he was well and truly done for.
"Theo. Theo! You need to get your act together mate," Lorenzo grunts, elbowing his friend to get his attention.
"What? Stop that," Theo mutters, batting Enzo’s arm away from him.
"Seriously. You're acting like a love sick puppy."
Theo glares.
"Would take one to know one," he snaps, falling back in his seat with a huff.
Now it's Enzo's turn to narrow his eyes.
"I'm going to choose to ignore that because you're just upset that you didn't kiss y/n back," he responds.
Theo's eyes bulge at the bold—albeit correct—observation.
"Can you keep your bloody voice down?" he hisses, eyes flickering about to make sure no one had heard.
Luckily, you had only just entered the divination classroom so at least Theo was safe for now. Or maybe not.
"Morning," you say brightly giving the group a small wave and taking your usual spot next to Theo.
Theo opens his mouth to respond but, Salazar you smelled good today, and your lips, god your lips looked soft and pink and, the words feel caught in Theo's throat. Somewhere in the distance he can hear Enzo snickering obnoxiously, but all Theo can do is stare at you dumbly. This was mortifying. As soon as he figured out how to move again Theo was launching himself straight off this bloody tower.
"Hey, do you want to sneak into the library again tonight?" you ask casually, laying your things out on your desk, seemingly oblivious to the fact that you were about to send Theo into cardiac arrest.
Of course I'll sneak back into the library with you. Especially if it means you'll kiss me again, Theo wants to say. But he has at least a little bit of dignity left, so he straightens himself in his chair, trying to maintain at least somewhat of an air of nonchalance as he finally strings a sentence together.
"Sure."
Okay, so a sentence might be giving himself a bit too much credit, but it was better than sitting there gaping like a daft idiot. You seem satisfied with his answer though as you turn to face the front just as Trelawney waltzes into the room with her usual dramatic flair. Theo drifts in and out of the lesson as Trelawney rambles on about tea leaves and the placement of tasseography symbols. He tried to focus. Really he needed to, because the alternative was his gaze finding its way to the curve of your lips and the way your tongue pressed against the inside of your cheek as you furiously scribbled down notes.
The gentle sound of metal clinking on china pulls Theo wholey back to class as a spoon taps impatiently on the teacup in front of him as if urging him to drink. Glancing around he sees most of his classmates were already bottoms up. Drinking down the rather bitter liquid, Theo carefully places his cup back down in front of him, peering disinterestedly at its contents. Just looked like soggy tea leaves to him.
Trelawney insists on moving about the room though, dissecting the meanings inside each little cup and leaving behind a trail of utterly befuddled students in her wake. When she finally reaches Theo, he can visibly see her begin to vibrate with excitement as she moves his cup around in her hands, swishing the tea leaves back and forth.
"Look there, dear. Do you see?" she asks giddily, shoving the teacup back in Theo's face.
"No." he replies flatly, not even bothering to examine the wet leaves.
"Look closer."
Theo's nose is practically inside the cup now and he can hear you and Enz snickering on either side of him. Traitors. When he still doesn't say anything, Trelawney lets out a huff, sticking her crooked finger into the cup and speaking slowly as if explaining something to a small child.
"Right there. Don't you see?" she asks, as if it should've been the most obvious thing in the world. "An axe—" she swirls the cup to the side. "And a butterfly."
Theo stares blankly at the old woman.
"Use their notes and figure it out," she finally huffs in exasperation before sweeping off to another table.
As soon as she's gone and Theo makes eye contact with you he can't help but chuckle as Daphne scowls at the two of you.
"Look," she sighs, shoving her notes across the table for Theo to read.
The Axe—problems overcome
The Butterfly—success and pleasure
Wonderful. More nonsense. That was the problem with divination—the definitions were so broad they were basically meaningless. Overcoming problems and success? That could be about anything. Theo pushes the parchment back to its owner with a shrug. He'd just do what he always did and make something up for the assignment.
Shadows loom against the dimly lit walls of the library as you and Theo wander through the shelves together. Theo had been quieter than usual tonight. To be fair, he wasn't usually the most talkative person ever, but you had had to push to get your usual banter out of him. He clearly had something on his mind. You don't push though. That was something you both appreciated about each other—just being there together was enough.
Once you both have a sizable stack of books pulled together you tuck yourselves away in one of the back corners of the restricted section. Far enough that not even Mrs. Norris would bother to wander all the way back. You find yourself curling up next to your friend, legs pressed together and shoulders brushing as you cast a soft lumos charm just bright enough to illuminate the pages of your books as you read. The quiet is nice after a long day of navigating the crowded halls and classrooms of the school. Hogwarts was definitely a lively place, and you hadn't realized just how much you missed having some peace and quiet until you'd snuck out of Ravenclaw tower that first night.
"Do you think divination might not be completely useless?" Theo asks a while later, breaking the silence.
You look up in surprise before glancing down at the book he's reading—Divination Through the Ages: A Skeptics Guide—your eyebrows furrowing in thought. If you were being honest, you'd always thought that divination was, to be polite, dumb. In fact, you'd been rather pissed when your head of house, Professor Flitwick, had told you that it was the only class that would fit in your schedule. But you didn't think that was what Theo wanted to hear at the moment.
"I mean, all forms of magic have their unique uses I suppose," you reply carefully, wondering where this was going.
Theo just hums in response, continuing to finger through the pages of the book as you watch with curiosity. Finally, with a deep breath, he snaps the book closed and turns to face you. It's clear he wants to say something as you search his eyes which seem to be getting ever so slightly closer by the second. You can't help the way your eyes drop down to his lips as his tongue glides across his bottom lip nervously. They're so close now you can practically feel the way they had pressed against your own last night. However brief that encounter had been. When you finally tilt your head back up to meet his eyes once more, your nose brushes his and you feel your breath hitch. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was about to kiss you right now.
And then his lips are on yours and you feel your body go limp as he pulls you into him, your eyes fluttering closed as he molds you to him. Your book slips from your fingers with a dull thud as it hits the ground, but you hardly notice. Theo's lips are just as warm, and soft, and utterly intoxicating as you remembered them to be. You can feel Theo smiling against your lips as he pulls you impossibly closer and you forget where you are, what you were doing, everything except what it feels like to be held in Theo's arms.
When you finally break apart, it's your turn to blink in stunned silence as Theo gazes down at you, his breath warm against your cheek.
"Ever since you arrived, everything that divination has told me has come true," Theo says gruffly, clearly not pleased to be having to admit it.
You couldn't blame him. The two of you had kind of bonded over how unseriously you both took the class. Still though, you tilt your head, inviting him to continue.
"The first day we met—that morning in divination, a deck of tarot cards told me I was going to fall in love."
A dry laugh escapes Theo's lips as he pulls back, eyes trained everywhere but at you now. Which is probably for the best as you feel tendrils of heat creeping up into your face.
"I didn't believe them of course. Thought it was pure rubbish."
Your heart stutters for a moment before your eyes land on the book Theo had been reading so intently up until now.
"Hm. And did something change?" you ask cautiously, not daring to get your hopes up.
"Well, the soggy leaves in my tea this morning kind of implied that I should get my act together if I wanted any sort of success, so—" Theo lets out another wry laugh, though there's no humor in his voice. Just a nervous undertone that you can tell he's trying to mask.
"Well did you? Fall in love that is?" you ask, suddenly feeling shy around Theo for the first time.
There's a beat of silence where you can practically feel your heart trying to tear its way out of your chest. You hadn't quite realized just how much you wanted this until it was staring you in the face. Or rather anywhere but. Then Theo meets your eyes once more.
"I think I could. If I'm not half way there already."
His words melt every bit of tension you had been feeling previously as you let out a breath that you didn't know you'd been holding.
"I think I'm half way there too."
Everyone say thank you to the beta readers @simplyastra and @nottendo 🫶🏽
Summary: After your boyfriend cheats with your best friend, you enlist Theodore Nott in a fake relationship to get revenge
A/N: I fear this was better in my head
credits to @cafekitsune for the divider!
There comes a moment in every girl’s life that cements itself into her mind. It takes up a corner of her brain and becomes the foundation for every action she takes thereafter. It rewires her chemistry, ensuring that, years later, it will resurface unbidden, vivid and relentless.
She remembers it as though it’s happening right then. Every detail is etched onto the canvas of her mind with the precision of a master painter. She recalls every word, every inflection, every syllable. She feels again the rush of emotions, as if the pit of her stomach were reliving the moment in real time.
That was how it felt when your eyes landed on your boyfriend making out with your best friend, the girl who had been by your side since first year, the one you trusted implicitly. You stepped into the Hog’s Head that night, and your vision tunneled the second you saw them in the booth, lips locked.
The clinking of glasses around the pub sparkled mockingly in the dim light, a cruel contrast to the way your heart sank, your body shutting down as ice ran through your veins.
First came confusion. Perhaps you’d seen wrong, perhaps your mind was playing tricks. But as the seconds passed, certainty settled in, burning the image into your brain.
What do I do?
In any instance where you had been betrayed like this, your first instinct would have been to go to your best friend—the girl who had stuck with you since your first year when you were placed as dormmates.
Stuck in your place, your brain was short-circuiting, trying to, but in the end unable to do anything else but stare at them.
For fuck’s sake—are they scuba divers? Are they ever going to come up for air?
It seemed like they heard you, finally parting, and it seemed that your boyfriend—or rather, ex-boyfriend, and if he’s so lucky, not late-boyfriend—spotted you first, his face going pale the second he saw you.
You scoffed.
They were doing this in a public place, and he had the gall to look surprised when you managed to spot them?
And then you felt it—the emotion that managed to crush through all of the others like a tidal wave, filling your body and clouding your thoughts. Rage. Fury.
You spun on your heel, barreling through the crowd toward the door.
“(Y/N)!” Your boyfriend called behind you, but you ignored him, sidestepping another patron as you charged and left him in your dust. It seemed like your anger had managed to blur the edges of your vision, and you collided with another student.
“Watch it—!”
Theodore Nott stood at six feet tall, towering over you more than your boyfriend ever had, jawline so sharp it could cut you—if not for that, his words certainly would. He glared down at you with stormy eyes that you couldn’t quite call blue but couldn’t call green.
You heard your boyfriend call your name once more as he approached you, and it seemed the desperation on your face was apparent to someone as apathetic as Theodore, who only raised a brow at you.
And in that instant, you made one of the most reckless decisions of your life.
Your hands curled around the lapels of his jacket before you could even command your body to do otherwise, yanking Theodore toward you and leaning up on your tiptoes to close the gap, pressing your lips to his.
A split second passed, and your head was spinning, body coming back to life.
Have I lost my mind? I’ve just been utterly humiliated by my boyfriend and my best friend. Now I’ve kissed one of the notorious snakes—without consent, no less—which makes me literal scum. He’s going to push me away any second, probably hex me, and make this humiliation ten times worse.
All those self-deprecating thoughts came to a silent standstill the second his arm looped around your waist, another hand cupping your cheek as you tilted his head to deepen the kiss.
The moment stretched, every second dragging out as if the world itself had decided to pause and watch. His lips moved against yours with a deliberate, almost teasing patience that sent a shiver down your spine, making your knees threaten to buckle. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the subtle press of his chest against yours, grounding you even as your mind screamed in disbelief.
Your hands tightened on his jacket, nails digging in slightly as if anchoring yourself to reality. Your mind screamed in protest, reminding you of every reason this was reckless—this was Theodore Nott, the last person you should be doing this with, and yet… you couldn’t stop.
The kiss was urgent, hungry, but also careful, as though he could sense the storm raging inside you and wanted to meet it without drowning you completely.
Finally, reality slammed back into you. You broke the kiss with a gasp, eyes still closed, trying to catch your breath after being so violently knocked out of orbit by a kiss you could only describe as divine.
When your eyes met his again, you were rendered speechless.
Oh, you better admit yourself into St. Mungo's tonight, you imbecile.
“Oh my—uh… I—I shouldn’t have—I'm sorry—” You stammered, tearing your hands from his jacket and stepping back. Embarrassment burned hotter than your anger had moments ago.
You swallowed, shamefully looking down as you moved toward the exit once again, "I'm gonna go—"
Your voice trailed off, choked by a mix of embarrassment and disbelief. You wanted to disappear, to vanish from the pub before anyone could process what had just happened. Before he could.
You pivoted toward the door, picturing yourself in the cool night air where your face might finally stop burning.
But before you could take another step, a firm hand caught your wrist. You froze, the warmth of his grip rooting you in place.
“If you leave first,” He said, his voice low and smooth, carrying that unmistakable edge of challenge, “you lose."
You didn't even know if your ex-boyfriend was still there, you had lost any awareness of your surroundings the second your lips met his.
Your eyes widened, and you stammered, “I… I’m not… I don’t—”
The corner of his lips twitched as though he was fighting a smile at your pathetic state, a teasing glint in those stormy eyes that made your knees threaten to give out again. “Why don’t you… join me and my friends?”
You swallowed, heart hammering, and glanced back at your ex. He was still standing there, awkward, flustered, clearly humiliated. It was… satisfying, in a small, dark way.
If you left now, before they did, it would look like you had something to be ashamed of. You didn’t deserve that.
They didn’t deserve to enjoy the rest of their night undisturbed. They deserved to squirm in their seats, to feel the weight of your stare drilling holes into them. They deserved their night ruined. Their lives ruined.
“…Fine,” you whispered, almost against your will. Your voice trembled with a mixture of exasperation and something dangerously close to thrill. “But only for a little while.”
Theo’s grin widened, that teasing glint in his eyes sharpening. “Oh… I don’t know,” he said, placing his hand on the curve of your waist, leading you to the table that had been taken by the other Slytherins, "We can be quite a fun bunch."
Theodore guided you through the Hog’s Head, arm casually looped through yours, like you’d belonged there all along. You couldn’t help but notice the way the pub-goers glanced at you, whispers flickering through the crowd. Your stomach fluttered with a mix of nerves, shame, and something you didn’t dare name.
When you reached the table, his friend's eyes immediately lit up. They were lounging casually, drinks in hand, and the smirk on Blaise’s face made it clear that they had clearly witnessed your make out session.
"Well, well, well, looks like someone’s been busy." Mattheo drawled, his wicked grin hidden half behind his glass as Theodore pulled out a chair for you and then slid his own closer.
It took everything in you to not look so startled when he wrapped his hand around your shoulder, trying to hide your incredulousness at how seamless this act managed to come to Theo.
You lowered your gaze from Mattheo's who was set on staring at you with an ear-to-ear grin like an imp, only to catch Theo’s eye—he seemed to read your thoughts instantly and, without missing a beat, chucked a fry at his best mate, "Stop ogling my girl, you prat."
“Ohhh,” Mattheo drawled, leaning back in his chair, "She's your girl now? That's the first I've heard of this."
Draco snorted, smirking at Theo, “Yeah, Theo, since when? You never mentioned a girlfriend before.”
Before you could even sputter, Theo’s calm, controlled voice cut through the teasing. “Yeah,” He said effortlessly, as if stating the weather, “We’re dating.”
You froze. What?! You were still reeling from the kiss, and now he was lying with such ease that it made your brain stutter. You were so caught off-guard, so out of your comfort zone that you couldn't even say anything.
He didn’t even flinch, "And we're not first-year girls that I should tell you everything."
Enzo let out a low whistle. “Wow… Theo, good for you, man."
You felt like your chest had been sucker-punched. How could he lie so effortlessly? So convincingly? You were still fumbling over your own thoughts, heart racing from the kiss, and he was… untouchable.
Theodore leaned slightly closer, voice low enough that only you could hear. “Relax. Just play along. Trust me.”
Trust him? You barely knew him. And the two people you’d trusted most in the world had just ripped you to shreds.
This was a bad idea.
But you didn’t move. You couldn’t. Because Theodore was right—if you left, your ex would see it, and you’d lose.
So you stayed. You plastered a grin on your face and let Theodore enjoy himself with his friends. You tried your best not to glance at the betrayers—refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing they occupied even a single neuron in your brain.
When tears threatened to prick your eyes, you bit the inside of your cheek hard and reached for Theo’s drink, taking a slow sip to ease the tightness in your throat.
Thankfully, it seemed they weren’t as shameless as you’d feared. They looked too uncomfortable to enjoy themselves, shifting in their seats, eyes flicking toward you before darting away. The sight of them leaving some time later brought you a sliver of satisfaction. However, that was made very bitter at the realization that they were leaving together.
You held out for another twenty minutes before finally turning to Theodore with a tired smile. “Walk me back?”
He didn’t hesitate. He stood immediately, earning a chorus of jeers from his friends about being a “simp” who couldn’t let his girl walk alone. Theodore just flipped them off before guiding you out with a warm hand at the small of your back.
The walk was quiet. Snowflakes gathered in your hair and clung to your coat, the world muted by the thick white dusting over Hogsmeade. Then, halfway down the path, you stopped abruptly.
Theodore turned to you, “What’s wrong?”
You stared down at the snow-covered road, tears burning at the edges of your vision, “She’s back at my dorm.”
You pressed the heel of your gloved palms into your eyes, your chest trembling with the sobs you’d been holding in all night, “And if she’s not… then I’ll be left wondering if she's with him for the rest of the night.”
Theodore sighed, steering you toward a small alcove behind the pub. It overlooked the rest of Hogsmeade, quiet and dim under the glow of lanterns. You sank down against the fence, not caring about the wet snow soaking through your clothes, hiding your face in your knees as the dam finally broke.
The image of them at the pub replayed relentlessly behind your closed eyelids, no matter how much you willed it away.
They’d done it so unabashedly, so arrogantly—her practically in his lap. Comfortable enough to humiliate you like that in public meant it couldn’t have been the first time.
Your mind reeled back to every time they’d both been absent, every “we just ran into each other in the hallway” excuse, every occasion they’d been “too busy” to join you in Hogsmeade.
They’d done this where other students could see. Had no one thought to tell you? Did your other friends just… choose to stay silent? Were they ever really your friends at all?
Theodore didn’t say a word. He just stood beside you in silence—until the soft clink of his lighter broke through your thoughts. You looked up, face blotchy and eyes raw, just in time to see him take a long drag from a cigarette, the smoke stark against the winter air.
“Can I have one?” You asked.
"No," He glanced down at you, “Take it from me, sweetheart—once you start, it’s very hard to stop.”
You exhaled sharply, lowering your forehead back to your knees. You tried to breathe deep, to steady yourself, to make sense of any of it, “What good even are you?”
There was another beat of silence.
“I’m sorry,” He said, and you looked up again, “I sprang that whole thing on you. If you don’t want to, I’ll take it back. Make it seem like I was the one mistaken. You don’t need to worry.”
“Why did you do it?” You asked quietly, “You could’ve easily pushed me away. I mean, I was the one at fault there.”
“Because,” He said, taking another slow drag, “you looked desperate.”
You huffed a humorless laugh, “I’m swooning.”
Theo’s mouth twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. “Besides,” He added, tilting his head so the dim light from the pub hit the sharp cut of his jaw, “I wasn’t about to let them see you run off like you’d done something wrong.”
You blinked at him, caught between wanting to roll your eyes and wanting to thank him, “So you just… decided to announce to half the school that we’re dating?”
“It’s better this way,” He said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Rumors spread fast. By Monday, everyone will think you’ve moved on—and not just moved on, but traded up.” His gaze flicked to you, calm but deliberate, “Let them choke on it.”
Your throat tightened, but this time it wasn’t from wanting to cry.
"And what do you get out of this arrangement?"
Theodore glanced at you through the thin curl of smoke leaving his lips. His expression didn’t flicker, but there was a spark of something behind his eyes—mischief, maybe, or calculation.
“Let’s just say…” He exhaled slowly, the smoke catching in the cold air like ghostly ribbons, “…I have my reasons.”
You swallowed and then sighed, watching as your breath became visible in the cold air, tears now dry on your cheeks, “I want them to pay for it.”
Theodore smirked, the corner of his mouth curling like he’d just been waiting to hear those words, "And so they shall."
You pushed open the door to your dorm, ready to collapse onto your bed and pretend the last twenty-four hours hadn’t happened. After talking with Theodore for a while, you’d waited until well past curfew to sneak back into Hogwarts, hoping your ex-boyfriend and ex–best friend had either gone to sleep separately or she was holed up in his dorm.
Honestly, at this point, you didn’t care where they were or what they were doing. They’d been dead to you long before you saw them at the pub tonight.
All you wanted was a bed. Sleep. Silence.
Theodore had still given you the option to change your mind about him — told you he’d take the blame if you wanted to pretend you didn’t know each other. But you were too wrung out from crying, too hollow to think. Your body was ready to collapse the second your face hit the pillow.
Except the moment you stepped inside, sleep vanished.
She was there.
Sitting cross-legged on her bed, biting her thumbnail — that nervous habit of hers you hated that you knew.
Your mind started firing questions faster than you could breathe. Was she nervous? Guilty? Regretful? Did she feel anything at all?
Her head snapped up.
“Hey,” She said softly, eyes wide with something dangerously close to guilt, “Can we talk?”
You froze. Part of you wanted to say yes. She’d been your best friend, the person you’d cared about more than anything. You didn’t want to lose her.
Your heart almost opened the door.
Your mind slammed it shut.
“No.”
She blinked, flinching like you’d slapped her, “Please, just—”
“I said no.” You moved past her toward your bed, shrugging off your coat, “Whatever you think you need to say, save it. I don’t care.”
“(Y/N), please! I didn’t mean for it to happen—”
You laughed—sharp, humorless, “You didn’t mean to kiss my boyfriend? How exactly does that work? You trip and fall face-first onto his mouth?”
Her jaw twitched. Then she scoffed, “Fine. If you’re gonna act like you’re so perfect, maybe remember you’re not exactly a saint either.”
Your head snapped up, “Excuse me?”
She crossed her arms, chin tilting higher, “We all saw your little show with Nott earlier. Don’t think you can sit there acting holier-than-thou when you cheated too.”
Heat surged under your skin.
“What I was doing with Nott is none of your business. But don’t you dare pretend that makes you right. You are the lowest, ugliest, skankiest slag I’ve ever met in my life.”
“That’s rich,” She spat, “Coming from the slag who spread her legs for the first guy she saw. Nott probably thought you were easy, didn’t he?”
You took a step forward. Then another. She backed up.
“Theodore has nothing to do with this, and neither does anyone else. The person I’m pissed at is you.” Your voice shook now, not from fear, but fury, “You were supposed to be my best friend! How could you betray me like this? Humiliate me in front of everybody? Go behind my back? I would never have done this to you. I wouldn’t have even thought about it!”
With each sentence, you jabbed a finger into her chest, until you finally shoved her, the force surprising even you.
She didn’t back down.
“You deserved it, didn’t you? Acting all high and mighty — then turning around and doing the same thing.”
Something in your chest cracked. You looked at her, really looked, and realized you didn’t recognize her anymore.
You laughed, breathless and disbelieving, “The only difference between us is I didn’t throw away seven years of friendship for some asshole who can only think with his dick. You think he won’t turn around and do the same thing to you that he did to me? You’re deluded.”
One more shove.
Then you straightened, voice quiet but lethal.
“If you ever approach me again, I’ll kill you. Until then?” You took a step back, smirking like she was something you’d scrape off your shoe, “Have fun with my sloppy seconds, slut.”
The next morning, the corridors were alive with the usual rush of students heading to the Great Hall, but your thoughts were still tangled in last night’s chaos. You tightened your coat around you, trying to focus on anything but the memory of their faces, when a familiar voice cut through the din.
“(Y/N)!” Your ex-boyfriend called, catching up just as you reached the entrance to the Great Hall. His face was flushed, a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and confusion, “What the hell was that yesterday?”
You froze for a heartbeat, then let a sardonic smile creep across your face, “Oh, that? I thought your tongue down my best friend’s throat was a pretty clear indication that we were both seeing other people.”
His face burned red, guilt and humiliation flickering across his features. You barely felt any satisfaction—what you felt yesterday had been raw, scorching, and unshakable. This was just a pale echo.
“Look, I—” He began, his voice tight, “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
“Didn’t mean to cheat on me with my best friend? Or didn’t mean for me to find out?” You let each word land like a slap.
His jaw clenched, his gaze hard, “You’re one to talk, acting like you didn’t leave with Theodore Nott of all people yesterday.”
You tilted your head, cool and deliberate, “I did. So? That doesn’t give you the moral high ground to lecture me. If you think you’re the victim here… think again.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a dangerous murmur, “Wait—are you serious? Are you actually—”
And then you saw him. Theodore Nott, leaning against the wall with that impossibly calm expression, arms crossed, watching like the world had paused for his amusement.
Your chest tightened, but you squared your shoulders. “Yes,” You said clearly, deliberately loud enough for both of them to hear, “I am dating Theodore Nott.”
The color drained from his face, the clever retorts dying on his tongue. You didn’t give him a chance to recover.
Theo’s smirk sharpened, eyes flicking between you and him, silently daring him to challenge your words, to give him a reason to rearrange his sorry mug this fine morning.
You started walking, leaving your ex behind, and Theodore fell naturally into step beside you. His presence was calm, confident, infuriatingly infuriating—and comforting at the same time.
“You promised, Nott,” You murmured, your voice low and dangerous, “We’re going to make them pay.”
Theo’s grin widened, the corner of his mouth lifting into that familiar, teasing arc. “Oh, don’t worry, mia cara,” He said smoothly, eyes glinting with mischief and you felt your ears get hot, “We're gonna make them regret ever messing with you.”
Side by side, you stepped into the Great Hall. Whispers began immediately, flickering through the crowd like wildfire. And as the students’ eyes turned toward you, you realized—the game had officially begun.
The chatter of students filled the Charms classroom as you stepped inside, your nerves buzzing the way they always did when eyes might follow you. You hesitated in the doorway for a fraction too long, scanning the rows of desks. Usually, your spot was second row, left side—the place you always shared with your best friend. But now? The thought of sitting there made your stomach twist. Should you take it anyway, claim your ground, and glare if she had the audacity to join you?
Before you could decide, a warm hand brushed against the small of your back.
“Over here.” Theodore murmured, voice low but commanding. He didn’t give you room to argue, guiding you through the rows with a confidence that ignored every curious glance that followed. You ended up in the second-to-last row, his chosen territory.
You dropped your bag to the floor and slid into the seat he indicated, shooting him a quick, reluctant smile. Almost instantly, you became acutely aware of the heat of his knee brushing yours beneath the desk.
Theodore leaned back in his chair with practiced ease, stretching his arm just far enough to rest casually along the back of yours. “That’s better,” He said, deliberately louder now, his voice carrying through the classroom. His smirk deepened, “Need my girl next to me.”
The effect was immediate. The two Hufflepuff girls in front of you whipped their heads around under the pretense of adjusting their books. They tried to be subtle, glancing sideways from the corners of their eyes, but the way their shoulders pressed together and their whispers turned sharp made it obvious who they were talking about.
Theo noticed too. His smirk widened, one eyebrow arching as if to say exactly as planned.
You resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs, ducking your head instead as heat crept up your neck. Subtle was not in Theodore Nott’s vocabulary, apparently.
Your heart jumped when the door opened again and she walked in—your ex–best friend, sliding into the classroom like nothing had happened. She looked tired, as she always did on mornings like this; Charms was the earliest class on your schedule, and she never managed breakfast before dragging herself out of bed. No, instead she always smuggled in a handful of Honeydukes’ cockroach clusters, nibbling on them through class.
And sure enough, there they were, sitting in a paper bag on her desk.
Your lips curled into a knowing smirk.
How could she be so careless? She knew you better than anyone—had known every one of your tricks, your habits, your moods. She should have known you wouldn’t leave her unpunished.
You waited until Professor Flitwick had begun explaining wand movement on the board, until the room was full of the faint swish of quills and the scratching of parchment. Then, when her hand dipped into the bag, you flicked your wand under the table. A silent transfiguration. Smooth, clean, precise.
She popped the cluster into her mouth. Chewed once.
And then froze.
Her eyes widened just a fraction, and then she gagged, clapping a hand over her lips. You bit down on your own smile as, with a sharp cough, she spat onto her desk—not a melted chocolate, but a fat, wriggling cockroach that skittered across the wood.
The room erupted.
Screams, laughter, the scrape of chairs as people leapt away. Someone shouted, “Bloody hell, they’re moving!” as two more clusters in the bag twitched and burst into chittering, crawling life. Your ex-best friend shoved her desk back in panic, her face pale as the cockroaches spilled out in a wave across the floor.
You didn’t react like the rest of them, watching as chaos struck and she turned green in the face, barely able to breathe. You lifted your feet and bag from the ground, careful to avoid all the cockroaches that seemed to multiply from her bag—the replenishing charm you cast on the bag doing wonders.
Theodore didn’t even glance at the teacher; instead, his attention was entirely on you, on the way your chest rose and fell, eyes still sharp, just barely contained.
With a single fluid motion, he pulled your chair a little closer, resting your legs in his lap. You froze, breath hitching, heat crawling up your spine—but there was no time for that. The room still hummed with whispers and laughter, and you could feel every pair of eyes glancing back at the scene.
“Elegant work, sweetheart.” He murmured low, the words meant only for you. His fingers brushed lightly along your ankle, light enough to be intimate, heavy enough to claim attention.
You suddenly understood why in the olden days showing ankle was considered scandalous, judging by the set of shivers Theodore's thumb against your ankle had sent up your spine.
“Detention! For eating in class and causing this disruption! Minus ten points!” Professor Flitwick’s squeaky voice rang across the room.
You fought the grin tugging at your lips, eyes sliding back to your former best friend, who sat frozen, cheeks burning with humiliation.
Oh, poor girl.
That pitiful, shocked face only made you hate her more.
The library was quiet, the soft rustle of pages and the occasional scratch of quills filling the otherwise hushed room. You were bent over a stack of textbooks, notes scattered across the polished wooden table, eyes straining to keep focus as the afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows.
You were so absorbed in your work that you didn’t notice the shadow falling across your page. A soft, familiar warmth pressed against the back of your chair, and a low chuckle reached your ears.
“Can’t study forever, you know.” A deep voice murmured.
Before you could turn around, a pair of lips pressed gently against the top of your head. A small, contented sigh followed as Theodore rested his chin lightly on your shoulder.
“Missed you, sweetheart.” He said softly, his words meant only for you, though the air between you carried them enough for nearby students to murmur.
You froze for a heartbeat, pencil hovering mid-note, then tilted your head slightly, allowing him the small indulgence. His hand slid to rest on yours, fingers brushing against your notes, grounding you in the moment.
A few whispers floated through the library, subtle but unmistakable: “Is that…?” “Theodore Nott and—” “Wow.”
The heat rose in your cheeks, but it wasn’t embarrassment—it was the thrill of being seen with him, the quiet intimacy, the silent power you both held over anyone watching.
Especially the power it held over you.
You didn't know how he was able to touch you so intimately, pretend like you had a long history, hold you close and fake that look in his eye that made you feel like you were the center of his universe.
It was baffling.
Theodore rested his head for a moment longer before leaning back just enough to peer at your notes, “Though… you’re really focused, aren’t you? I’d almost feel guilty interrupting.”
You gave a small smile, eyes still on your parchment, “You could say that, yeah.”
He chuckled, nudging your shoulder gently with his own, “Then I’ll just keep you company… silently.”
And with that, he settled next to you, close enough that his warmth was constant, silent enough that you could still work—but every so often, he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple or brushing a strand of hair from your face.
Then you sensed movement behind you. Glancing up, you caught sight of your ex and your former best friend sneaking into the room, eyes immediately locking on you and Theodore.
They didn’t just glance—they stiffened, shoulders squared, and suddenly it was like a performance. She leaned close to him, laughing a little too loudly, brushing against him in a way that screamed look at us, we’re happy, look at what you’re missing. Your ex mirrored her, puffing out his chest and whispering something that made her giggle.
It was painfully obvious—they wanted you to see them, to feel jealous, to react.
You didn’t.
Instead, you reached up, grabbed Theodore by the collar, and pulled him down into a deliberate, teasing kiss, letting them watch the undeniable spark between you. He responded immediately, moving his hand to your waist, deepening the kiss and cupping your cheek.
But of course, they weren’t going to give up that easily. Determined to “out-do” you, they moved to the far side of the library, your ex hugging her from behind and peppering kisses to her neck as she giggled. They ducked into the alcove at the back that was notorious for students fooling around.
Theodore raised a brow, lips curling into that maddeningly flirtatious smirk, leaning to press his lips to your ear, “What do you say, love? Feel like beating them at their own game? I’m sure we’d have a better time anyway.”
You chuckled, shaking your head, trying to ignore the heat crawling up your neck.
With a subtle glance toward the librarian’s desk, you caught Madam Pince’s attention. Quietly, you waved her over, corners of your mouth tugging into a grin.
“Oh, you love it.” You murmured, still holding his hand. You pointed to the bookshelf where they were hiding, leaning back with a sly grin.
What happened next was beautiful chaos.
A shriek echoed through the library—sharp, furious, unmistakably theirs. Madam Pince’s voice rang out, shrill and indignant: “What on earth are you two doing in here?!”
You and Theodore exchanged a glance and stifled laughter as you heard her yelling, her wand flashing to confiscate their belongings, and chasing them down the aisles, half-dressed and completely humiliated.
The whispers and stares of the other students only added to the spectacle. You suppressed another laugh as you watched points being deducted from their house records, their humiliation complete.
For now.
The stands were packed, the cold wind whipping your hair around your face as you and Theo leaned against the railing, watching the match unfold below. You watched as your ex’s team began collecting points, you and Mattheo booing their every move at the top of your lungs.
“YOU CALL THAT FLYING?!” Mattheo yelled, and you cupped your hands around your mouth, “MY GRANDMA CAN FLY BETTER THAN THAT!”
You coughed—cold air and screaming taking their toll—before a scarf was gently draped around your neck. You turned in surprise to see Theodore, not even looking at you, more intent on wrapping it carefully so it covered your ears and nose without smothering your mouth. When it proved impossible, he conceded and settled for placing a warming charm on you.
You smiled bashfully, hiding your pink cheeks in the scarf, “Thank you.”
“Anytime, bella.”
“Disgusting behavior in public.” Mattheo muttered under his breath, earning a soft chuckle from you.
Everything seemed normal—until the golden blur began acting strangely.
Even for a snitch, its movements were erratic. But this was worse than usual. It seemed to purposefully avoid the opposing team, darting exclusively toward your ex’s side. The match ground to a halt as the players floated to a stop, confusion spreading across the pitch. Madam Hooch called everyone together, frowning as she tried to assess the situation.
When the groundskeepers and referees inspected the field, the truth became clear: the snitch in play wasn’t real. Someone had swapped it.
Confusion rippled through the stands as whispers grew louder.
“Where’s the real Snitch?” The head referee demanded, scanning the players.
A quick locating spell revealed it immediately—tucked neatly in your ex’s bag, as if he had accidentally carried it with him. The real snitch sat there, innocently gleaming in the sunlight, waiting to be discovered.
A collective gasp swept through the crowd. Every eye in the stadium turned to him.
Your ex’s face drained of color, hands fumbling over the bag in shock. “I—I didn’t—!” He stammered.
But the damage was already done. The spectators murmured furiously, teammates muttering accusations, and whispers of “he cheated” began circulating instantly.
Theo leaned back against the railing, smirk spreading across his face, and whispered in your ear, “Are you enjoying the show, my love?”
You bit your lip and nodded, trying not to laugh aloud, and reached for his hand under the railing, giving it a subtle squeeze. No words were needed—the humiliation was working exactly as planned.
“Due to tampering with the snitch, it’s an automatic loss for Ravenclaw—Hufflepuff wins!” Madam Hooch announced, confirming the disaster.
“Another impeccable plan. I’m impressed,” Theo murmured in your ear, voice teasing, “You make it look easy.”
The crisp Hogsmeade air nipped at your cheeks as you stepped off the train, Theodore’s hand sliding easily into yours. The village was bustling with students, their laughter echoing over the cobblestone streets, but all you could feel was the warmth of his grip and the soft pull of his presence beside you.
Theodore was actually the one to suggest that you guys spend the day together. At first, you were going to opt out, feeling bad that the last couple weeks had been revolving around you and wanting him to get some time with his friends but he insisted, saying that you couldn't spend your Hogsmeade apart or people would talk.
You couldn't argue with that.
But even then you found yourself looking forward to it.
Despite this being only a temporary arrangement with no feelings behind it, Theodore was actually great company. He was thoughtful and considerate, he liked hearing you talk and a quality people didn't really appreciate a lot was that he was hilarious.
You couldn't go five minutes without him prompting a belly laugh from you.
You paused in front of a small shop, your eyes catching a delicate necklace in the display window. A thin chain with a tiny, intricate charm glinting in the sunlight—it was beautiful. Your breath caught.
“Oh… that’s gorgeous.” You murmured, pressing your palm lightly against the glass.
Theodore leaned over, following your gaze. His eyes softened when he saw the necklace, “You like it?”
“I do… but…” Your voice trailed off as you peeked at the price tag. Your eyes widened, “but I do not love the price tag.”
The bell above the shop door jingled as you both entered. You wandered near the counter, trying to convince yourself it was just a dream. Theodore approached the shopkeeper, exchanged a few words, and before you could even process what was happening, the necklace was being handed to you in a small, neatly wrapped box.
You stared at it, then at him, “No… no, you can’t. This is way too expensive. I can’t—”
“It’s only ten Galleons.” He said, clearly perplexed by your reaction.
“Only… ten Galleons?” You repeated, your voice rising slightly in surprise, “That’s… that’s like… my entire pocket money for the next two months!”
Theodore smirked, as if your shock were the most amusing thing he’d seen all day, “Yes, and? You’re my girl. You like it, you get it. What’s the problem?”
The problem was you weren't really his girl.
So, why was he going out of his way to behave like you were? This was a question that had stayed in your head since that first night in Hogsmeade. What was he getting out of this? Why would he be so readily enthusiastic in your plan when it was clear you were the only one truly benefitting from this?
When you met his eyes again, stormy blue that looked green in some lights, the questioned died on your tongue.
Because whatever the reason, you weren't sure you wanted him to stop.
You stared at him, half in disbelief, half in awe, “You—really? You’re just… giving it to me?”
You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief as you let him fasten the necklace around your neck. The charm glinted against your chest, and the warmth of the gesture left you grinning.
When you turned to meet his eyes again, you smiled bashfully up at him before leaning in to press a soft kiss against his cheek.
Theo froze in surprise the second your lips touched his cold skin, and the sight of his startled expression made something warm bloom in your stomach.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t done more than that—in fact, in your persistence to prove to your exes that you were well past moved on, you’d taken to making out with Theo in nearly every public space Hogwarts had to offer. And if it wasn’t that, it was the way he always had an arm around you, casual and possessive, no matter where you went.
So the fact that something as small as a cheek kiss could knock him off guard made you smile. Made you feel like all the intimacy you shared wasn’t just a front. Wasn’t all fake.
“Thank you.” You whispered.
You settled cross-legged on the soft carpet of the Slytherin common room, leaning back against Theodore’s legs as he sat comfortably on the couch. His hands were busy in your hair, while his scarf lay draped across your lap. Carefully, you threaded the fringe at the end of the scarf, showing him how to braid it so he could mimic the motion on your hair.
“So then you take this left strand and bring it over—it becomes the new center strand—and then you bring the new right strand and bring it over.” You explained, feeling the occasional tug on your hair. You immediately noticed the braid slipping.
“It keeps slipping… your hair is too greasy.” He muttered, brow furrowed.
You scoffed, feigning offense, “I think you mean… smooth and silky.”
“This isn’t working.” He grumbled, letting go of your hair and starting over, separating it into three neat parts.
“Baby, this is the easiest braid ever. You’re going to faint when I teach you about a Dutch braid.” You teased, tugging gently on a strand to demonstrate.
Before he could respond, the door creaked open and Mattheo sauntered in, smirk plastered across his face. “Ohhh, what do we have here?” He drawled, “(Y/N) (L/N), Hogwarts’ first houseless student considering we never see her in her own common room, and Theodore Nott, her loyal… dog.”
He then grimaced at the sight of the two of you, “Can y’all not do this in a public space? Some of us think the sight of happy couples is enough to induce projectile vomiting.”
Theo didn’t flinch, though the corner of his mouth tugged into a small smirk. You felt a small thrill as his thumb grazed the space under your ear, leading to your neck, grounding you in the moment.
You raised a brow, voice dripping with mock menace, “You really wanna piss me off when I’m at prime height to punch you in the balls?”
Mattheo rolled his eyes and collapsed onto the couch, still grinning, “You’re coming to Theo’s birthday next Friday, right? Considering you practically live here.”
You hesitated, unsure, “I… I don’t know. I mean—”
Theo leaned over you, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “You'll be there right?” He murmured, voice low and coaxing, the simple gesture making your chest tighten, "Please?"
You bit back a smile, looking up at him, and realized there was no way you could say no—not when he asked like that.
You stepped into the Slytherin common room, barely able to hear your own thoughts over the bass that rattled the walls. It thudded deep in your chest, vibrating through your bones as you descended the staircase to the dungeons.
The room was packed, bodies moving together in a blur beneath the strobing lights, faces indistinguishable in the chaos. But your eyes found Theo instantly. He was surrounded by his friends, laughing at something Mattheo said, until his gaze landed on you.
His entire expression shifted—lit up like you were the only thing in the room. Without a second thought, he left them behind and crossed the room to meet you at the base of the stairs.
His eyes swept over your little black dress, the necklace he gifted you resting prettily on your collarbones, and his hands found their way to your waist—low, possessive, warm against the thin fabric,
"Che bella, carissima."
"Happy birthday, Theo." You murmured, your palms resting lightly against his chest.
"Grazie, dolcezza." He replied, voice low and smooth as he leaned in. His mouth met yours without hesitation, your fingers sliding into his hair. Lip gloss smudged against his skin, and the artificial taste of lollipop lippie flooded both your mouths.
If you hadn’t been so caught up in the kiss, maybe you would’ve questioned it. Why you were kissing Theo when neither your boyfriend nor your best friend was anywhere in sight. Why you were feeding into the rumor mill in the shadowy corner of the common room instead of center stage where everyone could see.
Maybe you would’ve wondered why you shaved your legs, wore the dress that made your breasts look perfect, took extra time curling your hair, and reached for the expensive perfume you saved for special occasions.
But with Theo’s fingers brushing bare skin along your spine—thanks to the low back of your dress—those thoughts didn’t stand a chance.
You pulled away, laughing softly at the sight of glittery gloss smeared across his lips. You tried to wipe it away with your thumbs, but that proved nearly impossible when he kept catching your fingers in quick kisses.
"I have a present for you." You whispered, revealing the small gift bag you’d kept tucked behind your back. Theo pressed a kiss to your temple before taking it, digging through the tissue paper until he pulled out a steel flask—cool, heavy, and etched with intricate designs like something stolen from an ancient temple.
When he felt the liquid slosh inside, he unscrewed the cap and took a sip, brows lifting in surprise when the familiar taste hit his tongue.
"I cast a replenishing spell on it," You explained, "When it runs out, it’ll refill on its own."
His lips curved in a slow smile, still holding your gaze.
"I was just thinking about that day you said you’d miss my cocoa," You added, "So…I thought you’d appreciate it."
Theo chuckled quietly, looking down at the flask with an expression you couldn’t quite read—something deeper than amusement.
"Do you…not like it?" You asked after a beat.
He shook his head immediately, "I adore it, pretty girl."
Before you could respond, Mattheo’s voice cut through the music.
"If you guys are done ASSAULTING OUR EYEBALLS—" You both rolled your eyes in perfect unison, "—IT’S TIME FOR CAKE!"
You followed the crowd toward the long table where the cake waited, candles flickering under the dim lights. You expected to melt into the group somewhere between Enzo and Blaise, but before you could even drift in that direction, Theo’s hand shot out, curling firmly around your wrist.
“Where do you think you’re going, Dolcezza?” He murmured, tugging you to stand at his side—his spot—right in front of the cake.
“Theo,” You hissed under your breath, “it’s your birthday, I should be—”
“You're exactly where you should be.” He cut you off smoothly, eyes glinting in the candlelight. His hand didn't lift from your waist, keeping you pinned to his side, the faint smell of smoke and cocoa clinging to him like a second skin.
You didn’t have time to argue before Blaise slid over, holding out a small slip of parchment and a quill, “Here you go, mate."
Your brows furrowed, “What’s this?”
Theo took the quill without hesitation, his head bending low as he scribbled something on the paper in quick, sure strokes.
“It’s an old Nott thing,” Mattheo explained, “Birthday boy writes down a wish, folds it, and keeps it with him until it comes true. You’re not supposed to tell anyone what it is.”
Theo didn’t even glance up, just folded the parchment neatly, tucking it into the inner pocket of his jacket with deliberate care.
“And you keep it on you?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you.
“Always,” Theo said simply. His gaze met yours, sharp enough to make your stomach twist, “A wish doesn’t work if you let it out too soon.”
You should’ve looked away, but there was something about the weight of his stare—like whatever he’d written down was more dangerous than anyone else in the room realized.
“Now,” Mattheo groaned, breaking the tension, “can we please sing so I can eat some damn cake?"
You laughed, but your mind was already racing, replaying the way Theo’s lips had curved just slightly when he’d sealed the parchment away.
And for the first time, you wondered if that wish had anything to do with you.
The common room was a haze of dancing bodies, flashing lights, and the faint tang of cider and punch. You’d just come back from the corridor with Theo, the warmth of his hand still lingering on your waist, when Mattheo leaned over with a mischievous grin.
“You need to try this,” He said, holding out a tall glass filled with a neon-colored drink. At the bottom, a small, bright candy rested like a hidden treasure, “It’s our latest cocktail—sweet and sour. The sweetness of the drink with the sour candy at the bottom is fucking good.”
You raised an eyebrow, examining the glass that looked radioactive, "This looks cursed."
"It's good, baby," Theo said smoothly, eyes sparkling as he handed you the glass, “You should give it a try.”
With a shrug and a laugh, you took a sip. At first, it was sweet, almost pleasant. Then your tongue hit the candy, and your eyes widened in shock. Your face scrunched up immediately.
“Oh—oh my god,” You choked out, spitting it back a little, "This is awful! I feel like I'm sucking on a lemon!"
Theo chuckled low, leaning closer, his hand brushing against yours as he reached for the glass. “Give it here.” He murmured, voice teasing.
You held the candy between your teeth, letting him tilt your head and take it into his mouth. The kiss that followed was slow, teasing, and intimate, the world around you fading as he skillfully removed the candy without breaking the connection between your lips. Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling naturally like it does whenever you kiss.
When he finally pulled back slightly, forehead resting against yours, his eyes shone with playful delight, "You're crazy," He said, swishing the candy around in his mouth, "This is delicious."
"You two are disgusting." Mattheo muttered again, shaking his head.
You’d slipped out into the quieter corridor for a moment’s reprieve. The cool dungeon air was a relief after the heat of the crowd.
You were seated on one of the stairs, catching your breath, when footsteps echoed down the hall. You didn’t turn, but the scent of Theo hit your senses the moment he draped his jacket around your shoulders and settled beside you.
“Hi.” You murmured, leaning your head down to rest on your knees, offering a small, tired smile.
“Hi. You alright?”
You nodded, “Just a little tipsy. I needed some air.”
“Oh, I know just what to do about that.” He teased, reaching into his jacket and pulling out the flask you had gifted him. You chuckled as he opened it, handing it to you, steam curling into the cold air. You took a few sips, letting the warmth spread through you.
“When I said I was going to miss your cocoa,” He began, a hint of mischief in his voice, “I didn’t mean you should give me a lifetime supply.”
Your brows furrowed, a pang of worry settling in your chest. Did he not like the present?
"I don’t want the flask if it means you won’t be around to share it with me,” He said softly, leaning closer so only you could hear, “I’ve always just wanted you."
You took a sharp inhale, your heart beginning to pound against your ribcage.
"Are—Are you being serious?"
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his pocket and held something out between two fingers—a folded slip of parchment, worn at the edges, looking as though it might crumble if handled too roughly.
You frowned, “What’s this?”
“My birthday wish from last year.” He said simply.
You blinked, “Won’t giving it to me mean it won’t come true?”
His lips curved into that maddening, calm smile, “Take a look.”
You hesitated, then unfolded the paper. The ink was slightly smudged, but the words were unmistakable:
I wish for (Y/N) to notice me.
Your stomach flipped in disbelief, “Theo…”
“I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”
The air seemed to thin around you, your pulse loud in your ears, “You… you’re serious?”
He nodded, “I’ve felt this way for a long time. I thought last year would finally be the year I made my move, but then you started dating him, and I thought I lost my chance.”
“I didn’t know you felt that way.” You whispered.
“I was ecstatic when you finally turned your attention to me that night. Not the way I wanted at first, maybe, but I was never going to let that chance get away from me.”
You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, your chest tightening with a mix of disbelief and relief. Theo’s eyes were locked on yours, calm and steady, but filled with something so raw it made your heart thrum.
Your hands trembled slightly as you reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from his face, fingers lingering at his jaw. “So… all of this—” you gestured between the two of you, “—the fake dating, the kissing, the… everything… it wasn’t just to get back at them?”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head, “No. That part was fun, I’ll admit. But it wasn’t the real reason I wanted to be close to you.” His hand slid over yours, palm warm against yours, grounding you, “I’ve wanted this… wanted you… for longer than you can imagine.”
Your heart lurched, a mixture of relief and longing flooding through you, “Theo…”
He leaned closer, forehead resting against yours, voice just above a whisper, “So, what do you say? No more pretending. No more games. Just… us.”
Something inside you broke—years of tension, uncertainty, and longing unraveling in a single heartbeat. You cupped his face in your hands, leaning into him fully, “Okay,” You breathed, “Just us.”
His grin widened, a triumphant glint in his stormy eyes, and he kissed you—slow, deep, and deliberate, every touch and press of his lips sealing the promise between you. No pretense, no lies. Just the two of you, finally, fully together.
The two of you stayed there for a while, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the distant thrum of the party fading into nothing. The world had narrowed to just you, just him, and the long-awaited start of something neither of you wanted to hide ever again.
Bonus:
Breakfast in the Great Hall felt different that morning.
You’d think that after months of this routine with Theo, another morning spent at his side wouldn’t feel so significant. But it did. Everything felt sharper, warmer. You didn’t feel like you had to prove anything anymore. You didn’t feel like you had to put on a show. The hand holding yours was hidden beneath the table, but you didn’t care if anyone saw—or if they didn’t. It didn’t matter anymore.
And yet, despite everything shifting, you and Theo were still the same—falling into that easy rhythm, voices low as you traded quiet jokes. Only now, you noticed the way it felt different. How intimate it was when Theo’s gaze lingered not just on your eyes but flickered, unconsciously, down to your lips. How he looked at you like you were the only thing in the room, even in the middle of the bustling Hall.
How had you missed all the signs before?
Theo was brushing a crumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb when the bliss cracked.
“Everyone!”
The word boomed too loud, slicing through the clatter of cutlery and low chatter. Your entire body stiffened before you even turned around. Of course. Him.
Your ex stood in the aisle, puffed up with self-importance, chest thrown back like he’d just mounted a stage. He had that smug gleam in his eyes, the kind that screamed he’d practiced this speech in the mirror ten times over.
“I think it’s time you all knew the truth about Theodore Nott and (Y/N) (L/N).” He announced, every syllable dripping with fake triumph. He cut a sharp look at you, then Theo, then back to the sea of students now staring.
The Hall quieted, curiosity winning out. Even the Gryffindors craned their necks, waiting for drama.
“They’ve only been pretending to date,” He declared, letting the word hang in the air, “To make me jealous.”
His voice swelled with self-satisfaction, like he’d just solved some grand mystery.
Your hand tightened around Theo's.
“You don’t have to keep pretending just to get back at me. I get it. I was angry too when we ended, but—” He paused, putting on his most magnanimous smile, “I’ll forgive you. I’ll take you back.”
The silence that followed was… brutal. Half a beat too long.
Slowly, you let your gaze drift—not at him, but across the Hall, to where his so-called new love sat, her expression crumbling as her boyfriend publicly begged for you.
A smirk ghosted across your lips, satisfaction unfurling in your chest. I warned her, you thought. You told her he’d betray her the same way he’d betrayed you. You’d just assumed he’d run to someone new. But no—he’d come crawling right back. Pathetic. Maybe you really were just too good to forget.
A ripple of laughter broke out along the Gryffindor table. Somewhere down the line, a Ravenclaw girl snorted so hard pumpkin juice sprayed out of her nose. Even some of the Slytherins traded incredulous looks, smirks curling as if to say, is he serious?
"He has officially lost the plot." Someone muttered loud enough for half the Hall to hear. Someone else chortled in response.
Your ex’s confident smile faltered.
Blaise Zabini leaned lazily on his elbows, his voice carrying just enough to cut through the hush. “Pretending?” He gestured toward you and Theo with a casual flick of his hand. “Mate, the whole castle’s been gagging on their PDA for months.”
Someone else piped up, "Yeah. If that’s pretend, then they deserve Oscars. The way he looks at her—like she’s the only thing in the world—you’d have to be blind to miss it.”
You chuckled, dropping your gaze from the pathetic sight in front of you and turned back to your current boyfriend, who only smirked at you, though you could see the tenderness that lay underneath, "See? Everyone else could see I was gone for you before you did."
Bonus bonus: (Ten years later)
The day you first kissed Theodore Nott was arguably one of the worst days of your life, despite all the good that eventually came from it. The betrayal of seeing the person you loved cheat on you with your best friend was a wound so deep it had reshaped you.
Theo had always claimed he was glad he’d never experienced anything like it. Until the same thing happened to him.
“This is killing me,” He muttered, pacing the length of your shared bedroom like a man awaiting his execution. His hands dragged through his hair, his voice raw, “I hope you know that.”
Your throat tightened, but you forced an eyeroll, masking your sympathy with irritation, “Theo, it’s not that big of a deal. Will you stop getting your knickers twisted?”
He whirled on you, eyes blazing. “Not a big deal? Not a big—” He broke off, laughing bitterly, “You were so betrayed when this happened to you that you practically tore their lives apart. And now you expect me to just—what? Pretend I’m fine?”
You scoffed, folding your arms, “We are not comparing the biggest betrayal of my life with your daughter having a crush on Mattheo.”
The air went still.
Theo staggered back a step, like you’d struck him. His face twisted in horror as his hand clutched his chest. “Don’t say it out loud.” He croaked, his voice breaking.
He looked genuinely wounded, muttering under his breath as though mourning a death, “I raised her better than this…She used to want to marry me!”
Before you could roll your eyes again, the shrill ding-dong of the doorbell cut through the tension.
Theo froze mid-step, every muscle in his body going taut. Slowly, his head turned toward the door like a man staring down a firing squad.
And then—
“HE’S HERE!”
Your three-year-old's shriek echoed down the hall, followed by the thunder of little feet pounding against the floorboards. She practically skidded into the foyer, hair wild, socks sliding on the wood as she lunged for the door.
“Bianca, you know you're not allowed to open the door without us!” Theo barked, but it was too late.
The door swung wide.
Mattheo Riddle stood there, casual, self-assured, hands shoved in his pockets. A faint, rakish smirk tugged at his lips. With the leather jacket and helmet under his arm, it was easy to see why your daughter was utterly smitten. Had you not known the fool he was during school, you might have been just as captivated.
“Hi.” He drawled, eyes immediately landing on his god-daughter.
“UNCLE MATTHEO!” Bianca squealed, launching herself into his arms without hesitation. He caught her with practiced ease, lifting and spinning her once before settling her on his hip.
Mattheo shifted her higher onto his hip, grinning like he owned the place, “And who’s my favorite girl?”
“Me!” She squealed, giggling as she buried her face into his shoulder.
Theo’s jaw clenched so tight you swore you heard it crack. His knuckles whitened at his sides, and he took one menacing step forward like he was about to snatch his daughter back by force.
Mattheo, utterly unbothered, tilted his head, smirk widening. “I see someone’s cranky.” He teased lightly, holding Bianca closer with a teasing flourish.
"(Y/N) did not go through 14 hours of aggravating labour for this horrendous display."
“Now you know how I felt all those years back at Hogwarts, watching you two glued to each other’s lips like a bad romance novel.”
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