𝕮𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖞

Used to be you ate a pack of biscuits to get through the morning or skip breakfast entirely, but now — now you get to enjoy freshly-made pancakes as your first meal of the day, courtesy of your new boyfriend, who apparently is not just an oncologist (he told you it means he helps cancer patients) but also a great cook, a great lover, a great everything, really.

And this includes being great at his job — you’ve seen the evidence — been in the spare room turned his makeshift study, browsed through all the medical books (you took one out when you were bored one afternoon, flipped it open to a page, didn’t know what most of the words meant, so he must be really smart to know what all of them mean. After all, he’s an oncologist — you really can’t stop saying it), examined the fancy certificates, toyed with the little trinkets his former patients gifted him, and skimmed the many letters of appreciation from them. 

In the mornings, he flits around the apartment before leaving for work, making sure everything is taken care of. The bathroom — all dry and clean, the bedroom — sheets that smell faintly of you and him, of sex — they’re all nicely folded, and the kitchen — lunch and dinner both neatly packed and labelled in containers in the fridge (he always makes some dinner just in case he has to work late, in case he can’t be home on time).

The maid who comes by once a week probably doesn’t do much. Her name’s Lady. She reveres him, calls him Dr. Wilson. He told you that his ex-wife (soon-to-be actually, divorce papers aren’t signed yet, so technically, he’s still married — this is something to think about) fired her. You figure he’s just keeping her employed in the meantime because she needs the money.

James is always nice. Nice to his patients. Nice to the maid. Nice to everyone. Nicest to you. 

Maybe this is his modus — getting you hooked, making the thought of living without him unfathomable, because truly, at this point you can’t imagine living without him and neither can your apartment. For once, it’s not the equivalent to the remnants of a hurricane. 

He comes by to fuss over you before he leaves — briefcase in hand, already dressed in his suit and tie — and you catch a whiff of his cologne when he hovers over you, kissing you on the temple, on the top of your head, then on your temple again, fingers expertly smoothing down the wayward strands of your hair that got mussed from sleep. 

He’s always hovering, always touching and kissing you like you’re going to wither without just one second of his love. You don’t mind, really. You like all the fretting, all the tending to. It makes you feel like some rare and delicate thing, always in need of maximum care.

He seems to revel in it too — coddling you. You think it turns him on sometimes — taking care of you, doting on you. Or maybe he’s just that selfless, that much of a giver. Maybe it just comes naturally because you’re that much younger than he is. Even in bed, he’s always so incredibly tuned in to your needs, practically devoting himself to you. 

Needless to say, the sex is fantastic. 

And so is your life with him.

It feels safe, easy.

He doesn’t seem to mind the fact that you don’t have a real, serious job. That you mostly spend your days lazing about at home, looped up on your meds — he reminds you to take them after you’re done with the pancakes, strokes your hair when you swallow, sympathizes with you afterwards when you complain about how bitter they taste.

Maybe there is no modus — maybe he just thinks you need him. 

And you can’t deny that you have a tendency to be needy. That’s what your exes called you. When you phoned them multiple times throughout the day asking for reassurance (your anxiety at an all-time high, your fault, you skipped your meds), when you got upset at them for making plans without you and insisted they cancel them, when you couldn’t make decisions, however big or small, without their input — you were always deemed too needy.

James, on the other hand, carefully labels such behaviour as a result of you going through a difficult time — a rough patch. He answers all your calls even when he’s busy (the number of calls you make isn’t quite as high as when you ditch your meds, but it is still quite substantial), cancels plans like giving a talk at an oncology conference when you cried about how you didn’t want to be alone for too long that night (you said you didn’t feel well), and steps in to make all the tough and not so tough decisions for you (should I go out today or stay in? Should I get this or that? Should I quit my job or just stick it out?).

Naturally, House thinks that Wilson enables you — thinks that Wilson optimistically expects that just by loving you enough things will somehow magically get better. 

And, House, like all your exes, is quick to diagnose you as needy.

“She’s not needy,” Wilson will scoff, hands on his hips, tone somewhat defensive. “She’s just — going through a bad patch — emotionally.”

“Right, so she needs the oncologist to baby her back to feeling emotionally stable again.”

Deep down, Wilson knows that House’s snarky remark rings truer than he’d like to admit. He does, in some ways, baby you — but only because you wouldn’t know what to do without him. Who else is going to remind you to take your meds? Upkeep your apartment? You’re not the best at keeping track of your pills and you can’t even change a light bulb. You can’t cook. You’re not good at cleaning. You cry when you can’t find something. You can’t sleep alone. 

So yes, perhaps he does baby you, but who can really blame him when you seem to need him that much?

author's note: also, i would just like to include this gif here for no particular reason at all other than i think about it 24/7 🤭🤭🤭

My arms stayed looped around his neck as he swayed me from side to side, and I clung to his shoulders when he dipped me low, both of us breathless with laughter, dizzy with joy.

As we twirled, folding in and out of each other’s arms, the world around us blurred— just streaks of color and light, until I caught sight of Cho and Harry a few feet away. They looked relaxed, talking close, smiling like they’d known each other forever.

It made something soft stir in my chest, seeing them comfortable. 

When I looked back at Cedric, he was already watching me, grinning like he’d been waiting for me to notice. That soft, knowing smile made my stomach flip. He’d seen it too. Cho and Harry. And not a single flicker of resentment crossed his face.

He looked happy.

At ease in a way that made my heart bloom.

There was no tension, no flicker of jealousy, not even a trace of bitterness.

He wasn’t carrying old feelings. He wasn’t looking back.

There were no games. No second guessing.

Just the kind of steady love that made trust feel easy. Like I could fall into it with my whole heart.

And I already had.

Falling in love is a terrifying thing. It means letting your guard down, allowing someone to see all of you, and hoping they won't take that for granted. It's where you're most exposed. And even though this was my first time being in love, there was no hesitation in giving myself fully to Cedric.

His attention wasn't wavering, and neither was mine. I could continue to allow myself to grow accustomed to his warm, sweet breath, his strong, steady arms embracing me, and his touch that ignited a fire in my entire being. And somehow, I knew that this would be forever.

We fit so naturally. Our senses of humor aligned, and he cared so deeply about the things that mattered to me. Being with him was effortless, like every part of me was seen and understood. I couldn't imagine ever growing bored of him.

I swayed my hips with him as I sighed, unable to believe my luck in finding who I was so sure was my other half.

Then, in a brilliant surprise, The Weird Sisters returned to the stage for an encore, and the crowd erupted into cheers and screams. The energy shifted— brighter, looser, drunk on the high of the night.

As the noise faded into excited murmurs, the lead singer leaned into the mic with a sly grin.

“This one’s going out to all the lovers out there. Hold each other tight, and keep each other warm.”

Before I could even react, Cedric had already pulled me close. His arms wrapped around me like it was second nature, like his body already knew where mine belonged. My heart somersaulted in my chest as I melted into him, my hands finding their place over his heart.

The music shifted into something slower, softer— something that pulled couples together and made the rest of the world fall away.

The crowd around us paired off into couples, the Triwizard Champions among them, all of us slowly swaying to the softness of the ballad.

“Did I mention to you already how fucking happy I am to be here with you?” Cedric asked, his voice sincere.

My eyebrows lifted slightly at the swear, it wasn’t something he did often, but the rawness of it made my heart flutter.

“No, but I know it,” I said, smiling. “I am, too. Tonight might’ve been the best night of my life.”

“The night’s not over yet, angel,” he murmured, and I watched a blush creep across his cheeks.

I thought back to what he’d said the night before, his quiet suggestion, the way it lingered between us even now. I felt a flicker of nerves, but it wasn’t doubt. I knew exactly what I wanted.

“No, it’s not,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to his lips, soft and certain.

My arms looped around his neck as we moved in time with the music, our temples resting together, breathing the same air.

The room felt like it had quieted around us. No whispers, no curious glances, and the lack of attention made the moment feel even more intimate.

Like this moment was meant to be just ours.

There were a few exceptions, of course. One of them being the pair of icy blue eyes a few feet away.

I was surprised to see Draco dancing with Pansy. She looked blissful, her cheek resting on his shoulder, eyes closed with a soft, dreamy smile on her lips. But he couldn’t have looked more uninterested.

He scanned the Hall with visible boredom until his gaze landed on Cedric and me again. And when it did, it stayed, sharpening with something unreadable.

Still, I didn’t give him more than a glance. My focus completely on my Golden Boy, who was looking at me like I was the only thing he saw— his expression open and full of quiet adoration. It made my chest ache in the best way.

We stayed like that through the last few ballads, swaying slowly, wrapped up in each other like the rest of the world had fallen away.

He sang every lyric to me like it meant something, like each word came from somewhere deeper, and with every line, I felt myself sink further into him.

Around us, couples began disappearing— slipping away for some privacy or heading up to get ready for the after-party in the Room of Requirement once they’d had their fill of romantic tunes.

But we stayed.

Cedric and I were among the last still dancing, holding tight to the final notes, clinging to the moment before it faded into memory.

When the last song came to a close, a bittersweet hush swept through the Hall. 

For a few seconds, no one moved, then soft applause rippled through the small crowd, all of us thanking Professor Flitwick for his beautiful lineup of love songs. 

One by one, we drifted out into the Entrance Hall, doing whatever we could to stretch the evening just a little longer.

Couples lingered, hand in hand, murmuring slow, reluctant goodnights. No one seemed eager to be the first to let the magic end.

I caught sight of Hermione and Krum sitting on the stairs, whispering excitedly to each other, and couldn't help but grin. It was nice to see that Ron didn't manage to spoil their evening.

“Fancy a smoke in the garden?” Cedric asked, his voice low, warm.

I nodded, slipping my hand into his. Together, we stepped out through the open front doors and into the night air, finally getting the chance to admire the grounds we hadn’t yet explored.

The rose garden shimmered under a canopy of fluttering fairy lights, each one twinkling like it was in on the night’s secret. We moved down the steps, the air crisp against our skin, and followed the path lined with thick rosebushes and looming stone statues. Somewhere nearby, a fountain babbled gently, the sound echoing through the stillness.

Here and there, other couples sat tucked together on carved benches, lost in their own little worlds.

Without saying a word, Cedric shrugged off his dress robe and draped it over my shoulders, shielding me from the bite of the crisp December air. Then, hand still in mine, he led us down one of the garden’s winding paths, fishing in his pocket for his cigarette case and lighter.

I watched him in quiet awe as he moved through the familiar routine. Cigarette balanced between his lips, head tipped low to shield the flame from the wind. He lit it, inhaled slow, then leaned his head back, exhaling a long, steady ribbon of smoke into the cold night air.

When he looked down again, he caught me staring—swooning, really—like one of those lovesick fangirls in the corridors who would eye me enviously.

“What?” he grinned, flashing me his pearly whites.

“Nothing. You’re just disgustingly hot,” I said, stealing the cigarette from his fingers and taking a puff myself.

Cedric was about to respond when voices floated over from one of the nearby rosebushes.

Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies stood half-hidden among the petals, completely entangled in a heated makeout session.

Cedric let out a bewildered laugh, which I quickly smothered with a sharp shush, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the fountain at the center of the garden. I barely held back my own laughter until we were safely out of earshot.

As soon as we rounded the corner, we burst into giggles, our laughter rising into the cold night air as we tried to recover from the shock of catching Fleur and Roger mid-snog.

A cluster of multicolored fairies lifted into the air as we passed, their glow casting soft light across Cedric’s face, highlighting every angle, every detail, like he was something holy.

In the moonlight, he didn’t even look real.

He looked like a Greek God carved from silver.

My own personal Adonis, hands firm on my hips like he never wanted to let go.

“Your face was crafted by the heavens,” he murmured, more to himself than to me, his voice full of something that made my breath catch.

And in that moment, I’d never felt more beautiful in my entire life.

Looking into Cedric’s eyes felt like falling into forever.

Time didn’t tick or pass, it simply paused.

Wrapped around us like something quiet. Something pure.

I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t. I was frozen in the softness of it all, in the overwhelming realization that I was looking at the man I was completely in love with.

And I had never been more certain of anything.

“(Y/N), I’m completely and utterly in love with you,” Cedric professed.

I surprised us both by giggling.

Joy bubbled up inside me, too big to contain, tears stinging my eyes and threatening to spill over from the weight of it.

He looked at me with that signature furrow of his brows— confused, but grinning, his whole face lit with something tender and bright.

I swiped at my cheeks, missing one that he caught with the pad of his thumb, brushing it away so gently it made my heart ache.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he said quietly. “I know it can take some time—”

But I was already shaking my head, already blinking back more tears.

“No, I just... I love you, too. I’m in love with you, too.”

His face lit up  with so much pride, so much stunned joy, I thought he might cry right there with me.

It was the look I’d imagined he’d wear if he won the Tournament.

“I think I’ve been in love with you for a while,” I admitted, my voice shaking. “But it hit me during the opening dance. I just didn’t know if you felt the same—”

I didn’t even get to finish.

His hands were soon cradling my face, and then his mouth was on mine.

He kissed me softly. Carefully.

But it wasn’t gentleness I wanted—not now.

Not after everything.

Not after all the build-up. All the longing.

I curled my fists in the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer with wordless urgency until there was no space left between us.

He groaned, low and primal, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as his arms wrapped around me, lifting me with effortless strength until my legs locked around his waist.

We were exquisitely tangled— and this time, he kissed me like he meant it.

Like he couldn’t stand another second of not doing so.

My thoughts scattered.

Nothing existed beyond the electric slide of his mouth on mine, the delicious scrape of his teeth catching my bottom lip, biting down just enough to pull a helpless sound from the back of my throat.

That sound unhinged something in him.

His grip on me tightened, fingers digging into my thighs with desperate greed, like he couldn’t help himself anymore. Like he didn’t want to.

Then his mouth found my neck.

His lips blazed a trail across my skin, his tongue stroking over the heat of it, and I gasped— arching into him as cold air flooded my lungs, my body writhing under his touch.

My eyes fluttered open for a moment, just long enough to catch the endless sprawl of stars above us, the world reduced to a hush of rustling leaves and glittering fairy lights.

It was dizzying.

He was dizzying.

Cedric was something I could so easily lose myself in.

The sweetest kind of intoxication.

But reality pulled at me through the haze, just enough to remind me we were still outside, exposed, and very much at risk of being interrupted.

He felt it too. The way I stilled in his arms, the subtle shift in my breath.

Gently, he lowered me back to the ground, his hands steady at my waist as I caught my balance.

We both took a moment, eyes scanning the garden around us.

It looked empty. Still. Like we were the only two people left in the world.

But we knew better.

Someone was bound to come by eventually.

"Do you... do you want to go back to my dorm room?" Cedric asked, breathless, his grip on my waist tightening just enough to betray how badly he hoped I'd say yes.

"Yeah, let's go." I grinned, not even pretending to hesitate.

Just like that, we were off, hand-in-hand, heading toward the Hufflepuff dungeons.

When we reached the Entrance Hall, it was completely deserted.

Only the sound of our quick footsteps echoed off the marble floors— until the tower bell above us rang out, loud and thunderous, marking the new hour.

One in the morning.

I yelped, startled by the sudden clang in the stillness, and Cedric laughed, wrapping his arms around me on instinct, shielding me playfully as we descended the staircase.

Down in the lower levels of the castle, everything shifted.

Dozens of students from both Hufflepuff and Slytherin lingered about— already hyped for the after-party everyone had been whispering about all night.

“Diggory! You coming or what?” one of his Quidditch teammates called out, smirking.

Cedric barely turned. “Um, maybe in a bit,” he replied coolly, giving them a nod and the briefest smile before tugging me deeper down the corridor, away from the noise, away from everyone.

I heard snickering behind us, and with the urgency in our steps and the flushed look on both our faces, it didn’t take much to figure out what we were up to.

But I didn’t care.

Whatever trace of embarrassment might’ve flickered there was drowned out by the simple, overwhelming need to be alone with him.

If anything, I was frustrated— at the hallway, at the constant chatter, at how long it was taking to get to anywhere private. My whole body ached for him.

Students continued calling out to Cedric, wanting a glimpse, a word, a moment with one of the Triwizard Champions who were the moguls of the night, but he barely offered anything back. Just tight-lipped smiles as he steered us past them without breaking stride.

Eventually, he led me to a cluster of large barrels, stacked haphazardly along the wall. I hovered behind him, watching with curiosity as he crouched and tapped out a rhythm on the middle barrel in the second row.

Immediately, a hidden door opened beside us, revealing a tunnel sloping downward into the unknown.

"And we just get a lousy, weekly password," I muttered under my breath.

Cedric chuckled, stepping aside to hold the passage open for me.

I followed him in, the earthy scent of the tunnel giving way to warmth and woodsmoke as we entered the Hufflepuff Common Room— a cozy, high-ceilinged space that looked like it had been pulled straight from a storybook.

The room opened up around me, spacious but inviting, bathed in honeyed wood tones and soft golden light. Round doors curved into the walls, leading off to the boys' and girls' dormitories. The tables gleamed with polish, and the familiar, comforting scent of soil and fresh greenery clung to the air like a memory.

But what struck me most were the plants.

They were everywhere.

Potted cacti stood like sentinels on narrow shelves. Lush ferns spilled from copper-bottomed holders hung from the ceiling, their long tendrils curling like green smoke. For a moment, it felt less like a common room and more like a corner of the Hogwarts Greenhouses.

While I took it all in, Cedric rifled through his pockets until his fingers closed around a small brass key. He walked over to a carved wooden door tucked just beside the entryway, slid the key into the lock, and turned it. The soft click echoed louder than it should’ve in the hush between us.

The door creaked open.

He turned back to me, bathed in lamplight, eyes glowing with something quiet and certain.

That smile— playful and devastating, tugged at his lips, the same one that always made my chest tighten.

I lingered on it for a moment, breath caught in my throat.

Then I stepped past him, quiet smile on my lips, and crossed the threshold into his room.

It was warm and soft and familiar.

The room bore a cozy familiarity, quilted bedding and layered rugs like my own dorm, though here they were stitched with rich gold and black, Hufflepuff pride woven into every thread.

By the window, surrounded by yet more greenery, stood a desk in gentle disarray— books stacked, parchment half-filled, ink pots open like they’d just been used. It reminded me of his room back home. A quiet reflection of the boy I knew behind the champion title.

And there, tucked against the wall, stood a four-poster bed like mine... except his stood alone.

One bed.

“No dormmates?” I asked, voice quieter now, my eyes flicking from the bed to Cedric as he shut the door behind us and turned the key again with that same steady, deliberate care.

He cleared his throat. “No, erm... House Boy and House Girl get their own room.”

His voice softened as he stepped closer. One hand lifted to brush my hair aside, exposing the curve of my shoulder. His fingers were warm and featherlight, tracing my skin like he’d dreamed of this moment for longer than he’d ever admit.

“Lucky us,” I whispered, turning to face him fully, my pulse a steady drum beneath my ribs.

The low lamplight cast him in gold and shadow.

His skin was flushed. His eyes, dark and blown wide.

And his lips, still swollen from the garden, were parted, waiting.

He looked at me like he needed this.

Like he’d burn if he didn’t touch me.

His gaze dropped to my mouth. Then lower.

Lingering. Devouring.

My breath hitched.

The air between us so thick with desire, it felt like I could drown.

I let out a quiet, trembling sigh as he raised a knuckle to my cheekbone, barely grazing it. The gentleness of it was ruinous.

My eyes fluttered shut, leaning into the heat of him.

Cedric hesitated, just a heartbeat.

Then I looked up, and whatever he saw in my eyes snapped the last thread of his restraint.

He surged forward, and his mouth crashed into mine in a kiss so deep, so desperate, it stole the air from my lungs.

His hands slid to either side of my face, gripping gently but firmly— grounding me, steadying me, while everything else dissolved around us.

There was nothing else.

It was just him now.

His mouth. His breath. The desperate, unrelenting way he craved me.

Nothing had ever felt more right.

We exhaled into each other— one breath, shared between two hungry mouths. The tension between us unraveled, thread by thread, replaced with something hotter. Something electric.

I wanted more.

Our tongues swirled, a heady mix of his slow seduction and my fevered need. I reached up and slid my dress robes off my shoulders, letting them fall in a soft heap to the floor, leaving only the delicate fabric of my gown clinging to me.

His hands followed instinctively, brushing over my neck, skimming the swell of my breasts. But then he stopped, his fingers stalling like he didn’t want to go further without knowing I was sure.

I leaned into him, pressing my chest against his. The heat of his body bled into mine.

And that look on his face— Gods.

His eyes lit up like a boy unwrapping the one gift he never thought he’d get.

He looked down at me like I was something sacred.

And the moment he knew I wanted this too, something in him shifted.

His hands moved— no longer hesitant, but hungry. They slid up to cup my chest, giving a slow, purposeful squeeze that pulled a shaky breath from my lips. The awe in his expression darkened into something deeper. 

Hungrier.

Possessive. 

I breathed, legs weakening, nerves sparking like live wires. I reached for him, greedily touching over the fabric of his clothes, desperate to feel more. My palms slid across his chest— firm, warm, all toned muscle wrapped in cotton.

He seemed to revel in it, his restraint thinning with every pass of my hands.

With trembling fingers, I worked open the buttons of his shirt, peeling it from his shoulders with a quiet rustle. Then I tugged at the white tank beneath, dragging it up over his head. It caught for a second, and he laughed softly, wriggling out of it.

I giggled too, the sound slipping out before I could stop it. Something about the moment— his easy confidence, that playful little grin, so unmistakably him— soothed the nerves fluttering in my chest.

And then the shirt was gone, and he was standing in front of me in nothing but his dress pants.

 Flushed. Beautiful. Real

He looked like the sculpture of David come to life— athletic, striking, his tousled hair falling perfectly out of place.

I reached out, my fingertips tracing along the defined lines of his torso, slow and reverent. He was lean and strong, built with that quiet kind of grace that didn’t beg to be noticed but demanded it anyway.

“You’re so hot,” I murmured, the awe in my voice shameless.

A smug little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and before I could say another word, his hand slid behind my neck, drawing me in. He dipped his head, his lips pressing warm, open kisses down my collarbone, each one branding heat into my skin.

My mouth parted as I melted into him, every kiss stealing the breath from my lungs. His fingers found the buttons of my dress and began undoing them unhurriedly. Savoring the moment.

And then, with a soft exhale, he unhurriedly slipped the straps from my shoulders. 

With the same mannerism as if he were unwrapping something precious.

The dress fell in a hush to the floor, pooling at my feet, leaving me in the silk lingerie I’d picked just for tonight. White. Laced. Barely there.

“Fuck,” Cedric breathed. The word slipped out of him like he didn’t even mean to say it. Like he couldn’t help it.

His eyes drank me in— stunned and starving.

The white bustier hugging my chest, the matching lace low on my hips like a secret meant only for him.

His gaze alone lit something inside me. Hot. Raw. Drenched in desire.

But it also gave me power.

A surprising confidence surged through me. I didn’t feel nervous. I felt wanted. Worshipped. Entirely his.

I stepped closer, slow and sure, guiding his hand to the lace at my hip— the fabric meant to tempt, to be undone.

“I wore it for you,” I whispered, voice low, steady, a smile curling at my lips. “So you could take it off.”

His breath hitched— sharp, almost pained— and for a beat, he just stared, like I’d knocked the world off its axis. His hand tightened at my waist, thumb stroking the lace like he needed to confirm it was real.

Then he moved.

He closed the space between us, hips pressing to mine, the friction sweet and sinful. It dragged a moan from deep in my throat, my nipples hard beneath the lace, nerves igniting everywhere. I arched into him, gasping, pleading silently for more.

Then, finally, his fingers found the clasp of my bra and with a practiced flick, the lace slipped away.

His hands were there in an instant— warm and sure— cupping my tits with a reverence that turned hungry in seconds. I gasped,  the contact sent a tremor through my entire body, my mouth falling open in a breathless cry.

And then he put his mouth on me.

He took one nipple between his lips, sucking gently, his tongue swirling with such tender precision it made me whimper. My hips jerked instinctively, desperate and restless beneath him, and my fingers dove into his hair, holding him to me like I couldn’t bear to let go.

He licked and sucked, murmuring soft, broken praise against my skin like he couldn’t believe I was his.

“Fucking hell, you’re perfection,” he groaned against my chest, voice wrecked and breathless, teeth grazing the bud before biting just enough to make me cry out.

His hands moved lower, slow and steady, sliding down my waist to grip the softness of my hips. He lifted me effortlessly, and I wrapped my legs around him without thought, like my body already knew what to do.

We kissed like it was the only thing keeping us alive, falling into a rhythm that made my head spin. One of his hands cupped beneath me, steadying the curve of my spine as he carried us to the bed, his steps slow, confident, measured.

Then he laid me down gently, like I was something precious to be placed, not dropped. My head sank into the plush give of his pillow, and in the next breath, he was over me again, half-naked and burning.

He dipped down without hesitation, picking up right where he left off, tracing a path of kisses over my chest, worshipping every inch of exposed skin with lips that knew exactly what they were doing. When his mouth found my nipple again, I gasped, arching into him. I couldn’t keep still, my hips rolling up into him, desperate for friction.

And then I felt it— the hard press of him through his trousers, nestled perfectly against the slick heat of me.

We both moaned at the contact. The sound tangled between us, raw and shared. His head dropped into the crook of my neck, and we rocked together, instinctive and helpless, letting the sensation take us over.

When he lifted his head again, I couldn’t look away. His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, nearly swallowing the storm-gray I knew so well. His chestnut hair was a mess— soft, wild, marked by my fingers.

And right then, he looked like everything I’d ever wanted.

He looked fucking beautiful.

My chest rose and fell as I leaned up to kiss him— deep, slow, full of intent. I dragged my teeth along his bottom lip, savoring the way he shivered, before sinking back into the mattress, laid out and open, giving him everything.

Cedric groaned, low and guttural. His hands moved with urgency, sliding beneath me to grip the curve of my ass, fingers digging in as he pulled me against him. His hips ground down harder, rolling in slow, devastating circles that had me gasping, spine arching with each wave of friction.

“Every night,” he rasped, lips brushing my cheek, voice rough and trembling with restraint, “every single night before I’d fall asleep... until my skin burned and my body ached— I thought of you. Just like this.”

A sound broke from me, somewhere between a sob and a moan, and my hands moved down, fumbling with his belt, desperate now.

I undid the buckle, the clink of it sharp in the quiet, then worked at the button beneath. I’d never wanted anyone like this. Not in my entire life.

But before I could free him, he caught my hands in his, his fingers curling around mine like he couldn’t bear to give up control.

“Not yet, darling,” he murmured lowly like velvet dragged across heat. “I need to taste you.”

A gasp tore from my lips as slick heat bloomed between my legs. The words sent a shock of arousal straight through me, my body reacting before my mind could catch up. 

I was soaked. Absolutely aching.

He pinned my wrists gently to the mattress, pressing them down like even touching him might shatter the fragile hold he had on control.

Then he kissed me again, hard and fast, before pulling away— beginning his descent with a hunger that bordered on reverent.

He moved lower, lips dragging fire across every curve he passed, taking his time.

His hands followed in tandem, gliding over my ribs, my waist, my hips, like he was learning me by heart.

He kissed down my stomach in warm, open-mouthed devotion, leaving my skin tingling.

And when he glanced up, I caught it— that flicker of restraint beneath the hunger, the silent question hovering in his eyes as he reached the edge of my panties and paused.

“Can I take these off, princess?” he murmured, fingers ghosting along the waistband.

He leaned in, brushing his lips over the silk, then teasing the fabric with his teeth, just enough to make my hips twitch.

A moan escaped me, sharp and breathless.

“Can I?” he asked again, softer this time, his hands steady on my thighs, thumbs stroking soft, soothing circles.

“Please,” I whispered, barely audible.

And he didn’t hesitate.

He sat up, hooked his fingers under the band, and slid them down... slow. Inch by inch. His mouth followed the path, leaving kisses in their wake.

I lifted my hips to help, needing to be bare for him.

With a lazy flick, he tossed the panties over his shoulder. I flinched slightly as the cool air kissed the slick heat between my thighs.

My legs twitched, starting to close, but Cedric gently coaxed them open again.

His hands skimmed up my legs, from ankles to knees, then knees to thighs, until they resettled, firm but careful.

His eyes locked on mine, and his voice dropped to a murmur.

“It’ll feel good,” he promised, warm and sure. “I promise.”

Then he leaned in and kissed the inside of my thigh.

Soft. Slow. Maddening.

Another kiss.

Then another.

Each one hotter. Closer. More devastating than the last.

My skin burned under his mouth. My body arched helplessly off the bed as anticipation coiled tight in my core, so tight I thought I might break.

“Cedric,” I whimpered, voice high and trembling.

“Yes, my love?” he murmured with a knowing smirk, lips ghosting just shy of where I needed them most. His breath fanned against my heat, and I nearly cried from how close he was.

His eyes sparkled with a quiet challenge. He wanted to hear it. He wanted me to say it.

“Please, Ced...” I breathed, my voice nothing more than a desperate, pleading sigh. 

His gaze never wavered as his strong hands spread me open, pressing my thighs down into the mattress with deliberate, loving pressure.

The look in his eyes made my heart stutter— tenderness tangled with raw, unfiltered desire.

I flushed, heat rushing to my cheeks as I became acutely aware of how wet I was for him.

Warm, glistening, shamelessly dripping down my thighs.

But he didn’t blink. He didn’t look away. He stared at my pussy like it was the only thing in the world he wanted to taste.

And then he did.

He dove in like a starved man, tongue sliding through my folds with a hungry groan that vibrated against me. My back arched clean off the bed, a broken cry tearing from my throat.

His mouth was hot, open, greedy— licking, sucking, devouring me like I was his first meal after weeks of famine. Like he had nothing else in the world to live for but the taste of me.

His tongue moved with devastating precision, practiced and smooth, licking me in long, deliberate strokes that had me gasping and shaking.

“Fuck, you taste divine,” he groaned into my cunt, voice thick and muffled. His eyes fluttered shut as he buried his face deeper, and I was trembling.

Absolutely wrecked.

The heat between my legs had turned into a wet, pulsing ache, and he was feasting on it.

Every wet, obscene sound— his tongue, his groans, the messy squelch of pleasure— filled the room, turning the moment feral and vivid.

I was already unraveling.

He noticed.

He pulled back just slightly, his hands sliding up the backs of my legs, fingertips dimpling my skin as he spread me even wider.

When his eyes flicked up, dark and ravenous, I watched as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, savoring the taste of me before diving back in.

He flattened his tongue and dragged it through my folds, slow and devastating. I bucked at the contact. His thumb came up to spread me further, circling my clit in maddening, delicate strokes.

My eyes squeezed shut as I writhed beneath him, too gone to care how desperate I sounded.

Then his lips sealed around my clit, sucking gently, then harder, and I cried out— breathless and raw, every nerve unraveling under the weight of his mouth.

“Cedric— oh, fuck—” My fingers clutched at his hair, tugging when his tongue moved in practiced, devastating circles, every flick so perfectly placed it was criminal.

He knew exactly where to touch me. 

Exactly how to push me higher. 

He groaned in response, low and guttural, and the vibration jolted through me, pleasure curling hot and dizzy up my spine.

He didn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

His mouth was drunk on me— ravenous, insatiable. 

I was falling apart, and he knew it.

“Doin’ so good for me,” he murmured against my heat, lifting his head just enough to look at me. His lips were slick, voice wrecked, eyes half-lidded and molten.

I couldn’t form words.

My breath was fast. Uneven.

“You think you can take my fingers?” he asked, and the heat in his gaze pinned me down like a spell.

My breath hitched.

“Yes,” I nodded, my entire body pulsing. “Please.”

He settled deeper between my thighs. One hand traced slow, teasing strokes along my inner leg while the other returned to my center, his thumb brushing over my clit in careful, coaxing circles.

And then I felt it— his finger pressing at my entrance, slipping in slow, stretching me with a tenderness that made my chest bloom with affection and desire all at once.

I gasped. The stretch was unfamiliar, but so good. My body clenched around him, greedy, aching.

He groaned, and just as his finger curled inside me, he sucked my clit into his mouth and I nearly screamed.

“Is that okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now. Still thick with lust, but gentle. Present.

I nodded frantically, barely able to catch my breath. “Yes— y-yes, please don’t stop.”

He nodded once, never breaking eye contact. Then he leaned in again, lips wrapping around my clit at the same moment his finger sank deeper.

The sensation made me shiver.

His rhythm was perfect, mouth and hand working in tandem, a rising tide sweeping me under.

I started to move with him, chasing every flick, every thrust, hips tilting up to meet him.

He adjusted easily, matching me, lips greedy, eyes gleaming.

Then he brought up two fingers, index and middle, and gently drew back the hood of my clit, baring every part of me to his mouth.

The contact was sharp. Intimate. I choked on a breath, my body seizing under the weight of it, pleasure cracking through me like lightning.

He was so in sync with me, it was like his body spoke a language mine had never known it needed.

“Patience, baby,” he murmured against my cunt, a flicker of amusement woven through his hunger. Then he hooked one of my legs over his shoulder, opening me further.

Candlelight danced across his skin, casting his hand in gold— veined, strong, moving between us like he knew exactly what I could take.

His thumb returned to my clit, circling slowly as his finger curled inside me just right.

A gasp tore from me, sharp and ragged. 

I wasn't a prude. I’d touched myself before— but nothing had ever gone this deep.

His fingers found places in me I hadn’t even known existed. My body clenched around him as he worked in slow, testing thrusts, studying me. Learning.

I was his. Completely.

His eyes stayed locked on mine, catching every cry, every twitch of need.

“Fuck, you’re really fucking tight, dove,” he groaned, voice wrecked and low.

The sound shattered something inside me.

A moan slipped out— thick, wanton— slick flooding from me in response to the rasp of his voice.

“More. Please, Ced,” I whispered, breath catching.

His eyes softened, even through the haze. “Are you sure?” he asked, still making space for my answer, even now.

I nodded— desperate. Every inch of me begging.

He slid a second finger in, slow, careful, stretching me until I gasped, the pressure just enough to burn in the best way.

“I know,” he whispered, soothing, thumb circling my clit. “I’ve got you.”

He stayed still, giving me time, his tongue soothing the stretch with soft flicks, easing me open.

Once I relaxed beneath him, he started to move again— slow thrusts, deliberate, curling with precision.

His tongue kept pace, licking and sucking my clit like he was made for it.

My back arched. A sob of pleasure ripped from my throat.

My hands flew to his hair, anchoring myself in the thick, sweat-damp curls as he devoured me.

His head moved with purpose, mouth locked to the spot that unraveled me.

I was shaking. Sobbing. A beautiful, desperate mess.

And I couldn’t look away.

Watching Cedric Diggory between my thighs— lips soaked in me, eyes wild with adoration— it was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen.

“I—I’m close,” I gasped, thighs clamping around his head, my whole body trembling.

I sobbed his name, over and over, as the pressure inside me swelled— unbearable, desperate to break.

“Cum on my fingers, love,” he rasped, voice soaked in devotion. “You can do it.”

His fingers moved faster, curling and thrusting, hitting that perfect spot again and again. His thumb circled my clit, steady and precise.

His groan vibrated through me, and everything inside me shattered.

My body locked up, spasming and shaking.

“C-Cedric—fuck—!”

I cried out his name.

A prayer.

A plea.

The orgasm ripped through me like a tidal wave. Violent. Endless.

My thighs locked around him, back arched, toes curling as I broke open in his hands.

My slick coated his fingers, his mouth, dripping down his chin as he held me through it— patient, present, letting me ride every wave.

But he didn’t stop.

He never stopped.

He pressed soft kisses to my overstimulated core, licking me clean through every single aftershock with slow, savoring strokes.

Only when I whimpered did he finally ease off, fingers slipping from me with care. 

He sat up slowly, eyes glazed, lips wet with me, chin glinting. The sight of him, filthy and gorgeous, made me feral all over again.

He looked at me like I was a miracle.

And somehow, in his eyes, I believed I was.

Sweat rolled down my neck. My limbs were limp. I could barely move.

Cedric chuckled, voice hoarse, lips shining.

That look— soft, awestruck, in love— made my stomach flip.

It was obscene. It was everything.

I had never come like that before. Never at someone else’s hands.

And I knew, deep in my bones, I would never forget it.

He looked like something divine.

And still, in his eyes, I was the one worth worshipping.

He hadn’t even come yet.

He’d given me everything.

And I wouldn’t stop until he felt as good as he’d made me feel.

I didn’t even think. I just moved.

I climbed into his lap, straddling him, trembling and undone, but ready for more.

I needed him.

I kissed him hard, deep and hungry, tasting myself on his tongue and moaning into the filthy, beautiful mess of it.

His hands tightened around my waist, groaning into my mouth as I rocked against him, grinding down onto the thick heat of his still-clothed cock.

The friction was maddening. Sharp and perfect. It sent shocks through my overstimulated cunt, making me clench around nothing, my body already spiraling again with need.

The kiss broke, but I didn't move far. I hovered there, our foreheads nearly touching, breaths tangled together in the thin space between us.

He looked up at me like I’d cracked the sky open.

And even though I was bare, flushed, undone, shaking— I had never felt more powerful. More seen.

He’d stripped me down to the rawest parts of myself, and yet somehow, I felt invincible on top of him. Worshipped.

I couldn’t believe how easily he’d made me fall apart.

And still... he was steady. Gentle. That quiet strength coiled beneath every breath. His desire never selfish, never rushed. Just him. The boy I loved.

I rolled my hips again, slow and steady, chasing the friction, the burn, the pleasure— but beneath it, something shifted.

A flicker of doubt bloomed deep in my belly. Not from nerves. Not from him.

But from me.

He looked so wrecked beneath me. So beautiful. Chest heaving, eyes glowing, mouth wet from me, and yet, all I could think was can I give him even half of what he gave me?

He felt it.

Of course he did.

His hands stilled my hips with that same careful touch, grounding me. He looked up through his lashes, reading every silent word I hadn’t said yet.

“(Y/N), we don’t have to do anything else, you know,” he said gently, voice like warm velvet as he leaned up and pressed a kiss to my neck.

His tenderness cracked something open in me.

“It’s not that, Ced... I’ve just never—” I began, my voice faltering, heavy with the weight of truth.

But he didn’t let me finish.

“Shh, baby,” he whispered, brushing his lips along my cheek. His hands held me like I was something fragile. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything more.”

And the way he said it— so soft, so sure— made my eyes sting.

But the idea of stopping here squeezed something tight in my chest.

I wasn’t afraid of going further. I didn’t want to pull away.

I wanted him. All of him.

The thought of halting now, of leaving this moment unfinished, felt like standing at the edge of something breathtaking... only to step back into the dark.

“...But I want to,” I said quietly, lifting my head just enough to meet his gaze, letting him see the truth in my eyes.

He held my stare, those storm-gray eyes locking to mine with a quiet intensity that always made my breath hitch.

His thumb brushed gently across my cheekbone, like he couldn't believe I was real.

“Are you sure?” he murmured.

I nodded, the movement small but certain.

Then I kissed him— deep, slow— letting him feel the answer on my lips.

My hands trailed down the planes of his chest, tracing every dip and curve until they found the waistband of his boxers. My fingers slipped beneath the fabric, aching to even the playing field, needing to touch him the way he’d touched me.

But before I could move further, Cedric wrapped his arms around me, guiding me gently back down to the mattress, his mouth never far from mine.

I gasped softly as my body met the bed again, legs still curled loosely around his hips, the heat between us simmering.

I reached for him again, but he caught my wrists, lacing our fingers together and pinning them down beside my head— not holding me back, just... pausing. Just being.

I blinked up at him, puzzled by the stillness.

He looked nervous. Something flickered across his face— uncertainty. Vulnerability. His brows knit, like there was something weighing on him.

“Baby...” he started, voice low and unsure. “I want to be honest with you. Cho and I, we’ve—”

I pressed my fingers to his lips before he could say more.

A sharp flicker twisted in my chest. Jealousy, maybe. Or just the ache of knowing someone else had seen him like this. Touched him. Loved him, even.

But I didn’t want it. I didn’t want her name here. Not in this room. Not with us.

“I know,” I whispered. “It’s okay.”

He exhaled, a slow, soft breath, tension melting from his shoulders as I pulled him down for a kiss. This one was gentle. Reassuring. Ours.

I sat up slightly, cupping his face in my hands, my thumb brushing along the curve of his jaw. 

That sweet, dazed look returned to his eyes, soft and awestruck, like he was seeing something holy.

His lips parted, like he wanted to say more, but the words didn’t come. Only silence, warm and full, stretched between us in the most loving way.

Then, finally, he whispered, “You’ve no idea how much I wish you were my first...”

His voice was low, tinged with longing and something heavier that sounded like regret and longing. 

Something inside me ached and bloomed.

I pressed my forehead to his, breathing him in, my heart fluttering like it had grown wings. He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t taking.

He was waiting for me.

And I was ready.

I gave him a breathless smile as my hand slid down the hard plane of his abdomen, pausing only briefly before wrapping around the thick, heavy length of him through his boxers.

This time, he didn’t stop me.

His breath hitched, hips twitching in my palm, a low gasp escaping him that lit something wicked and wild inside me.

Even the smallest touch unraveled him. And I loved that.

With a shaky breath, I pushed his pants and boxers down, the fabric dragging over his hips until his cock sprang free— thick, flushed, resting hard against his stomach.

He shifted, rising to his knees just enough to shrug out of the rest of his clothes.

And then he was bare.

Utterly, beautifully bare.

My eyes drank him in— every sculpted line, the soft curves of muscle, the slope of his shoulders, the way candlelight made his skin glow like gold.

He was strength and gentleness, power and softness wound into one breathtaking body.

I felt heat pool low in my belly again.

“You're gorgeous,” I whispered, awe thick in my voice. The words weren’t planned. They just spilled out, helplessly true, like everything else about this night.

He leaned down to kiss me again, and this time it was slower— full of meaning, full of us. Our mouths met with a tender intensity that quickly deepened, melting into something hotter, messier, realer.

His hand slid to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair as he pulled me closer, like he couldn't stand even an inch between us.

We sank into the kiss, into each other, completely undone.

My hand found him again, wrapping around the thick heat of him— hard, flushed, already slick at the tip. I glanced down, breath catching at the sight of his cock in my smaller hand. The contrast sent a thrill down my spine, lit something bold inside me.

I stroked him slowly, thumb circling the head, spreading the bead of precum over the velvety skin. Cedric groaned, low and guttural, and the sound curled deep in my belly like fire.

I kissed along his jaw, down his throat, trailing heat over his collarbones as I worked him in my hand. Every twitch, every ragged breath he gave me felt like a reward. Like power and devotion braided together.

But just as my lips reached his chest, his hand moved.

He stilled me gently, fingers wrapping around mine, stopping the motion with quiet insistence.

I looked up, confused, searching.

He shook his head, that familiar soft smile spreading across his lips.

“Tonight’s about you, angel,” Cedric murmured, his voice low and warm, laced with something so full of care.

I hesitated, a blush blooming over my cheeks— embarrassed, just for a second— but then he kissed me again. Sweet. Anchoring. Full of promise.

And I understood.

This wasn’t rejection. It was tenderness. It was him.

As he settled against me again, I melted back into the pillows, parting my thighs to cradle him between them, welcoming him into the space my body had already made for him.

His cock pressed against my center, slick and hot, sliding through my folds with a slow, aching friction that made me gasp— so close, so intimate, I could barely stand it.

Every subtle roll of his hips dragged his length along my soaked pussy, sending sparks up my spine. I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want to.

I was dizzy from it.

His forehead rested against mine, both of us panting softly, his cock nestled right at my entrance. The tension was unbearable. Perfect.

The sounds he made were quiet, wrecked— little gasps, ragged exhales— like even this was almost too much for him to handle.

And it was undoing me, too.

“(Y/N), are you sure?” he asked again, his voice frayed with need, his whole body holding back.

I bit back a laugh, dazed from affection and lust, and cupped his cheek.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, Cedric Diggory,” I whispered, low and steady. “I want this.”

He stared at me for one more breathless beat, eyes locked on mine.

And I let him see everything— every flicker of trust, every ounce of love, every thread of want.

He could’ve taken.

He could’ve given in to the pulse between his hips.

But instead, he kissed me.

He kissed me slow. Kissed me everywhere. Every gasp, every desperate sound he pulled from my throat, he answered with the soft brush of his lips. Down my jaw, across my chest, along the curve of my shoulder.

Like his restraint was the only thing keeping him from burning up.

Like he needed to worship me first, before giving in to everything clawing beneath his skin.

And all I could do was whisper his name— half-groaned, barely coherent.

I was soaked. Aching.

My thighs trembled from the effort of holding back, from the heat coiling low in my belly that begged to snap. My hips kept swaying, unable to stay still, seeking more friction, more of him. Pleasure sparked across my skin like embers catching light, stealing my breath, stealing everything.

Then Cedric shifted, his body taut above me, using his strong thighs to nudge mine wider, opening me up with reverent care.

He braced himself, chest heaving, sweat-kissed skin burning against mine. His cock rested against my slick heat, and I could feel how hard he was, how ready.

“This m-may hurt a little,” he murmured, voice shaking, forehead resting against mine. “Tell me if it’s too much. I p-promise you—”

“Ced,” I gasped, threading my fingers through his hair. “Just do it.”

His eyes locked on mine, wide and serious, searching one last time for doubt.

There was none

He nodded, jaw tight, and reached between us to guide himself.

I held tight to his shoulders, breath caught, heart pounding.

And then he pressed forward.

Slow. Careful. Measured.

The head of his cock parted me, and I gasped— the sound loud, involuntary— as slick heat met slow stretch.

It was obscene.

The sound of it, wet and raw, the mix of his spit and my arousal clinging to every inch of him, sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through me.

The stretch was real, but not cruel. My body remembered the prep of his fingers, welcomed the intrusion— but he was thick, and I felt everything.

His eyes never left my face, watching for any flicker of pain. His brow knit, concerned, but I nodded, breathing through it, keeping myself open.

Then he paused. Froze inside me.

His hand slipped between us, thumb circling my clit with that same perfect, practiced touch.

“Baby?” he whispered, low and tender, soothing me through the pressure.

I winced, but only for a second.

Then something shifted.

My body adjusted. My muscles relaxed. I exhaled, slow and deep.

“I’m okay,” I whispered. “Keep going.”

He kissed my jaw and pushed in deeper.

My breath hitched as he filled me further— the stretch no longer sharp, just thick and slow and deep.

I’d imagined this moment so many times, dreamed it, ached for it— but nothing could have prepared me for the intimacy of it.

The warmth. The weight. The way his body pressed into mine like we were meant to fit.

With every slow inhale, every gentle roll of his hips, he sank deeper. And when he bottomed out, when I felt all of him, I moaned— loud, raw— startled by the fullness, the pleasure blooming through me like a slow burn.

And then I looked up.

His face.

He looked at me like I was divine. Like he couldn’t believe this was real.

Like I was the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

Like he couldn't believe he got to have me like this.

My arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him into a kiss that was all tongue and sighs and messy, flowing heat.

When he bottomed out, Cedric groaned, deep and low, his breath catching as he stilled inside me, forehead pressing to my shoulder.

I clung to him, our hearts beating in tandem, the room wrapped in a silence that felt thick with meaning.

We had crossed a threshold. And something about it felt eternal.

I was full. Stretched. A little sore, but not in pain.

Alive in a way I’d never felt before.

And I needed more.

I shifted, hips rolling slightly, wincing at first— but his hand was already there, thumb returning to my clit like instinct, coaxing me through the resistance, soft and steady.

The second I clenched around him, Cedric let out a guttural sound that shook through both of us. His eyes fluttered shut, mouth falling open like he couldn’t believe how good it felt.

I wanted to see him lose control.

“Please move, Ced,” I whispered, voice wrecked.

His eyes opened— stormy, shining. “Are you ready, angel?”

“Yes,” I breathed. My nails dug into his back. “Please.”

He nodded, kissed my cheek, and pulled back— just a few inches.

But even that small motion stole my breath. The drag, the stretch, the slick slide of him leaving me only to push back in deeper, fuck.

I cried out, the sound torn straight from my chest.

Cedric laughed, breathless, voice shaking with joy, like the sound of me unraveling was the greatest relief.

I giggled, dazed and high, until he thrust again.

And I shattered.

His pace was slow and deep, hips rolling in waves, fucking me with the kind of care that came from knowing someone inside and out.

Each thrust dragged across every inch of my walls, his cock thick and perfect, filling me so completely I could barely think.

He held back, even now. Each movement was deliberate, like he wanted me to remember this feeling for the rest of my life.

“Fuck, Ced...” I moaned, hands twisting in his hair, my legs locking tighter around him. “You feel so good.”

“So do you,” he whispered at my throat, voice rough and reverent, hips moving with more purpose now. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

And that was it.

It wasn’t just lust.

It wasn’t just pleasure.

This was love.

Cedric kissed along my neck, murmuring soft praises between each thrust, and I moaned, quiet and breathy, as my fingers threaded through the curls at the base of his neck.

He rocked into me with that same tender precision, pulling out halfway only to sink back in, and I gasped, chasing every movement like it was salvation.

The pleasure was a slow build now, all-consuming, the kind that spread like honey through my limbs. The stretch had melted into heat, and every deep push made me tremble.

He moved like the moment mattered— because I mattered. Each stroke felt like a promise written into my skin. He wasn't rushing. Wasn't chasing a finish line. He was showing me what it meant to be wanted. Devoted to.

And god, he was so good at it.

When he shifted, adjusted his angle, and found that hidden spot inside me, I cried out.

My body clenched around him, hips lifting, breath shattering into fragments. Cedric groaned, his head dropping as he captured my mouth in a kiss— messy, open, full of heat and soft, breaking sighs.

I gasped his name between kisses, half-sobbing from the intensity, and he could feel how close I was. His hand slipped between us again, fingers finding my clit with infuriating accuracy.

He rubbed soft, steady circles, and my moan tore through the air, echoing off the walls.

When I tightened around him again, he stilled, hips twitching, his forehead dropping to my shoulder with a rough, broken curse.

“Fuck... baby...”

Even now, he was gentle. Like I was glass. Like I mattered more than anything.

But every thrust came packed with hunger. Every slide deeper pulled us closer to the edge.

He wanted me to feel all of it.

And I did.

Every inch.

Every wordless promise.

He filled me completely, made me feel whole in a way I never knew I was missing. Our moans tangled with the soft slap of skin on skin, bodies rocking in that sweet, aching rhythm.

“God, I fucking love you,” he groaned, voice cracking open. I gasped, overwhelmed, tightening around him like my whole body had been waiting to hear it all along.

My ankles locked behind his back, pulling him deeper, closer, until I couldn't tell where he ended and I began.

I couldn't speak— I was too full of him, too lost in the heat of his body, but he felt it.

He felt how fiercely I clung to him, how deep my love ran.

His lips trailed fire along my throat, murmuring my name like a prayer, his thrusts just a bit deeper now, enough to stoke the fire curling in my gut.

Our bodies moved together like we’d been made for this. And when his hips stuttered, when he choked on the sound of my name, I knew I wasn’t the only one unraveling.

The golden boy, all charm and poise, undone for me.

It was heady. Addicting.

I arched into him, and he clung tighter, like I was the one holding him together. Every twitch of him inside me, every breathless groan, pushed me higher, faster.

I felt him all the way inside— hard and throbbing, his cock twitching every time I clenched.

He kissed me again, tongue slow, teasing, and when I tried to chase the friction, desperate for more, he gently pressed me down into the sheets, shaking his head.

“Slow, sweetheart,” he gasped, voice shredded. “Want it to last...”

And I nodded, dizzy and aching, trusting him to take me there.

We were a mess of tangled limbs, sweat-slicked and breathless, his forearms braced beneath me as he cradled my body close.

My legs stayed locked around his back, silent in my plea.

Don’t stop, please don’t stop.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, lips at my jaw. “Gonna make you come again, yeah?... You’re so warm for me... so fucking warm, shit—”

His voice cracked, and I felt him tremble.

His cock twitched again, and I knew he was falling apart and trying not to.

He shifted, found that angle— and fuck, he was deeper.

I bit my lip, eyes wide, the sound trapped in my throat.

“You’re doing so good, darling,” he breathed. “So, so good. Such a good girl, (Y/N).” And my body nearly betrayed me right then.

“Ced...” My voice cracked, thick with tears and need. His fingers threaded through my hair, gripping just enough to make me whimper.

"I'm here, love. I've got you.Gonna take care of you. My sweet girl..."

He kissed my cheek. My temple. My mouth.

His thrusts hit that spot again and again, and his words— soft, filthy— pushed me right to the edge.

“Gonna make you come all over me. God, fuck, you feel so fucking incredible...”

Each word was wrecked, each thrust more desperate.

“Come for me,” he groaned. “Wanna feel you fall apart.”

“Please... Ced, please—” He felt it. Every flutter. Every squeeze. Every shattered gasp.

My hands yanked his hair, hard enough to make him grunt, but I needed him to feel how deep it ran. How real this was.

“That’s it, petal,” Cedric gasped, thrusting hard and deep. “That’s it, my love. That’s right. Come for me, angel, come for me.”

And then, everything stopped.

Our eyes locked.

Nothing but raw, burning love.

I cried out, my body seizing as my orgasm ripped through me. Thighs trembling, nails digging into his back, I held him like he was the only thing keeping me grounded.

I moaned his name.

And then— I screamed it.

He buried his face in my neck, bit down gently, and I broke.

Screaming. Writhing. Clutching him like he was air.

My whole body seized, clenching and fluttering around him as I shattered, crying out with a force I didn’t know I had.

He held me through it.

Murmuring praise.

Kissing my skin.

Letting me break completely.

“You did so good for me, my gorgeous girl,” he whispered.

And with one last thrust— deep, final, full— he groaned and spilled inside me.

His whole body trembled as I felt him pulse deep inside, warmth flooding me, a final wave of pleasure closing over us both.

I kissed his throat, his shoulder, murmuring his name, our bodies twitching with the last aftershocks.

He collapsed over me, face tucked into the curve of my neck, breath ragged.

“Oh, thank you,” he sighed, and something about it, something honest and sweet and overwhelmed, made me giggle.

He started laughing too, quiet and breathless, and we stayed like that— shaking with joy, tangled in the sheets, tangled in each other.

When he finally pulled out, we both whimpered, and I flinched at the emptiness. But he was already pulling me into his arms, wrapping me up like something precious.

His eyes met mine like I’d hung the stars.

Blushing, I kissed his nose. Then his lips.

“I love you so much, Ced.”

“I love you, darling.”

He held me close, our limbs entwined beneath the blankets, and I buried my face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in like he was home.

With him, I felt safe.

Wanted.

Loved in a way I’d never known before.

So I stayed there.

Wrapped in him.

Exactly where I belonged.

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