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dissociativewriter · 2 days ago

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Unnatural Affinity- Part 1

Isekai!Reader x Love and Deepspace

wc: 2.3k

cw: ANGST, depressed reader, allusions to self harm, reader is not MC, reader has a defined personality, I fear you can tell she's a self-insert, eventual contact with all love interests, no guaranteed happy ending

Synopsis: You hadn't been okay mentally. When going to meet your friend for lunch, you suddenly find yourself plunged into the world of Love and Deepspace as a close friend to the main character. Would you be able to find your place in this world not made for you?

author's note: So this is technically based on @ixloom819 ‘s post on affinity levels with an Isekai!Reader, but I made it very angsty and didn’t actually address the affinity levels in this part (we’ll get to it eventually, I swear. Probably in the next part, actually.) Reader has a lot of oddly specific personality bits here and there that are very much just me so uhhh sorry <3 also the song that is consistently referenced is Vienna by Billy Joel (it’s my favorite <3) Also MC is named Em because I saw another creator call her Em Cee so I decided to use that to instead of searching for a new one to use!

You rose with a jolt.

You had plans today.

You rolled over, checking the time.

11:30.

Weren’t you supposed to meet at 12:00?

You jumped out of bed, running straight to the bathroom. You would have to forego much of your “get ready” routine if you wanted to be on time. Quickly brushing your teeth, arranging your hair in a way that didn’t look like you just rolled out of bed, throwing on some jeans and a cute top conveniently sitting at the top of your drawer, and you were pretty much ready to go.

You grabbed your tote bag, tossing in your laptop, a journal, your pencil case, an old, heavily annotated copy of Frankenstein you were currently rereading (and trying to ignore your past, somewhat cringy annotations), and a small bag of snacks.

You checked the time again.

11:48.

Not too shabby.

Although getting ready was an easy, albeit rushed task, getting to the cafe you were meeting at on time was an entirely different and much harder issue. Through some stroke of luck, you’d manage to get to the bus station just in time for it to leave. And you found a seat!

Maybe today was going to be a good day. You were certainly due for one, you thought.

You knew why your friend had asked you to meet up, of course. You put your earbuds in, cueing your favorite song.

Slow down, you crazy child. You’re so ambitious for a juvenile. But then, if you’re so smart, then tell me, why are you still so afraid? You let the music wash over you, the soft piano soothing your nerves as you relaxed your shoulders.

She was worried. You didn’t blame her. You hadn’t exactly been the pinnacle of happiness these past few months. Your recent self-imposed isolation probably hadn’t helped with that.

Your hands, resting on your thighs, flexed restlessly. You could almost feel the outline of every single cut you’d made.

No matter what you’d say, no matter how many I’m fine’s you’d muttered, you knew.

That was not what a healthy person did.

You thought of a journal entry you’d written, what seemed so long ago now.

‘I think it is the true human experience to want more than you have. But I don’t think this emptiness is innate in the human experience. The feeling never leaves me, it’s encapsulating. I feel absolutely nothing so completely. I cannot bring myself to care about my passions, my friends, my self.

I don’t think I can handle anything more than the burden that is my existence. My days are filled with distractions and entertainment, and my night are spent mourning lost time. I desperately want something worthwhile, something meaningful. I desperately want an adventure, with romance and risks. How am I supposed to find that in this world?’

It was an entry you’d thought about a lot. A bit melodramatic, sure. You’d probably been reading Sylvia Plath or something before writing it. But there was still truth to it. You told yourself you’d be fine, you’d get better. And the glimmer of hope at the very end of the entry served as a testament to you that it could get better:

‘But then, I guess those distractions were meaningful if they brought me happiness, however temporary. All emotions are temporary, so this should also be. This feeling will leave. And maybe I can have the adventure I dream of, maybe that is the dream of all creatives. Why else would these feelings and this imagination be given to humanity?’

You still didn’t know where these words had come from. It was a blur of existential crises and anxiety attacks and nights spent sobbing. You could understand the logic behind the words, and they’d helped you before. Briefly. But emotion does not bow to logic, and you soon found yourself drowning again.

Slow down, you’re doing fine. You can’t be everything you want to be before your time.

You really couldn’t blame your friend for worrying, you thought as you stepped off the bus. Even though there were glimmers of hope in your otherwise bleak mindset, you knew you needed help on some level. Maybe she could help, maybe she would realize what you were trying to say as the words died in your throat. Maybe she could recognize the storm brewing inside you.

Maybe, for one time in your life, you could feel truly seen.

Now, for the first time since you received that text inviting you out, you were actually looking forward to seeing your friend. What was once dread for an intervention where you’d be forced to dodge your feelings and hide them so as not to be a burden, became excitement as you realized how dearly you had missed your friend.

Isolation was nice for a time, yes. It allowed you to gather your thoughts. But then the thoughts came too fast and too much. Maybe a break from the overwhelming thinking would be nice. Maybe you’d laugh again.

You peeked through the windows of the cafe, and, not spotting your friend, decided to wait outside under the sign.

You sighed, a bit regretful that it’d taken you this long to feel not completely shattered again. You’d lost a lot of time mourning the future you couldn’t have and the past you couldn’t erase, neglecting the present all the while.

Well, it’s time to live in the present, you thought as you shut your eyes, enjoying the cool breeze on your face. It’s time to recognize the beauty of life for what it is.

Maybe happiness wouldn’t be that hard to achieve.

The breeze grew colder, and you let out an involuntary shudder. It was so warm today, you knew the weather was supposed to stay warm, so why was the temperature suddenly dropping?

Your headphones let out a harsh crackle before the sound fizzled out completely. You could still hear the ghost of the lyrics if you listened hard enough.

You’ve got your passion, you’ve got your pride. But don’t you know that only fools are satisfi—

“There you are!” You cracked an eye open. The voice wasn’t familiar, but not unknown either. The girl in front of you smiled bright. “I thought you’d be late. Again.” There was an obvious teasing each to her voice, as if you knew each other.

You didn’t, right?

You looked around at the street around you, startled to realize that it had completely changed. The bus station was gone, the sushi shop across the street replaced with an arcade. The city you were now in was nice. Sleek. The kind of stuff they show in Sci-Fi movies. Oddly familiar, too. You looked up above you, trying to catch a glimpse of the sign hanging above your head.

Destiny Cafe.

Wait.

Destiny Cafe?

You felt your throat tighten. You looked around, more attentive this time, searching for any sign that you were right and this wasn’t just a coincidence. When you caught sight of an Otto-Bot, you knew.

You were in that game. That stupid game you’d downloaded a few months ago out of curiosity. The game you’d spent too many hours in, finding comfort in the words of men who did not exist.

If you really were in Love and Deepspace, would that make you the main character? That’s usually what happens in those Isekai stories, right? Your thoughts whirled before you were brought back by the expectant stare of the girl in front of you. She doesn’t look like Tara or any of MC’s friends, you thought, so who could she be?

You examined her closely. She was almost like you. As if her appearance were a distant echo of your own. But upon closer inspection, you could see: where your eyes had many flecks of colors, hers had only the one. Where your skin had a blemish here and there, a slight change of hue, hers remained consistent. She was too clean, as if there were no substance at all. And that wasn’t even considering her perfect pale skin, or long, sleek black hair. That was when you realized, and a wave of disappointment flowed through you. This was her.

Everything about her seemed so two-dimensional, a constant reminder that this was not a version of you or even an independent person, but the Main Character of an otome game.

This was the figure in all the promotional art.

This was the main character of Love and Deepspace.

Not you.

Her.

After all, why would it be you, when she was standing right next to you?

“Hello? You’re staring off into space. Are you okay?” She waved her hand in front of your eyes. Your gaze snapped to hers. Though her brows were drawn in concern, you weren’t sure you could name a single emotion behind her eyes. “If you’re not feeling well, we can always go home… We don’t have to go out today if you don’t want to. Don’t feel bad for saying you don’t want to just because it’s my first day back here in a few weeks.”

You looked at her, your confusion only growing. How can you figure out what the hell is going on without seeming absolutely insane? “…Sorry, I hit my head really bad earlier this morning, and I’m having trouble remembering things. Could you just give me a quick sum-up of what’s been happening?” It wasn’t perfect, but maybe you could get some answers.

The furrow in her brow deepened. “You… don’t remember?” She suddenly grabbed your arm. “Do you remember my name is Em?!”

So that was her name. “Of course I do!” you chuckled. “Just give me a run-down of the past few months, maybe it will jog my memory.” You smiled, hopefully convincingly.

It seemed to do the trick, because she smiled back before diving into what seemed to be her life story with great enthusiasm. “Well a few months ago, I went to the N109 Zone for that one secret mission, do you remember that? Well anyway I was gone for a few weeks, I spent a lot of time with my friend Skye. I’m pretty sure you meant him, we saw him at that work karaoke party?”

Skye in the N109 Zone. You realized with a start: I’ve met Sylus! At a work party? Surely you’re not a hunter. You realized Em was waiting for your yes or no before continuing, so you gave her a slight nod to go on.

“Right, so, after that I took a few missions with Xavier, helped out Rafayel with bodyguard duties or whatever, and had to go see Zayne for a ton of things because apparently my heart was beating arrhythmically. Turns out I’m fine, just a lot of excitement happened, you know? Anyways, after that I took leave for a few weeks to go to Skyhaven. You remember that, right? I remember I told you a lot cause you were using your access for research to help me out.”

Access for research? What kind of purpose did you serve in this plot line?

“I got in a bit of trouble with the Farspace Fleet, but everything’s fine so don’t worry! And now I’m here to meet up with you ‘cause I missed my roomie!” She gave you a tight hug.

She certainly had a lot of energy, you noted.

So from what you gathered: You were roommates with Em and you both worked at the Hunter’s Association. It seems she’s pretty up-to-date as far as the main plot line goes. That, unfortunately, means you’ll be left in the dark for a lot of future events. You’ll have to go off of only the secrets you know from the game.

You mentally thanked yourself for not neglecting any of the Love Interests. You knew they were all extremely important in the world, and, despite having a favorite, you participated in events and games with all of them. All of their affinities were relatively high, meaning you knew a lot of lore.

That could come in handy.

You were still struggling to realize your importance in this world, though. Surely, if you were this close to the Main Character, you contributed something, right?

Would you be able to find a happy ending in this game?

Em continued jabbering on, mentioning little memories and conversations you two had shared.

You stared at her blankly, unsure of what she was talking about. It certainly sounded like something you would say, or something you would do, but you had no recollection of any of it.

Then, it came to you.

Fragments, at first. Memories of a life that wasn’t quite yours. One somewhat empty. One that seemed hastily added in at the last second. One that didn’t hold importance in a world as vast as this.

An afterthought.

You decided to eat lunch with Em. ‘You’ had apparently promised her a lunch date, after all. You didn’t go into Destiny Cafe, and you weren’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. It almost felt like breaking the fourth wall to go inside, and you were afraid of what you would find when you entered.

Would it feel as empty as Em’s eyes?

You ended up finding a quiet sandwich shop. It was cute, homey, and you could feel yourself settling into a rhythm with Em. While you ate and chatted, attempting to seem casual and familiar in this setting, you watched her closely.

She was almost like an extension of yourself. You could see your own influence, seeping in from your various choices in the game, no matter how small. But she was still her own person.

You would never be her, you realized with a pang in your chest.

Never carry that importance.

So what was left for you?

A secondary character meant to fade into the background.

What fate awaited you?

Had anyone even bothered to weave the strings in the fabric that is your destiny?

comments and reblogs appreciated! <3

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originalitysquared · 1 day ago

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Speaking of some people's reasons not being your own, if you were to read my post, you would see it says "I." I can distrust anyone I want to for any reason. I made a tumblr post to voice my opinion. I understand I should expect a reaction, that is why I'm not surprised anyone is replying.

I can also choose to engage with anyone, and none of these replies have understood my post enough to recognize it's a personal opinion I am allowed to have. The replies here respond as if my personal opinion on this post is representative of the whole female sex and all of the history of sexism and oppression. That's not very good argument etiquette, is it?

So I'm gonna post funney photos instead and laugh at how pissy y'all are gett ing because one (1) meany weany woman on the internet doesn't entertain men who vacation in Thailand in her personal dating pool.

I can never trust a man that wants to go to Thailand.

Just straight up. Why do you want to go to Thailand?? HMM?? Really into buddhism?? Hmm??? Like the culture?? The food?? HMMMMMMM??? WHY DO YOU WANT TO GO TO THAILAND FUCKER????

#p-pleaseee maam #t-think of the p-poor men!!!#please go suck dick on another post.

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revelboo · 7 hours ago

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Hi! Ive hesitated sending this for too long. XD I've been reading your stories since your 4th post on Tumblr, and it was the fist time I've ever turned on notifications for someone on Tumblr. I've had Tumblr since 2014 and have never done so, nor have I ever commented or sent messages to creators! Your stories are what kept me entertained through my postpartum with my first child, besides bobs burgers and my coloring game XD I just wanted you to know that I love and admire your work♡

You also made me love starscream even when I freaking hate his annoying ass, but you write him so well that its hard to keep hating him XD Im very autistic for transformers, so it's super awesome finding your page♡♡ I wish you good health, mentally and physically♡

Here's both my baby's ♡

Awwww babies! 💕 I hope you’re all doing well!

Warm

Starscream

• “Lazy human,” he murmurs affectionately, servos tunneling in your hair and you lift your head from where you’re sprawled on the mass displaced mech enough to make a face at him. But you have no desire to get up, he’s warm and you’re enjoying a rare moment of quiet. Smiling when his head lifts to press a kiss against the tip of your nose. “Do you regret any of it?” You ask. Because you know you complicated his life, ruined his plans.

• Venting against you as your soft fingers trace designs on his neck, he drapes an arm across you. “You mean the sharing you with my mortal enemy and being forever tied to him? Or the sheer drama that you cause without meaning to just by being you?” He teases and you shoot him a filthy look to make one corner of his mouth quirk. “I have regrets, but you’ve never been one of them.”

• “Even if I make you miserable?” Why can’t you drop it? Trying to ease the question with a weak smile, but the answer matters so much it’s hard to breathe as his chin tucks against his chassis to study you with those pretty red optics. Wondering if he’s only saying that he doesn’t regret tying himself to you so he doesn’t hurt your feelings.

• Trying to figure out if you’re being serious, he lazily combs through your hair with his servos. “Even then,” he decides, pleased when you smile and hide your face against him. “Besides, you don’t make me miserable. Your other mates do. They’re terrible.”

• “Soundwave’s not so bad,” you mutter and he makes a noise of disagreement. Megatron? He’s better than he was, but he still can’t help baiting Starscream, though most of the time now he’s fixated on your daughter. You don’t know if it’s because he ended up the carrier for longer than you were, but he loves her. It still makes your chest hurt anytime you see that tiny new sparkling cupped in his huge hands, the way he smiles at her, you know he’d burn the world down to protect her.

• “Not so bad? Always monopolizing my mate,” Starscream grumbles, servos cupping your cheek. Knows you’re carrying Soundwave’s new spark, but he’s never shared well. Even with his own trine. His new trine, he has even more issues trusting. Still tenses whenever he sees his daughter with Megatron, the fear of what those hands can do stringing him tight. Trusts you. Your other mates? Not so much. Brushing a kiss against your forehead, he vents to stir your hair when you cuddle closer against him. But he’s learning to trust for you even if he can’t forgive Megatron.

#transformers x reader #starscream x reader #starscream

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coldbronzemoon · 3 days ago

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A Scientist's Nine-Step Guide to Finding Your Sea Legs

@aroace-get-out-of-my-face Hiya :). I like your mermaid au very much. Here's a one-shot about it.

Summary:

You are a man named Stanford Pines. One day you will return to the sea.

Here's how.

Step One: Arrive into the world with the sea at your fingertips.

When you are born—squalling, strange, with a brother at your side as he had been for nine months before and will be for some years to come—you will be born exactly twenty-seven minutes from the nearest piece of coast to the Atlantic Ocean. When your parents dispense with the last of the fussing around the birth and return home, you will be about a five minute’s walk from the exact edge of the coast where the water laps at the sand.

This will be your home for seventeen years.

Here, the Atlantic Ocean is not at its most beautiful. It is cold and often grey. The place you grow up in is given the unattractive name Glass Shard Beach because it is true. There are beautiful pieces of smoothed-over sea glass buried in the sand that you will collect in jars with your brothers, but on certain parts of the coast you must wear shoes to avoid being stabbed with the eponymous glass shards.

Those parts of the shore are of little concern to you. There sea is often cold and dark and harsh, but you are pulled to it still. You and your twin will spend hours there, sometimes with your parents, sometimes all alone except for each other.

(In the instances where it is your father who is there on the beach with you, he will always have a book in his hand to read. But when your eyes search for him on the shore—he does not swim, and your mother does not either, not until later—you will always see his head tilted up, eyes obscured behind his dark lenses. He is never reading. He is looking to the sea. To you and your brother.

As a child, you will think, this is how he cares.

As a young man, you will think, he never cared at all, he just didn’t want the fuss of a dead son.

As an old man, you will think, that was how he cared, and yet every other way he cared ruined us more and more.)

You will run. You will play. You will swim. You will stay in the briny waves until your skin prunes and shrivels like the outer layer of a raisin and your mother has to work to scrub the seawater out of your hair. Sand is a constant presence in your shoes, your socks, every single last shirt and pants and the hinges of your glasses.

You and your brother will whisper endless plans to go exploring the sea. It invades the art you make with crayons, your dreams, the books you take out of the library.

One day, your mother hears the two of you whispering about it and says, “You’ll need a good boat, won’t you? Better start asking around for chores to save up.”

The two of you will look at each other in surprise. Somehow, boats never entered the equation. You would be amidst the sea like you wanted to be, and how you would traverse it was never a question you or your brother entertained even as you watched hundreds of boats and ships and ferries bob in the water.

You will both agree you need a boat. Soon after, you find one hidden away in a little cove, just waiting for you.

The truth is, the boat isn’t seaworthy. No two kids could quite hope to make it seaworthy.

The truth is that it doesn’t matter. But you don’t know that yet.

You won’t admit it yet.

Not yet.

Step Two: Start dreaming of more.

As you grow older, you begin to do something very dangerous.

You begin to dream. Dreams about things you can only find on land, the admiration of humans and the alluring draw of academia and the call of the strange and interesting all over the country and beyond. You will begin to dream of recognition and fame and being seen. These are things you are told you must want in silent ways by the people around you, and so you want them.

Your brother will be in these dreams, of course, but in a vague, abstracted way. He will find things for himself to do, things that are not the sea, because though your brother is lazy, beneath that he is also resourceful and clever and one day he will sit up and start putting away childish notions and use his skills to do as he pleases out on the land.

(There is a part of you that sometimes looks at your twin and grows angry, so very, very angry.

Your brother is normal. He looks normal. He has every chance to be among the people of your hometown in a way you simply cannot be, he can make himself into whoever he wants to be.

You can’t. Not really. You are the freak and you always will be. The only way to be anything else is to be the genius freak and hope desperately that people start to think genius before they think freak.

So some days you watch as your brother barely tries, you watch as he waves anyone other than you away, you watch as he wastes chances in favor of talking about the sea, the sea, the sea—

And you grow more angry each time.)

The dreams are not really the dangerous part. The dangerous part is that you've never realized that you can no longer tell exactly what your brother is thinking at a glance anymore. The dangerous part is that you have never told him how far you know he will make it. Surely he knows. Surely he can make his own way, a step apart from you but still in sight of each other.

That’s how it’s supposed to go for normal people. And you have been taught that you must want to be normal. Normal promising young men do not vanish into the sea.

So you will dream and you plan and you put the sea behind you.

Not yet.

So you will dream and you shout and you accuse and you put your brother behind you.

Not yet.

You will dream. You will plan. You will put it all behind you. You tell yourself you can do these things until you almost believe it.

Not yet.

Step Three: Wait.

Your college roommate is, in your humble opinion, the best person in the world.

You will meet him on your first day of higher learning. He is tall and thin and chews tobacco and is the only one in this college who cares about the kind of science you do; the bold science, the odd science, the kind of science that require blueprints to be swiftly hidden before anyone starts bandying about the words ‘mad scientist.’

He is also kind and nervous and likes the same sci-fi shows as you, and will watch them late at night with a bowl of popcorn as you whisper about how likely it is the both of you could invent time travel together. He is everything that makes being on land and far from the sea worth it.

He is from Tennessee. The only other place he’s ever lived is here in the dorms of a college in a landlocked state. He has never seen the sea.

It makes sense, of course. Many people have never seen the sea before. Statistically, its likely that a majority of people have not. But when your best friend—as he has been upgraded from merely a roommate quite speedily—mentions it idly, it will shock you.

There is something unsettling about the idea. Something impossible to imagine.

And your best friend will chuckle a little at the expression you must make at that realization, and say that really the sea can’t be that impressive. It’s just a lot of water, isn’t it?

And you will laugh too, weakly, and say that of course it’s wonderful but it isn’t too bad that he hasn’t seen it yet, but that unsettled feeling will remain.

If your parents had chosen a landlocked state, you would’ve known about the draw of the sea still, you feel. The aching lack of the tides would’ve traced your steps like it always does now, unacknowledged but there, always there, the way your brother is always there.

You will feel an urge to visit home, to walk the five minutes to the beachfront.

It’s the middle of the semester, the dead of winter. You wouldn’t even be able to swim.

Not yet.

Step Four: Wait.

One night, not long after you have completed your first year of college, you will have a dream.

In it, you are afraid. In it, you are alone. You are always afraid and always alone, now.

You are running, running, running from something that will kill you if it catches you. Trees snag and pull at you as you sprint through them in the cold dark of night. You are somewhere rocky and dense with foliage, all the colors of nature dampened into shades of black.

When you realize you are on a cliff’s edge, it will be too late. The rock is already crumbling beneath your feet, and you cannot stop.

You plummet. You will have a scant second to see the sky and the sea below it, to see the way the two blur into each other, the horizon meaningless, two moons visible at once in a perfect mirror, and then just as you open your mouth to try and scream—

It will hurt, crashing into the waves. Like hitting hard concrete. And then the freezing arms of the tides will seize you and pull and pull and pull and then they will say there you are.

They will say don’t worry. I have you now. I won’t let you go.

And then the pain will go away. And then you will wake up in the cool air of your room underneath warm blankets, blinking the weak morning light from the window out of your eyes and feeling strongly that you should’ve rocketed out of bed with a shout after such a dream.

You have never been prone to remembering your dreams, as frustrating as you find that fact. You will tell yourself that you don’t remember this one. You will being lying to no one but yourself.

It will linger there in the back of your mind, the terror, the shock. The way your mouth swallowed around a scream you could not force out and the way the cold brace of the water swallowed you.

You will go back to your studies. There is nothing else you can hope to do.

Not yet.

Step Five: Give in, just a little.

You will finish all of your degrees and start searching for what you love most: anomalies. Oddities. Figures of myth and folktale and rumor, the strange and the hidden. You will look carefully at stories and tales and murmurs, cross-referencing until everything points at your best bet being a town called Gravity Falls.

Its name is derived from the plummeting cliffs it sits perilously underneath, secluded in a curving cliff face that slopes into a cold shore.

You will not be able to resist. Gravity Falls would’ve been your choice due to its abundance of odd sightings and its own strange resilience to being placed on maps, but you are finally willing to let the shore beckon you a little closer.

You still have so much to do. But why not do it near the sea, even if it is not your beloved Atlantic from childhood?

You will plan and pack and secure housing there, a beaten cabin as close to the shore as you can get it. You come with bags bursting with every scrap of folktale you wish to hunt down the truth of, and you get caught up in the locals and the nooks and crannies of the small town.

One of the things you will find out about is a local rumor of a giant red snapper that can steal anything off a line no matter how well-secured—that it can cut lines, somehow. They say that it’s as wide as two men and as long as three, that it can vanish in seconds, that if you see it you will gain a span of bad luck immediately after, all things like busted rudders and leaking floors and all your bait gone with no explanation. They say that sometimes it will swim close to the shore and spit gold coins out of its mouth and hit fishmongers and gossipmongers alike in the head.

You have never wanted to discover an anomaly more.

(There is a part of you that is always standing on the shore of your hometown beach, squinting out at the water and waiting to see your brother’s head break out of the surface of the wave so you can sigh in relief and think, of course he was fine, he always is.

This part of you will think for a moment, he would love this. Because your twin would love this anomaly, big and powerful and tricksy and handing out gold for the taking to boot. This is the sort of mystery your brother would follow you to solve eagerly, back when the two of you were all alone except for each other, those times where you both always knew where the other was.

But those days are gone and dead and you will be uncertain of where your brother is right now. He promised, that night so long ago, that he didn’t need you or anyone else, and his silence has proven his claim.

You will think to yourself that your father’s plan worked, that being thrown out of the house woke your twin up and forced him to use those skills of his to get ahead in the world instead of lazing about and ruining his own brother’s dreams for an old nonsensical desire. You will imagine that he has stayed along the Atlantic coast, and is happy somewhere.

You will not allow yourself to imagine anything else. He is your brother, still. All you’ve ever wanted is for him to be happy, even if he refused to want the same thing for you.

You will try to stop thinking about him again. It will not work. It never really does.)

Step Six: Wait.

On one of the rare occasions where you and your brother—that is to say, your other brother, the one who is not your twin, the one who you love in a distant, magnanimous way—meet each other just to do it, the two of you will go to a drink without his wife. For bonding reasons, man-to-man, something she insists upon more than the two of you.

This is a brother who, when finally running from New Jersey like all of you dreamed of doing, chose the other coast rather than settling in the middle of the country. This is a brother who chose to live near the sea once again. Just like you.

The difference is that he ran right to it. You got caught up in your dreams until your dreams led you right back to the sea like the moon draws the tides.

He will look at you sideways, tilting a glass to his mouth, and ask, “Why haven’t you gone yet?”

And you will say, “Why haven’t you?”

He will sit there and think and say, “I’ve got too much to do.”

And you understand perfectly.

(Then his lips will quirk up as he says, “My wife wouldn’t be too happy with it, either.” which you do not understand and never plan to.)

Step Seven: Reel with shock.

You will one day find the red snapper anomaly, and it is your brother. Your twin.

You will ask questions. So many questions.

The answers will boil down to this: the sea provides.

The sea could provide for you, if you let it. But you have so much to do, still. Things that require being on land.

Not yet.

Step Eight: Meet a few more faces.

One of the things your other brother will have to do turns out to be having a child, who himself has children of his own. You will like your nephew plenty, will have him visit on occasion and bring him along on fishing trips and hiking the cliffs, but it is his children, your grand niece and nephew, that you will fall utterly in love with.

They will be twins too, these two. A girl who swings her fists and grabs onto everything soon after being born. A boy carefully untangled from the umbilical cord around his neck with a perfect recreation of the Big Dipper on his forehead—you will whisper excitedly to your twin about the statistical unlikelihood of this and speculate on potential anomalous answers to its existence when the mother isn’t there to here it.

You will get to hold them, trading them between yourself and both your brothers. The three of you will also trade significant looks.

These twins will not be able to stroll five minutes to meet the sea, but they will visit it as often as possible back in California. They will know a warm and beautiful shore.

And one summer, twelve years after you held them in your six-fingered hands, they will come visit you and your twin in Gravity Falls. They will fall in love with the choppy, cold, steely waves of the Pacific as readily as they did the warm inviting parts of its waters further south. They will make friends, make mischief, make you ache for times when you and your twin always knew exactly where the other was.

In the wake of the younger twins’ departure, you will make a decision.

Your friends and family can help you keep in touch with the land. But you do not have to stay so grounded. They’ll pull you back up rather than your own two feet.

Step Nine: It is time to go.

Let your brother drag you into the cold dark sea. Hear him laugh with joy.

Clench your jaw around a scream of pain.

Wait.

The pain will recede. You will be more yourself than you’ve ever been before.

Let your brother take your hand and drag you to see all the things your feeble human body couldn’t be taken to see before, all of the dangerous things, the too-deep-beneath things. You have all the time in the world now.

You’ve found your sea legs. In a certain sense of the word.

Now you just have to wait for the others to follow after in time. You have so much to do while you wait.

#my writing #gravity falls #gravity falls au #as always if you see any mistakes no you dont #second person short story my beloved <3 #i have so many things i want to write but a possible 2nd person short story compelled me lol #i hope you enjoy :)

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 2 days ago

Note

Hear me out

Blue gets a new girl in the club, but she's so gorgeous he forgets how to breathe

He can't imagine her entertaining guests, the thought just makes his blood boil. All he can think about is having her to himself, under him in bed, on his desk (or any flat surface really), on her knees...

Or better yet, on his knees, worshipping her with his mouth like the desperate little bastard he is for her.

Do with this information what you will heheheheh

You have destroyed me, thank you.

Face Down, Ass Up

Blue Jones x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Warnings: Dubious consent because of power dynamics, Blue is a bit rough at first/forceful but there is clear consent, oral sex, coming in trousers, swearing, not beta read, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 862

Blue pushes you back against his desk harshly, the heel of his hand pressed firmly between your shoulder blades.

You let out a little gasp, barely managing to cushion your fall with your arms as your chest collides with the wood. Your air escapes your lungs with a grunt, Blue’s papers messing up and flying to the floor.

“Blue-” You start, panic sinking its teeth into your chest and liquefying your mind. You’d barely been here a week, and already you’ve heard plenty of stories about his temper. About the horrific things he’s done. You had no idea why you were on his radar, let alone his bad side.

“Shut the fuck up.” He snarls and you bite your mouth closed.

He keeps his hand on your back, pressing you down and pinning you in place as he hikes up your skirt and grabs hold of the waistband of your underwear.

You want to squeeze your legs together, to fight back. But you know that won’t lead anywhere good.

He yanks your underwear off, moving back a fraction as he pulls them off your legs and then pauses before he kneels down.

Your own heartbeat echoes in your ears, overshadowing any other sound.

When the tips of his fingers lightly touch the back of your right thigh, you jump. He traces a little higher, gentle and soft, before his lips ghost over your leg, following the path of his fingers.

You swallow, tense and he sighs quietly.

“You don’t have to shut up,” he whispers, darting his tongue out as he moves higher. “I’m sorry I said that.” His voice is thick, heavy and wanting. But the apology is more than enough to give you pause, to make you still in shock.

He lightly nips at the swell of your ass as he runs his warm hands up your legs and then squeezes the back of your thighs, pushing them wider.

You move when he urges you to, despite the nerves in your stomach.

Blue groans softly, his cock quickly hardening at the sight of your bare pussy. “Fuck.”

You swallow, practically holding your breath.

He pauses, shifting his weight a little. His hot breath hits your skin and makes you shiver. Blue slides his fingers higher, just on the very edge of your thigh and then stops.

“Let me taste you.”

The words just don’t make sense the first time you hear them.

“Please?” He presses his forehead to your skin, his voice so low it is barely above a whisper. “Please?” He repeats.

Your brain nearly short-circuits. Even in your brief time here, you had never heard of Blue Jones asking for something he wanted. Let alone begging.

“I…” Your voice is small, uncertain. Blue doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t move, just gives you space to answer. “You… can.” You finally say and he whines.

“Thank you.” He slurs and dives forward, lapping at your folds and sinking his tongue inside.

You gasp in surprise, jolting a little, your legs instinctively going to close. But Blue spreads his left hand over your inner thigh and keeps you open as he works you over with his tongue.

He moans, his eyelashes fluttering as he tastes you. His sounds grow louder and louder with every flick of your clit.

He pushes his tongue in deeply, using the thick muscle to massage your walls as he snakes his right hand around to rub gently at your clit.

You squirm, grabbing hold of his desk as he works you over, sinks his tongue in deeper like he wants to taste every single part of you. Pleasure twists in your stomach, mixing with your adrenaline to push you higher and higher impossibly quickly.

“Blue, fuck,” You hiss, trying to hold back your moans and failing.

He growls in response, fucking you harder with his tongue and making you scream. His fingers rub faster, using his own saliva as he circles your clit one way and then the other, paying attention to every little sound you make, the smallest movements to rush you closer to your peak.

You push back into the heat of his mouth and he groans approvingly, his cock throbbing, your slick filling his mouth.

“I’m, I’m…” You swallow, squirming against him desperately. Your orgasm on the very edge of your senses. Your blood sings, your body screaming for more as he keeps playing you to his own tune. “Blue!”

You scream as you come, your muscles tensing and shaking. Pleasure burns along your nerves, leaving ashes in its wake and robbing you of any other thought.

Blue cries out as your walls flutter and squeeze his tongue, your bliss overwhelming him completely as his balls draw up. He comes with a whine, spilling into his trousers and shivering.

He keeps stroking you, prolonging your orgasm until you start to relax and then slowly comes to a stop, moving his face back. Your slick and his saliva coating his chin.

Blue stands up quickly, his own legs weak, a dark patch forming on his dress trousers. He leans forward, pressing his chest to your back and kisses your shoulder softly. “You make the prettiest sounds.”

Thank you for reading!

Taglist:

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @lonelyisamyw-0love @romanarose

@steven-grants-world @blushingrn @to-be-a-sunshine @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87

@lunar-ghoulie @silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom

@alwaysmicado @spxctorsslxt @novarosewood @hammerhead96 @mylittledelulucorner

@queerly-anxious @swiftiegirliepop @oscarssimp @eternallyvenus @lounilu

@pigeonmama @iolaussharpe-24 @chaithetics @sub-aro @faretheeoscar

@queerponcho @twwcs @ingoldthewizard @ominoose @ierofrnkk

@have-you-seen-my-sanity @missdictatorme @musicalnacho @buckyssugarchick @lemonzestinmydrink

@sonotpractical @junggoku @julesonrecord @heavydirtysoulsblog

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

#blue jones #sucker punch #blue jones x reader #x reader #blue jones x you #x you #blue jones x female reader #x female reader #blue jones x f!reader #x f!reader #blue jones x fem!reader #x fem!reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters #afab! Reader x blue jones #afab!reader

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jks1uv · 2 days ago

Text

𝐹𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝐹𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑦 ; bob reynolds | one-shot |

summary: y/n, meet bob. bob, meet y/n.

pairing: platonic fem!reader x bob + avenger!reader x bob + asgardian!reader x bob.

trope: found family (duh) + strangers to friends.

genre: fluff + slight angst + comedy.

warnings‼️: crude language + tall!reader (a little over 5’8) + spoilers!

word count: 1,749.

random disclaimerrr: reader is 19 & thor’s daughter. watched this masterpiece of a film 2 days ago & holy peak. truly peak. absolute cinema. *martin scorsese meme* marvel’s been on a generational run since gotg3 & i’m praying they keep ts up 🙏🏽 happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2025 @jks1uv

“Oh, hey! You’re here.” Bucky says as he watches you fly through the open balcony.

“Perfect timing.” Ava comments as your armor melts back into your skin, revealing your original outfit.

“So fucking cool.” She softly says in awe.

“Right? It’s also super convenient.” John crosses his arms, watching you switch back into civilian mode so languidly.

You lay your sword on the side of the coffee table in front of the couch, plopping down on it with a heavy sigh.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Bob asks, confused by the random spark of commotion.

“Y/n is here?” Yelena pokes her head out of the pantry, eyeing your exhausted head tipped back on the headrest with your eyes closed.

Bucky hands you a water bottle and smiles when you sense him.

You open your eyes to look up at him.

“Good to see you, kid.” His voice smooth and steely blue eyes kind.

“Thanks, you too.” You say as you accept the cool drink.

You, Thor, Scott, Hope, Cassie, Valkyrie, and Carol were off-world, fighting an intergalactic enemy when The Void took almost all of New York into the shadow realm.

You just got back from the grueling trip a day ago.

“Well, well, well. It is the younger Asgardian.” Alexie affectionately pats your head.

You chuckle softly at the old santa’s loving actions.

“Where’s your dad?” Bucky’s eyes wander out the balcony when he hears silent noise following you.

“He’s getting beers with Valkyrie, he’ll join us later.”

You give a quick side-hug to Yelena and a crisp high-five to Ava when John straightens his back, expecting a welcome as well.

You walk straight ahead, not meaning to ignore him but step back and look to the side in surprise.

Your head snaps from him to Bucky, from Bucky to him and back. You blink rapidly, pointing a finger up at him and say, “What's he doing here?”.

You can’t help how you sound.

“Oh. He's uhh, part of the team now.” Bucky shrugs.

You don't say anything but your face does. Bruh y'all couldn't find anyone else?

“He'll catch on fire if you stare at him any longer.” Ava says behind an amused smile.

“No, wait! Keep staring! I am recording just in case.” Alexie gives you a big thumbs up and is recording on an older version of the iPhone that’s not surprisingly cracked.

How he got ahold of technology before Steve is beyond you.

“I'm literally standing right here." John says in disbelief.

“Almost as if that is the whole fucking point, genius.” Yelena rolls her eyes and scoffs as she goes back into the pantry.

Bob is still confused but he has to admit, it's entertaining seeing everyone vouch for you.

He senses a great power in you, one that may very well rival his own.

You look oddly familiar but he can't place his finger on it. Where have I seen you before?

“Oh, before I forget.” Bucky moves aside so you can meet the new guy.

“Y/n, this is Bob.”

He extends his metal arm out to the fresh set of new eyes and they're wide in curiosity.

You put your hand up and wave, giving the new addition to the team your best welcome. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

He now has a full view of you.

You're nice, he thinks.

Bob doesn’t takes first impressions lightly and since yours is a good one, that counts for everything.

You're tall, he estimates your original height to be a little over 5'8 since your heeled boots add quite a few inches to you.

He believes you'd be the same height as him with them on.

Your shiny hair and bright eyes contrast nicely with your smooth skin. Your youthful appearance is refreshing to see and invokes an almost familial feeling in him.

Your smile is warm, comforting.

You don't seem to have anything to hide, it's like you're letting him see you for who you are on the first meeting .

It intimidates him, your confidence in yourself.

He wishes to learn that one day.

Your features resemble someone he's seen before, he knows it.

It's getting kind of frustrating trying to remember something he can't.

“Bob, meet Y/n.”

You assess the added member; hair is medium length, dark brown and wavy. He seems pretty tall, your guess is 6 feet. He's also timid. His body language is reserved and calm.

Bob smiles shyly, showing his top set of perfectly straight and white teeth. He does a little wave, eliciting a small laugh at his actions.

“Hi. I-It's nice to see you, too.” He repeats your sentiment and you can't help but smile.

He reminds you of a little boy on his first day of school.

Cute.

“Well, I’m gonna go sleep forever now so I’ll see y’all later.” You announce before shortly departing.

You set a mental reminder about texting Peter to meet up after you wake up to go do something.

Everyone goes their separate ways.

John goes out for an interview rehearsal (that’s a thing??). Bucky is joining Sam, Clint, and Bruce to train the younger avengers. Ava phases through the walls, you assume she’s going to her room. Yelena takes her snacks and father to the theater room upstairs for a movie.

Bob stands in the common room, studying your sword.

“Wow.” He whispers.

Bob marvels at the sight of your beautiful sword.

The grip seems about 3 inches wide and thick. It’s made of pure gold along with the guards. The grip and guards have intricate designs drawn on them.

The blade is a long and thick slab of metallic steel, seemingly heavy to hold.

He spots a design on the blade. The design is gold and creates an illusion of glass, a very clean mirror that can be used as a prism.

Bob can tell the designs were made by hand, impressive craftsmanship in detail.

He looks closely, a particular detail catching his eye.

There’s a small symbol in the middle of the guards, an emblem of some sort.

Bob squints his eyes as he tries to understand what it could be, decipher its meaning.

“It’s a rune of my realm.”

Bob immediately jumps up and yelp, his palm clamps over his mouth, muffling it a bit.

His breathing is as erratic as his heartbeat and you feel guilty.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, I thought you heard me come back.”

You weren’t stealthy but you weren’t noticeable, either. Still, you feel as though you should’ve made your presence known.

“I’m truly, very sorry.” You apologize again as you nervously peer at him.

He gulps and blinks. “It’s okay, I’m okay. It’s fine.” Bob nods to himself, a tightlipped smile on his face.

You lick your lips and purse them, nodding slightly to yourself.

“Okay.” You say softly.

It’s awkward for a beat before you two speak up again.

“I-”

“You-”

You both close your lips and stare at one another before laughing in embarrassment.

“You can go first.” You offer.

You’re sweet, he decides.

“No, no. I-I think you were saying something first.” He insists.

You smile and go ahead. “I was just saying that I’m gonna take that and go back, for real this time.”

You hold out your arm and open palm, calling your sword to you.

She listens and is compelled by your hand like a magnet.

“Woahhh.” He breathes.

You laugh, successful in the art of showing off.

It’s all about subtlety.

“That’s so cool, how-how did you do that?” He tilts his head quizzically.

“Where I’m from, magic is in everything. My grandfather had this sword forged long before I was born but it’s embedded with magic.”

You trace the blade with your free hand, remembering the hard work you toiled to be worthy of carrying the responsibility of the blade.

“Where are you from?” He wonders out loud.

“Asgard.”

Bob gasps and snaps his fingers like he just figured out the missing piece of a puzzle (he did).

“That’s it! That-That’s where I know you from! You’re Thor’s daughter!”

You chuckle softly at his excitement, his bubbly demeanor melting away your tiredness.

“The one and only.” You joke as you raise your hands and shrug nonchalantly.

“Wow, man. I gotta tell you, you’re awesome.” He guffaws.

You feel warm at the praise, not really expecting anything from this guy you just met.

“Oh, wow… um, thank you. That’s nice of you to say that.” You say shyly as you scratch your arm.

He nods. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”

“You’re great, too.” You blurt out.

He looks at you and you see an insecure look on his face.

“Your powers are really cool, a thousand exploding suns and all that.”

His eyes shine with an unspoken curiosity. One that says You really think so?

“R-Really?” A silent laugh escapes him and his adam’s apple reverberates.

“Yeah! You’re super fast and really strong. You’re even bullet and knife proof.” You beam. “Like me.”

Ever since The Thunderbolts* weakened The Void with the power of friendship, Bob has never felt more connected.

There’s an entire group of people who welcome him and treat him with the care and respect he deserves.

Your statement was clear and concise, you’re not trying to imply anything. There’s no hidden agenda with you.

You were simply making an observation and connecting it with yourself, a well-respected, renowned hero.

Bob’s no hero, he’s still trying to find things that make him feel like himself.

You’re young, so young and filled with such an encouraging spirit that makes him feel willing.

“Yeah.” He softly agrees. “I guess I am like you.”

You sense a deep sadness in him, something that troubles him and obstructs him from speaking freely.

You don’t want to force him out but you also don’t want to come across as overly sensitive.

“I’m not sleepy anymore. Do you wanna… maybe go do something?”

Peter can wait, you think. You also think he and Bob would get along well.

He thinks about it for a moment.

He doesn’t have training anytime soon and has read up all his books. Some new scenery would do him good and this way, he’d get to know you better.

He wants to be your friend and hopes you share the same sentiment.

Little does he know, you’re almost there.

“Yeah, sure. Why not.” He smiles once more and this time, it reaches his eyes.

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utilitycaster · 2 days ago

Text

thinking about this due to a side conversation but: I do feel there is something of an unresolved and honestly largely unexplored discussion to be had about the relationship between actual plays and the TTRPGs in which they are played. Specifically I'm thinking of the following two questions/opinions, both of which I've seen in the wild:

Should Actual Play be seen as a means to teach people TTRPGs? To what degree? What does this encompass - the system? Table etiquette? Safety tools? [My answer below but short answer: sort of but not really; same; absolutely the fuck not.]

Does "made for AP" mean anything when talking about actual play? Is it good or bad? [My answer below but short answer: sort of but not really; depends.]

Re the first: I think it is extremely obvious that actual play is a very meaningful venue by which to acclimate people to the concept of TTRPGs in the first place and to specific systems! And as a result, an actual play show can be a very useful entry point. However, I have been on the receiving end of "but they do it this way in TAZ!" before when making a ruling; unless it is explicitly the stated intent of an actual play to serve as an example of how to play this game, rules as written, I would caution against treating actual play as a how-to guide. Similarly, it's useful for a general guide of table etiquette in terms of the basics of like, showing up, knowing what metagaming is, etc...but a lot of the norms of playing are, ultimately, things you learn by doing. This also doesn't take into account that as with most things etiquette, table etiquette is situation specific. The razzing at the D20 table might not fly at yours; and as I said in this post it's really hard to tell if player agency is being violated from the outside.

As for safety tools, I am actively against the idea that actual play shows have any obligation to teach people about safety tools. Firstly, safety tools are a framework and not an end in and of themselves, and I think that misconception is already a massive problem in the discussion of safety tools. Secondly, and more importantly, I think other than saying "oh yes, Lines and Veils is out there," any deeper discussion of safety tools within the context of AP would require an AP performer to reveal their particular triggers to the audience of the internet, which I think any reasonable person can agree is both horribly invasive and literally the opposite goal of safety tools, ie, it would decrease this person's safety and probably comfort.

And generally for all of these things, do the work yourself. You and your players should read the books, discuss your feelings and expectations, and read up on relevant safety tools. Your entertainment should not be expected to do it for you.

Now, Made For AP is fascinating because I find myself, obviously, somewhat disagreeing with the "AP as Teaching Tool" (sidebar; you'll see people arguing for this say AP as Pedagogy when they really just mean 'AP teaching you how to play the game' rather than 'AP as the theory of teaching,' but that's a discussion for another day) as discussed above. Made for AP is coming at this from the opposite side: games that are designed to be digestible specifically in Actual Play are Bad and not for Real Gamers, or whatever. Now, I love gatekeeping, but like, my idea of gatekeeping is "to play a TTRPG you should read the rulebook of that TTRPG," not "you must play this TTRPG to be a real TTRPG player." Anyway, the made for AP epithet usually is simply shorthand for "I am deeply obsessed with hating Critical Role and often D&D to the point of spending more time hating it than talking about the merits of the things I allegedly like." However, if you can tease anything out of it, it's usually games with somewhat streamlined mechanics/lower crunch, and a focus on setting up character interactions (but often leaving them as open RP, which I think is good). Often, they have removed strict distance rules in combat and provided means of making the flow of a game faster. This, of course, isn't a bad thing either at the table or for AP, and indeed as a Crunch Lover it's honestly more for a specific type of table than actual play. I've listened to multiple (well, 2) pf1e SRD AP podcasts, RQG and BCBP*, and both are edited such that we don't hear the GM referencing 6 tables to get the exact value of a perception check DC. So the streamlining only matters for minimally edited actual play. This also assumes AP is solely a product and not a means for fun for the players, which is only true of like, KolloK.

Anyway: I think a lot of the discussion around actual play would greatly improve if we understood it as entertainment first, and I think writing this up made me realize a lot of people...don't.

*[yes I used all acronyms for a cheap gag. read as: Pathfinder First Edition System Reference Document (id est, the free ruleset for Pathfinder First Edition) Actual Play podcasts, Rusty Quill Gaming and Burnt Cookbook Party]

#i don't have a brilliant conclusion here it really is just like. the idea of something can be For Fun or Deep and not both is stupid #the idea that it can be For Fun or For Gamers is even stupider #on actual play

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spencersmopbucket · 20 hours ago

Text

(Un)Reciprocated | Cedric Diggory

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader Summary: You and Cedric were childhood best friends – growing up side by side, close as can be. When 5th year came around and Cedric began dating, you watched but never picked up the same habits, preferring a more independent life. When you begin developing feelings for your best and closest friend, after he goes back on an important promise, its nothing short of complicated.

Your childhood was amazing.

It was full of candy, toys, love and affection. It was full of luck, good marks in class, and playing tag until you were utterly breathless. And mostly, it was full of Cedric.

You did everything together – you had the same classes, the same goals, played the same sports, even had the same bloody wand when you got into Hogwarts. You were inseparable. You were never seen without the other, and every sentence where one was mentioned, the other was too.

"Yeah, Ced and Y/N.."

"Well, Y/N and Cedric were.."

You were certain it would last forever. You were certain that the two of you would never separate, even into adulthood.

When you got into your 5th year, you accepted peacefully that your thoughts were simply based on comfort, not reality. Cedric began to take a different path – girls, parties, popularity. You were very different, though you never resented him.

You were quiet, kept to yourself, and stuck to Quidditch and your studies. You had no use for the company of boys or the consumption of Firewhisky. You preferred a quiet life, wrapped up in a blanket by the Hufflepuff hearth and reading a book.

The first time you noticed the shift, it was a Tuesday.

Cedric had always been the type to linger after Quidditch practice —helping to stow brooms, chatting with teammates, tossing an arm around your shoulders as you both trudged back to the castle, still buzzing with adrenaline. But that evening, he’d disappeared before you could even unbuckle your knee pads.

You found him in the courtyard, surrounded by a gaggle of giggling fourth-years, his head thrown back in laughter at something you hadn’t heard. His hair was still damp from the showers, curling slightly at the nape of his neck, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold. He looked happy.

You turned on your heel and left before he could spot you.

Not because you were bothered by it, but because you had no interest in interrupting.. whatever that was. You blew your hair out of your face, walking to your dorm.

The common room was quiet when you arrived, the fire crackling low in the hearth. A few first-years huddled near the warmth, whispering over a game of Exploding Snap, but they paid you no mind as you trudged up the stairs to your dorm.

You told yourself you weren’t bothered.

So what if Cedric had ditched you after practice? So what if he’d rather entertain a flock of admirers than walk back with you like he always had? It didn’t matter. You weren’t the clingy type. You had better things to do than stand around waiting for him to remember you existed.

(Except you had waited. Just for a minute. Just long enough to realize he wasn’t coming back.)

You shoved open the door to your room harder than necessary, startling your roommate, who glanced up from her Potions essay.

“Rough practice?” she asked, eyeing the dirt smudged on your knees.

“The usual,” you muttered, tossing your gear onto your trunk.

You could still hear the echo of his laughter in your head — bright, carefree, so different from the way he laughed with you. With you, it was softer, quieter, like he was letting you in on a secret.

The jealousy you felt (you were very emotionally aware) confused you. So what if Cedric was entertaining girls? You didn't have to be into the same exact things anymore. It wasn't your scene. Doesn't mean it wasn't Cedric's, you rationalized.

Biting your lip, you gathered your toiletries and clothes and went to shower. The hot water ran over your sore muscles, but you couldn't even acknowledge the pleasurable feeling.

You couldn't ignore the burning feeling in your chest.

Groaning, you just washed up and got out.

—

Dinner in the Great Hall was a subdued affair.

You sat at the Hufflepuff table, picking at your shepherd’s pie, half-listening to the chatter around you. The seat beside you — his seat — remained conspicuously empty.

“Diggory’s late,” someone remarked.

You didn’t look up. “Not my problem.”

But then the doors swung open, and there he was, striding in with that effortless confidence that made half the Hall turn to look. His hair was still slightly damp, his cheeks pink from the cold, and he was grinning at something one of his teammates had said.

You tried to keep it down, you really did. You knew it wasn't right to be irritated. You didn't even know why you bloody felt this way.

He spotted you almost immediately, his smile flickering for just a second before he made his way over.

“Hey,” he said, sliding into the seat beside you like nothing had happened.

You didn’t answer.

He nudged your shoulder. “You okay?”

“Peachy,” you said flatly.

A beat of silence. Then, quieter: “You left before I could find you after practice.”

You finally turned to look at him, arching a brow. “Oh? I figured you were busy. I wasn't going to sit there and look stupid while you giggled to your posse.”

His expression faltered. “It wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—”

“Relax, Ced,” you said, forcing a smirk. “I’m not your keeper. Do what you want.”

His jaw tightened, but before he could respond, a group of fourth-years called his name from further down the table, waving him over.

He hesitated, glancing at you.

“Go on,” you said, shoveling a bite of pie into your mouth. “Wouldn’t want to keep your fans waiting.”

For a second, you thought he might argue. But then he sighed, pushing back from the table.

“We’ll talk later,” he murmured.

You didn’t watch him walk away.

Your fork clattered against your plate, the sound sharp in the hum of the Great Hall. You stood abruptly, ignoring the curious glances from nearby Hufflepuffs as you carried your half-eaten dinner toward the enchanted trash bins at the end of the table.

You knew you were being ugly.

The thought gnawed at you as you dumped your food, the remnants of your shepherd’s pie vanishing with a soft poof. That wasn’t you —snapping at Cedric, tossing out petty jabs like you were trying to wound him. You weren’t the jealous type. You weren’t.

(So why did it feel like your chest was full of broken glass every time he laughed with someone else?)

You exhaled sharply through your nose, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you muttered to yourself.

With that, you left the Great Hall and headed straight for your dorm. Without a word to anyone, you changed your clothes and headed straight to bed, throwing the covers over your head frustratedly.

Maybe some sleep would curve whatever the hell was wrong with you. Jealousy? Over Cedric?

You scoffed to yourself under the covers.

It wasn't like you loved him or something. Well, you did, but not like that.

Did you?

A pang of anxiety hit your stomach.

You rolled over and forced yourself to sleep before you could throw up.

—

You woke to the sound of hushed whispers and the rustling of robes. Sunlight streamed through the windows, far too cheerful for the storm brewing in your head.

Your roommate peeked over at you as you sat up, her eyebrows raised.

“You look like hell,” she said bluntly.

You groaned, rubbing your face. “Feel like it too.”

She tossed a piece of toast at you, which you caught on reflex. “Eat something. You’ll feel better.”

You doubted it.

The Great Hall was already buzzing when you arrived, students clustered together in excited chatter. You hesitated in the doorway, scanning the Hufflepuff table for a familiar head of tousled dark hair—

No.

You weren’t doing this. You weren’t looking for him.

You squared your shoulders and marched to the opposite end of the table, as far from Cedric’s usual spot as possible.

“Have you heard?”

A third-year leaned across the table, eyes wide with gossip. “They’re announcing the Triwizard Tournament today!”

You blinked. “What?”

“It’s true!” another student chimed in. “Dumbledore’s making the announcement after breakfast. They’re bringing back the tournament!”

A murmur of excitement rippled through the Hall. You barely registered it.

Your gaze flickered, against your will, toward the other end of the table — where Cedric sat, surrounded by friends, his face alight with the same eager curiosity as everyone else.

Of course he’d want to compete.

Your stomach twisted.

The entire school had gathered, students packed shoulder-to-shoulder as Dumbledore stood at the top of the marble staircase, his arms raised for silence.

“This year,” he began, his voice carrying effortlessly through the crowd, “Hogwarts will play host to a event not seen in over a century…”

You barely heard the rest.

Your attention was fixed on the back of Cedric’s head, just a few rows ahead of you. He stood tall, his posture straight with anticipation, his fingers tapping absently against his thigh.

You knew that tell. He was already planning his entry.

“—the Triwizard Tournament!”

The crowd erupted into cheers. Cedric turned slightly, scanning the sea of faces behind him — searching.

Your breath caught.

Then his eyes found yours.

For a heartbeat, the noise around you faded.

He grinned — bright, boyish, yours — and your traitorous heart stuttered in response.

You looked away first.

After the festivities, you almost floated out of the castle, moving too quick for anyone to notice. Or so you thought.

You needed air.

The pitch was empty, the stands silent, the only sound the wind whistling through the goalposts. You sat on the grass, your knees pulled to your chest, watching the clouds drift lazily across the sky.

“Knew I’d find you here.”

You didn’t turn. “Go away, Cedric.”

He ignored you, dropping onto the grass beside you with a huff. “Not until you tell me what’s going on with you.”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“Bullshit.” He plucked a blade of grass, twirling it between his fingers. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. And don’t say you haven’t,” he added when you opened your mouth to argue. “I know you too well.”

You swallowed.

Tell him.

Just say it.

But the words stuck in your throat.

Instead, you nodded toward the castle. “You’re going to enter, aren’t you? The tournament.”

He hesitated, then sighed. “Yeah. I think so.”

Of course.

The tournament was unsafe. In some cases, it could be fatal. You and Cedric had both agreed that if you were presented the chance, you wouldn't enter. You'd stay safe, side by side.

You forced a smile. “You’ll win.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” you said softly. “Because you’re you.”

Cedric studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly: “Would you hate me if I did?”

The question caught you off guard.

“What?”

“If I entered.” His voice was careful, like he was treading on thin ice. “Would you hate me?”

Never, you wanted to say. I could never hate you.

But what came out was: “I don’t know.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then Cedric stood, brushing the grass from his robes.

“Right,” he said stiffly. “Guess I’ll find out.”

And just like that, he walked away.

You wanted to slap yourself. Why were you being such an asshole? You didn't know.

Yes you did.

You loved Cedric. The thought made you want to jump into the black lagoon and be eaten by mermaids. Or admit it right away to Cedric, like one of the secrets you'd never been able to keep from him. Or hide it forever and live in misery.

You chose to hide it.

The days blurred together after that.

You threw yourself into classes, into Quidditch, into anything that would keep your mind off the growing chasm between you and Cedric. It was easier this way—safer. If you didn’t think about him, you wouldn’t have to face the truth.

(But you always thought about him.)

The night of the selection came quickly.

The Great Hall was packed, buzzing with anticipation as the Goblet of Fire flickered in the center of the room. You sat with your housemates, your fingers drumming restlessly against the table, your gaze fixed stubbornly on your lap.

You hadn’t spoken to Cedric since the pitch.

“Champions will be chosen momentarily,” Dumbledore announced, his voice echoing through the hall. “Once selected, please proceed to the adjoining chamber for further instructions.”

A hush fell over the crowd.

The Goblet’s flames flared—once, twice—then spat out the first name.

“The Durmstrang champion is Viktor Krum!”

Applause erupted as Krum stood, his expression unreadable, and disappeared through the side door.

Another burst of fire.

“The Beauxbatons champion is Fleur Delacour!”

More cheers. Fleur rose gracefully, her silver-blonde hair shimmering under the candlelight as she followed Krum out.

Then — silence.

The Goblet flickered, the flames licking higher, twisting violently as if struggling with its final decision.

Your chest tightened.

Not him. Please, not him.

The fire roared, and a third slip of parchment shot into Dumbledore’s waiting hand.

“The Hogwarts champion…”

A beat.

“Cedric Diggory!”

The Hufflepuff table exploded. Whistles, shouts, the thunder of hands pounding against wood — all of it faded into white noise as you watched Cedric stand, his face a mix of shock and dawning pride.

He didn’t look at you as he passed.

You weren’t sure why you’d expected him to.

The rest of the day was a blur, until the party.

The party had been going all afternoon, but later into the night, it became alcoholic.

Only 16 and older were allowed — you came with your roommate. You don't know why you allowed her to convince you. Maybe you wanted to torture yourself with seeing Cedric. Maybe you just wanted to drink the pain away. Both probably.

When you got there, uncharacteristically of you, you immediately dove into a shot of Firewhisky.

"Damn! L/N is finally loosening up?" One of your classmates whooped. You managed a halfhearted smirk as cheers erupted.

Another shot. Another. After another. You were encouraged, cheered on by your roommate and your friends. They'd never seen you like this — but they couldn't detect the inner turmoil. Only Ced could. And he was nowhere to be found.

You were probably just too drunk to see him, to be honest.

The world had taken on a hazy, golden glow — the kind that made everything feel slightly unreal, like you were floating outside your own body. The firewhisky burned its way down your throat, settling warm and heavy in your stomach, but it did nothing to dull the ache in your chest.

“Another!” your roommate crowed, slamming a fresh shot in front of you.

The crowd around you erupted in cheers as you threw it back without hesitation. The taste was sharp, bitter, but you welcomed it. Maybe if you drank enough, you could forget the way Cedric’s face had looked when he walked away from you at the lake. Maybe you could forget the way your heart had splintered when he didn’t even glance at you after being named champion.

Pathetic.

You reached for another shot, but someone snatched it away before your fingers could close around the glass.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

The voice was low, familiar, and it sent a jolt through you despite the alcohol clouding your senses.

You turned your head — slowly, too slowly — and there he was.

Cedric.

His grey eyes were dark in the flickering candlelight, his jaw set in a hard line. He looked unfairly good, even now — his hair slightly mussed, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the faintest flush high on his cheeks from whatever he’d been drinking.

You scowled. “Since when do you care?”

His expression tightened. “Since you’re about two seconds away from passing out.”

“I’m fine,” you slurred, waving a hand dismissively. “Go back to your adoring fans, Champion. And give me my fucking shot back.”

The word came out sharper than you’d intended, laced with a bitterness you hadn’t meant to let slip.

Cedric’s gaze flickered over your face, searching for something. Whatever he saw made his shoulders tense.

“We need to talk,” he said quietly.

“No, we don’t.” You pushed yourself up from the table, swaying slightly as the room tilted around you. “I’m going to bed.”

You didn’t make it two steps before his hand closed around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Y/N.” His voice was rough, urgent. “Please.”

Something in his tone made your breath catch.

You turned.

For a long moment, you just stared at each other — the noise of the party fading into the background, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

Then, without a word, Cedric tugged you toward the door.

The cold night air hit you like a slap, sobering you just enough to realize what a terrible idea this was.

You yanked your arm free. “What the hell, Cedric?”

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “You’re drunk.”

“And you’re ruining my buzz.”

“Because you won’t talk to me!” His voice cracked, raw with frustration. “Merlin’s beard, Y/N, what do you want from me? You’ve been pushing me away for weeks, and I don’t even know why!”

The words hung between you, heavy and suffocating.

You opened your mouth — to snap, to deflect, to lie — but the alcohol had stripped away your defenses, leaving nothing but the truth.

"Something's changed. With me, with you, I don't fucking know." You cracked, eyes welling up with frustrated tears. You fought the slur in your words. "I can't stop being an asshole."

Cedric stared at you, stunned into silence.

The kind of silence that wasn’t angry or judgmental — just broken. Hurt.

“You think I care about that?” he finally said, voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “You think I haven’t noticed something’s been eating you alive? You think I’d ever walk away from you just because you’ve been… distant, or angry, or—”

“Cold?” you cut in bitterly. “Sharp-tongued? Emotionally stunted?”

“Human,” he said firmly. “And scared.”

You laughed — a bitter, ugly sound. “Don’t flatter me.”

“I’m not.” He took a step closer, voice cracking just slightly. “You’ve been different, yeah. But I stuck around because I know you. And I care about you. And it’s driving me mad that you won’t just tell me what’s wrong.”

You could feel it bubbling up — all the confusion and pain and fear — the thing you hadn’t dared to admit even to yourself.

"Look," you said, squeezing and loosening your fists, "I'm drunk. I'm tired. I'm going back to the dorm."

With that, you tried to march away.

But you didn’t get far.

Cedric caught your wrist again — not hard, not forceful, just enough to stop you, just enough to make your breath catch.

"Please. Don't walk away from me. Not again. You're my best friend and you're treating me like a stranger."

You froze.

The words hit harder than they should have — best friend — and yet, they cracked something deep inside you. Not because they were untrue, but because they used to be everything. Because somewhere along the way, being his best friend had stopped being enough, and you’d hated yourself for it.

You didn’t turn around. Couldn’t. Not yet.

"Maybe that's the problem." You almost sobbed out, looking up at the sky. "I don't want to be your best friend, Cedric. Not anymore. I fucking love you, okay?!"

The confession tore out of you like a storm — raw, unfiltered, soaked in every ache you’d tried to drink away.

Silence fell.

The kind of silence that made your ears ring, that made the world feel like it had stopped turning.

A tear fell from your eye. You sniffled.

"I'm so stupid. And so drunk. Goodnight, Cedric."

You marched away. You didn't hear him ask you back. You didn't hear a response at all. Just pure, blank silence.

When your reached the dorm, you cried yourself to sleep.

The weeks that followed were hollow.

You avoided him at all costs — skipping meals if he was in the Great Hall, changing routes between classes, ducking into alcoves or behind statues just to avoid seeing his face.

And the worst part?

He let you.

Not once did Cedric chase after you. Not once did he corner you in the hallway or try to pull you aside after class. No notes. No explanations. No apologies.

It was like you’d ceased to exist.

Your friends didn’t understand. Hell, you didn’t understand. You’d confessed your feelings, humiliated yourself — handed your heart to him — and he hadn’t even had the decency to break it properly. Just silence. A gaping, agonizing silence.

You buried yourself in schoolwork, tried to find distractions, but nothing stuck. Nothing made the ache fade. You’d never felt so invisible.

Not even Firewhisky could touch it now.

You'd even tried. You were drunk at every party, desperately trying to forget how embarrassed you felt and how much you missed Cedric.

And then came the day of the final task. The Maze.

The air was electric, thick with nerves and anticipation. Everyone buzzed about Cedric and Harry, Fleur and Krum — four champions entering the unknown. You stood on the edge of the crowd with your arms crossed, shoulders tight with dread. You hadn’t spoken to Cedric in weeks, hadn’t even looked at him if you could help it… but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t terrified.

He might not care about you anymore — if he ever did — but that didn’t stop you from caring about him.

The Maze loomed like a breathing thing, its hedges impossibly tall, its rustling leaves whispering secrets. You watched him walk toward it, flanked by cheers and camera flashes, and for a moment, just a moment, he looked back over his shoulder.

At you.

Your breath caught.

Then he was gone.

The chaos came later.

Screams. Shouting. Rumors flying like hexes. Harry was back, clutching the Triwizard Cup and Cedric’s arm — but something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Cedric wasn’t moving.

You pushed through the crowd, frantic, not caring who you elbowed or stepped on. Harry was screaming something about Voldemort, about portkeys, about Death Eaters — and all you could see was Cedric lying in the grass like a discarded doll.

But then — then — he moved.

A shallow breath. A twitch of his hand. A groan.

You fell to your knees beside him as Madam Pomfrey and the professors swarmed, your shaking fingers brushing over his cold one before they ushered you back.

He lived.

Barely, but he lived.

You didn’t sleep for two nights.

You hovered outside the Hospital Wing, waited for word, snapped at anyone who told you to rest. You weren’t sure why — he hadn’t spoken to you in weeks — but some part of you needed to know he was okay. Even if you’d never speak again.

It was late when Madam Pomfrey finally relented and let you in.

He looked pale, drawn, but awake. Eyes open, hazy with potions and pain, but still that same warm, stormy gray.

You stood in the doorway, frozen.

He blinked. “Y/N?”

You hated that his voice still made something deep in your chest crack.

“I… shouldn’t be here,” you said. “I just wanted to see if you were—if you—” You turned, heart hammering, already retreating.

“Don’t,” he rasped. “Please. Don’t go.” His voice cracked. Tears glossed his eyes over — not quite gathering, but still there.

You hesitated, back still to him.

"I'm begging you. I just want to hold your hand. To touch you. Just for a second, yeah? Please, Y/N."

The rawness in his voice undid you.

Not the words — those you could have ignored. But the way he said them. Cracked and trembling, like a boy clinging to a ledge by his fingertips. Like saying your name was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

You turned, slowly.

Cedric looked so unlike himself it hurt — his golden skin washed out, the sharp cut of his cheekbone shadowed and sunken, that usual quiet confidence gone. But those eyes…

They were still his. Still stormy. Still yours.

You came back slowly. His pale hand outstretched — you placed yours into it, like he'd asked. The entire room flooded with the aura of relief. Cedric squeezed his eyes shut, an exhale leaving him.

He didn’t say anything right away.

He just held your hand like it anchored him. Like it was the only thing tethering him to the moment, to the world, to you. His fingers were cold — not deathly, just lacking the usual heat you remembered so well. But they wrapped around yours with the same gentleness you’d missed more than you could bear.

When he opened his eyes again, they shimmered.

“I thought I’d dreamed you,” he said, voice low, rough. “That night. After the maze. I thought… maybe I’d imagined the sound of your voice.”

Your throat tightened. “I was there.”

“I know that now,” he said, giving your hand a light tug, just enough to pull you closer to the bed. “You were always there. Even when you weren’t.”

You were silent again. Then you spoke.

"What the hell happened?"

Cedric’s jaw tensed. For a moment, he didn’t speak. His thumb kept brushing over your knuckles — a grounding motion, or maybe just something to do with his hands so he wouldn’t fall apart.

“I don’t remember all of it,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Not clearly. The maze — it was dark, and twisted. Everything felt wrong. Like it was watching me.”

You moved closer without thinking, perching on the edge of the bed now, still clutching his hand.

He swallowed hard, gaze distant. “There were enchantments, creatures, traps… things meant to disorient us. I was doing okay. Then—” He paused, breath catching. “Then the Portkey. I didn’t know what it was, just that it wasn’t part of the maze.”

You nodded slowly. “We were all watching. Then you vanished.”

“I landed in a graveyard.” His voice went flat. “I wasn’t alone.”

You felt your heart stutter in your chest.

Cedric looked at you now. Not through you. Not around you. At you. “There was someone there. Someone powerful. Masked. I—I couldn’t fight him. He cursed me. Said it was a warning, not a killing. Said I was just the ‘first stone in the avalanche.’ Then he left. Just like that. Like I was… insignificant.”

Your breath shook. “Cedric…”

He gave a small, humorless laugh. “I wasn’t brave. I just got lucky.”

You touched his cheek before you could stop yourself. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Downplay what you survived. You weren’t lucky, you were strong. You’re here, aren’t you? You made it back.”

“Barely,” he murmured.

“But you did.” Your voice cracked now. “And I’m so—so glad. I was terrified. Every day you didn’t wake up, I thought…” You blinked rapidly, unable to finish.

His hand covered yours now, anchoring it to his cheek. He leaned into your touch.

“I’m sorry you went through that,” he whispered. “Alone.”

“You’re not alone now.”

He nodded. “Neither are you.”

You sat in that fragile stillness for a long time. No longer strangers to the silence, but companions to it. Letting it speak where words couldn’t.

Finally, Cedric shifted slightly. “Stay?”

You looked at him — pale, trembling, but alive — and nodded. “Of course.”

You curled into the chair beside his bed, still holding his hand.

He didn’t let go.

Hours later, Madam Pomfrey returned. Surprisingly, she went into a soft smile when she saw you sleeping silently in the chair — arm still outstretched to Cedric, who was sleeping soundly finally — his hand clutching yours tightly.

She didn’t wake you.

Madam Pomfrey, for all her grumbles and strict rules, had been at Hogwarts long enough to recognize the kind of sleep born from exhaustion and heartbreak. The kind of sleep that stitched two fractured souls back together, thread by trembling thread.

With a gentle flick of her wand, she dimmed the lights and conjured a blanket, draping it over your shoulders. She didn’t touch Cedric — just checked the potions levels, made a quiet note on her chart, and slipped out of the room.

When you stirred hours later, it was still quiet. The world hadn’t ended, though it had come close. You blinked slowly, adjusting to the gray morning light streaming through the hospital wing’s tall windows.

You were still holding his hand.

More importantly — he was still holding yours.

You turned your head, just slightly, and saw Cedric watching you. His eyes were clearer now. Tired, yes — but calm. Solid. Real.

“Morning,” he whispered.

Your voice came out hoarse. “Hey.”

“Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

“I said I would be,” you replied quietly. “You really think I’d leave again?”

“No,” he said, his thumb brushing over your hand again. “But part of me’s still scared I’ll wake up and this will be gone.”

You sat up straighter, brushing the sleep from your eyes. “It’s not.”

A long pause.

“I thought about you,” Cedric said. “When I was stuck in that maze. When I was hurt. When I woke up alone in here. I kept thinking—‘I didn’t tell her.’ Not really.”

“Didn’t tell me what?” you asked gently.

“That I love you.”

Your breath caught.

“I love you,” he repeated, firmer this time. “And I’m sorry it took almost dying to say it. I should’ve said it that night. When you did. But I panicked. I—I couldn’t believe you’d actually—”

“I did,” you whispered. “I do.”

Cedric’s expression broke into something fragile and luminous, something that made you feel like you could finally breathe after weeks underwater.

He squeezed your hand again.

“I think we’ve wasted enough time, don’t you?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

Soft sunlight broke through the clouds beyond the windows, casting a pale gold glow across the room. And as Cedric smiled up at you, tired but whole, you realized this wasn’t the end of your story.

"You said you'd never date. Now look at you.. Loser." Cedric snorted weakly.

It was true. You'd said that at the beginning of 5th year.

Rolling your eyes, you smirked.

"I wouldn't call it dating. I'd call it unlabeled, pure devotion."

Cedric laughed, a low, broken sound that still somehow managed to sound like music. His thumb brushed yours as he held your hand a little tighter.

“Oh, that’s what we’re calling it?” he murmured, smile lazy, eyes gleaming just a bit. “Unlabeled, pure devotion?”

You shrugged, that smirk playing on your lips again. “It’s more romantic that way. Tragic. Poetic.”

“Right,” he said with mock-seriousness. “So when people ask, I’ll just say I’m in a deeply emotional, undefined entanglement with a sarcastic cynic who pretends she doesn’t love me stupid.”

You shot him a glare, but your heart fluttered.

“And I’ll say I’m spiritually tethered to a bleeding-heart Hufflepuff who almost died just to make me realize I’m in love with him.”

Cedric’s eyes locked with yours then — no teasing now, just a quiet, overwhelming sort of tenderness. Like everything had shifted and finally, finally landed right where it was meant to.

“Then I guess we deserve each other,” he whispered.

You nodded. “Unfortunately for you.”

He thought for a moment.

"C'mere." He muttered, opening his arms.

You raised an eyebrow. "But Madam Pomf—"

"She'll be fine. She loves me."

You huffed a laugh, trying to hide the fact that your chest had just caved in a little.

“She loves everyone,” you said, but you were already rising from the chair.

Cedric gave a weak but triumphant grin as you carefully slipped into the narrow hospital bed beside him, minding the bandages and bruises. His arms wrapped around you the second you were close enough — warm, shaky, and maybe a little too tight, like he still didn’t quite believe this was real.

You melted into him anyway.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t comfortable. The mattress was stiff, your knees bumped, and his shoulder was still sore — but somehow, it was perfect.

“You smell like antiseptic,” you muttered into his collarbone.

“You smell like regret and firewhisky,” he murmured back.

You snorted. “Fair.”

For a while, you both just lay there, tangled in silence. His hand moved slowly across your back, your cheek pressed against the beat of his heart. There were a hundred conversations left to have — about the maze, about what came next, about the weeks of silence and the confession you still weren’t sure he’d heard properly.

But for now, this was enough.

Safe. Warm. Alive.

“I’m not letting you go again,” Cedric whispered suddenly, so quietly you almost missed it.

You lifted your head. “Then don’t.”

He looked at you like you’d just given him the answer to every riddle he’d ever been asked.

It happened without fanfare.

No dramatic music. No roaring winds or trembling ground.

Just the two of you, breathing in the same space, your foreheads touching as the late-afternoon sun traced gold across the white sheets and Cedric’s bruised knuckles.

He looked at you like he had all the time in the world — like he was memorizing every curve of your face, every flicker of doubt behind your eyes. His hand came up, fingers brushing your cheek, reverent. Almost disbelieving.

“I'd like to seal our 'unlabeled, pure devotion'' with a kiss, yeah?” he murmured.

You swallowed, heart thudding. “Then do it.”

His lips found yours gently — not rushed, not hungry, just soft. Certain. A question and an answer, all in one breath.

It was warm and a little shaky, a kiss you could feel in your ribs, in your fingertips, in every inch of skin that remembered what it meant to be close to him.

When he pulled back, barely an inch, his eyes were still closed.

“I'm an absolute fool for you,” he whispered, voice a little hoarse. “But it was definitely worth almost dying for.”

You laughed, and then you kissed him again.

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