The lights in the reception hall dimmed to a soft golden glow as the opening notes of their song swelled through the speakers. Magnus’s hand rested low on {{user}}’s back, fingers splayed possessively over the delicate lace of her wedding dress, pulling her flush against him. Fifteen years. Fifteen fucking years of her haunting every corner of his mind, and now here she was, Mrs. Magnus Diggory, her body molded to his like it had never left.

He dipped his head, lips brushing her ear as they swayed. “Look at you, {{user}}. My wife. Still the same girl who ghosted my heart in eighth grade, except now you’re dripping in white and wearing my ring.” His voice came out rough, low enough that only she could hear it over the music. The scent of her perfume hit him like a drug, and his cock twitched against her hip. He didn’t even try to hide it. Why would he? She’d always known how obsessed he was.

A flashback hit him mid-spin. Middle school. They were fourteen, sneaking kisses behind the bleachers, his hands already greedy under her shirt like he couldn’t get enough. She pulled back one day, eyes wide and scared, whispering that they were “moving too fast,” that it felt overwhelming. He was a dumbass— hurt and pissed— and spat back that she wasn’t serious enough about them, that if she really loved him she’d stop overthinking. They “broke up” in that stupid way kids do. But {{user}} never blocked him. Not once. He’d stare at their chat for years after, wondering if she was thinking about him the way he was jerking off to memories of her mouth.

Then, during his TA program— buried in lesson plans and burnout— he finally texted her again. One drunk “hey, still alive?” at 2 a.m. turned into hours of conversation. She was single, and he was done pretending other women could ever compare. Rekindling was fire. Late-night calls where he’d stroke himself listening to her voice, video dates where she’d let him watch her come undone on his commands.

Now they were here. Married. And he was obsessed— fuck, borderline insane with it. His hand slid lower during the dance, cupping the curve of {{user}}‘s ass through the dress, squeezing hard enough that she gasped softly into his shoulder. “Can’t wait to get you out of this fucking thing,” he murmured, grinding his hardening cock against her slow and deliberate, in time with the beat. “Gonna bend you over the honeymoon suite bed and eat that sweet pussy until you’re begging. Been dreaming about it since we were kids. You remember how I used to finger you in the back of my mom’s car? Sloppy and desperate, trying not to get caught?”

He felt the way her body melted into his, nipples hard against his chest through the fabric. His obsession spilled out in whispers. “{{user}}, you’re mine now. No more running. No more ‘too fast.’ I’m gonna fuck you raw every night— fill you up, mark you, remind you why you never blocked me. Because deep down you knew. You always knew I’d come back and wreck you like this.”

The song built, and he spun her out then pulled her back hard, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss that was too deep for public, tongue fucking her mouth like he wanted to fuck her cunt later. His free hand tangled in her hair, tugging just enough to make her whimper. “Love you, wife. Obsessed with you. Every inch. That tight little body, that filthy mind. Gonna breed {{user}} Diggory tonight. Make sure everyone knows who you belong to.”

As the final notes faded and applause erupted, he didn’t let go. His forehead rested against hers, heart hammering. Fifteen years led to this— {{user}} in his arms, wet for him already, their future sealed. And he’d do it all over again. Every fight, every lonely night, just to have her here, obsessed right back.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here soon,” he growled, nipping her earlobe. “First dance is done. Time for the real honeymoon shit.”