haikyuu is cool because you go and read things like "talent is something you make bloom, instinct is something you polish" "because people don't have wings we look for others way to fly" "today you are the defeated. what will you become tomorrow?" "we are the protagonists of the world" "and if you get really really good, someone even better will come and find you". and you read about how like. kageyama was learning to love again after it was ripped away from him and hinata was learning that he could jump high enough to become the sun itself and oikawa and ushijima and atsumu and kuroo and everyone else were all learning and trying and living with the hopes of becoming something greater than they ever could have dreamed but that something greater wasn't about winning it all it was about how they were so intricately tied that they will forever be part of the same path no matter how many times it splits and it's THE reason they are able to keep moving forward no matter what they may face. and then you're just expected to continue your life afterwards like nothing HAPPENED.
why go to the grocery store or to a restaurant when you can just get food delivered why go to the mall when you can get same day shipping on amazon why go to the library when you have kindle why make art when there’s ai why go to the cinema when you can stay at home and watch netflix. we are in a loneliness epidemic btw
Summary: How is Cedric meant to ask you out on a date when he keeps getting interrupted by your tornado of siblings?
A/N: This was way longer than I expected it to be
Growing up a Weasley meant you always had someone looking out for you.
It also meant you always had to look out for your family.
When you were very little, you didn’t remember being spoiled the way your brothers claimed you had been. That must have happened when you were still a baby—when your mother finally held her long-awaited daughter in her arms after three boys.
But only a year later, she was blessed again with twins. And suddenly, there were two more mouths to feed, two more babies to soothe, two more crying voices in a house that already never seemed to quiet down.
It wasn’t surprising that somewhere in all that chaos, you slipped through the cracks.
Not completely. Never completely.
Your parents loved you—of course they did. You never doubted that. But love, you would come to learn, didn’t always mean attention. And attention was something that had to be divided carefully in a family as large as yours.
But you didn’t grow up alone.
Not really.
Because where your parents were stretched thin, your brothers filled in the gaps.
Bill.
Charlie.
Percy.
But especially Charlie.
Charlie had been the one to carry you around the Burrow as if you weighed nothing, settling you on his hip while he did chores, letting you tug at his hair as he laughed and pretended to complain. He was the one who taught you how to climb trees, who patched up your scraped knees, who tied your shoelaces, who read to you when your mother was too tired to finish the story herself.
He liked to joke that you were more his child than your parents’, considering how much he had done to raise you.
So when Charlie first left for Hogwarts, leaving you home with Percy as the only older sibling, you cried.
And cried.
And cried.
For weeks.
Both Charlie and Bill had to send you letters almost every day just to soothe you, but even then you still missed them terribly.
And then the day came when you were old enough to join them.
The platform was loud in the way only Platform Nine and Three-Quarters could be, full of overlapping voices and rushing footsteps and the sharp whistle of the train cutting through it all. Trunks rattled over uneven stone, owls hooted impatiently from their cages, and somewhere behind you, your mother was still fussing over whether you had packed enough socks.
It was overwhelming, but not in a bad way—not yet. Not when you were surrounded on all sides by your family, by the familiar press of bodies and voices that had always meant safety. You stayed close to your brothers, close enough that your sleeve brushed Charlie’s every few steps, just in case.
“Alright,” Bill said at last, sliding open the door to an empty compartment with an ease that made it seem like he’d done it a hundred times before, “In you go.”
Before you could protest, Percy was already lifting your trunk onto the rack with careful precision, muttering something under his breath about proper placement and weight distribution, while Bill adjusted your smaller bags so they sat neatly in the corner.
Charlie nudged your shoulder gently, guiding you inside, but you lingered near the doorway for a moment instead of sitting, suddenly unsure of what to do with yourself now that everything had become real.
You watched as Bill brushed his hands together in satisfaction and Percy gave a small, approving nod, as though everything was exactly as it should be.
You hovered in the doorway instead.
“…Can’t I just come with you?” You asked, quieter than you meant to, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the compartment door.
Bill glanced at Percy, then back at you, and something in his expression softened immediately. He reached out without hesitation, ruffling your hair in a way that was more fond than teasing, even if it left a few strands sticking up at odd angles.
“If you stick with us like that,” He said gently, “you’ll never make your own friends.”
You frowned faintly, not quite convinced, your gaze dropping for a second before flicking back up.
“It’s only for the ride,” Percy added, adjusting his sleeves as he straightened, already half-turned toward the corridor, “We'll meet you back at the castle.”
They lingered only a moment longer before stepping back into the corridor, already being pulled away by the movement of students and the rising noise as departure drew closer. You moved to follow them instinctively, your body shifting forward before you caught yourself at the doorway, fingers curling slightly against the frame as their voices faded into the general hum.
Charlie hadn’t left.
He stood just outside the compartment, watching you in that quiet, knowing way of his, like he could see straight through the brave face you were trying to hold together. For a moment, neither of you spoke, and then something in his expression shifted—something softer, more certain—as he stepped back inside and slid the door shut behind him, shutting out the corridor noise just enough to make the space feel smaller, steadier.
“I’ll be right down the train,” He said, nodding toward the direction Bill and Percy had gone, “Third compartment on the left, I think.”
“If you get lonely,” He continued, crouching slightly so he was closer to your eye level, his voice lowering just enough to feel like it was meant only for you, “or if anything happens—anything at all—you come find me. Yeah?”
You nodded, the tight feeling in your chest easing just a little.
“Alright.” You murmured.
Charlie smiled then, softer than before, and leaned forward to press a quick kiss to the top of your head. It was such a familiar gesture that it grounded you instantly, made everything feel just a little less uncertain, a little less overwhelming.
“See you in a bit.” He said.
And then he was gone too.
The door slid shut behind him with a soft click, and just like that, the noise of the corridor dulled into something distant, muffled by the glass and wood of the compartment. For a moment, you just stood there, staring at the empty seat across from you, listening to the low rumble of the train as it finally began to move.
It felt strange, suddenly.
Too quiet.
You sat down slowly, smoothing your hands over your skirt more out of habit than anything else, your gaze drifting toward the window as the platform began to slip away. Families waved from outside, figures blurring together as the train picked up speed, and for a brief second, you caught sight of your mother’s bright hair among the crowd before it disappeared entirely.
Students passed by in groups, laughing and talking, already settled into friendships you hadn’t had the chance to form yet, their voices carrying faintly through the compartment door. Every now and then, someone would glance in, hesitate, and then move on.
For a moment, you considered getting up.
Going after Charlie.
He said you could.
But Bill’s words lingered, stubborn and unshakable.
You’ll never make your own friends.
You were still turning that thought over in your mind when the compartment door slid open.
You looked up quickly, your attention snapping toward the sound as a boy about your age stood in the doorway, one hand still resting on the handle as he glanced around the compartment.
“Is this seat taken?” He asked.
You shook your head almost immediately. “No—no, it’s not.”
“Good,” He said with a small, easy smile, stepping inside and sliding the door shut behind him before taking the seat across from you, “Every other compartment seems to be full already.”
You nodded, your fingers curling slightly in your lap as you tried to think of something else to say, aware of that familiar flicker of uncertainty beginning to creep in at the edges. For a moment, the silence stretched just a little too long—
Then he leaned forward slightly, resting his arms against his knees, closing the distance just enough to make it feel less awkward instead of more.
“I’m Cedric." He offered.
You gave your name in return, a little quieter at first, but steadier than you expected, and something in his expression brightened slightly, like he was pleased you’d said it.
“First year?” He asked.
You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips, “You too?”
“Yeah.” He glanced out the window briefly before looking back at you, “Do you know what house you want to be in?”
You hesitated, then shrugged lightly. “My brothers are all in Gryffindor,” You said, as if that explained anything at all, “So… maybe that one.”
Cedric huffed a quiet laugh at that, not unkind, just amused. “My dad was in Hufflepuff,” He said, “So I think I’ll probably end up there. Though—” his mouth tilted slightly as he glanced at you again, “—Gryffindor doesn’t sound too bad now.”
Whether he meant anything by it or not didn’t really matter.
You felt warmth creep up your face anyway.
The conversation came easier after that, settling into something simple and steady. You talked about classes you thought might be interesting—Transfiguration, maybe, or Charms—and the ones you were a little nervous about.
He admitted he wasn’t sure how he felt about Potions, and you told him you thought it sounded exciting, though your brothers had warned you about the professor being a troll. You weren’t entirely sure if they meant that literally or not, and the way Cedric laughed at that—genuine and a little surprised—made something in your chest loosen.
At some point, he excused himself briefly, returning a few minutes later with snacks in hand, setting a Chocolate Frog carefully on the seat between you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“For you.” He said simply.
You blinked at it, a little startled, “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” He replied with a small shrug, “I wanted to.”
There wasn’t anything grand about it, no expectation behind the gesture, and somehow that made it easier to accept.
“Thank you.” You said, a small smile forming as you picked it up.
You opened the box carefully, peeling back the flap and catching the chocolate frog just before it could leap free, your attention shifting to the card tucked inside. Cedric leaned forward slightly, curiosity lighting his expression.
“Who’d you get?” He asked.
You glanced down at it, then back up at him, “Merlin.”
You looked back at the card, then held it out toward him without much thought, “Do you want it?”
He blinked, clearly caught off guard, “What? No—are you sure? You should keep it.”
You shrugged lightly, a small, easy motion, “You seem way more interested in it than I am.”
For a moment, he just stared at you, like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, before slowly reaching out and taking the card, something softer settling into his expression.
“Thanks.” He said, quieter this time.
By the time the train finally slowed, the sky had already begun to darken, the last traces of daylight fading into something softer, quieter, as students poured out onto the platform in a rush of movement and chatter. You stayed close to Cedric as you stepped down, not quite thinking about it, just following the steady presence beside you as a large voice called out for first years to gather.
The boat ride felt like something out of a story.
Lantern light flickered against the dark surface of the lake, reflecting in ripples as the small boats carried you across the water, the castle rising ahead of you in a way that made your breath catch without meaning to. It was enormous—far bigger than anything your brothers had ever managed to describe properly—and for a moment, everything else fell away.
You barely noticed how close you and Cedric were sitting until your shoulder brushed his again, the same way it had with Charlie earlier, only this time it didn’t feel like something you needed for reassurance.
Neither of you said much, but you didn’t really need to.
By the time you reached the castle, the noise returned all at once—footsteps echoing through stone corridors, voices bouncing off high ceilings, the shuffle of robes and the occasional nervous laugh breaking through the tension. You followed the line of students into the Great Hall, your gaze lifting almost immediately to the enchanted ceiling above, stars scattered across it like something impossibly real.
It was beautiful.
And overwhelming.
You barely had time to take it all in before the sorting began.
Names were called one by one, each student stepping forward to sit on the stool as the hat decided their place, the hall erupting into cheers with every announcement.
You stood among them, hands clasped tightly together, your attention flickering between the sorting stool and the tables, searching instinctively for familiar faces. It didn’t take long to find them—Bill sitting tall and relaxed, Percy already watching with keen focus, and Charlie leaning forward slightly, his attention fixed on you, giving you a little wave and a thumbs up when you caught his gaze.
You found yourself watching more than listening, your attention drifting until—
"Cedric Diggory."
Cedric stepped forward, looking just a little more serious than he had on the train, though there was still something steady about him, something calm as he sat on the stool and the hat was placed on his head. For a brief second, the hall went quiet.
Then—
“Hufflepuff!”
The table to your right erupted into applause, loud and warm, and you felt yourself smiling without thinking, clapping along as Cedric pulled the hat off and stood. He glanced toward the crowd as he stepped down, scanning faces quickly—
And then he found you.
He smiled, bright and easy, lifting his hand in a small wave in your direction, like it was the most natural thing in the world to look for you in a room full of people.
You smiled back, returning the gesture without hesitation, something light settling in your chest.
Then he turned, heading toward his table, swallowed up by the group that welcomed him in.
The ceremony continued.
Until—
Your name.
It rang out across the hall, louder than you expected, and for a second, everything inside you seemed to go very, very still.
The walk to the stool felt longer than it should have, your footsteps echoing faintly in your ears as you climbed up and sat down, your hands curling slightly into the fabric of your robes. The hat was placed over your head, slipping down just enough to shadow your vision, and for a second, there was nothing but darkness and the sound of your own heartbeat.
It didn’t take long.
“Gryffindor!”
The word echoed, followed immediately by a burst of cheers from the table to your left, loud and familiar and impossible to mistake.
Relief hit you first.
Then something warmer.
You barely had time to take the hat off before you were being pulled forward, laughter and voices overlapping as you reached the table.
“There she is!”
“About time!”
“Another one for Gryffindor—brilliant!”
Percy clapped for you as you joined the table, patting your shoulder with pride, Bill ruffled your hair before pressing a quick peck to the top of your head and Charlie enveloped you into a tight hug. You laughed, a little breathless, the sound spilling out of you before you could stop it as they crowded around you, hands on your shoulders, your back, your hair—solid, familiar, overwhelming in the best way.
You settled into your seat, still adjusting to the new rhythm of the hall. Plates of food appeared with little fanfare, but everything seemed bigger, brighter, and somehow both familiar and completely new at the same time.
You barely noticed when a familiar blond head turned toward the Gryffindor table again—Cedric, scanning for a glimpse of you before diving into his own group. You caught his eye just long enough to exchange a quick, almost shy smile.
You were just leaving the Great Hall on your way to class when you heard your name.
You slowed slightly, glancing over your shoulder just as someone stepped out of the stream of students moving past you.
Cedric Diggory.
You recognized him immediately, of course. You always did. Not because you sought him out, but because he was noticeable. There was hardly a girl in Hogwarts that didn't know of the Golden Boy Cedric Diggory.
You knew him, in the way that came from shared moments rather than shared time—train rides years ago, the occasional passing conversation, a familiarity that never quite developed into friendship but lingered comfortably in between.
He offered you a small, polite smile when you stopped.
“Hi.” He said when he reached you, slowing his pace to match yours as the two of you fell into step almost without thinking.
“Hi,” You returned, a small flicker of curiosity settling in as you glanced at him, “Everything alright?”
“Yeah—yeah, I just…” He huffed a quiet breath, one hand lifting briefly to the back of his neck in a gesture that almost looked like nerves, though it didn’t quite fit him.
“I was wondering if you’d—well, if you needed a partner for Herbology. Professor Sprout mentioned we’d be pairing up for the next assignment, and I thought…” He trailed off slightly, then smiled, a little more certain this time, “I thought I’d ask before it got chaotic.”
For a second, you just looked at him.
Not because the question was strange—it wasn’t—but because it caught you slightly off guard. You weren’t usually the person people sought out first, not for things like that, and there was something about the way he asked—straightforward, but careful—that made it difficult to respond immediately.
“I—um,” You started, the beginning of an answer forming—
And then you heard it.
Your name.
Again.
This time, it was not calm or measured or easy to miss.
It was strained, uneven, pulled tight with something dangerously close to panic.
You turned instinctively, your attention snapping toward the sound just in time to see Ron pushing his way through the corridor toward you, his face red, eyes glassy, shoulders tense like he was barely holding himself together.
He didn’t even slow down when he reached you—didn’t say anything at all, really—just collided into you with enough force to make you take a half-step back as his arms wrapped around you, his face burying itself into your shoulder.
And then he broke.
Not quietly, not subtly—full, shaking sobs that made his grip tighten as if letting go wasn’t an option.
Any trace of hesitation vanished instantly.
Your entire focus shifted without a second thought, your arms coming up around him automatically as you steadied him, one hand moving to the back of his head in a familiar, grounding gesture.
“Hey—hey, what’s wrong?” You asked softly, your voice dropping into something calmer, gentler, the kind of tone you’d used a hundred times before without even realizing it.
He tried to answer.
“I—she—she sent—” He tried, his voice thick and uneven.
Your brow furrowed slightly, “Slow down, I can’t understand you.”
“A—Howler—” He finally managed, the word coming out in a miserable wail.
And then it clicked.
Of course.
Despite yourself, you glanced up briefly, meeting Cedric’s gaze for just a second, and there was something shared there—understanding, a flicker of quiet amusement that neither of you voiced but both clearly felt.
You looked back down at Ron, your expression softening again as you reached up to wipe at his cheeks, brushing away tears that didn’t seem to stop coming.
“Well,” You said gently, not unkindly, “you did steal and then wreck our car. I don’t think you could’ve expected to get off with only a warning.”
That did not help.
If anything, it made him cling tighter, his voice muffled as he groaned into your shoulder, mortified all over again.
“She didn’t have to do it in front of everyone,” He mumbled, the words thick and miserable, “It was so humiliating—everyone was looking at me—”
“I know,” You murmured, softer this time, shifting slightly so you could look at him properly, your hands steady as you wiped the rest of his tears away with your thumbs. “I know. That part wasn’t very nice.”
He sniffed, shoulders still trembling, but the worst of it seemed to be passing now, the sharp edge of it dulling into something more manageable under the familiarity of your voice, your presence.
You hesitated for half a second, then smiled just a little.
“Come on,” You said, tilting your head toward the corridor, “Let’s go to the kitchens. I think you deserve something after that.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, still blotchy and miserable, but already softening at the suggestion.
“Okay.” He muttered, nodding slightly.
You gave his shoulder a small squeeze before straightening, your hand lingering briefly at the back of his arm. Then, as you turned to leave with him, you glanced back at Cedric, your expression apologetic as you mouthed a silent sorry.
He just shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in quiet amusement, like he had expected something along these lines from the moment your brother appeared.
“It’s fine,” He said lightly, though you were already half-turned away, “We’ll figure it out later.”
Professor Sprout, in the end, did assign partners.
Efficiently, without hesitation, and with absolutely no regard for any quiet arrangements that might have been attempted beforehand. By the time you arrived for the lesson, names were already being called, pairs already being formed, and whatever Cedric had been hoping for dissolved into something unspoken and irrelevant before either of you had the chance to bring it up again.
You ended up with someone from your house—pleasant enough, focused, not particularly talkative—and the lesson passed without incident.
Still, you noticed.
Not in any obvious way, not in a way that lingered too long, but just enough to register the brief glance Cedric gave you from across the greenhouse when the pairings were announced, the small, almost amused exhale that followed before he turned his attention back to his own partner.
It wasn’t disappointment, exactly.
Just something that could have been something else.
And then it passed.
Or at least, it should have.
A few days later, you found yourself alone again—or as alone as one could be in a castle like Hogwarts—standing just outside one of the quieter corridors near the courtyard, adjusting the strap of your bag as you mentally sorted through the next part of your day.
The air was cooler there, the noise of passing students softened by distance, and for a moment, it felt like a pause between everything else.
“Hey.”
Cedric stood a few steps away, hands tucked loosely into his pockets, his expression easy but just slightly more deliberate than usual, like he had made the decision to be there rather than simply ending up there by chance.
“Hi.” You said, a hint of recognition slipping into your tone now, something warmer than before.
He stepped a little closer, glancing briefly down the corridor before looking back at you. “I was going to ask—” He started, then paused, as if reconsidering his wording, “Did you understand the last bit of the Transfiguration homework? The part about switching incantations mid-cast. I was looking over it earlier and—”
It was a better excuse this time.
Though you were questioning why Golden Boy was asking you instead of literally anyone else. It wasn't like he had a shortage of people who were willing to give an arm and a leg to help him.
You opened your mouth to answer, already shifting into the conversation—
And then—
"(Y/N)!"
The voice was sharp, urgent, and far too familiar.
You turned immediately, your attention snapping toward the sound just as Ginny appeared at the end of the corridor, her steps quick and uneven, her expression caught somewhere between panic and embarrassment in a way that made your stomach drop before she even reached you.
With her bright red hair half-falling loose from its tie, her Gryffindor robes swaying around her, and the deep flush spreading across her face, she looked—rather unhelpfully—like a blur of red rushing straight toward you.
She didn’t slow down.
“Can I talk to you?” She blurted the second she was close enough, her voice lowered but no less frantic for it, her hands hovering awkwardly at her sides like she didn’t know what to do with them.
You didn’t even think about it.
“Of course,” You said instantly, your tone shifting the same way it always did, steady and grounding as you stepped toward her, your focus narrowing completely, “What’s wrong?”
Ginny glanced briefly past you—just enough to notice Cedric standing there—before leaning in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that still carried urgency, "In private."
Your eyes racked over her body before they landed on the jacket that she had tied around her waist.
“Oh.” You said softly, not startled, not alarmed—just calm. Understanding. Immediate.
Ginny’s hands clenched slightly at the fabric of her sleeves. “I didn’t know—it just—I don’t know what to do.” She rushed out, her words tumbling over each other now that she’d started, the embarrassment catching up with her all at once.
“It’s okay,” You said quickly, reaching out to steady her, your voice lowering just enough to keep it between the two of you, “It’s alright, Gin. It happens.”
She shook her head, mortified, "A boy from Ravenclaw saw—I'm so embarrassed."
“I’ve got you,” You interrupted gently, already guiding her to turn slightly, positioning yourself just enough to shield her from the open corridor without making it obvious, “Don’t worry about it, okay? We’ll fix it.”
Behind you, Cedric hadn’t moved.
Hadn’t interrupted.
But you were aware of him in that distant way you became aware of anything you had to leave unfinished, the conversation that had barely begun already slipping out of reach.
You glanced back at him briefly, just enough to catch his eye, your expression apologetic in a way that felt almost familiar now.
He didn’t even look surprised.
If anything, there was something faintly amused in the way he exhaled, the smallest shake of his head following like he’d already accepted how this was going to go.
“Go,” He said lightly, one corner of his mouth lifting, “I think this might be more important than Transfiguration.”
You let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh under different circumstances, nodding once in thanks before turning your attention fully back to Ginny, your hand settling at her arm in a reassuring squeeze.
“Come on,” you murmured, already guiding her down the corridor, your voice soft but certain. “We’ll go to the dormitories first, alright? I’ll help you.”
She nodded quickly, still flustered but clearly relieved, her steps falling into place beside yours as you led her away.
You gave one last glance to Cedric, "I can ask Percy to share some of his notes with you?"
He nodded, a smile on his face.
He didn't really have the heart to tell you that the homework was already complete.
By the time the castle began to settle again, you didn’t feel like celebrating.
Everyone else did.
The relief had come quickly, spreading through the corridors like wildfire the moment the truth was out—Ginny was safe, Ron was safe, the attacks were over, and whatever had been lurking in the shadows of Hogwarts had finally been dealt with.
There was laughter again, louder than before, conversations filled with retellings and exaggerations and a kind of excitement that only came from surviving something no one had fully understood in the first place.
You couldn’t quite bring yourself to join in.
Because every time someone said her name—every time someone mentioned what had happened, what she had gone through, what she had almost—
All you could think was:
You hadn’t known.
Not once.
Not when she was quieter than usual, not when she seemed distracted, not when something in her felt… off. You had been there. Right there. Watching, talking, helping with everything that didn’t matter—
And somehow you missed the one thing that did.
So instead of staying in the common room, instead of letting yourself be pulled into the relief of it all, you slipped away.
Down familiar corridors, past the places you knew wouldn’t be crowded, until you reached the kitchens. It wasn’t long before you found yourself sitting at the long wooden table with a mug of hot chocolate cradled between your hands, the warmth of it seeping into your skin in a way that should have been comforting.
It wasn’t.
You stared down into it instead, watching the faint swirl of steam rise and disappear, your grip tightening slightly around the ceramic as everything you’d been holding back finally began to surface.
It was stupid, really.
Your siblings were safe.
That was all that should have mattered.
And it did—of course it did—but it didn’t erase the rest of it, didn’t quiet the heavy, twisting feeling sitting in your chest, the one that kept circling back to the same thought over and over again.
You should've noticed. You should've known.
Your vision blurred before you realized you were crying, the first tear slipping down before you had the chance to stop it, followed by another, and then another until it became harder to pretend you were in control of it.
You ducked your head slightly, one hand coming up to press against your eyes as if that might be enough to hold it back.
You were her older sister.
That was supposed to mean something.
It was supposed to mean you noticed when things were wrong.
It was supposed to mean she came to you.
Like how you would go to your older brothers.
The sound of the door opening barely registered at first, slipping into the background of everything else, until the faint shift in the room—the subtle change in movement, in presence—pulled your attention up just enough to break through your thoughts.
You didn’t look up immediately.
Not until they stopped near your table.
“Hey.”
The voice was familiar.
You blinked, the world coming back into focus in slow pieces as you lifted your head, your eyes landing on Cedric where he stood a few steps away, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it, something careful in the way he looked at you like he already knew he’d found you at a bad moment.
For a second, neither of you said anything.
Then you let out a quiet breath that didn’t quite steady, your gaze dropping back down to your mug as your fingers tightened slightly around it.
“Hi.” You managed, your voice quieter than usual, roughened at the edges in a way you didn’t bother trying to hide.
He didn’t ask to sit.
He just did, pulling out the chair across from you with a quiet scrape and lowering himself into it like he intended to stay this time, like he wasn’t going to be interrupted or pulled away or left with half a conversation again.
“I didn’t see you at dinner.” He said after a moment, not accusing, not even questioning—just stating it gently, like an opening rather than a demand.
You huffed a soft, humorless breath at that, your lips pressing together briefly as you shook your head.
“I wasn’t hungry.” You said, which wasn’t entirely untrue.
Silence settled again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Cedric didn’t rush to fill it, didn’t push, didn’t try to steer you anywhere you weren’t ready to go. He just sat there, patient in a way that made it easier to exist in the quiet rather than feel like you had to escape it.
And somehow, that made it harder to hold everything in.
“I just—” you started, then stopped, your grip tightening slightly around the mug as your gaze fixed somewhere just past it. “I feel like such a bad older sister.”
The words came out quieter than you expected, but once they were there, they didn’t stop.
“I had no idea,” You continued, your voice wavering just enough to give you away, “I didn’t know she was struggling like that, I didn’t know she wasn’t talking to anyone, I didn’t—”
You swallowed, blinking quickly as the pressure behind your eyes built again, “She had to turn to some stupid, sentient journal with the conscience of the bloody dark lord to talk about things. About feelings. About boys.”
"Your her sister. Not a mind reader. Ginny knows how much you love her. No one expects you to know what's going on with your siblings all the time."
You didn’t respond right away.
Your gaze dropped again, your thoughts shifting, not gone—not fixed—but nudged, just slightly, out of the spiral they’d been stuck in.
After a moment, your shoulders sank just a fraction, some of the tension easing in a way you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.
“I still should’ve been better.” You murmured.
“She’s okay now,” He added after a moment, "That's all that matters."
The hospital wing smelled faintly of disinfectant and something sweet, probably from Madam Pomfrey’s constant efforts to make it more welcoming. The low hum of worry and whispered conversation filled the air, punctuated by the occasional clatter of a tray or the soft footfalls of nurses.
Harry lay in bed, pale and bruised, one arm still in a sling and a bandage running along the back of his head. His eyes were closed when you entered with Ron and Hermione, though you could see the tightness around his jaw even from a distance, the way his body refused to fully relax.
Cedric was already there, standing near the foot of the bed, hands loosely clasped in front of him. His expression was a mixture of concern and that quiet, composed kindness that seemed to follow him everywhere. The rest of the Quidditch team lingered nearby, some leaning against walls, others sitting on chairs, their chatter subdued in the presence of the hospital wing’s calm authority.
You made your way forward, letting your eyes meet Cedric’s briefly. There was an unspoken acknowledgment there, a quiet thread of familiarity that had been building for years—the kind that didn’t need words. He smiled softly, and you returned it with one of your own, both of you sharing a moment of warmth amidst the tension.
“I—uh—how are you feeling?” Cedric asked, stepping slightly closer to Harry’s bedside. His voice was gentle, careful, like he was trying to tread without adding any more worry.
Harry groaned softly, opening one eye, but his voice came out a little hoarse, “I fell off my broom. I think that says it all.”
Cedric’s expression tightened just a little, a flicker of guilt crossing his features, though he quickly masked it with his usual calm demeanor. He glanced at Oliver, who was hovering nearby, arms crossed, and then back at Harry.
"The dementors clearly interfered with the game, Hufflepuff has agreed to a rematch."
“No,” Oliver said flatly, “Hufflepuff won fair and square, we refuse.”
Cedric’s shoulders slumped fractionally, but he kept his gaze on Harry. When his eyes flicked toward you, though, there was a quiet softness there, a flicker of amusement and admiration all at once. You smiled at him, a small, fond curve of your lips. He looked so earnest, so sweet, offering a rematch even though he’d been the one to win.
“Don’t worry about it.” You murmured under your breath, letting the warmth in your smile reach him.
Then, inevitably, the calm shattered.
Fred and George, never ones to miss an opportunity, had clearly been lingering nearby, and their grins were impossible to miss even from across the room. “Oi, Harry,” George called softly, leaning against the wall, “you saw the Grim in Divination, didn’t you? That’s never good…”
“Yeah!” George added, elbowing him lightly, “Better start making friends in the afterlife! Any last words, mate?”
Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. Ron’s jaw tightened, though he didn’t speak. Harry’s eyes were already narrowing, more in irritation than fear, though there was a small twitch in his shoulder that betrayed his nerves.
You didn’t even pause. “Forge!” You snapped, your voice cutting through the murmurs like a whip. Both twins froze mid-smirk, turning toward you, and for a moment, the entire room seemed to hold its breath.
Fred and George exchanged a glance, then slowly sank back, their amusement dampened under your gaze. They muttered under their breath but said nothing more, clearly smart enough to know the game was up—for now.
Cedric blinked at you, clearly caught off guard, and then tilted his head slightly, one brow raised in curiosity.
“Forge?” He asked quietly, amusement lacing his tone.
“With the amount of trouble these two get into,” You sighed, “it’s easier just to call them by one name.”
The courtyard was quieter than usual.
Not empty—Hogwarts was never truly empty—but quieter in the way it always was toward the end of the year. Most students were either shut away in their common rooms or the library, scrambling to finish the assignments they had put off for far too long, or sprawled outside, taking advantage of the rare stretch of warm sunlight.
Students lingered in smaller groups, scattered across benches and steps, their voices softer, their conversations unhurried. The air had finally warmed, sunlight spilling over the stone and settling into something almost comfortable.
You sat on the low wall near the fountain, one leg tucked slightly beneath you, your bag resting at your side as you absently traced your finger along the edge of your sleeve.
Cedric stood nearby at first, lingering just long enough to make it seem unintentional before—after a moment’s hesitation—he sat beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost brushed.
“Done with everything?” He asked, glancing over at you.
“Mostly,” You said, exhaling softly, “I think I’ve got one more essay left for Transfiguration, but I’m pretending it doesn’t exist for now.”
He huffed a quiet laugh at that, his head dipping slightly, “That’s probably for the best.”
A small silence followed and you tilted your head slightly, glancing at him, “What about you?”
“Finished.” He said, though there was a faint hesitation behind it, like his attention wasn’t fully on the answer. His fingers tapped lightly against his knee, once, twice—restless in a way you didn’t usually see from him.
“…Everything alright?” You asked, softer now, your gaze lingering on him just a second longer.
Cedric let out a breath, something shifting in his expression—something more uncertain than you were used to. He glanced at you, then away again, like he was trying to find the right words.
“Yeah, I just—” He started, then stopped, his hand lifting briefly to the back of his neck.
“I was wondering if you—” He tried again, his voice quieter now, more deliberate, “if you might want to—”
“Miss Weasley.”
The voice cut cleanly through the moment.
You both turned immediately.
Professor McGonagall stood a few steps away, her posture as straight as ever, her expression composed—but there was something in her eyes, something that made your stomach drop before she even spoke again.
You were already on your feet before you realized it.
“Yes, Professor?”
“One of your brothers has been taken to the hospital wing.”
The words landed all at once.
Your breath caught. “What—?” You took a step forward instinctively, your mind already racing ahead of you, “Which one?”
“Ronald.”
You stared at her for half a second.
Then—despite everything, despite the concern already tightening in your chest—your shoulders dropped just slightly, disbelief slipping in around the edges.
“…Again?” You said, the word coming out before you could stop it.
McGonagall’s lips pressed together, though whether she was suppressing a sigh or a comment, you couldn’t quite tell.
You ran a hand over your face briefly, already turning on your heel.
“Why is it always those three?” You muttered under your breath, more to yourself than anyone else, exasperation bleeding into the worry, “Honestly, I leave them alone for five minutes...”
Cedric immediately fell into step beside you, his usual composure giving way to concern, though his hands stayed in his pockets, tight against himself as if holding on to some semblance of control.
“You—do you need me to come with you?” He asked quietly, looking at you with that soft, careful gaze he always reserved for moments like this.
You shook your head. “No… no, I’ve got this.” But your pace quickened, Cedric matching you effortlessly.
As you hurried down the familiar corridors, the casual moment that had been building—the one where Cedric was clearly about to ask you to Hogsmeade—slipped just out of reach. Instead, the urgency of the hospital wing, the thought of Ron writhing in pain, took over.
“You were going to ask me something...” You said quietly, almost to yourself, stealing a glance at Cedric. His lips twitched, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah…” He murmured, the words trailing off as his gaze flicked toward you, “We’ll have to… save that for another day.”
The doors to the Hospital Wing swung open with more force than strictly necessary, your steps quick and purposeful as your eyes immediately scanned the room.
It didn’t take long to find him.
Ron was propped up in one of the beds, his leg elevated and wrapped, hair a mess, freckles standing out starkly against skin that was just a little too pale—but he was awake. Talking. Complaining, probably.
Alive.
Your shoulders dropped slightly, relief hitting first, sharp and immediate.
And then—
“Ronald Bilius Weasley!”
Ron startled so hard he nearly knocked his own pillow over. His eyes went wide the second he saw you, pure instinct kicking in before anything else.
“It wasn’t my fault!” He blurted immediately, sitting up straighter despite the clear pain it caused, “Scabbers was Peter Pettigrew and he framed Sirius Black!”
You stopped mid-step.
“…what?”
The path had long since stopped resembling anything civilized.
What had started as something that could vaguely pass as a trail had quickly dissolved into uneven ground, overgrown roots, and branches that seemed determined to catch on your sleeves at every opportunity.
You stepped over yet another fallen log with a quiet huff, brushing leaves from your skirt as you glanced ahead.
“Dad,” Ron called from somewhere behind you, already sounding tired, “where exactly are we going?”
“Somewhere in this direction.” Your father replied cheerfully, not slowing in the slightest.
“That’s not very reassuring.” Hermione muttered.
Fred snorted, “He hasn’t the faintest clue, has he?”
“I heard that,” Your father said mildly, “And I’d like to remind you that I am leading us to the Quidditch World Cup.”
“Eventually.” George added.
You huffed a quiet laugh, adjusting the strap of your bag as you stepped over a particularly stubborn root, your shoulder brushing lightly against Ginny’s.
“Do you actually know where the portkey is?” You asked, glancing at your father.
“Haven’t the foggiest!” He admitted, cheerfully.
A chorus of groans followed immediately.
Fred and George exchanged a look, Ron muttered something under his breath about typical, and Ginny let out a dramatic sigh as she trudged forward.
Harry and Hermione, walking just behind you, shared a glance that was somewhere between amusement and mild concern.
The group pressed on, the forest thick around you, the sound of footsteps and rustling leaves filling the space between conversations. Just as you were beginning to think your earlier comment might actually be correct—
“Ah! There we are!”
Your father’s voice lit up with sudden triumph, and you looked up just in time to see him veering slightly off the path toward a large tree.
A man stood beneath it, broad and sturdy, holding onto several bags that looked far too heavy to be carried comfortably.
“Amos!” Your father greeted warmly, striding forward, “Good to see you!”
“Arthur!” The man—Amos—returned just as enthusiastically, shifting the bags in his grip as the two men shook hands.
The rest of you filtered in behind, and introductions began almost immediately.
“This is my family!”
Names were exchanged, greetings offered, and you stepped forward when it was your turn, offering a polite smile.
You offered a polite smile, “It’s nice to meet you.”
“And you, my dear.” He said warmly.
Your gaze flicked briefly to the bags near his feet, and before you could think twice about it, you stepped forward slightly.
“Can I help you with any of those?” You asked.
Amos blinked at you, clearly charmed. “Aren’t you sweet, love? No, no—it’s quite alright.” He waved a hand dismissively before adding, with a touch of amused exasperation, “My son should be carrying them anyway.”
There was a beat.
Then—
A sudden rustle overhead.
Before you could even react, something dropped from the tree above with a solid thud, landing just a few feet away.
You startled sharply, stepping back on instinct, your heart jumping into your throat—
Only to be met with a very familiar face.
Cedric Diggory straightened from where he’d landed, brushing a bit of dirt from his sleeves like this was a completely normal entrance.
“Sorry.” He said, not sounding sorry at all.
Your father lit up immediately, “And this strapping young lad must be Cedric!”
Cedric smiled, polite and composed as ever, “Yes, sir.”
But then his eyes flicked to you. There was a glint of amusement there, a teasing curve to his mouth as he clearly clocked the way you’d jumped.
You told yourself the increase heartrate was because of the fright.
The world snapped back into place all at once.
Your feet hit solid ground, though not gracefully, and for a moment everything spun—wind in your ears, the taste of dust in your mouth, your grip still locked tight around the portkey like letting go might send you flying again.
And then—
Stillness.
Grass beneath your boots. Voices. The distant roar of something massive in the distance.
You let go.
Around you, everyone else was doing the same—stumbling, coughing, untangling themselves from one another in various states of disarray.
“Ugh—” Ron groaned somewhere to your left.
“I hate portkeys.” Hermione muttered, pushing her hair out of her face.
Harry, however, was glaring at you.
“You didn’t have to push my face into the manky old boot.” He whined, wiping at his cheek.
You turned your head, already narrowing your eyes as he pushed himself up from the ground, brushing at his glasses in mild offense.
“I told you to grab the boot,” You shot back without missing a beat, “Twice.”
“I was going to grab it!”
“You weren’t.” You said flatly.
“I was—!”
“Would you rather we’d just left you there?”
He opened his mouth, then paused, “…okay, but you still didn’t have to shove me.”
Behind you, Cedric chuckled, falling into step with you quite easily as your joint families began the trek towards the tents.
“Never a day off, huh?” He said lightly, amusement warm in his voice.
You blinked at him for a second, slightly puzzled by the comment, like you hadn’t quite realized what you’d just done.
“What?” You asked.
He gestured vaguely between you and Harry, his smile widening just a fraction. “You,” He said simply, “And your tornado of siblings.”
You huffed a quiet breath, glancing away for a second as your father’s voice called out ahead, already moving everyone along toward the tents, "They're a circus."
Cedric laughed softly under his breath, falling into step beside you as the group began moving forward, the field stretching out ahead, dotted with tents that grew more and more elaborate the further you walked.
For a moment, things settled—just walking, the distant buzz of the World Cup crowd building in the background, the aftermath of the portkey fading into something almost normal.
Cedric glanced at you again. “So—” He started, clearly picking up a conversation he’d been trying to have earlier, “about—”
“—Charlie! Bill!”
You didn’t even realize you’d cut him off until it was too late.
The second you spotted them—two familiar figures standing just outside one of the tents—you were already moving.
Charlie barely had time to react before you collided into him, your arms wrapping tightly around him as he laughed, catching you easily and lifting you slightly off the ground.
“There she is!” He said, his voice full of warmth.
“Hi!” You breathed, grinning as you pulled back just enough to look at him properly before immediately leaning into Bill next, who didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around you, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head.
“Missed us that much?” Bill teased.
“Not at all.” You shot back, though your smile gave you away.
“Well, well, well,” Fred began, spinning around to step in front of you, hands on his hips like the self-appointed announcer of the world, “look at this! Some would think you don’t like the rest of your siblings at all!”
“I don’t.” You said, perfectly deadpan.
Behind you, the rest of your family caught up quickly, voices overlapping, greetings loud and chaotic as always.
Cedric slowed a few steps back, watching the scene unfold with a small smile on his face.
The tents were set, your parents occupied somewhere deeper in the campsite, and your siblings had already scattered—some exploring, some arguing, some undoubtedly causing problems.
You were just stepping out from your family’s tent when you spotted him again.
Cedric.
He was making his way over, hands tucked loosely into his pockets, posture relaxed but purposeful—like he knew exactly where he was going.
Your stomach did that annoying little flip it had started doing around him lately.
You ignored it.
“Well then,” Bill said, straightening slightly as Cedric came to a stop beside you. His tone was light, but there was something amused behind it, “Who’s this?”
You opened your mouth to answer—
But of course, he wasn’t finished.
“We’ve got a lot of siblings,” Bill continued thoughtfully, glancing Cedric up and down as if assessing him, “but I think I’d remember if Mum had another one.”
You rolled your eyes immediately, “Oh, shut up.”
Charlie snorted beside him, arms loosely crossed, watching the interaction with easy curiosity.
You gestured between them. “Cedric, this is Bill,” You nodded toward your older brother, “And that’s Charlie.”
Cedric straightened slightly, recognition settling in almost instantly.
“You need no introduction,” He said, a small, genuine smile forming, “You’re a legend. Best Seeker Gryffindor’s had in years.”
Charlie blinked once—
Then broke into a grin.
“Oh, I like you,” He said immediately, stepping forward and clapping Cedric firmly on the shoulder, jostling him slightly, “Diggory, right?”
Cedric laughed under his breath, steadying himself, “Yeah.”
“Knew I did,” Charlie nodded, as if this confirmed everything, “Bloke with a good head on his shoulders.”
You sighed, already knowing where this was going, “Flattery will get you everywhere with him.”
Cedric’s laugh softened as he glanced at you briefly, something warm flickering there before he looked back at Charlie, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Only the good things, I hope.” Charlie grinned.
“Debatable.” You cut in dryly.
Bill let out a low chuckle at that, clearly enjoying himself as the four of you fell into easy conversation. It wasn’t anything particularly serious—just small talk, Quidditch, the World Cup. There was laughter and teasing, but nothing too serious—just the kind of light, easy back-and-forth that made Cedric’s presence feel completely natural, like he’d always belonged in these small moments with your family.
And every now and then, you caught him glancing at you.
Then—
“(Y/N)!”
Ginny’s voice rang out across the campsite.
You closed your eyes briefly.
"Can you braid my hair?! I want Dutch braids!"
You let out a long, suffering sigh, already pushing yourself to your feet, “Duty calls.”
Charlie laughed immediately, loud and unhelpful.
“Laugh it up,” You said over your shoulder, glancing back at him, “It’ll be you next.”
He scoffed, completely unbothered, “Please. I already did my time with you.”
Cedric, who had been watching the exchange with quiet amusement, tilted his head slightly, “Did you?”
That was all it took.
“Oh, yes,” Charlie said eagerly, clearly delighted to have the chance to embarrass you in front of someone else for once, “You have no idea—she used to cling to me all the time when she was little. Every time I tried to go out with the lads, there she’d be, bawling her eyes out on the doorstep because she didn’t want me to go.”
You winced, covering your face for a moment, but Charlie wasn’t done.
“And there was this rule,” He continued, voice full of mock seriousness, “if I wanted to play Quidditch, I had to put her down for a nap first. Otherwise she would cry the entire game, thinking I’d get hurt on my broom. Every. Single. Time.”
Cedric laughed, genuinely this time, leaning slightly forward like he was savoring every embarrassing detail, “That’s actually kind of adorable.”
You blinked, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Well excuse me,” You said sharply, “for loving my older brother! I shall never do such an unsavory thing again.”
With that, you stormed off toward Ginny, leaving Charlie and Bill doubled over in laughter behind you.
The Great Hall was far more somber than usual. The tables had been cleared, and the usual magical sky that lit up the room with sparkling stars was gone, leaving the Goblet of Fire in the center of the hall as the sole source of light, bathing everything in a delicate, almost eerie blue glow.
You inwardly wished you had gotten to the hall before your brothers had downed the aging potion—if you had, you would have smacked them so hard they might think twice before attempting something so dimwitted.
Unfortunately, it seemed you had arrived just a few minutes too late. Fred and George had ignored Hermione’s warnings entirely and were now rolling on the floor, bickering like children—or rather, old men, considering they looked every bit their great-grandfathers, complete with wrinkles, grey hair, and a beard to match.
You pinched the bridge of your nose and let out a long sigh, stepping forward, “Forge! Seriously?!”
They barely noticed, bickering and rolling against each other as if you weren’t even there. You crouched quickly, yanking their ears in opposite directions to separate them.
“Ow! Hey!” Fred yelped, squirming.
“Oi! That’s cheating!” George shouted, flailing.
“I don’t care!” You snapped, straightening and glaring at them both, “Stop it. Right now.”
They froze, glancing up at you with sheepish grins, like they might actually apologize. But, of course, it didn’t last.
“You could sign up,” Fred said casually, tilting his head with a mischievous glint in his eye, “since you’re seventeen. You could—”
“Absolutely not.” You interrupted firmly. “I am not going to do something as moronic as sign up for a death wish.”
“Harsh.” Came the teasing voice beside you.
You turned, and there he was: Cedric Diggory, hands tucked casually into his pockets, looking absolutely soaked to the bone like he had just gotten caught in the rain.
“You wound me, Weasley.” He said, voice light but carrying that teasing edge you’d learned to expect from him.
You frowned, concern quickly replacing your irritation, “You’d better hope your name doesn’t get pulled, Cedric. The tasks are dangerous. This whole thing is imbecilic.”
“If I’m not mistaken,” He said softly, voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip, “I’d say you were worried about me.”
“Worried the Yule Ball is going to get canceled on account of a funeral, more like it.” You muttered, rolling your eyes.
“Such little faith,” He said, voice lowering in a way that made your pulse skip, “But—uh, speaking of the Yule Ball—I was wondering… maybe you’d like to—”
Before he could finish, the doors of the Great Hall burst open with a dramatic crash, drawing every eye in the room. The tallest, broadest figure you’d ever seen strode in: Viktor Krum.
All conversation ceased instantly. Every student froze, eyes widening, as the Bulgarian Quidditch star made his way confidently to the center of the hall, robes sweeping the floor with every step.
He passed the line, reached the Goblet of Fire, and placed his name inside, sparing only a brief glance at Hermione as he did. You tilted your head, watching the interaction between them with quiet curiosity.
He withdrew his hand, and the hall erupted into cheers, the excitement and tension washing over the room. Just like that, Cedric’s question—and the small, promising moment between you—was swept away.
The stands were packed.
The noise was overwhelming—cheering, shouting, the low hum of anticipation vibrating through the air—but it all felt distant to you, muffled behind the rapid thud of your own heartbeat.
Because down below—
Cedric was stepping into the arena.
You didn’t realize your hands had clenched until your nails bit into your palms, your breath catching as the gates opened and the dragon came into view.
It was massive.
Far bigger than you’d imagined, scales glinting in the light, smoke curling from its nostrils as it shifted, wings twitching with barely-contained power. You brought your hands up almost immediately, fingers splaying just enough so you could barely see through them.
“I’m not watching,” You said, even as your eyes stayed fixed between the gaps, “I’m not watching—”
The dragon roared.
You flinched.
“—I’m watching.”
Around you, people were shouting, gasping, reacting to every movement—but you were locked in on him. Every dodge, every spell, every second he got just a little too close—
Your stomach dropped.
“Cedric—” You whispered under your breath, like he could somehow hear you.
And then—
It was over.
The egg was in his hands.
The stands erupted.
You didn’t even realize you were moving until you were already pushing through the crowd, down the steps, heart still racing as the adrenaline hadn’t quite faded yet. By the time you reached him, he was being ushered toward the edge of the arena, healers already moving in.
You waited until he was back in the privacy of his tent to approach, lest that cow Skeeter see you and decide to write some longwinded lie about how Cedric was madly in love with you.
Cedric blinked, slightly breathless, a little flushed from the heat and effort—but when he saw you, something in his expression softened instantly.
“Well, hello to you too.” He said, voice light despite the situation.
“You’re burned,” You said panicked, ignoring him completely as your fingers brushed carefully along his jaw, already assessing the damage, the skin under your touch began to get remarkably redder and you felt your heart clench, "I told you this was a horrible idea, Cedric."
He huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t stop you as you continued to check him over. The burn wasn’t terrible—but it was enough. Enough to make your chest tighten just looking at it.
“You could’ve been seriously hurt.” You muttered, quieter now, more to yourself than him.
Cedric’s gaze flickered over your face, something softer settling there.
“But I wasn’t.” He said gently.
You didn’t respond right away, finishing what you were doing before stepping back slightly, your shoulders relaxing just a fraction now that he was—relatively—fine.
“…You did well." You said finally, meeting his eyes.
A small smile tugged at his lips, “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” You nodded, “I mean, it was still a completely idiotic thing to sign up for—but you did well.”
He laughed softly, “I’ll take that as high praise, coming from you.”
There was a beat.
The noise of the crowd carried on around you, distant again, like the two of you had been momentarily carved out of it.
Cedric shifted slightly, like he was working up to something again.
"So—about the ball—" He started, a little more confident this time, a little more certain now that he had your full attention.
But before he actually got the words out—
A roar of cheers erupted behind you.
Louder than before.
You turned instinctively, just in time to see Harry enter the arena.
“Oh—”
Your attention snapped away immediately, your head turning fully now, your focus shifting as the crowd surged with excitement again.
“Harry!” You called, already stepping forward slightly, completely pulled into the moment.
Cedric blinked.
Then looked between you and the arena.
Then back at you.
And laughed.
“Well,” He said, shaking his head slightly, a grin pulling at his lips, “way to make a guy feel jealous.”
You glanced back at him, only half-processing what he’d said, still caught up in the adrenaline of it all, “What?”
But he just smiled, stepping back slightly, giving you space as your attention stayed fixed on Harry now.
“Nothing,” He said easily, “Go on.”
The noise from the arena hadn’t quite faded yet.
Students were still talking over each other, replaying every moment of the task like they’d all personally been down there facing dragons instead of watching safely from the stands. The air felt charged, buzzing with adrenaline that hadn’t settled, and even as you stepped away from it all, your heart still hadn’t quite slowed.
You barely made it past the outer edge of the enclosure before a familiar voice cut through the chaos—
“Well, that was something, wasn’t it?”
You froze.
Your head snapped up so fast it almost hurt.
No—
There was no way—
But there he was.
Leaning casually against one of the wooden barriers, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself.
“Charlie?”
The word left you half in disbelief, half in something brighter—something immediate.
His grin widened.
And that was all it took.
You didn’t think—you just moved.
“Charlie!”
You practically launched yourself at him, arms wrapping tightly around his middle as he laughed, already bracing for the impact, catching you easily like he always did.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming!” You said, pulling back just enough to look at him properly, hands still gripping his sleeves like he might disappear if you let go, “I can’t believe you’re here.”
"I couldn't tell you because I'm here for work, love. Someone’s got to handle the dragons.”
You blinked.
“…You brought them?”
Charlie grinned, clearly proud of that, “Course I did.”
"Couldn't you have brought slightly friendlier ones?"
He laughed, "These are the friendlier ones."
The corridors between classes were always busy, but there was a different kind of chaos that came with a castle full of students anticipating something like the Yule Ball.
Voices echoed off the stone walls, laughter bouncing between groups, whispers slipping through in quick bursts—who was going with who, who had already been asked, who was still waiting. Last you heard, Harry was going with Cho, Fred had somehow managed to land Angelina without even properly asking her, and Ron had spectacularly failed every attempt he’d made, growing more miserable by the hour.
You were halfway to your next class, books tucked under your arm, your mind only half on where you were going, when you felt it—that familiar presence falling into step beside you.
You didn’t need to look.
“You really shouldn’t be all alone in these halls,” Cedric’s voice came, light and easy, threaded with amusement, “Who knows what kind of danger could be lurking?”
You glanced over anyway, already fighting the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re right,” You said, nodding thoughtfully, “Who knows when Professor Moody will jump out and turn me into a ferret. I was hoping someone would come rescue me.”
“Lucky day, then.” He said, matching your pace effortlessly, his shoulder brushing yours just slightly as the two of you navigated the crowd.
For a moment, it was easy—just walking, just talking, the noise of the corridor fading into something distant.
Cedric cleared his throat quietly.
“So—about the Yule Ball.” He started, and there was something different this time. Something less certain, less practiced.
You raised a brow, glancing at him, “What about it?”
“Well, I was thinking—” He began, and for once, Cedric Diggory actually sounded unsure of himself. His hand lifted slightly, like he meant to gesture, then dropped again, “I was wondering if maybe you’d—”
“(Y/N)!”
Ginny’s voice cut through everything like a blade.
You barely had time to react before she came rushing toward you, slightly out of breath, clutching a bundle of fabric in her arms like it had personally offended her.
“Look at this,” She said urgently, shoving the material up between you and Cedric without warning, “Look at it!”
You blinked, instinctively taking a step back as she held up what could only be described as… a dress.
A very old dress.
“Ginny—”
“It’s ghastly!” She insisted, shaking it for emphasis, lace and sleeves flopping dramatically, “How am I supposed to wear something that looks like it came from the 1700s and not die of embarrassment?”
Cedric, who had been mid-sentence only seconds ago, paused—but to his credit, he recovered quickly.
He leaned in slightly, examining the dress with surprising seriousness, like this was now his responsibility. “It’s… not too bad.” He offered carefully.
Ginny stared at him like he’d just committed a personal betrayal.
“They’re ghastly!” She repeated, louder this time, as if volume alone would prove her point.
You let out a soft laugh despite yourself, reaching out to steady the fabric before she accidentally smacked someone with it. “Alright, alright,” You said, amused, “What exactly do you want me to do about it?”
Ginny lowered the dress slightly, her expression changing from panic to pleading, “Ron told me you’re altering his dress robes,” She said quickly, “Can you do mine too?”
You hesitated, glancing down at the dress, already mentally deconstructing it—too much fabric, outdated cut, sleeves that needed saving or removing entirely. “I mean… I’m not a professional,” You admitted, “But I’ve gotten pretty good over the years.”
Ginny perked up instantly, “Really?”
You nodded, shifting your books slightly under your arm. “Mum used to buy me these ridiculously long skirts,” You said, rolling your eyes faintly, “The kind that made me look like a complete prude. So I started hemming them myself—just a bit shorter, just enough to make them… wearable.”
As you spoke, you gestured to your own skirt, showing the subtle difference.
Cedric noticed.
Of course he did.
“They are quite lovely.” He said, almost absentmindedly—but his gaze lingered on your legs just a fraction too long, something warmer slipping into his tone.
You blinked.
And then immediately felt the heat rise to your cheeks, your composure slipping just slightly as you let out a small, flustered laugh. “Right—well—I can try.” You said, suddenly very aware of him standing so close, “I’m still altering my own dress to fit properly though.”
Ginny, blissfully oblivious to all of it, grabbed your sleeve and looked up at you with wide, hopeful eyes, “But you’ll do it?”
You exhaled, already giving in. “Come on, then,” You said, turning, “I’ll need your measurements.”
Ginny beamed, instantly tugging you along with her.
Cedric opened his mouth—again.
“Wait—”
But you were already moving, Ginny pulling you down the corridor, dress in hand, talking a mile a minute about sleeves, lace, colors, and everything she hated about it.
And just like that, you were gone again—dragged up the stairs toward your dorm, already mentally mapping out every alteration you’d need to make to salvage the disaster in her hands.
Behind you, Cedric slowed to a stop in the middle of the corridor.
His hand, which had lifted slightly to stop you, fell back to his side.
For a second, he just stood there, watching the space where you’d disappeared, the noise of the corridor rushing back in around him.
Then he let out a quiet breath, shaking his head, a soft laugh slipping out despite himself.
“Unbelievable.” He muttered under his breath, though there was no real frustration in it—just something fond.
The Gryffindor common room had never looked like this before.
It wasn’t its usual warm, slightly chaotic mess of scattered books and half-finished homework—tonight, it was alive in a completely different way. Gold and candlelight flickered against polished shoes and pressed robes, laughter spilling from every corner as people adjusted ties, smoothed hair, and whispered last-minute nerves about the night ahead.
And at the center of it all—
You.
Because somehow, despite not even being ready yourself until ten minutes ago, you had managed to get everyone else sorted first.
Ginny had been first. She’d started knocking on your door in tears, having made a complete mess of the little makeup she’d attempted and having no idea what to do with her hair. You sat her down, ignoring the dramatics, and got to work.
Now, she was practically glowing—her dress, which you had managed to salvage into something far more wearable than its original state, actually suited her. You styled her hair neatly and applied a modest amount of makeup, firmly refusing when she tried to convince you to add more.
Then came Hermione. She’d only meant to ask your opinion on her dress and hair, but the moment you noticed how uncomfortable she was with all the bobby pins, you sat her down without a second thought.
Swapping them out for sticking charms—a solution she hadn’t even considered—you adjusted everything with careful precision, touching up her makeup just enough to settle it perfectly into place.
“You look beautiful.” You told her simply.
And you meant it.
Then came Ron.
Which, quite frankly, had been your last nerve.
You forcibly sat him down, ignoring his loud complaints—really, anyone would think you were attempting to torture him rather than make him look even remotely presentable. You fixed his hair, adjusted his robes as much as they could be saved, and sent him off with a firm warning to behave like a human being for once in his life.
Last was Harry—quiet, slightly overwhelmed, but cooperative enough as you smoothed his hair into something vaguely acceptable.
And only then—finally—did you get yourself ready.
By the time you were done, the common room was already beginning to empty, students drifting toward the Great Hall in clusters of excitement and nerves.
You barely spared yourself more than a glance before grabbing your things and heading for the door.
You were late.
Of course you were. At this rate, you’d be lucky to arrive in time to see the champions’ dance.
You pushed through the last cluster of students, adjusting your sleeve as you moved quickly toward the exit when you saw him.
Cedric.
He stood just off to the side, like he’d been waiting—hands flexing slightly at his sides, posture just a little too stiff to be casual. Like he’d been working himself up to something.
Your steps faltered.
Just slightly.
Your stomach flipped.
Again.
He looked up the second he noticed you—and for a moment, just a moment, he forgot whatever he’d been about to say.
Because he was staring.
And for once, Cedric Diggory—confident, composed, effortlessly charming—looked completely, utterly thrown.
You blinked, suddenly very aware of yourself under that look.
“You look beautiful, (Y/N).”
Heat rushed to your face almost instantly. You lowered your gaze, half to hide it, reaching out instinctively to smooth the lapels of his dress robes, the fine material warm beneath your fingers.
“You look quite beautiful yourself.” You murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
“I—uh—”
But before he could get another word out—
Ron passed behind you, grumbling loudly, “I can’t believe Hermione is going with the enemy.”
Your expression dropped immediately.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
Cedric blinked, “What—?”
“I need to fix that.” You muttered, already turning, fully prepared to march over and set your brother straight.
Because no one—no one—was going to talk about Hermione like that. Not tonight. Not when she finally looked at herself and saw what everyone else already did. And certainly not your little brother.
You barely made it two steps—
Before—
“Oh, Helga—(Y/N) Weasley!”
The room went quiet.
Completely quiet.
You froze mid-step.
Slowly—very slowly—you turned back.
Cedric was standing where you’d left him.
Except now he looked… different.
Still nervous, still unsure—but there was something steadier beneath it now. Like he’d finally decided he wasn’t letting the moment slip away again.
Every eye in the room was on him.
On you.
And he didn’t look away.
“Will you,” He said, voice carrying across the room—firm, but softened at the edges by something unmistakably earnest, “be my date to the Yule Ball?”
For a second—
You didn’t move.
Then your brain caught up.
Heat rushed to your face so quickly it was almost embarrassing, a smile breaking through before you could stop it—bright, relieved, a little breathless.
“Of course.” You said, like it had always been obvious.
Your head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction in playful disbelief.
“I was wondering when you were going to ask me.” You added, a soft laugh slipping through.
“What took you so long?”
You really hated the hospital wing.
In the last four years, you had been there more times than you could count, and not once had it actually been for you. That was the unfortunate reality of having younger siblings who seemed determined to land themselves in trouble in increasingly creative ways, and you had grown used to it—the scolding, the hovering, the quiet irritation that came with it all.
But this time felt different.
The worry sitting in your chest wasn’t familiar. It didn’t feel like the usual exasperated concern you carried for your brothers—it was heavier, sharper, lingering in a way that made it hard to breathe properly. It crawled up your throat and stayed there, refusing to settle, and no matter how many times you tried to reason with yourself, it didn’t go away.
You didn’t really understand it.
Or maybe you did.
There was a difference between platonic worry and something else. Something deeper. Something that made your hands feel restless and your chest feel too tight all at once.
And the stakes had never been this high before.
When Harry had reappeared from the maze, Cedric’s body unmoving beside him as he spoke of Lord Voldemort, something inside you had dropped so suddenly it left you standing there, unable to think, unable to move, unable to do anything but stare.
Like the ground had given out beneath your feet.
You and Cedric hadn’t even been together that long.
After the Yule Ball—after he had finally managed to ask you—you had slipped into something easy, something familiar, something that hadn’t quite had the time to settle into anything fully real yet. Which was exactly why you hadn’t run to him on the grounds like you’d wanted to.
You had stayed back, forcing yourself to let the professors handle it, to let his father reach him first, telling yourself that it wasn’t your place—that whatever this was between you, it wasn’t enough to justify pushing through that kind of moment.
But then the hours had turned into days, and the waiting had become unbearable. Days of not knowing, days of hearing fragments and whispers but nothing certain, days of that quiet, suffocating fear settling deeper into your chest with nowhere to go.
So the moment you heard he was awake—that he had asked for you—you didn’t hesitate.
You ran.
The heavy doors of the hospital wing swung open under your hands, and you stepped inside quickly, your eyes scanning the room before immediately landing on him.
It was easy enough, considering he was the only one in here that began grinning like a fool at the sight of you.
Relief hit you so suddenly it almost made your knees give out.
You forced yourself forward, one step at a time, until you reached his bed, stopping just close enough to touch but not quite letting yourself yet.
“Hi.”
The word came out softer than you intended.
Cedric’s smile shifted, something warmer settling into it, “Well, hello to you too.”
Your eyes moved over him instinctively, taking in the bandaged burns along his arm, the healing cut near his brow, the faint exhaustion he wasn’t quite hiding as well as he thought he was.
“Are you alright?”
“Right as rain now that I’ve seen you.”
A quiet breath of laughter slipped from you, your head shaking faintly, “Only you would say that after facing bloody Voldemort.”
He didn’t argue.
Instead, he reached for you.
His hand found yours easily, fingers wrapping around it before gently tugging you closer, closing the distance you had been holding onto without even realizing it. You let yourself be pulled in, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed beside him, your heart already beginning to beat a little too fast.
Cedric was looking at you—properly looking—but every time you tried to meet his gaze, yours betrayed you, flickering instead to the marks on his skin, the evidence of just how wrong everything could have gone.
Your frown deepened.
“I’m alright." He said gently.
You scoffed, though there was no real bite to it, “You’re in the hospital wing.”
“Which is better than the alternative.”
Your breath caught slightly at that, the words settling heavier than he seemed to intend.
“Cedric—”
“I’m okay.” He repeated, more firmly this time, his gaze steady enough to pull yours back to his.
And then it softened.
His eyes dropped briefly to your hand, still held between both of his, his thumb brushing slowly along your knuckles as though grounding himself in the simple contact. The movement was absentminded, almost, but there was something careful in it too—something that made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
Before you could think too much about it, he lifted your hand slightly and pressed his lips gently against your knuckles.
Your breath hitched.
Your heart stumbled, uneven and sudden, and when his eyes met yours again, something in them had changed—quieter now, a little uncertain, like he wasn’t entirely sure how far he was allowed to go.
“Can I—” He started, his voice catching just slightly.
Your eyes flicked to his lips before you could stop yourself, the movement quick but impossible to hide.
You didn’t trust your voice.
So you nodded.
That was all he needed.
He leaned in slowly, carefully, like this moment might slip through his fingers if he moved too quickly. His hand tightened slightly around yours, the other hovering for a second before resting lightly against your arm, hesitant but certain enough to stay.
And then his lips brushed yours, capturing your upper lip between both of his.
Soft. Barely there.
It was so light it almost didn’t feel real at first, the kind of touch that made your head spin simply because it was happening at all. He lingered there, gentle and tentative, like he was waiting—like he was making sure you wanted this just as much as he did.
For a moment, you let it stay like that, suspended in something fragile and quiet.
Until it wasn’t enough.
You leaned in slightly, closing the space between you properly, and that small shift was all it took.
The kiss deepened—not rushed, not overwhelming, but certain. Your hand tightened in his, your other lifting instinctively to rest against the back of his neck, fingers brushing lightly against his hair as you held him there. He inhaled sharply, tilting his head as he deepened the kiss, devouring you—
“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!”
You and Cedric sprang apart like you’d been hit with a Stunning Spell.
Your heart leapt into your throat as you whipped around—
Charlie.
Standing in the doorway.
Arms crossed.
Oh Good Godric.
“Charlie—”
“No,” He cut in immediately, pointing a finger at you like you were five again and had just been caught stealing biscuits from the kitchen, “No—don’t you ‘Charlie’ me.”
You blinked at him, “What are you even doing here?”
“I came to check on you and golden boy,” He snapped, before gesturing wildly between you and Cedric, “And I find this?!”
Cedric, to his credit, had the decency to look at least slightly guilty. Only slightly.
You, however, frowned, “It’s just a kiss—”
“JUST a—?!” Charlie looked personally offended. Then, without missing a beat: “You’re grounded.”
You stared at him.
“I’m what?”
“Grounded for,” He repeated firmly. Then, after a brief pause, as if deciding to make it worse: “Until you graduate.”
Your jaw dropped.
“For-Until I graduate?!”
“Yes!”
“Why?!”
He looked at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “For kissing that git!”
You turned, incredulous, gesturing toward Cedric, “You’re the one who said he was a nice boy! That he had a good head on his shoulders!”
“I take it back!” Charlie shot back immediately, “He’s a bloody cradle-robber!”
Your eyes widened, “We’re the same age!”
Charlie was already moving, grabbing your arm and hauling you off the bed before you could argue further.
“Charlie—Charlie, let go—!”
“Nope. Absolutely not. You’re coming with me.”
“This is ridiculous—!”
Behind you, Cedric shifted slightly on the bed, looking far too amused for someone who had just been publicly accused of being a menace to society.
And then—because he clearly had no sense of self-preservation—
“Bye, love.”
"I'm not your love." Charlie replied haughtily, tightening his grip on your arm as he started dragging you toward the door again, “You’re never leaving the house again. Ever.”
“Charlie!”
And just like that, you were being dragged out of the hospital wing, your protests echoing down the corridor.
And Cedric was left sitting alone on the bed, an amused smile on his face, "We have such poor timing."
bonus:
The morning had been quiet.
Suspiciously quiet, really.
Sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains, casting soft gold across the bed, the room still wrapped in that slow, peaceful warmth that only came with days off and nowhere to be. No rushing, no responsibilities pressing in—just stillness.
And Cedric.
You were half-curled into him, head resting against his chest, his arm draped loosely around you, fingers absentmindedly tracing slow patterns along your arm. It was the kind of quiet you didn’t get often anymore—the kind you had learned to appreciate in small, fleeting moments.
For once, there were no interruptions.
No chaos.
Cedric let out a quiet breath above you, something content settling into it as his hand stilled briefly against your arm.
“I’m so glad,” He murmured, voice still rough with sleep, “to have you all to myself.”
You smiled faintly, tilting your head just enough to glance up at him, "Truly, we haven't had a quiet moment like this since—”
“Mum!”
“Dad!”
Cedric froze.
You didn’t even try to hide your laugh.
There was a brief, heavy silence as the distant shouts echoed through the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of something—probably several things—being knocked over.
Cedric exhaled slowly.
Then dropped his head back against the pillows with a long-suffering sigh.
“These bloody Weasleys,” He muttered, dragging a hand down his face, “And their innate ability to know exactly when I’m trying to have a moment alone with my wife.”
You laughed properly at that, shifting slightly so you could look at him more fully, your hand coming up to rest lightly against his chest.
“Well,” You said sweetly, “they’re half Diggory.”
“So their complete lack of sense and tact probably comes from you.”
Cedric blinked.
Then let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
“Excuse me?”
Before you could respond—
A loud crash echoed from somewhere down the hall.
Followed by—
“That wasn’t me!”
“Yes it was!”
Right outside the door this time.
You laughed, leaning up just enough to press a quick kiss to his lips before pulling back.
He sighed, finally getting up, "Alright! What have we said about messing about in the kitchen without mum or dad?!"
A beat of silence.
"That we're not supposed to."
To be added to a taglist, please send me an ask! (I might respond to you in comments but I can’t guarantee that I won’t accidentally miss it)
Everyone in the castle is convinced it’s only a matter of time until you and Cedric become something more than best friends, so much so that there’s an enchanted parchment by the kitchens that accepts bets.
cedric x fem!reader, reader is harry’s older sister and gryffindor, jily are alive and meddling, the entire castle is meddling tbh, mentions of energy drink and a couple kisses, i think that’s all. 1.8k words, fluff and comedy
The stars twinkled as you looked out the window of your dorm, moonlight spilling in and onto the unfolded parchment on your desk. It was scrawled in your mother’s neat, sloping handwriting, but the margins were covered in doodles of snitches and suns, definitely your father’s work.
Alicia lets out a laugh as you let out a pained groan, pushing away from your desk to slide into your bed instead.
“Did they ask about Diggory again?”
You chuck a pillow across the room until it falls onto her lap with a dull thump.
“Shut up.”
She laughs evilly, moving the pillow to the side of her bed, “I’ll take that as a yes then.”
“Mum literally wrote, let him know the in-laws approve and dad covered his name in hearts.”
Angelina joins in on the joke now, laughter overtaking her from her own bed.
“I hate to say it, Potter. But wouldn’t things be easier if you just got it over with already? We all know you two are in love, and I’ve got a bet with George I really need to win.”
You knew more throw pillows on your bed would have been a good decision, now you have nothing to throw at Angelina.
“We’re best friends, Ang. Everyone needs to chill out. I’ve seen the list outside the kitchens, you know.”
“The ‘pick the date Diggory and Potter will snog’ list?”
“That’s the one.” You cringe.
“Oh I love that one! I think it was Hermione, the spellwork is so nice! It glitters pink when you put a new date!”
Your jaw drops as they continue talking about it, the absurd thought of your little brother’s studious friend enchanting parchment to bet on your love life being far too much for one night.
“I’m going to bed, I cannot stand any more of this talk.” You complain, drawing the maroon curtains closed around your bed with a quick flick of your wand.
It blocks the remaining light shining in from the bathroom bulb, but not the sound of Alicia’s call from across the room.
“Goodnight, Mrs.Diggory!”
You throw a jelly legs jinx at her before casting a silencing charm as their laughter rings out through the room.
You tie your hair back in a tattered red ribbon the next morning, pushing the letter from your parents off your desk as you grab your textbooks.
“Harry!” You call as soon as you exit the stairwell to the dorms and into the Gryffindor common room. “Mum and Dad owled yesterday. Don’t forget to respond this time, and fix your hair.”
You and Harry bicker your entire way through the portrait hole, your friends following behind sluggishly, not prepared for a dispute this early in the morning.
On the other side of the entrance, you’re immediately met with a pair of shining grey eyes.
The group of Gryffindors barely bat an eyelash at the Hufflepuff standing right by their common room door, far too used to Cedric’s presence this far into their Hogwarts career.
“Hey, Ced!” You greet, all aggravation from your previous conversation disappearing at the sight of your best friend.
“Now she’s nice,” you hear Harry mutter under his breath, and you make sure to lightly smack his shoulder when he passes by, hissing “just write mum!”
Cedric laughs, taking the stack of books from your hands and leading you down the multitude of staircases towards the Great Hall.
You’ve learned not to object to his chivalry, knowing he’ll just go onto another rampage about ‘being a gentleman’ and ‘serving others’ that would inevitably end with your books still in his arms and a swirly, twisting feeling in your stomach.
“How’d you sleep? We left the window open, it was so nice last night.”
You smile at the comfortable conversation, sharing a passionate conversation about how nice Quidditch practices would be tonight with the sun out and a nice breeze.
“Are they talking about the weather? They really are like an old married couple.”
You choose to ignore Ron’s very poorly whispered comment to your brother, though your ears still flush pink in a way you’re hoping no one notices.
“Are we still on to take care of the devils snare today?”
You shiver, unsure how you’d gotten roped into helping Cedric deal with the outbreak of Devils Snare that had started climbing up the walls and around the greenhouses. Of course Professor Sprout had asked Cedric, but suddenly it was a two person job.
“I guess, if I must. Meet you at our spot?”
“As always, lovely.” He grins as he sets your books down at your house table before ducking out to his own table. Mondays were Gryffindor breakfasts, so your friends didn’t complain about getting ditched all the time. Tomorrow you’d be back at the Hufflepuff table in your comfortable spot next to their golden boy.
You can hear Lavender Brown let out a squeal from down the table, leaning closer to you like you were sharing secrets across the row of students between you.
“Did he just call you lovely?” Then quieter to herself, “oh my date is so winning!!”
You sputter through a response, half of the Gryffindor table listening in on the conversation.
“Well yes, I’m quite lovely am I not? That’s what friends do!”
Fred and George let out huge groans as soon as the words leave your mouth, and side conversations break out as you turn to Angelina.
“This is mortifying.”
“You could always make it stop,” she sing-songs, but you don’t respond verbally, instead throwing a grape at her head.
Cedric walks you to each of your classes that day, holds your books while you fix your hair, and even shares his precisely color coded notes after you fall asleep in History of Magic.
You’re exhausted by the time you approach the greenhouse during your free period, rubbing at your eyes as you disappear behind a large flowering hedge Cedric had been tending to since second year.
“You look excited,” he teases when you flop down on the blanket he seemed to permanently keep spread beneath you.
“Just tired. My housemates have been specially draining today.”
He laughs, “yeah, when I snuck down to the kitchens earlier it seems like a lot of them have something riding on this week.”
Your eyes snap open to look at his grinning face.
“You know about that?”
He laughs easily, grabbing your hands and pulling you upright.
“Dear, my dorms are right by the kitchen. I walk past it about four times a day.”
You groan, rolling your head forward until it lands onto his chest.
“They’re all so annoying.”
You feel his chest shake under you.
“They mean well. Can’t help that we look so good together.”
You look up at him, heart racing in your chest at the easy smirk on his face.
“It doesn’t make you uncomfortable?” You question.
He looks surprised. “Uncomfortable? I’d never be uncomfortable being associated with you, no matter the circumstances.” Then, as if he just thought of it, his words run together as he asks. “Why? Are you uncomfortable? I can make them stop somehow. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed you wanted people to think we were like that.”
You laugh at his panic, putting a gentle hand on his jaw that makes him immediately stop talking.
“I don’t really care what they think about us.”
He visibly relaxes, placing a sweet peck into your hair before stepping back, presenting a pink can with a flourish.
“I thought you seemed sleepy, and lucky for you, I’ve still got a couple of those muggle energy drinks you like stashed in the kitchen.”
You gasp dramatically, snatching the can from his hand and popping the tab at the top to take a big gulp.
“You’re a lifesaver, Ced. I could kiss you.”
The words are out of your mouth before you can think about them, and soon you’re staring at each other in silence, the air suddenly thick.
He takes a step closer. Then another.
“I wouldn’t mind.”
You meet his eyes, your entire body relaxing upon seeing the affection and warmth in his face. This was your Cedric, who’d never mock you or say something he didn’t mean.
You grab his tie, pulling him closer until you’re chest to chest.
“Are there any dates no one’s betted on? I’d hate to give them what they want.”
He laughs airily, though you can tell his heart isn’t in it, his eyes locked on your lips.
“Not until next October. But Neville’s got today picked, so I reckon it wouldn’t hurt.”
“Well then what are you waiting for?”
His lips land on yours, firm and sure, like they’ve always belonged there. Your mouth is still tinged with the sugar of your energy drink, and Cedric tastes of cinnamon and honey. It’s so unmistakably you, and you fight the smile trying to break through your lips.
Your arms rest against his shoulders, one tangled in his hair while the other holds your drink. It’s casual, like this is something you do everyday.
A scream makes you separate, and you turn to see a shocked third year take off towards the castle in a full sprint.
“I think we’ve been caught.” He whispers, amusement evident in his voice.
“That’s a problem for later,” you mutter, pulling his head back down to your own, lips rejoining easily.
*~•*~•*~•
You’re holding hands when you enter the Great Hall for dinner that night, your hair slightly tangled and lip gloss smeared across Cedric’s face that you didn’t bother to clean up.
Screaming erupts as soon as you walk in, and Cedric fights the urge to look down at his feet. You stand proudly next to him, self satisfied smile on your lips as a couple first years start crying.
“Good guess, Neville.” You say, sending the younger boy a wink as you journey towards your seat.
Another Gryffindor drops their goblet, and you spot a Ravenclaw prefect standing on a bench to get a better look.
Professor Sprout openly weeps into her napkin, and Mcgonagall shakes her head with a smile stretched across her face.
Before you know it there’s mini fireworks above going off, and Fred and George have an enchanted banner flying over your head.
‘Just kissed (will probably get married)’ it reads, and Cedric openly laughs at it.
“Is this what I signed up for?”
You grin at him as he dips you low in front of the whole Great Hall, “it only gets worse from here.”
A flash goes off when he kisses you, and you look over in alarm, only to see a grinning Harry.
“Don’t worry, Sis. It’s just going to mum.”
You chase him around the hall while Cedric fills your plate, getting clapped on the back by the entire table.
5 times sukuna was heavily yearning + 1 time you finally noticed.
oblivious, lonely reader who’s used to doing things alone x downbad!sukuna. jealous!sukuna. gn!reader. reader wears glasses. sukuna calls reader angel. he’s so down bad bro. ooc sukuna as usual. mentions of nsfw contents.
— ☆ —
1. movie nights.
you had a specific, detailed, high maintenance routine for watching movies. you had slowly perfected the process— a mental to do list popping up every time a new movie dropped that you needed to watch.
first, you needed to be in your designated ‘movie night pajamas’, the most comfortable you owned. your favorite blanket had to be there, along with your favorite pillow for support. you liked watching in your home more than cinemas, because you disliked the idea of not being able to pause the movie for whatever reason. who decided to make bathroom breaks that short, anyways?
for snacks, chips poured into your favorite bowl, your favorite niche flavor. a chocolate bar sat beside it just incase the movie got intense enough for you to crave it. your favorite drink was set beside them in a thermal cup, allowing you to drink it as slow as possible without it melting too quickly.
your phone had to be on dnd, blocking out every notification. the room had to be cold, and you avoided any distractions because pausing the movie on piracy websites meant three minutes of closing ads to turn it back on.
tonight, everything was perfect.
you were perfectly wrapped in your blanket, eyes wide as it watched the screen perfectly, chips tasting perfect, drink perfected, everything absolutely perfect—
bzzz.
you immediately groaned. who could possibly be showing up? you hadn’t ordered food. no one was invited over. it was late. what could possibly be urgent enough to prompt someone to ruin your little routine?
you paused the movie (which took three minutes of pressing ‘x’ on ads urging you to ‘text hot, single ladies in your area’, and ‘ai bots who can make you cum in three minutes!’), pushed the blanket off, and pulled the door open with a soft pout you didn’t even register, just to pause when you saw sukuna standing there, eyebrows furrowed, frowning.
you and sukuna weren’t that close, really. you were in the same friend group, but you always felt nervous around him. he was intimidating, scary, too cool for you. he always stared at you blankly, and you decided he was judging you for… everything. you were awkward, nervous, a little odd.
so, him showing up to your home at midnight was a little… nerve-wracking. his red eyes slowly scanned your comfortable, worn out pajamas, messy hair, tiny pout that faded as your eyes widened, before he blinked blankly. “sorry for showing up unannounced.”
he didn’t sound apologetic. at all. his tone was monotonous, almost unamused.
“can i come in?”
you slowly blinked, before realizing how dumb you must look. you grimaced internally, stepping aside, letting him in. immediately, his eyes landed on your little set up, and he arched an eyebrow. “movie night, huh? watching part two of your little movie series?”
“how did you know?” you mumbled, genuinely confused. much to your surprise, his lips twitched up in something that looked like admiration, amused, and it was the closest you ever got to see him smile.
holy fuck, he was so gorgeous it felt unfair. now that you were actually focusing on the man towering over you, dressed in a black shirt and gray sweatpants, tanned skin peaking from under his clothes, muscles on view—
“it’s your favorite series, and it just dropped. i can recognize the sketchy ass website because you hate netflix. you have your little movie night routine, pajamas, chips, and drink.” he murmured casually, nonchalantly, as if it was normal that the guy you thought disliked you knew this much about you. “i listen, you know.”
your jaw was slack, eyes wide. he only snorted, arching an eyebrow. “don’t tell me fucking gojo was right and you really think i hate you.”
you paused. “well…”
“are you serious?” sukuna scoffed. “you’re my fucking favorite in the group, dumbass.”
“what?” you mumbled back, more confused. “you always glare at me. you never talk to me. i was starting to think you didn’t even know my last name.”
he stared at you, almost as if you were insane, then sighed. “you really are oblivious, huh?”
“hey—“
he shook his head, still looking mildly amused. “here’s the notes suguru said he would drop by to give you and forgot. i know you like studying early.”
“oh. you didn’t have to—“
“i wanted to.” he immediately stated, face serious. “‘ll leave you to it, can’t have someone ruining your perfect night. goodnight.”
with that, he was out, leaving you even more flabbergasted.
what. the. fuck.
2. hangouts.
you were still getting used to the idea that sukuna told you that not only did he not hate you, but that you were his favorite in the group. to you, the idea was unbelievable. flabbergasting. maybe even a little more scarier than being hated by him for some reason, but you managed pretty well.
at least you were more comfortable hanging out with your group now.
however, you had a tiny little habit. you hated the coffee at the place your friends loved, so often, you just walked away to the place next to it to buy your own coffee. it provided you a break, making the little pit of your stomach that grows when having to be around people, even your best friends, for too long reset, and you just get a chance to catch your breath.
today wasn’t different. in the middle of the hangout, you grabbed your wallet and slipped out, enjoying the tiny walk in fresh air before you stepped into your favorite cafe.
the familiar barista immediately lit up at the sight of you, boredom fading from his face. he was your age, friendly with a cute grin that grew whenever you two chatted— something that made you feel at ease when ordering.
“my favorite customer,” he immediately greeted, grinning. the bell at the door chimed, and you both didn’t pay any mind to it. “i wonder what you will order this time.”
you snorted. you both knew you ordered the exact same thing every single time. “yeah, i wonder too.”
he chuckled, eyes flickering to the screen. you could feel a figure stopping behind you. “well, you know your total.”
you hummed, about to pay, when the familiar scent of sukuna’s signature perfume finally registered in your mind as he moved to step beside you, eyes narrowed, jaw slowly twitching. “make it two.”
you slowly glanced up. the barista looked up in surprise, before he nodded calmly. “of course.”
before you could register it, sukuna’s card was pressing against the machine, paying for you both. your jaw went slack for the second time this week, flabbergasted once more, but sukuna was already pulling you out of line so that the people behind you could pay.
and, more unfazed that he should be by his own actions, he casually held out the receipt. “here. you take the code and collect points on their app, right?”
“…how the fuck do you even know that?” you mumbled, utterly confused. “why are you here? how did you find me— did you even know what you ordered—“
“easy there, angel.” he murmured, calm. “you always carry the receipt and i see you type something from it on your phone often. ‘m here because the coffee in the other shop is ass. you always come here, so i figured i would try my coffee with you. i know what i ordered because i know your order.”
you openly gaped at him. he only reached over, grabbing both drinks, arching an eyebrow. “are you gonna gape at me forever or drink this sweet shit?”
“…did you just call me angel?”
his amusement immediately faded, ears turning red as he shoved your drink your way, looking away. “absolutely not. hallucinations. let’s go.”
that was what he chooses to deny? not that he knew your movie night in details? that he knew your exact drink? that he knew you secretly collected points from your favorite coffee shop?
you let out a tiny chuckle, amused, following behind him. that somehow managed to make his ears even more red, a scowl pulling on his pretty lips.
fuck. he was gorgeous, and adorable.
how horrible for you.
3. aquarium.
you laid face-down on shoko’s bed, face showed between the pillows, eyes shut in pure horror. “‘m so screwed.”
she sighed for the nth time from where she sat on the ground, studying. “you quite literally could not be more not screwed.”
“i have a crush on him, shoko. i never have crushes. and now i have one, on fucking sukuna. the guy once punched a guy for breathing ‘his’ air. he fucking hates people. i am so utterly fucked. he will kill me.”
she glanced up, as if she knew something you didn’t. “he won’t kill you. kiss you? maybe.”
“stop being delusional.” you mumbled, voice muffled as you buried your face into the sand further. “‘m so fucked.”
she sighed. “you’re delusional too if you don’t realize what’s happening. anyways, isn’t it the twenty seventh? your monthly aquarium night?”
you jumped up, gasping. “it is! fuck!” you quickly grabbed your phone to check the time, before opening the aquarium’s instagram page just in case there were any updates.
and, unfortunately, right there on their instagram story, posted twelve hours ago, was a simple statement.
‘couples only day!’
“oh, fuck my fucking life.” you mumbled, eyes on the story, shoulders drooping. “shoko, be my aquarium date.”
“couples only, huh? if only these weren’t the conditions,” she mused, almost flirty, before tilting her head.
“yes.”
“ask sukuna to go with you.”
you blinked once, twice, before pulling up your phone, nodding, serious. “good idea. ‘m asking gojo or geto.”
“that is quite literally not what i said.”
“you’re a genius.”
you sent off a quick text to geto and gojo, jumping off her bed to head to your own apartment to get ready. after dressing up all cute for the sake of your loved marine animals, you glanced down at your phone, where a vague text from gojo said he couldn’t, followed by maybe three million crying emojis (which was maybe because he had begged before to accompany you said no. aquariums were a single, you-only trip), and geto sent back a simple ‘he’s almost there’, and a thumbs up.
what kind of reply was that? you frowned, sending five questions marks, about to ask who the fuck ‘he’ was, when your doorbell rings.
you pulled the door open, and freeze when your eyes landed on the one and only sukuna. he glanced at you, eyes blank, and nodded once. “let’s go.”
“…where?”
he raised an eyebrow. “the aquarium. date night. let’s go.”
“…are you sure?” you immediately mumbled, voice uncharacteristically low. “‘m, uh, kind of enthusiastic about this. nerdy. geeky. um, annoying.”
his lips twitched up into an endeared smile that he immediately pushed back. “i know what ‘m getting into. let’s go.”
you grabbed your jacket, eyebrows furrowing. “suguru could have just said he couldn’t come. i’m sorry he sent you instead.”
“oh, he could come.” sukuna stated blankly, stepping into the elevator behind you. you glanced up at him, confused, and he stared back blankly, as if waiting for you to collect dots you didn’t even see. he only sighed after a few minutes, shaking his head. “this is both cute and infuriating. so, which stupid creature is your favorite?”
you expected a night with sukuna to be awkward. tense. uncomfortable. a night where you had to hold back so you don’t become labeled as talkative, or annoying, or too much.
you didn’t expect for him to be a good listener. nodding at whatever you said, asking questions at first to keep you talking until you were comfortable rambling. you didn’t expect him to hold your things so you could comfortably get closer to the glass, or stay longer at your favorite animals, or ask you about ones that seemed interesting, his eyes soft and lips twitching upwards just the slightest. you didn’t expect him to disappear at one point and come back with a few limited-edition items from the small gift shop either, dumping them in your arms wordlessly as you two were walking out.
“thank you for being my fake date for the night, kuna.” you mumbled as he was dropping you off, sleepy, eyes soft and voice slurred. he paused at your words, lips twitching into a frown before he eyed how sleepy you were and only sighed.
“of course, angel.” he muttered, reaching over and nonchalantly pressing a kiss to your forehead before he turned around, walking away. “…sleep well, goodnight.”
gaping at him seeming like a new routine, except this time, your sleepy eyes were set on his back as he left, almost getting distracted by his muscles showing through the fabric. oh, you were so, utterly fucked.
4. the beach.
you sat quietly on the sand, wrapped tightly in a towel, eyes ahead as you watched gojo, geto and shoko shoving each other in the water. choso was on a towel beside you, deeply asleep and snoring. toji was playing around with megumi and nobara and yuji, who was yapping about how his uncle dropped him off and disappeared. everyone was enjoying themselves.
you were freezing.
you had gotten there earlier, having known they would all show up too late. you liked swimming alone with no eyes on you, so with too much sunscreen, you stayed in the water under the sun in what you knew was the perfect time for you. by the time everyone else arrived, you were already drying in the shade.
oh, how you wished you had a dry towel—
a dry towel dropped into your lap before the thought even finished. you froze, glancing up at the sky, before immediately closing your eyes again and wishing for a million dollars just in case.
“don’t stare at the fucking sun.”
ah. your genie.
you peaked through your lashes at sukuna, who glared at you, a hand going to shade your eyes from the sun. he was dry, holding a small bag which you assumed was for his wallet and phone and car keys and towel, the sun kissing every spot on his perfect body, as if purposely teasing you.
fuck. how could someone be so pretty?
he sighed, pulling a cap out of the bag. he pushed it on top of your damp hair, shading your face, and slumped beside you. “switch towels. mine is dry.”
“hi.” you mumbled dumbly, blinking a few times to snap yourself from the daze seeing his beautiful red eyes in the sun put you through. his lips twitched, face softening, and he only pulled the cap down further. you finally remembered how to think. “don’t you need your towel dry?”
“‘m not going into the water this late.” he stated. his eyes flickered to choso asleep, and he rolled his eyes, standing back up. you watched shamelessly as he effortlessly pulled the heavy umbrella so it was covering the sun kissed stoner, sighing, voice lower. “that dumbass.”
“i spray him with sunscreen every two hours. flipped him once.” you mused, taking the chance of sukuna being distracted to switch towels, sighing in relief once the warm, dry, soft towel wrapped around you. “thank you, kuna.”
“don’t mention it.” he grunted, then frowned once he registered your words, “you rub sunscreen on him?”
“oh, no, it’s a spray.” you hummed, pulling it out. “isn’t it cool?”
he glanced at the spray bottle, shoulders slowly relaxing. “mhm. it is. can you spray me?”
you nodded, moving to stand up, immediately stumbling in the towel. firm fingers immediately steadied you, and you deeply hoped he couldn’t feel the warmth radiating off you from being flustered as he slowly let go.
you slowly sprayed him, the sunscreen leaving a shiny coat that made him look even more beautiful. after making sure every part of him was covered, you slowly sat back down. “try to rub it to make sure it’s even.”
he hummed, eyes shut, slowly spreading it out, spreading it out on his tan skin.
what a fucking sight, really. he was so, unbelievably gorgeous. you were so fucked.
“…you went early, huh?”
“…yeah.” you mumbled, eyes still on him, hoping he keeps his eyes closed.
“tell me next time. ‘ll go with you.” he sighed. “these idiots always come when it’s already too cold.”
you nodded slowly as he finally finished, slumping next to you on the little beach mat gojo had gotten, so close that his thigh was pretty to your covered figure. he frowned. “your lips are pale. still cold?”
you grimaced. “‘ll be okay. thank you for the towel—“
he sighed, an arm wrapping around your shoulder before he was pulling you towards him. you missed the way his body relaxed, lips twitching into a repressed grin, the face of a man finally achieving one of his long lost goals.
holy fuck. you were pressed to his side, his body oozing warmth. he smelled great, and you could feel his muscles every time he shifted. as you stared ahead, trying to pretend like you weren’t malfunctioning, your eyes landed on shoko, gojo and geto staring back at you guys from the water, jaws slack.
well. at least it wasn’t you this time.
5. studying.
as much as it seemed otherwise, studying with gojo actually helped you. you both kept each other in check— you stopped him whenever he started yapping, and he distracted you whenever you were spiraling. you both were a team when studying— having been one since the first semester, when you both met.
during breaks, however, was when you really liked studying with gojo. you both sat with thirteen expensive pastries in front of you, gojo’s treat, and he grinned excitedly. “oh, this will be so good. you go first.”
“you don’t have to tell me twice.” you mumbled, picking one up. you immediately moaned in delight, holding the rest to gojo, who reached over and took the rest from between your fingers. “fuck. this is so good.”
gojo let out an even louder moan. you both ignored the disgusted glares from the people around you, happily chewing. “oh, these are fucking godsent. thank you for being my taste buddy.”
“thank you,” you mumbled, grabbing another one. “you’re the one spoiling me with these. you’re, like, my dream man right now.”
gojo let out a loud laugh, before pausing, shivering in horror at whatever he imagined. “do not let sukuna hear you saying that. he’ll have my head.”
“why would he have your head for that?” you mumbled, mouthful, and distracted by the heavenly taste of these. you weren’t even a fan of pasteries, but these were on another level. you tried another, and immediately groaned. “fuck. try this one.”
you immediately extended your hand out to gojo. he, as usual, ate half of it off your fingers instead, and dramatically melted in his seat. “ten out of ten. perfect. stunning. i will marry whoever made these.” he swallowed, and quickly ate the rest off your fingers to. “and he will because he’s, like, in love with you.”
“you flipping liar.” you mumbled, unamused with the obvious fake news. “he doesn’t. he’s just a good friend.”
“he’s not a good friend,” gojo snorted. “he almost shoved my head into the toilet bowl yesterday because he was bored. he likes you.”
you did not believe him the slightest. “uh-huh. wanna try the red one?”
“yes, please.”
later that night, you were curled up in bed— going over everything you had studied earlier to lock the information into your mind. the groupchat was blowing up after choso was caught kissing someone (you already knew the news. choso blurted about his ‘secret’ crush to you before when he was high, and forgot.) and you just shot back a sticker laughing, said you were studying and you needed more caffeine to deal with this, and shut your phone off completely.
you really needed caffeine.
everytime you shut your eyes, all you can see is a cold, cup of your favorite coffee from your favorite shop. the condensation running down, the inviting taste, everything—
fuck. you needed one so bad. you frowned, turning your phone on to glance at the time, and paused when a notification stood out from between the ones on the groupchat.
sukuna: pick u up for coffee in five?
you stared at the message, then slowly glanced down at the sweatpants and oversized hoodie you were in, your hair messy, broken glasses on because you were too lazy to get these specific ones fixed and you lost the other, before sighing. you needed caffeine too bad to worry about how you looked in front of him right now.
you: please :c
a car honked downstairs a few minutes. you quickly grabbed your wallet and your half-dead phone, rushing downstairs, grabbing an oversized jacket on the way so you could tug it on top of your thick hoodie, grimacing at how much of a mess you looked. you slid into the passenger seat, and sukuna only stared at you, eyes slowly taking in your appearance, lips softly pulling up.
“don’t say anything.” you immediately mumbled. his smirk widened, but he didn’t speak, immediately resuming to drive, eyes ahead. “‘m so sleepy.”
“uh-huh. let’s get some caffeine in you.” he murmured, turning more serious. “don’t overwork yourself tonight. did you have dinner?”
you nodded, ignoring how your heart felt like it was twirling in your chest. “i did. ate and drank and slept well.”
he hummed. “good.”
in the coffee shop, he got the same as you, paying despite your complaints. once the drinks were out, he grabbed both, wrapping yours in tissues to keep your fingers from being cold before handing it over, humming.
you were looking over notes in your phone, too tired to register his actions. you only quietly took the cup, immediately sipping, shoulders slowly rolling down, tense muscles relaxing. “thank you, kuna.”
he clicked his tongue. “don’t mention it.”
in the car, you focused on sipping the coffee, and he cleared his throat. “gojo said you two were on a study date this morning. pastries and shit. said you called him your dream man.”
you snorted. sukuna glanced over, utterly unamused, almost pouting. “i love gojo.”
his lips immediately formed a scowl. “you love him?”
“not like that,” you snorted. “he’s just… he was the first person who was nice to me in university, you know. the first person who made sure i never felt like a burden. he means a lot to me, platonically.”
he was silent for a while, then nodded, pulling up in front of your building. “good. you deserve to never feel like a burden. you… mean a lot to me.”
was he trying to kill you? you immediately shuffled out, heart beating like it was trying to escape your chest, cheeks burning. “you mean a lot to me too, kuna. um, goodnight. thank you for picking me up.”
“don’t mention it, angel.”
+1.
against your will, you were dragged to a party.
you would have been enthusiastic, really, if finals hadn’t just ended— leaving you too sleep deprived that you couldn’t even walk straight. gojo had came over to force you out and picked your outfit out for you, keeping in mind your pleads for it to be something warm, and you ended up in the passenger seat of his car, asleep soundly, vaguely aware of his whining about you needing to be awake as he drove you there.
you could only remember little snippets between your tiny naps, really.
gojo having his arm around you as he dragged you in.
you slumping down beside choso, immediately falling asleep on his shoulder.
sukuna crouching down in front of you, concerned, eyes worried.
sukuna covering you with a blanket.
sukuna sitting beside you, pulling your head into his shoulder instead.
geto replacing choso. you shifting, head falling into his shoulder because he was warmer.
sukuna immediately pulling you back towards him, an arm falling around your waist to keep you close, bickering with geto.
after that, you drifted into deep sleep— the kind that only came after a week straight of pulling all nighters. and, when you woke up again, you were wrapped in a blanket, on the roof, on a tiny couch with your head on sukuna’s lap and a cigarette between his lips.
the second he registered you awake, he pushed the cigarette into the ashtray, eyes soft, fingers on your shoulders to help you sit up. “you okay, angel?”
“mhm. sleepy.” you mumbled, blinking slowly, still half asleep. you yawned, rubbing your eyes. “thank you for watching over me, kuna. you’re, like, my angel.”
“…don’t mention it.” he whispered— although, it sounded more like a pained whimper. “i… yeah. don’t mention it.”
it was silent for a few minutes. you both stared up at the sky, lost in thought, before sukuna cleared his throat.
“…the stars are pretty.”
“mhm.”
he paused, before speaking again. his voice was low, soft, but it was laced with quiet frustration that you could tell wasn’t pointed at you. “we’re, uh, done with the semester.”
“…mhm.”
he clicked his tongue, and sat up, like he’s restarting. “…we’re good friends.”
“we are.” you mumbled, still dazed from your delicious, needed nap. he let out a small groan, face buried into his palm.
“fuck.”
“…kuna?” you murmured, voice soft, sleepy. his eyes finally flickered up, frustrated and almost disappointed in himself, and you only gave him a small, sleepy smile. “i like you too.”
and finally, it was his turn for his jaw to go slack, eyes widening, before he turned to you quickly. “you’re not fucking with me, right? you like me?”
you nodded, sleepy, but focused. “i like you.”
he didn’t hesitate before dropping to his knees in front of you, eyes soft and almost pathetic. “say that again. please.”
“i like you, kuna.” you repeated, quieter, softer, more serious.
he let his head drop, face pressed against the blanket covering your thighs briefly, voice muffled when he spoke. “…you have no idea how many years i have been dying to hear this, angel. fuck.” when he lifted his head back up, his red eyes were almost glossy. “‘m marrying the fuck out of you one day.”
that managed a sleepy laugh out of you. “take me on a date first, at least. we haven’t even kissed yet.”
his eyes lit up at the mere thought— before you watched him visibly holding himself back, trying to appear more relaxed, probably to not scare you off, despite his reddening ears at the idea. “right. dates. i will date you so fucking good, i promise, you will never think of anyone but me again. not even that stupid barista who clearly wants you so bad. only me.” he nodded, serious, scowling, before his eyes softened again. “best dates of your life. where do you want to go? dinner? coffee? aquarium? your little movie night routine at my place? do you want me to make it a surprise? i will be the best boyfriend— wait, fuck, not that yet—“
you reached over, softly pressing your lips to his,
he froze, eyes probably wide, then immediately melted the second your fingers gently cupped his face to pull him closer, letting out a soft, little sound into the kiss that had his face flushing further.
once you pulled away, your eyes met his dazed ones, and he slowly sucked in a deep breath. “….fuck.”
“dinner sounds good.” you whispered back, thumb brushing over his bottom lip, and he shut his eyes, as if it took visible effort not to groan. “next week?”
“you think ‘ll make it to next week?” he let out a sharp laugh. “you have me fucking kneeling for you, angel. tomorrow. 8. please.”
“okay.” you murmured, voice soft. “now, come back up, i will want to continue napping on you.”
bestfriend!yuji who thinks that he has no chance with you (he definitely does)
fluff
it was getting entirely out of hand, to the point where megumi’s left eye had developed a microscopic, rhythmic twitch whenever all of you were in the same room.
there was a distinct difference between being a good friend and whatever it was that yuji was doing. yuji wasn’t operating on normal human frequencies anymore; he was a highly concentrated wave of devotion that required him to subconsciously monitor your exact coordinates, comfort levels, and nutritional needs at all times. the truly agonizing part of this whole situation was that yuji honestly, genuinely believed he was pining from a tragic, unrequited distance.
“man,” yuji sighed, his chin resting heavily on his arms as he slumped over the small wooden table in the break room. he looked like a golden retriever that had been left out in the rain, despite the fact that he was perfectly dry and had eaten three bowls of rice an hour ago. “i just... i don’t know how guys like gojo-sensei do it. how do you even get someone like that to notice you? she’s so cool. fushiguro, be honest, do you think she likes guys who can cook? i could learn how to bake those fancy little french pastries. the ones with the layers. do you think she’d like that?”
megumi didn’t look up from his book. he simply turned the page, his knuckles whitening slightly against the paper. “itadori. you made her bento this morning. it was shaped like a bear.”
“that was just a nutritional baseline!” yuji defended instantly, sitting up with a look of pure, desperate longing in his eyes. “a person needs a balanced breakfast! that doesn’t mean she wants to hold my hand during a movie! i’m practically invisible to her, man. i’m just the guy who hangs around and breathes her oxygen. if i asked her out, she’d probably laugh and think i was pulling a prank. my heart would literally disintegrate into ash. like a cursed spirit, fushiguro. gone.”
megumi finally closed his book with a soft, ominous thud. he stared at his friend, trying to calculate how much brain damage yuji had sustained in his life to arrive at this specific level of dense. “yesterday, she said she was slightly warm, and you constructed a makeshift fan out of cardboard within four seconds. you didn’t even use cursed energy. you just moved your hands really fast.”
“that’s just basic manners!”
“you carried her up three flights of stairs because her shoelaces were untied and you didn’t want her to trip,” megumi countered, his voice dangerously level.
“the stairs were slippery!” yuji wailed, burying his face in his hands. “you don’t get it. she’s like... a masterpiece. and i’m just a guy who knows how to do a kickflip. i have no chance. zero. negative numbers.”
before megumi could commit a felony, the sliding door opened, and you walked in alongside nobara. the second your shoes crossed the threshold, yuji’s entire posture changed. it was an instantaneous shift; his spine straightened, his ears practically perked up, and his eyes locked onto you with a degree of focus usually reserved for high-stakes exorcisms.
“hey,” you said, offering a small, tired smile as you dropped into the empty chair next to yuji. “the training grounds are freezing today. i think the wind is coming straight from the mountains.”
yuji didn’t say a word. he didn’t even look at his own hands as they moved with the practiced efficiency of a surgeon. within three seconds, he had took off his oversized, fleece-lined red hoodie, shrugged it off himself, and gently helped you put it on. he tucked the soft fabric around you, his fingers lingering for just a fraction of a second against your collarbone to make sure the chill was sealed out, before pulling his hands back and shoving them into his uniform pockets.
“thanks,” you mumbled, instantly buried in his warmth and the faint, comforting scent of laundry detergent and whatever body wash he used. you pulled the sleeves over your hands, sinking into the collar.
“yeah, of course,” yuji said, his voice dropping into a soft, casual register that completely contradicted the fact that his internal organs were currently performing backflips. “can’t have you catching a cold. you’ve got that exam tomorrow, right? need your brain working at a hundred percent.”
nobara paused, her hand hovering over the back of a chair as she watched this sequence of events play out. she looked at yuji, then at you buried in his giant hoodie, then over at megumi, whose jaw was clenched so tightly he looked like a gargoyle.
“hey, yuji,” you said, reaching into your pocket and pulling out a slightly bruised mandarin orange you’d grabbed from the cafeteria. “do you have a knife? the skin on this one is really thick.”
“i got it,” he said immediately.
he took the orange from your hand. yuji didn’t use a knife. he used his thumbs, peeling the rind away in one seamless, removing the little white strings so you wouldn’t have to deal with the mess. his fingers were steady, careful, and incredibly gentle as he split the fruit into perfect, individual segments. he laid them out neatly on a clean napkin he’d pulled from literally nowhere, pushing the finished product toward you with a small, encouraging nod.
“there you go. the sweet ones are usually the smaller pieces,” he murmured, his eyes tracking your expression to ensure you were satisfied.
“you’re a lifesaver,” you said, popping a segment into your mouth.
yuji’s face remained entirely neutral, but megumi could see the way the boy’s legs were practically vibrating under the table from the sheer rush of being praised. it was pathetic. it was magnificent. it was driving megumi to the brink of insanity.
“so,” nobara started, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms. her eyes narrowed as she watched yuji reach over, pick up your heavy leather canvas bag from the floor, and settle it comfortably over his own knee so it wouldn’t get dirty. “itadori. can i ask you a question?”
“hmm?” yuji looked up, his hand still resting protectively near your side of the table. “what’s up, kugisaki?”
“what did you do an hour ago?”
“i went to the convenience store down the street,” he said, blinking innocently.
“and what did you buy?”
“oh! i got that specific chocolate drink with the milk and two pumps of vanilla. the one with the extra meringue sprinkled on top.” yuji reached down into his bag and pulled out the plastic cup, which was perfectly chilled, sweating slightly against his palm. he placed it right next to your napkin of oranges, straw already unwrapped and inserted. “here. they finally had the good meringue back in stock.”
you blinked, looking up from your fruit. “wait, really? they told me yesterday they were out until next week.”
“i asked the guy to check the back crates,” yuji said, giving you a bright, close-eyed grin that could have easily powered a small metropolitan area. “told him it was an emergency. he found a whole tin of it.”
megumi made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded like a dying bird.
nobara stared. she stared at the chocolate drink, then at the peeled oranges, then at the enormous red hoodie currently engulfing your torso. she looked at yuji’s face, which was full of nothing but pure, desperate desire to please you, completely devoid of any realization that he was acting like a husband of ten years.
slowly, with the deliberate precision of a predator stalking its prey, nobara walked around the table. she didn’t say a word until she was standing directly behind yuji. then, with a sudden, violent burst of movement, she reached down, grabbed a fistful of his inner uniform collar, and yanked him backward out of his chair.
“woah! kugisaki—choking! choking!” yuji gasped, his hands flying to his throat as she dragged him a few feet away from the table.
“shut up,” nobara hissed, her voice a terrifying whisper as she pointed a manicured finger directly at you, who was currently taking a sip of the perfectly customized latte. “look at that. look at her.”
“i’m looking!” yuji squeaked, his cheeks flushing a violent, immediate pink. “she looks great! the hoodie suits her, right? do you think i should buy her one for her birthday? or is that too forward? maybe a scarf? a scarf is safer—”
“yuji,” nobara interrupted, her voice dropping into a range that promised physical violence. “what the hell? i thought you guys were dating?”
yuji froze. his entire body went rigid, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates as his brain completely stalled out, the gears grinding to a screeching halt. “w-what?” he whispered, the syllable popping out of him like a deflating balloon. “dating? us? no! no way! we’re not—i mean, i wish, but no! why would you say that? don’t say that out loud, she’ll hear you and get weirded out and then i’ll have to move to a different country!”
“are you sharing a single brain cell with the curses you fight?” nobara demanded, shaking him by his collar until his pink hair flew in every direction. “you peeled her fruit! you gave her your clothes! you went into the back storage room of a convenience store for a specific topping because she mentioned it once days ago!”
“that’s just being neighborly!” yuji yelled back in a panicked whisper, his hands flailing. “if fushiguro wanted an orange, i’d peel it for him too!”
“if you touch my food, i will sever your fingers,” megumi said from the table, not looking up.
“see? fushiguro’s just picky!” yuji argued, turning back to nobara with a look of absolute, soul-crushing earnestness. “i’m not dating her, kugisaki. i’m just... trying really hard to be a good friend so she keeps letting me sit next to her. if i told her how i actually feel, she’d realize i’m just a big dummy who follows her around like a stray dog.”
nobara let go of his collar so abruptly that yuji stumbled backward, hitting the wall with a soft *thud*. she stared at him, her expression a mix of profound disgust and deep, spiritual exhaustion. “you.. are a medical marvel,” she muttered, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “i genuinely don’t know how you survive on a daily basis.”
“hey, yuji?” your voice cut through the tension, clear and soft from across the room.
yuji was back at the table before nobara could even blink, his entire demeanor resetting into that attentive, hovering stance. “yeah! what’s up? is the drink bad? is it too sweet? i can go back—”
“no, it’s perfect,” you said, looking up at him through your eyelashes, your fingers curling around the warm ceramic of your hands inside his large sleeves. a very real, very noticeable shy smile had crept it’s way to your pretty face. “i was just wondering... if you weren’t busy tonight, maybe you could help me study? and... i don’t know. we could get dinner after? just the two of us?”
yuji stopped. the entire world seemed to drop away around him. his heart gave a massive, violent thud against his ribs, his chest tightening in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with training or stamina. he looked at the shy smile on your face, the way your fingers were twisting the hem of his hoodie, and something in his chest completely melted into puddle of warm, gooey mush. he knew damn well he didn’t know shit about math.
“yeah,” yuji said, his voice softer than usual, a genuine, completely unforced smile breaking across his face as he leaned down slightly, bringing himself to your eye level. “i’d love to. i’ll make sure you pass that test, okay? whatever you want to eat, it’s on me.”
from the corner of the room, nobara let out a loud, dramatic groan, throwing her hands in the air as she turned toward the exit. “i can’t do this anymore. fushiguro, we’re leaving before the sheer density of his skull creates a black hole and swallows the school.”
“agreed,” megumi said, already standing up and slipping his book into his pocket, passing yuji with a look that said you owe me your life.
as the door slid shut behind them, yuji didn’t even notice. he was already pulling up another chair, drawing himself right next to you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he reached out to slide the rest of the oranges closer to your hand.
unfortunately i’m a person who takes words very seriously, so yes i’ll remember every little things you've said about me, whether if it's good or bad, it will stay in my mind for a very long time.
[looking at people younger than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at people older than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at myself] its over
summary: tadashi hamada, jersey number 6, the famed right fielder for the san fransokyo ninjas... lacks media training.
a/n: my kenji sato days are calling me... omg tadashi looks super hot in his dead wife video sequence (gif). i feel like this is bad. idk if im satisfied with it. maybe it needs a prt 2 but idk if you guys will like it, so...
contents & warnings: investigative journalist!reader , baseball! player tadashi, again my baseball phase was SOOOO long ago and if i get something wrong then yolo. idk/idr how real sports press conferences work... i think. take a shot every time i say "san fransokyo". gn!reader, no use of y/n. established relationship bc i can't help myself.
wc: 1151
▶︎•၊၊||၊|။|||||။၊|။•— NOW PLAYING: 'lowkey' by NIKI 𑣲
The San Fransokyo Tribune, for all of its extensive, prestigious history— had always been understaffed.
And you were beginning to think you were getting a little too good at your job.
You cursed your instinct to please everyone, that little voice in the back of your head that seemed to say "yes" eternally. It always seemed to be pushed to the forefront whenever your workplace demanded something of you. That childish, annoying urge to always go for extra credit.
So, that's how you, an investigative journalist who hadn't touched a single baseball since 12th grade P.E class, had gotten assigned to cover media day for the San Fransokyo Ninjas.
You found sports press conferences to be severely overstimulating. This was definitely made worse by your phone ringing with endless notifications, angering you just enough to shove it into your purse more aggressively than needed. You sigh, adjusting your collar for the 60th time since you've entered the stuffy room filled with bright-eyed, eager reporters raring to get a look at the state's most prized possessions on the field. You were a little more concerned with what you were going to have for dinner tonight, but, alas, professionalism calls. You swore you had seen someone faint as soon as you took a seat inside the colosseum of a press conference room.
The publicist for the elusive sports team flit back and forth from telling off reporters to adjusting name plates. Before the poor woman could say anything else, around 7 tall, fit-looking men came out of the woodwork, eliciting questions being immediately shot at them from all areas like rabbits during hunting season. Cameras took aim, flashing their lights in successive clicks.
"How is the team dealing with the absence of your last manager—?"
"The momentum shift during your last inning was insane! Could you walk us through—"
"ARE ANY OF YOU MARRIED?!?!"
You watched with great pity as the team's long suffering publicist tried to gain control of the room, the players watching her with great concern and appreciation. Eventually, the symphony of inquiries had died down into a hush of low murmurs.
You weren't among those who had immediately jumped at the chance to ask questions as soon as the players came out and spread among the panel. You were used to being around important people— morbidly, they were usually being carried away in a body bag, but, hey, you weren't any stranger to living baseball players, either.
Speaking of which... all the players were paying some degree of attention to the questions asked. Mostly, the team's captain, Hiroto Watanabe, was the main spokesperson for all questions aimed at the team as a whole. You noticed that each of the players fell into an archetype of some sort. You couldn't remember what their names were, so you resorted to calling them by how you saw them. Let's see, there was Hiroto, then, there was Happy, Cocky, Lazy, Nervous, and... Tadashi.
His name, you could remember with an intimate familiarity. He was one of the more unique members of the SFN. A right fielder who had only recently been signed, he was on the younger side of the team, being 21. Admired by many for his hard work on the field, and his efforts in his academics as a robotics student at the renowned San Fransokyo Institute of Technology.
SFN fans were overjoyed to see new life being breathed into the team with his addition. It was refreshing to see an erudite character on the athletic stage, with numerous people being charmed by every move he seemed to make, on and off the field. He even managed to become popular outside of the baseball world.
His kind, intelligent, family oriented, attentive persona garnered a lot of female fans... along with the obvious truth of his handsome face and body. A truth you, admittedly, had to agree with. If you had a penny for every fan edit you've seen of his arms, you'd have around 1000 pennies. Which is... a lot, and very weird that you've seen 1000 edits of just his arms. (And kind of weird that you've saved all of them as a collection on your TikTok account. But we're not going to unpack that right now.)
Strangely, for how 'attentive' he seemed to be, the press conference looked to be at the back of his mind. His brown eyes were fixed downward at what you presumed to be a phone, only flitting up whenever his name was called to answer a question. His large hands shifted every few seconds, probably in typing a message into his phone. The bill of his cap hid his eyes, but you tried to ignore the feeling of being paid attention to.
You kicked at your bag.
Shaking your head, you glanced again at the list of questions your colleague had given you to ask, rising up when Ms. Long-Suffering Publicist called for the San Fransokyo Tribune to present their questions.
Tadashi's head seemed to snap to attention, having you bite back a laugh.
You went through the standard fare, asking players about stats, progress, and all the little intricacies of the sport that you weren't very familiar with. Without the familiarity usually present in your interviews, you sounded a little chaotic. Everything was somewhat unfamiliar, but, the interview portion was going just as you'd expect. You couldn't wait for this to be over with. Soon, you could go home, maybe relax with—
"And may I ask a question to you, reporter?"
This... definitely wasn't standard. You froze, a perplexed smile gracing your lips.
"I'm sorry...?"
"Chicken or beef?"
After a minuscule moment of silence, laughter and snickers broke out among the players, while the reporters murmured amongst themselves in bewilderment.
Tadashi smirked, putting his elbows on the table in front of him.
"Sweetheart, I told you, I'm making dinner tonight. So, what's it gonna be? Chicken or beef? You weren’t answering my texts.”
Your cheeks burned as reporters had begun to furiously rip at their notepads with lightning-fast pens. You sigh, a defeated grin plastering itself across your face. Your eyes met Tadashi's, who seemed to mirror your grin with a lopsided smirk of his own, eyebrows raising slightly to urge you to go on. You hate how your heart picks up at the sight of something so simple.
"...beef. Our fire alarm went off the last time you made fried chicken."
Mrs. Long-Suffering Publicist could only watch helplessly as the initial uproar at the beginning of the conference started up again. You made a mental note to send her a gift basket after this whole ordeal sorted itself out.
Your car door shut after escaping the horde of story-hungry reporters. You put your head in your hands, squealing into your palms. After a while, you hastily pulled out your phone.
To: 'Dashi ⚾️🧢🤓☝️
You need some serious media training, Hamada.
From: 'Dashi ⚾️🧢🤓☝️
You're no fun :((
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READINGGGG!! if you enjoyed this fic, please REBLOG and LIKE!! reblogs mean the world to me!! also feel free to comment ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊
Atsumu is a loverboy and damn proud of it. People always assume he’s a player because of that natural charm and big personality but in all honesty, he’s down bad. Like, down on his knees barking if you told him to. His friends tease him every now and then, but really, he’s exactly where he wants to be. He just laughs along, shrugs real casual and says, “What can I say? I love my girl” like it’s the most natural thing in the world, because to him, it is.
