Omg I Saved Your Story To Read Later But I Just Couldn’t Wait, You Write So Well, The Details Make

prank gone wrong w/ childe

based on a tiktok audio!

HE FUCKING THAT SHIT UPPPPPPP

Feb.20.2012 - July.20.2020

I expected to be sad and empty in the wake of Haikyuu, but it turns out that all I can feel is gratitude. I could try for a year and not be able to express everything I feel about this series. Thank you, Furudate-sensei, for 8 and a half years of hard work; thank you for letting us meet these characters; and thank you for showing us all that volleyball is fun.

[image is a drawing of two versions of hinata, in profile and facing away from each other; to the left, 15-year-old hinata sits hunched and defeated in the aftermath of being pulled out of karasuno’s last match at nationals. to the right, 25-year-old hinata strides confidently forward in japan’s national uniform. above, text reads: “today, you are the defeated. what will you become tomorrow?” to the left, and “yesterday, you were the defeated. what will you become today?” to the right.]

You got a masterlist baby?

hii! I have one ready in the drafts but I'll be posting it when at the end of this week when I finish my in-ho and salesman fic!

currently, you can access all my fics with the tag #wqnsho.writes :>

— caramel frappucino.

✩ description. in which sakusa kiyoomi tries not to fall in love with the girl who spilled her favorite drink on him or;

sakusa being your breakfast buddy until you both realize your feelings and eat together for every meal

✩ pairing. sakusa kiyoomi x reader

✩ genre. college!au, enemies?? to lovers, friends to lovers, lovers to friends, crack, fluff, angst to the bones

✩ warnings. swearing; angst; basically my madness showing itself from time to time

✩ disclaimer. pictures used are not mine and are all credited to their owners. haikyuu characters are owned by haruichi furudate.

✩ status. ongoing 📝

TAGLIST CLOSED

✩ TABLE OF CONTENTS:

00 – introductions

y/n’s squad || sakusa’s squad

01 – let the clowns be

02 – pokemon macaroons

03 - don’t leave me on read

04 - something called love

05 - don’t miss me too much

06 - just us two

07 - am i doing it right?

08 - see you at 8

09 - mom, i think i’m in love

10 - code red

11 - she’s a psycho

12 - are you asking me on a date?

13 - that sounds desperate

14 - ship: sailing soon

15 - be a man

16 - please don’t be sakusa kiyoomi

17 - i’m just her friend

18 - let’s go out

19 - you were right, tooru

20 - the truth untold

21 - our love wasn’t meant to happen

22 - too early to break my heart

23 - damn you, tetsurou

24 - you like y/n

[...]

ᥫ᭡。 flicker.

⟢ pairing: kuroo x fem!reader

⟢ summary: when you’re young and in love, it’s easy to forget that life can be far crueler than it should be at 18. but it’s also easy to forget that life can work in wonderful ways too. sometimes, you just have to wait a little for it.

⟢ cw: fluff, mild hurt/comfort, breakups, exes to lovers, mutual pining

⟢ wc: 5.1k

⟢ a/n: a slightly edited repost of a fic I wrote a couple of years ago :3

The last moment you spent with Kuroo was unremarkable. 

“Swap.”

“But I like this one.” 

“You know the rules.” With a resigned sigh you hand him your can of lychee soda, gingerly taking his bottle of aloe vera juice. Eyeing the cloudy, slightly greenish liquid, you grimace before you reluctantly raise it to your lips. You take a sip and wrinkle your nose in disgust. 

“I can’t believe you actually like this shit.” 

“Don’t be dramatic, you’ve just got childish taste buds. Besides, it’s good for you”

“I do not!” you scoff, hitting his shoulder lightly. 

“Uh-huh. And this is coming from the girl who drinks artificially flavoured sugary juice.”

“Give it back then if you don’t like it,” you huff, making a grab for it. 

“No.” He holds the can out of reach of your outstretched hand, which is not much of a feat considering how long his arms are. “It’s mine now.” 

“But you don’t even like it!” you whine. 

“Don’t care,” he shrugs, taking a sip. 

“Even if all your teeth fall out from the sugar, old man?” You raise an eyebrow challengingly.

“I’ll get dentures,” he grins, throwing you a teasing wink. “I’m sure I can make the fake teeth work. Anything’s possible when you look like this.”

“Oh, shut up will you.” You scowl at him, slumping back down on his bed beside him and sipping at the remainder of his drink in annoyance, pushing down the strong urge to spit it at him. It would be funny, and maybe start a gross little war between you, but you’re not really in the mood for that right now. 

Silence falls between you again, an obnoxiously frequent visitor on this clear, starry night. Your head falls on Kuroo’s shoulder just as his arm finds your waist and tucks you closer into his side, fingers tracing shapes over your hip. A few months ago, he would be laughing nervously and trying his hardest to play it cool, all while a hot blush lit up his cheekbones and ears. There’s very few traces of that shy boy left. You miss him a little. 

“Feels weird now that we’ve graduated,” you muse. “It’s all downhill from here.”

“Don’t be such a pessimist,” he scolds lightly. “We’ve got our whole lives ahead of us!” 

“Here we go.”

You groan as he starts his rant about life and things that are too abstract and far away into the future for you to think about. Turning your head, you watch him excitedly talk about possibilities and plans and your heart weighs down in your chest. 

This will be the last time. 

“Tetsu,” you interrupt quietly.

“Yeah?” 

“I want you to forget me after I’ve left.” You can feel how Kuroo tenses all of a sudden, the lines of his body stilling as his grip on you tightens protectively. Defiantly. 

“Woah, woah, woah- why would I do that?” he asks worriedly. You sigh heavily, sitting up so that you can look at him. He knows why. You’ve had this conversation before, several times in fact. 

“To make it easier. For both of us. We’ve talked about this before, and I’ve been thinking that it would be best.” you tell him gently, even though every cell in your body tells you not to. 

“But I don’t want to forget you,” he says stubbornly. “And who exactly is this easier for? Don’t you even want to try making this work long distance? I think we can do it.” 

“I don’t want to end up resenting you.” Kuroo’s brows pinch together. “What if I neglect you, or you neglect me? What then? What if we start hating each other?”

“You won’t! We’ll call and text everyday, it’ll be like you never left! That’s what technology is for, sweetheart.”

“But we’ll only manage to squeeze in a couple of hours each day at best because of the timezone differences and even then we might not manage that! You know it doesn’t make sense,” you point out. Your tone softens as you take his hand in yours, running your thumb soothingly over his knuckles. “You’re usually so logical, Tetsu, this isn’t like you.”

Kuroo sighs, tugging you in to rest against his chest. It’s so natural now, so effortless, how you fall into each other’s embrace. Like being there was written for you from the start. 

“Not always. Love isn’t logical y’know. You taught me that,” he murmurs into your hair. “Love tells me that I should keep you here, safe in my arms, not let you go halfway across the world for university.”

“Tetsu, you know-“

“I know, I know. Believe me, I know. I’d never hold you back, no matter what. But you can’t ask me to be logical when every cell in my body refuses to let you go. You can’t ask me to forget you because I would never be able to. How could I ever forget someone I love?” 

You cling to him more tightly, cursing every divine power that has decided to wedge itself between you. Why the fuck has life led you in this direction? It’s cruel. Unfair. 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” you mumble.

“I’m not. And despite what you say, I know you won’t forget me either. Doing this now, or before you leave, or not at all, is going to hurt us at some point.”

“Well, what do you suggest?” 

You sit up to look at him again, meeting melancholic eyes that mirror your own turmoil. Tenderly, he brushes your hair back, long fingers lingering on your cheek. 

“You might be right about the long distance thing not working,” he admits quietly. “I don’t want to give up on us but… I guess it makes sense to. We’re young, we’ll be busy - how many high school couples even last a long distance?”

“Not many, I don’t think.”

“Right. Then, for tonight, I want you to pretend with me. Let’s pretend that you’re not leaving me next week, and that we’ll see each other tomorrow, and the day after, and every day after that.”

“Will that help?” you ask sadly. He smiles ruefully and shakes his head, his dark hair bouncing with the action. 

“No. But I don’t wanna be sad about you going just yet.”

And you do just that. You talk and laugh, share stories and snacks, holding onto each other all the while through kisses and giggles. It’s pure bliss, this little bubble you’ve blown around yourselves in Kuroo’s bedroom. 

But it’s sullied by the ticking of the clock on his wall that you can’t help but repeatedly glance at. And as thatclock nears midnight and you know it’s time to leave, your heart begins to ache desperately. 

His hands rest on your hips as you stand before his closed door. When your lips meet, it’s not like your usual goodbye kisses, which are sweet and chaste. This kiss quickly becomes a deep, needy, yearning thing that you can’t pull yourself out of. You drown in the sensation of his slightly chapped lips, get lost in the taste of his still-shy tongue, melt right into the contours of his body.

You don’t even realise the two of you are crying until you pull away. You’re breathless and sobbing a little, clinging to him so tightly you’re sure it hurts him, but it doesn’t matter. 

Leaving hurts more. 

“I don’t wanna go,” you whisper. “I wanna stay with you.” He kisses your tears away, resting his forehead against yours and squeezing your frame. 

“I’m not dying or anything, why are you crying?” he teases wetly.  

“You’re crying too, dumbass.”

“So what if I am?” he sniffles, pressing tender kisses to your forehead. “My pretty girl’s leaving me forever.”

“I don’t want to, Tetsu.”

“I know, but you’ll be okay, baby. We’ll be okay,” he says, shushing you gently, but neither of you believe it for a second. 

And why would you? 

You’re 18. Young and stupid. Freshly graduated with the world at your feet and the whole of adulthood stretching on before you, a winding path that you can’t fully see. 

And yet, this is your world, right here in your arms. 

All this time, he has been by your side, naturally, but he won’t be following you into the great unknown, as much as he wishes he could. He’s seeing you off on your journey now, parting ways with you as he embarks on his own, in a different direction, even though he wants you to stay with him. He watches you from the front door as you leave, blowing you a kiss and yelling his love after your retreating figure. 

This is what it means to grow up. 

This is goodbye. 

And you both fucking hate it. 

It takes a good while to nurse your broken hearts, made more difficult by the fact that you have to adjust to new environments and new people as you heal. But you grieve and you grow and the years pass by in the blink of an eye. 

Seven years have passed since that tearful night. Seven years of study, study, study and then work, work, work. You moved back to Japan a year or so after graduating university, homesick from so many years away. You visited during that time of course, but it wasn’t quite the same as living out your daily life in the hustle and bustle of Tokyo. 

And maybe, just maybe, a small part of you dreamed that you would bump into him. Wishful thinking perhaps, but you couldn’t quite tamp down all of your feelings towards the rooster-haired captain. There’s still a small flame flickering in the depths of your heart just for him and it’s this very flame that keeps you warm on some nights. 

You wonder if that same flame burns in his own chest for you. 

The convenience store is a welcome reprieve from the summer heat that bears down on you intensely. The sounds of passing cars is muffled as the doors slide shut behind you, leaving only the whir of the air conditioner and the gentle warble of a pop group playing quietly over the radio to accompany you. 

You drift towards the back where the fridges are situated, absently inspecting bags of snacks as you pass and touching a box of pocky before changing your mind and continuing on. There’s a blast of cool air when you pull the fridge door open and hold it there with your hip as you scan the selection of beverages on display. There’s one in particular that catches your eye, conjuring a memory forth from the depths of your mind. 

With a nostalgic smile, you reach in and grasp the can of lychee soda, only for your hand to bump into one much larger than yours. 

“Ah, sorry about that,” says a smooth, deep voice. The sound sends a chill down your spine that has nothing to do with the temperature of the open fridge. 

But it can’t be, can it?

Hopeful curiosity lifts your head to look for the owner of the voice, and you have to crane your neck a little just to look up at his face. Dark hair, still messy, but more tamed than it was in his youth - now it looks deliberate. Sharp jaw, elegant nose, and those eyes, warm hazel - almost amber, and strangely feline in shape. He doesn’t look the same but he doesn’t look different either. Just a taller (somehow) more handsome and mature version of his younger self. In a suit no less, only it’s paired with volleyball shoes.

You would probably laugh out loud if your mouth didn’t feel so dry, like you’ve just eaten a fistful of sand as you gape up at him with a mix of shock and wonder. 

“I must be dreaming right now,” you whisper to yourself and the man sniggers, still inspecting the can in his hand.

Oh. That’s still the same.

“Are you talking to-“ he falters as his eyes flick to your face. “-me.” 

His face mirrors your own and you’re not sure how long you stand there, fridge wide open, until someone mumbles an ‘excuse me’ and shakes you from your respective trances. You wait for them to leave before you dare to look at each other again. 

“Tetsu?” It feels a little foreign saying his name again after so long. And yet, the weight of it sits familiar on your tongue, the roll of each syllable feels natural as it passes your lips. 

He says your name and you wonder if it tastes the same to him, if it reminds him of home the way that his does for you. “Is that you?” 

“Uh, yeah. Hi.” You awkwardly raise a hand in greeting. 

“Hi,” he says, sounding as dazed as you feel. “Almost didn’t recognise you. You look… different.”

“So do you. It’s been a while,” you offer lamely. He was never this hard to talk to, but you suppose that time is a thief that is impossible to catch, stealing the ease that you built your relationship on. 

“Yeah. It has.”

“Seven years,” you murmur with a touch of melancholy. 

“Where did the time go?” 

You both fall silent, there in the snack aisle of a convenience store in Tokyo, in the middle of summer, wondering what you should say next. Wondering what is appropriate after so much time has passed. 

Because you’ve both grown. A lot. Physically, mentally, emotionally. You’re hardly the same people you were seven years ago. It’s stupid of you to even entertain the idea that he could fall in love with you again, but you entertain it all the same. 

You’d never admit it aloud, but on some of your loneliest nights, you fantasise about what could happen if you met again. How you’d fall back together so easily, how you’d be so in love, the way that you used to be. Maybe you’d move in together, get a pet together, maybe you’d get married and have a family. Maybe you’d grow old with the only boy you’d ever loved so earnestly, so boundlessly, despite being so young. 

It’s Kuroo that finally breaks the silence. 

“Let’s catch up,” he says, with a crooked grin. “For old times sake.”

You pay for your drinks and head back out into the sun. It’s odd, you think. Tokyo is familiar and Kuroo is familiar, as well as the drink in your hand but it still feels strange to you. You’re in a different part of the city because of your new job and the brand of soda you like has changed their recipe. 

And then there’s Kuroo. 

His gait is, regrettably, longer than it used to be, as is the height at which you stand next to him. He sounds different, dresses different, he even smells different. Back then, he used to smell like far too much body spray and his grandma's honeysuckle detergent. Now? The scent coming off him is expensive and thoroughly masculine - you might even dare to say it’s incredibly sexy.

You cast him a sideways glance, belatedly noticing the can that he sips at. It’s identical to yours and you can’t help but scoff aloud.

“I thought you said that stuff was full of sugar?” Kuroo turns to look at you curiously as you both slow to a stop and point at him accusingly. “Remember? You used to nag me for drinking it.” Your lips push out in a pout at the memory of his lecture, and he laughs. 

The sound transports you back to high school, to a time where you’re still boyfriend and girlfriend, two peas in a pod, no longer clad in office wear but in your school uniforms. Kuroo’s hair is horrendous, tangled hopelessly by the wind that blows through it. You’re holding hands and bickering, but still laughing. Always laughing.

“That’s cos you used to drink it every day,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting in that goddamn smirk. “And it’s addictive.”

“Oh is that right? Well, I did tell you as much back then. How the tables have turned!” you proclaim triumphantly. He rolls his eyes, amused by your smug expression.

“I’m not addicted to it,” he says, quirking his brow challengingly. “I still don’t like it.”

“Oh really? Then why did you get it?” You narrow your eyes at him as he shakes his head, smile softening. 

“It’s a secret,” he says, tapping his nose with a wink before he continues to walk. Your eyes narrow in a glare as you jog after him and attempt to fall back in step with him.

“Oi, slow down! Long legged bastard,” you grumble under your breath.

“What did you just call me?” he asks quietly. You freeze, clapping a hand over your mouth as realisation dawns on you. You can’t joke with him like that anymore. Not after you put millions of miles between you. What boundaries lie there now?

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-” He cackles at the look on your face, doubling over right there in the middle of the street. You fix him with a deadpan look, arms folded over your chest, thoroughly unimpressed.

“I’m kidding, relax! God, you should see your face, baby!” 

This time, you both freeze, and the illusion shatters. A soft pink stains his cheeks as his ears and brain catch up to his tongue and heart. 25, and he’s still not immune to blushing. 25, and it still makes him look hopelessly sweet. 25, and it still makes your heart swell. 

“I didn’t- shit, I’m so sorry! It just slipped out,” he yelps, panic widening his eyes. You’re not quite sure what to say to him. The pet name echoes in your ears and thunders in your chest, reawakening butterflies with Kuroo’s name scrawled across the delicate wings. Your own cheeks feel warm.

“Easy mistake to make,” you say, biting back a shy smile. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s call it even.” He clears his throat nervously and sips at his drink to give himself something to do, your own fingers fiddling with the carrier bag in your hand until he finally breaks the stifling silence. 

“I er, I know a pretty good ice cream place about 5 minutes away from here. We can catch up there?” 

“Sounds good.” 

Your walk resumes and you’re both quiet again, but this time, it’s comfortable. The little bell above the door chimes and he follows in behind you to stand at the counter, poring over the selection behind the glass.

Kuroo has brought you to a quaint little spot, tucked away between an electronics shop and a bakery. Inside, it’s cool and vibrant, the pastel palette running through the airy space brightening your mood a little. It doesn’t take either of you long to make your choices, taking your cones and finding a little booth in the back to sit at. 

Perhaps it’s a little odd for two adults in their mid-twenties to be sitting in an ice cream parlour, nibbling at ice cream cones and searching for something to say that sounds half-way cool and nonchalant. But Kuroo did say this was for the sake of old times, and what better way to plunge you into the past than a quiet booth and some ice cream. 

“So…” you start, but you don’t know how to finish. 

“So…” he copies, drawing the word out. You raise an eyebrow at him, licking at your ice cream and he mirrors you, holding the expression before you both snort and burst into laughter. 

“Fucking hell, stop making it weird!” you giggle. 

“I’m not!”

“You’re making that face!”

“Speak for yourself! Look, I just didn’t expect to run into you of all people on my way home. I’m still processing it,” he says with a grin.

“Neither did I!” His eyes soften as he smiles, crinkling at the corners. 

“So how have you been?” 

And just like that, you feel right at home again. You talk and laugh, smile brighter and bigger than you have in years. The cones have long since been polished off and you’re still occupying the booth, any concept of time tossed out the window. It’s not long before your catch-up of the present bleeds into reminiscing on the past. 

“And then Bokuto slipped and fell right into you!”

“I remember that, I would’ve fallen flat on my face if you hadn’t caught me. You never did let that go, I swear, you gloated about it for ages,” you complain, pouting in annoyance.

“You have to admit that line was pretty smooth!” He puffs his chest out a little with pride and you roll your eyes. 

You mock his deep timbre. “‘Are you falling for me?’” 

“It was cool!” 

“It was cheesy!” you both laugh at the memory, letting the feeling of nostalgia linger over you like a warm blanket just a little while longer. 

“We had some good times together,” he hums and you nod, smiling wistfully at the memories you’ve been submerging yourselves in. 

“We did.”

“I miss those days.”

“Me too.”

“No, I mean when we were together. I really loved you,” he says quietly, warm eyes burning with sincerity. 

“I did too.” You heart thuds heavily in your chest at the implications in his gaze but you force yourself to rein it in and squash the hope that flutters there. “But we were so young. Immature. Naive.”

“So?” He almost sounds offended. “Does that mean it didn’t count or something?”

“No, I’m not saying that.” You shake your head and sigh. “I’m just saying, I’m sure you’ve dated other people since then and fallen in love again. Real love, not the silly delusions of a teen.”

“Our love was real.” 

Your breath hitches then at the fire in his eyes, a fire that you recognise, the same as the one that burns quietly in the depths of your heart. You try to shift his attention. 

“Aren’t you dating anyone right now?” you ask hesitantly, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. 

“No,” he says fiercely, but then he cools a bit and leans back in his seat. “No. I’m not. I’ve tried, but… Nothing ever stuck. How about you?” 

“I tried too,” you murmur. “But I couldn’t love them in the right way, I guess.” 

Not the way I loved you. 

The air between you becomes heavy with words unsaid crowding the tips of your tongues all at once, piling against your teeth and begging to break free. Kuroo calls your name, and your belly flutters in the way that it used to. 

He calls out to you again and it’s so soft, so Kuroo, that your heart aches. You watch him carefully, waiting for him to keep speaking with bated breath. “Can I tell you a secret?” 

“Yeah.” 

He sucks in a shaky breath and adds another secret to the pile housed deep in your heart, still kept firmly under lock and key. 

“I drink them when I miss you.” 

You pause, brow furrowing in confusion. 

“Drink what?” 

Kuroo’s expression turns exasperated as he runs a hand through his neater-than-it-used-to-be hair. The blush from before returns, tinging his ears red with embarrassment. 

“The lychee soda.” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

“So… today?” 

He nods sheepishly, covering his face with his hand. 

“How was I supposed to know I’d bump into you?” he mumbles again. You say nothing, marvelling at the man before you instead. Still as sweet as the day you met him. Years have passed, and so many things have changed. And yet, somehow, Kuroo remembers you the way that you remember him.

No, not remember, he misses you the way that you miss him, still finding comfort in the warmth of that flame, just like you. Still finding solace in bubbles and sugar.

“Tetsu-” 

“Weird right?” he chuckles humourlessly and you shake your head no. 

“No, it’s not weird. Not really,” you say, fiddling with the napkin in front of you. “You did say you wouldn’t forget me.” 

“True,” he hums. 

“And if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t forget you either.”

“You didn’t?” A warm flush creeps up your own cheeks this time as you nod and give in a little. 

“I missed you, Tetsu. I know it’s been such a long time, and holding onto hope that I’d see you again is probably really fucking stupid, not to mention unhealthy, but-“ 

“I couldn’t help it,” you say simultaneously. 

Slowly, identical giddy grins spread over your faces and you find yourselves giggling like teenagers all over again. 

“Let me take you out tomorrow,” Kuroo says suddenly with that lopsided grin that you fell in love with all those years ago.

“On a date?” 

“If you want it to be. Or even just as friends. But seeing you again, it’s just-“ you halt him with a raised hand, a teasing grin playing at your lips as your head cocks to the side. 

“Tell me about it on our date, yeah?” 

And he does. 

The date with Kuroo is truly magical. He’s a picture perfect gentleman, coming to pick you up with a bouquet of fresh, red roses in hand and a happy grin on his face. It seems that both of you have dressed to impress, Kuroo dressed neatly in a crisp white shirt and charcoal trousers whilst you spent hours scouring your wardrobe for the perfect dress. It’s honestly a little ridiculous when you think back on it since you knew each other so well already, so why would you need to impress each other?

But that was then, and this now. 

There seems to be a goal in Kuroo’s mind as he helps you out of his shiny black Jaguar, leading you into a fancy looking restaurant. It’s clear he’s spared no expenses for the occasion. You eat and drink and laugh, allowing yourselves to get pulled back together again, like magnets. The flames in your hearts burn brighter, more fiercely with each passing moment, until you can feel the warmth spread throughout your bodies, lapping gently through your veins. 

As the night draws to a close and he drives you home, full, content and sleepy, you feel more whole than you’ve felt in the entirety of your adult life. You glance to the side, taking in his beautiful profile, that exquisite jawline and the curve of his lips that you want to feel on yours again. 

You wonder if they taste the same as they did back in high school. If they still taste like the gum he used to chew or those ghastly health drinks he was obsessed with. Sometimes, he’d chase you around campus right after eating mackerel for lunch, threatening to kiss you with the strong flavour of fish still lingering in his mouth. Are his lips still a little chapped? Does he still grin into his kisses as his fingers rest on your cheek? Make that sweet little humming noise in the back of his throat that sounds like laughter? Does he still wear a goofy smile when he pulls away?

All thoughts of kissing him are shaken from your mind as he kills the engine and walks you all the way to the front door of your apartment. You unlock the door and turn to say goodbye, a little sad that the night has to end. Kuroo rests his arm against the door frame above his head, car keys dangling from his hand and a lazy smile sitting comfortably on his handsome features. 

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” he says.

“Me too.” 

“I guess I’ll see you soon?” 

Those words should be followed closely with a goodbye, but Kuroo lingers, as does his gaze, flicking from your eyes to your lips and back again. 

“Kiss me if I’m wrong,” he says after a beat of silence. “But you kissed me on our first ever date, didn’t you?” You hum thoughtfully, an impish grin rounding your cheeks. 

“No, actually I didn't. It was the second date and it was on the cheek cos you looked like you were ready to pass out when I got close to your lips.”

“I did not!” he whines indignantly. 

“Did too,” you shrug. 

“That’s bullshit,” he mumbles. “Anyway, I’m wrong so now you have to kiss me.”

“Real smooth, Tetsuro.”

“I know, now if you’ll let me, I want to overwrite that first kiss.” 

“How? We’ve kissed a million times before,” you argue. 

“That was then, this is now. We’re restarting this whole thing,” he insists.

“We are?” You raise an eyebrow in question and he simply nods, cocksure and firm. 

“We are.”

“Says who?”

“Me.” Kuroo takes a step forward and suddenly there’s very little space between you. “So? Will you let me have a redo?” he murmurs. 

“You can try. The first time was pretty sweet. It’d be pretty hard to top it.” 

“Challenge accepted, baby.”

With that, his hands slip around your waist and pull you flush against his firm body. When his lips slant down over yours, you still have to reach up to meet him, eyes fluttering shut as your lips meet after seven years apart. 

He is all you remember and so much more, so much better than before, as if that were even possible. You learn that he tastes sweet like dessert, but he still tastes like your Tetsu. He grins against your lips as you press closer and you praise whoever the fuck convinced him to regularly use chapstick because his lips are so soft and pliant against yours. His kisses are dizzyingly good, addictive and sensual, his fingers resting against the back of your neck whilst his palm sits along the curve of it. You sigh into his mouth, one of relief, because you’re finally home. 

Where you belong. 

As fate intended. 

When Kuroo pulls away, there’s a sparkle in his eyes and he smiles so sweetly you think that sugar will never taste the same again. He brushes a stray lock of your hair back, letting his thumb linger over the warm apple of your cheek. 

“Can I say something?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I have to warn you, it’s a little unconventional for a rebooted first date,” he chuckles.  

Then, his expression becomes a little more serious. “But I really, really fucking love you and I don’t think I ever stopped.” Your heart swells and spills over as his grip on your waist tightens. 

“I love you too,” you say, and you really can’t resist so you tug him back towards your lips and kiss him again. 

“So.”

Again

“So.”

And again. 

“So much.” 

Fate nods and lets you love him all over again. 

❝ IN WHICH the vc of the girls vbc gets added by mistake to the boys vbc gc ❞

PLAYLIST

MEET THE CHARACTERS

INTRO ; the dick talk

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . part I . 　　 · 　˚ ✧

UNO ; the gustavo protection squad

DOS ; cheer up mattsun

TRES ; a warning and a worried iwa

CUATRO ; the wrath of watari

CINCO ; dick to spare?

SEIS ; a new bump in the road

SIETE I ; how to become rich

SIETE II ; free spirit

OCHO ; the comeback

NUEVE ; akui

NUEVE EXTRA ; professional editor y/n

DIEZ ; the life of an influencer

ONCE ; hidden emotions

DOCE ; distrust

TRECE ; rest in piss

CATORCE ; unbreakable bond

QUINCE ; careless influence

DIECISÉIS ; who you truly are

DIECISIETE ; stuck on a loop

DIECIOCHO ; seeing the vision

DIECINUEVE ; reasons to be happy

VEINTE ; love comes unexpectedly

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . part II . 　　 · 　˚ ✧

VEINTIUNO ; king yahaba

VEINTIDOS ; why him

VEINTITRES ; the effectiveness of time

VEINTICUATRO ; my favorite place

VEINTICINCO ; see you soon!

VEINTISEIS ; seijoh’s golden trio

VEINTISIETE ; *growls*

VEINTIOCHO ; bffs

VEINTINUEVE ; the calm

TREINTA ; road to summer camp!

TREINTAIUNO ; private school tingz

TREINTAIDOS ; the dynamic duo

TREINTAITRES ; ghostbusters!

TREINTAICUATRO ; stupid y/n

TREINTAICINCO ; kissed by the moonlight

TREINTAISEIS ; so far yet so close

TREINTAISIETE ; tales of a lost heart

TREINTAIOCHO ; a big mistake

TREINTAINUEVE ; the seijoh vibe

CUARENTA ; opposite ways

CUARENTAIUNO ; not the same

CUARENTAIDOS ; it’s all over

CUARENTAITRES ; comfort in the chaos

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . part III . 　　 · 　˚ ✧

coming soon

celebrity gossip ー ken sato.

the ken sato seen fanboying alone in his home over his model crush.

fluff, female reader. situations and scenarios are made up! happy reading 🤍 UNEDITED

tonight is the night, ken thought. the night that your interview for 'evening, darlings', a late-night show wherein the host invites all the hottest celebrities at the moment to gossip, would be aired.

ken was eager to see you, the one and only [name] [surname], one of the hottest models that has been continuously rising since her debut at the age 22; has been featured on vogue magazine at only 24, center page of a weekly playboy magazine issued in japan, and kenji sato's official favourite angel of victoria's secret.

despite his fame, when it came to you, he was the one that acted like a fan. he made sure to have a copy of every issue released that starred you, and he has your commercials bookmarked on his private twitter, where his display name is also 'ken loves [name]'. shameless. it would be ridiculous for his image to be flaunting over a model like all the other guys in japan, but he didn't care.

the only thing that he cared about was the interview that was currently 10 minutes in displayed on his huge tv, and the sweetest smile you had.

"and so, my darling, what do you have to say about the speculations of you and mister ken sato's rumoured relationship? do you confirm or deny?" the interviewer spoke, a glint of anticipation in their eyes while a small smirk lay on their face. ken felt his heartbeat speed up at the mention of his name.

you giggled and tucked stray hairs behind your ear before answering. "ah, that rumour?" you started, "i saw it a few days ago while i was on my way home from france. it was silly, to say the least."

ken smiled, because the mention of your visit to paris was familiar to him. you were there for a perfume commercial. he made a mental note to purchase this as soon as it was released. but, the rumour, and hearing you say that you thought it was silly, as much as kenji wouldn't like to admit, it bummed him out.

the interviewer laughed. "silly!" they repeated in surprise. "how so, my darling? do you not see ken sato, the greatest baseball player that japan has as of the moment, as a potential lover?"

the question caught ken off-guard. "as of the moment"? i'm the greatest player in the world's history of baseball. ken scoffed. also, why would an interviewer be the one to ask whether or not he had a chance with his dream girl?!

"you know, i had ken over as my interviewee the other day. it must be fate that the two of you seemed to accept my request to guest here at nearly the same time." the interviewer teased, and you giggled once more.

"mmh, i'm aware of his appearance here in 'evening, darlings'." you stated.

the interviewer beamed, adjusting themselves at the edge of their seat. "how interesting! so you know that your name has been his answer when asked about his celebrity crush for two interviews in a row?" they excitedly said, and the audience audibly squealed.

recalling the interviews, ken felt warmth on his cheeks as he crossed his arms as a way to compose himself. although saying your name to the question was his way to try and tell you that he was interested, he was unsure if you took it seriously for an answer was not presented to him.

you smiled. "ah . . i do." you said, shyly covering your face with your hands, which received an eruption of screams from the audience.

"oh, my darling!" the interviewer exclaimed.

the place was filled with shy giggles from you and various teasing sounds from the audience. as the people in the studio settled down, the interviewer looked you in the eyes with a sly smirk. "so, the question that we have all been waiting for: who is your celebrity crush, miss [name] [surname]?"

the camera was now focused on you, zooming in on your pretty face. ken thanked the quality of the camera used for capturing the pinks of your cheeks so perfectly, the shine of your [color] eyes, and the glitter that rested on your eyelids and aegyosal. ken was on the edge of his couch, hands fiddling together while he bit his lip in the hopes of hearing his name. he felt warmth brew deep within his stomach, while he and everyone else in japan awaited your answer.

fuck. i don't need to shit right now!

"i like kenji sato."

ken fell down from the couch.

Quiet as a Cat, Sneaky as a Spider🕷 | Spider-Man No Way Home MASTERLIST

Contains spoilers for Spider-Man: No Way Home

Pairings: Tobey!Spider-Man x female!Reader Black Cat (Romantic) , Andrew!Spider-Man (Platonic/flirtatious), Tom!Spider-Man (Platonic), Michele Jones-Watson (Platonic), Ned Leeds (Platonic). Dr. Otto Octavious (Platonic/Flirtatious).

Premise: Having been pulled into another universe where an alternate version of her once on-again/off-again lover and occasional nemesis/ally exists, Y/N L/N finds herself having to suit up again as her long retried anti-hero persona in order to help three SpiderMen face off against some familiar faces causing trouble in New York City.

Content Warnings: Fluff, Angst, spoilers for SMNWH, profanity, violence, implications of sex through innuendoes, flirtatious banter, references to past SA trauma, mentions of death

Black Cat theme from the Spider-Man PS4 game

Note: For this series, it will be told in third person POV and although it is a reader insert it will be as though the reader is a version of Felicia Hardy/Black Cat from Tobey’s universe. I’ll also be taking inspiration from her in the Spider-Man game as well as her comic persona. Think of it like she is Tobey!Peter love interest instead of Mary Jane. I do not own any characters from Marvel Comics, Marvel Studios and all affiliated with them. All rights belong to the owners and this is just fan-fiction for fans pleasure. This series contains MAJOR spoilers for Spider-Man No Way Home, so if you have not seen it then please do not read this yet.

Series Chapter List:

Quiet As A Cat: On the hunt for multiversal beings that were pulled into his universe after a botched spell gone wrong, young Peter Parker falls into a game of cat & mouse when a woman in black with a grappling hook manages to escape his every move.

The Spiders Chit-Chat: While crafting the cures for the five villains, the three Peters get to talking which leads to the youngest of the bunch learning the identity of the mystery woman, and the oldest discovering why he hadn’t heard from a certain someone all day.

Sneaky As A Spider: The three Peters come face-to-face with the master escape artist donned in a new suit, who happens to have a very personal connection with the older Spider-Man in their group.

Trying To Do Better, Yet Brilliant But Lazy: The Spider-Men are up against the fight of their lives when former enemies from the past work together to destroy the ritual box needed to sent them back home. With a little help from two high school students, and a escape artist with a knack of bad luck behind her, familiar faces are reacquainted. Some for better, and some for worse.

3 Is The Magic Number: Goodbyes are hard, but necessary for the greater good. The young Peter makes a decision that alters his life forever, and a certain cat has one last piece of advice not just for him, but the Peter still haunted by his greatest mistake.

THE UNNOTICEABLE ; HAJIME IWAIZUMI

🏐 : ̗̀➛ hajime iwaizumi doesn't expect much when it comes to girls, but he thinks he might've finally found one thats out of his best friends reach.

CONTENTS // fluff / light angst / jealous iwa / i switch between iwa, hajime, and iwaizumi a lot so i hope that doesn't bother anybody / some cursing?? idk this is mostly fluff // 1.3k

PAIRINGS // hajime iwaizumi x fem!reader

A/N // I watched the haikyuu movie yesterday and it was so good icl... I wanna write for kuroo now he's so sexy. i tried out a different header theme for this one and I honestly like it more than the other one idrk. anyways enjoy this little drabble 🩷.

// MASTERLIST .

HAJIME IWAIZUMI has always been the less noticeable friend.

It's not like he doesn't get attention. He gets plenty of that. But when it comes to girls, or anything in the dating category at all, most of them flock to Tooru.

He doesn't resent his best friend for his popularity, Hajime just wishes girls didn't come up to him to get closer to his friend.

Him and Tooru are grabbing fast food after practice and a girl approaches him as he sits at the table he chose for him and his teammate. Tooru is in line, probably flirting with the girl across the counter as he orders for him and his best friend.

Iwaizumi feels a little pathetic for hoping that she's going to ask about him. That maybe, just maybe, he might be getting a chance for once. He gets his hopes up, only to be completely shut down when she asks for Tooru's number. He thinks she might notice the light in his face dim, but she doesn't acknowledge it.

"You'll have to ask him. Not sure if he wants me giving out his number to randoms." He says as he turns his attention away from her, a lousy attempt to hide his annoyance.

She nods understandingly, "W-well, thanks anyway." She stammers a bit, her voice small and nervous.

He stops assuming so much when girls approach him after that, always prepared to slide his friends socials and move on with his day.

So, when you approach him, obviously a bit hesitant as you clutch your sides and stare at him nervously, he doesn't even let you speak before he starts spouting his friends socials.

"Huh?" You ask a bit cluelessly, and Iwaizumi looks over at you.

"You're here to ask about Oikawa, right?" He says, staring down at you. He's obviously confused, a thick brow raised as he eyes you.

"N-no..? I wanted to talk to you." You reluctantly say, and he tenses up. You don't even spare a glance at Oikawa, who's entertaining a few girls a few meters away.

"Me..?" He asks, surprised.

"You." You respond, dead serious.

The puny sparks of your attempt at conversation light a wildfire in Hajime's weak heart. The small talk you try to make forms into real, genuine talking.

Although, even when you ask for his number, he can't help but think you might be trying to get close to him just to get with Tooru as he types in his number.

He doesn't tell you that he thinks you're playing him. And even if you were, you would've already had him beat because it's barely been two weeks of talking and he's already wrapped around your finger.

Hajimes lack of need for attention wasn't something you acknowledged at first. You thought it was natural because not only was this his first time talking to a girl, but it's your first time being the one approaching. You don't know what guys like unless they tell you, so you just do what you think is right.

And then you came to the subtle realization that maybe he's not desperate because he doesn't expect much from you. Is he toying with you? Was the first question you asked yourself.

On the other hand, Hajime doesn't expect much because he thinks he knows how this goes (he doesn't).

Hajime respects Tooru. And usually, he wouldn't add a but to that, but... he is willing to go to any lengths possible to keep you as far away from him as he physically can.

He knows how his friend gets with crushes. He'll either do everything in his power to completely embarrass Hajime, or he'll flirt with the girl and make her realize that maybe she doesn't like him as much as she thought.

That's his version of a loyalty test. Take the girl he likes around his best friend and observe her reactions to everything he does. So, that's exactly what he does with you.

Hajime had no idea that you've already met Tooru many times before. You light up when you see him, and Iwa can already feel his heart shattering into a thousand pieces. And then, to put the cherry on top, you go in for a hug. You're even on first name basis, no honorifics or anything. He might aswell lay in his coffin early, because watching you hug Oikawa is the closest to dying he's ever been.

You look over at Iwaizumi to see him glaring daggers at the two of you, a green eyed monster taking over his body as he scowls. Your smile drops, and you wonder what he looks so mad for.

"Are you alright, Iwa?" You ask obliviously, tilting your head and taking a step towards him. His eyes land on you, and they soften ever so slightly.

"I'm fine, don't worry about me." He responds, blinking softly.

And for the rest of the day, all you do is worry about him. The pain on his face and the damp look in his eyes whenever he looks at you interacting with Tooru.

When the two of you go back to his place that afternoon, he asks to talk.

Iwa starts, "Is there something wrong with me?" He asks. You're taken aback, but you can tell he's serious by the look in his eyes. He looks hurt.

"Why would there be something wrong with you?" You ask, reaching over to grab the hand at his side.

"I just-" His voice cracks, and you want to fall to your knees right then and there. Hajime is about to cry and you don't know what to do.

The lump in his throat grows bigger the longer he stares at you. "Why didn't you tell me you already knew Oikawa?" He asks, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill like water from a faucet. He didn't exactly mean to ask that, but he thinks it's much better than 'I thought that maybe for once someone might like me, but as always they go to Tooru.'

"What do you mean? I thought you knew?" You ask, oblivious to the thoughts running rampant through his mind. Your grip on his hand tightens when a tear breaks past the defenses he's put up. You want to ask what you did wrong. You want to ask why he's crying. But the lump in your throat from watching his sadness grow and grow is unbearable, keeping you from asking for some much needed clarification.

"Knew what?" He asks, unable to think of anything rational or any kind of explanation for this other than you're interested in Oikawa.

"Me and Tooru grew up together- He's my cousin." You say, eyeing him confusedly and sadly.

Iwaizumi pauses. A wave of embarrassment washes over him. He was getting jealous over your cousin this entire time?

The night you met Hajime, Tooru invited you, his cousin, to get drinks. He must've forgotten to clear this information with Hajime because now he's standing in front of you, his deep eyes wide and filled with tears of anger.

"What? Did I do something? Are you okay?" You begin asking questions profusely, and Hajime just stares at you.

And then he begins laughing.

You're confused at his sudden change in emotion, the humorous chuckles leaving his mouth catching you completely off guard. "Hajime, what's going on?" You ask as he brings you into a relieved hug.

"For a second there I really thought you and Oikawa had something going on." He responds as he places his head on top of yours comfortably.

You audibly gag. "Are you serious?! This entire time I thought you knew I was his cousin!" You say into his chest. He tightens the hug, a deep laugh leaving his lips.

"Man, this is so fuckin' embarrassing." He laughs, and you can't help but join in.

"Like I'd ever choose his annoying ass over you anyways."

And suddenly, the unnoticeable Hajime Iwaizumi feels seen for the first time in forever.

© AAJXS

two sworn enemies pt. 2 — draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

summary: maybe being fancied by draco malfoy isn’t so bad, after all.

requests are closed for now. please refrain from plagiarizing my work!

click here to read pt. 1!

“Why is it so bloody cold?”

[Y/N] is decked out in full winter apparel; a knitted Gryffindor sweater, ear-muffs, and a scarf that she has half of her face buried in.

Sitting in the Quidditch stands with the rest of her friends, she grumbles, “It’s not even a Gryffindor match. We don’t really have to be here freezing to death.”

“Well, it’s common courtesy,” says Hermione, but she’s just as cold as [Y/N] is; there’s bits of snow stuck in her hair and the tip of her nose is pink.

Ron snorts loudly. “We’re here to watch Slytherin lose,“ he says matter-of-factly, still in the process of smearing streaks of blue paint across his cheek.

[Y/N] watches him, nose scrunched. "Well, aren’t you the Ravenclaw fanatic.”

He gives her a grin and holds out the small tub of paint. “Want some?”

She bunches up her lips in thought, then reaches out to take it. Annoyingly enough, Ron pulls back at the last moment, grinning wider than ever, and says, “Or d'you want to show support for your boyfriend Malfoy? Hermione, why don’t you turn this green—”

[Y/N] dives over Hermione and Harry to smack Ron round the head, only for the pair to hold her back and push her into her seat.

Exasperated, Hermione huffs, “Honestly, Ronald, will you stop bringing that up?” She glares at him. “You know fully well [Y/N] doesn’t like it.”

Ron (and Harry, although he isn’t as boisterous about it as the redhead), thinks that the “blond ferret” taking a fancying to her is one of, if not the most hilarious thing to have ever happened in history. Annoyingly enough, Ron has made it a habit to tease her about it every chance he gets—this one being one of them.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought Ron fancied Malfoy with how much he talks about him,” grins Harry. This earns him a smatter of blue paint across his face; Ron had flicked it at him.

With one last eye-roll, [Y/N] tears her gaze away from Ron and digs her nose further into her scarf. It really is very cold; snow is falling from the sky, seeping into her clothes, some landing on her hair and on her face. Thankfully there’s not so much of it that the players on the pitch wouldn’t be able to see around them, but still—[Y/N] imagines that it’d be a lot colder for them, having to fly around the stadium with the cold wind whipping at their robes.

There’s a buzz of loud chatter hanging in the air as conversations from all around them overlap over one another. The entire stadium is slowly filling up; students trickle into the stands, a majority of which have adorned themselves with blue accessories as a show of support to Ravenclaw. One side of the stands, however, is entirely green. Through the snow, she can see a big serpent-shaped balloon hovering over the Slytherin side.

“They’re coming out!” someone exclaims.

Sure enough, when [Y/N] looks down at the pitch, players from both teams have appeared and congregated at opposite ends of the pitch. Slytherin and Ravenclaw; whichever house wins will play Gryffindor for the house cup. Most bets are on Slytherin, but [Y/N] would have to be dead before she is caught anywhere supporting them.

“Look, it’s [Y/N]’s boyfriend,” gushes Ron.

More out of habit than anything, [Y/N] shoots the redhead yet another brief, scathing look. Draco Malfoy is there, even though he’s nowhere near being her boyfriend, pale face set into a stoic expression of calm as he stands with the rest of his team, one hand on his broom and the other on his hip—and this specific image has her thinking back to what happened two weeks ago on this very same pitch, except the stadium was empty and it was only the two of them on the grounds; when he’d confessed to liking her.

As if Malfoy has somehow heard her thoughts over the noise of excited chatter coming from all over the stands, he looks up, eyes sweeping the seats in search for someone before finally, they land on her.

When he meets her gaze, [Y/N]’s breath isn’t knocked out of her chest, nor does she start blushing madly. But she doesn’t burn red with annoyance, either. All she does is stare at him, eyes narrowed, watching as his lips split into a wide grin and he raises his hand to wave at her.

She rolls her eyes, but thankfully—thankfully, the scarf tucked around her neck, reaching up to her nose, conceals the smile that tugs at her lips.

“May I ask everyone to please find themselves in their seats before the match begins,” McGonagall’s voice echoes around the stadium, giving [Y/N] a reason to break eye contact.

She tears her stare away from Malfoy’s, inhaling a deep breath through her nose, feeling oddly exhilarated.

But this isn’t anything new. That slight feeling of breathlessness, that unfamiliar sensation tickling at her stomach whenever she spots a certain someone in the hallway; she’s been feeling it a lot lately, and though the cause seems to be pretty obvious, that is another thing she’d have to be caught dead before doing: admitting that she reciprocates some of Malfoy’s.. peculiar feelings.

“And they’re off!” Dean Thomas announces. [Y/N] watches as the players soar high into the air until they’re mostly level with the stands, a blur of blue and green robes rapidly zooming around the pitch. Slytherin is already in possession of the quaffle; not a surprise, considering Ravenclaw isn’t exactly known for their exceptionally talented Quidditch team.

Malfoy, meanwhile—[Y/N] tells herself that the way her eyes dart around the pitch in search of a certain platinum blond is because she wants to watch the game properly and not for other reasons.

She spots him hovering somewhere above the rest of the players, face screwed up in concentration as his gaze moves around the pitch in search for the golden snitch. He looks even paler in winter, set against a backdrop of a cloudy sky and snow—

[Y/N] jars herself out of her thoughts and blinks, side-eyeing her friends (specifically Ron) to make sure they hadn’t seen her.. observing the Slytherin seeker. (Not like it matters; it’s not as though she fancies him, but Ron would certainly take it the wrong way.)

“Go Ravenclaw!” Ron practically screeches, waving his Ravenclaw banner in the air—when did he get that? “Kick Slytherin’s arse so Gryffindor can crush you in the finals!”

[Y/N] snorts. “Have it all thought out, don’t you, Ron?”

“Go on and cheer for your Slytherin boyfriend, [Y/N], no one’s stopping you,” says Harry, grinning. She turns to face him, mouth open in disbelief, and lets out a quick breath of incredulous laughter.

“So, Harry,” [Y/N] says, suddenly deadpan. ”I see you’ve chosen Ron’s side.“

Harry snickers, then shrugs.

"Oh, Malfoy’s seen the snitch!” someone shouts from beside them. [Y/N] turns back to the game to see Malfoy zooming down the pitch, clutching the front of his broom as he swerves past Slytherin and Ravenclaw players alike in pursuit of the tiny golden ball all the way on the other side of the stadium, where [Y/N] and her friends are sat. He has the upper hand—Ravenclaw’s seeker is only just now starting to fly after him, but she’s a good distance behind and Malfoy is gaining speed.

“He’s gonna catch it!”

“Ravenclaw’s even worse than I thought,” grumbles Ron, slumping down in his seat.

But just as Malfoy passes by them, somehow, despite the fact that he is in pursuit of the bloody golden snitch and on the brink of securing victory for his team, he slows down just the tiniest bit, and then, in true Malfoy fashion—theatric as always in his displays of affection—he catches her eye and yells “This one’s for you, [Y/N]!”, a grin on his face before he hurtles down the pitch, stretching out his hand towards the fluttering snitch—

“Malfoy’s got the snitch!” Dean Thomas screams into his microphone. “Slytherin wins!”

[Y/N] stares, feeling oddly warm despite the wintry weather, as Malfoy spins around in mid-air, triumphantly holding up the snitch for the rest of Hogwarts to see.

“Blimey,” gapes Ron, wide-eyed, staring not at the Slytherin seeker but at [Y/N]. “That was—”

[Y/N] looks away from Malfoy to meet Ron’s gaze, maintaining indifference. “He’s quite the charmer, isn’t he?” she mutters, and hopes that her friends will think that the blush on her cheeks is because of the cold and not because of something—someone else.

But that’s ridiculous. It is because of the cold, isn’t it?

“It may be Malfoy,” says Ron slowly, shaking his head, “But you can’t deny that was bloody romantic. Felt like I was watching something out of one of those Muggle films.”

“Yeah, we’ll have to ask him for tips,” says Harry, and starts laughing when [Y/N] rolls her eyes in response.

—

Malfoy may have stopped sending her Howlers, but that hardly matters because he has found every other way to pester her.

This includes consistently yelling out her name and shouting random pick-up lines every time he spots her in the hallway, as well as sending people to do her bidding—no longer first-years, but Crabbe and Goyle, who show up at random intervals everyday presenting her with a batch of different pastries. She always sends the pair off, but only after Ron and Harry accept said pastries for themselves.

“Blimey, this is heavenly!” gushes Ron, taking a passionate bite off of his second red velvet cupcake. “You sure you don’t want a bite, [Y/N]? Hermione?”

[Y/N] offers him an exasperated smile. “No, thank you, Ron.”

“Don’t thank me, thank your boyfriend.”

The four of them walk into the dingy Potions classroom. Snape is nowhere to be seen, but it’s only a matter of time before he swoops in all bat-like, so [Y/N] and Hermione quickly take a seat at their regular desk, right next to Ron and Harry.

“Have you done your homework?” asks Hermione, pulling out an assortment of parchment from her bag.

[Y/N] hums in response. “I doubt mine is half as good as yours, but hopefully I’ll scrape an acceptable.”

“Oh, you’re a good student, [Y/N]. Don’t bring yourself down.”

“Hard not to when I’m sitting next to the brightest witch in our year,” she nudges Hermione’s shoulder, smiling. Hermione huffs, rolling her eyes, but it’s clear by the pleased look on her face that she doesn’t hate [Y/N]’s honest flattery as much as she lets on.

[Y/N] drums her fingers on the desk to pass time, not quite paying attention to the students filtering into the classroom. Or at least not until one of them calls her name and drawls, “Is someone sitting here?”

[Y/N]’s head snaps around to see none other than Malfoy, gesturing to the desk to the left of hers and Hermione’s. “Mind if I,” he pauses, grinning, ”Slytherin?“

She purses her lips into a thin, tight line, inhaling deeply as she fights to keep her cool. Yes, there are times when Malfoy’s gestures have her questioning her own hatred for him, but this—this is not one of them.

"That,” she says, voice mostly level. “Is your seat, Malfoy. I don’t see why you have to ask me.”

Which is a lie. [Y/N] knows why, of course. To get her attention. To woo her. But part of her wishes that Malfoy would realize that everything he is doing, from the overbearing pick up lines to the cupcakes to his constant public declarations of love, isn’t something that [Y/N] thoroughly enjoys. Does she want him to stop yelling at her in the hallways? Yes. Does she want Crabbe and Goyle to stop bumbling up to her everywhere she goes (outside of the girl’s bathroom is one example) offering cupcakes and pie and tarts? Yes. But does she want Malfoy to stop trying entirely?

Maybe not. Maybe part of her wants to give him a chance. He does seem to truly hold feelings, judging from his confession back at the Quidditch stadium, unless he’s a terribly good actor.

And it wouldn’t just be him she’d be giving a chance, either. Perhaps she’d also be doing so to herself. Because, over the past month, it’s baffled her how quickly her feelings for him have shifted. Or maybe it’s not a change of feelings, but rather realization that under all that sneering and pureblood prejudice, Draco Malfoy is a boy.

An annoyingly attractive one.

But there is so much more that [Y/N] dislikes about him. His snootiness. His arrogance. His lack of consideration for other people’s feelings. He may be tall and lithe and undeniably handsome, and he may have very soft-looking platinum blond hair and stormy grey eyes like dark clouds, but he is also a prick. And that wins over everything else, no matter how.. visually pleasing he is.

So when a paper bird flutters in front of her halfway through the lesson, when Snape’s back is turned, [Y/N] hesitates. She knows fully well who it’s from, despite not having to look to the side and meet his gaze.

From beside her, Hermione whispers, “Get rid of it, before Snape sees.”

Exhaling, [Y/N] snatches the paper bird and quickly unfolds it.

She doesn’t know what she’s expecting to see, but it’s certainly not the words “meet me at the Astronomy tower after dinner” scribbled across the parchment. And with a drawing of a face blowing kisses, no less.

[Y/N] sighs.

—

[Y/N] has no real feelings for Malfoy, so succumbing to his mysterious evening request at the Astronomy tower shouldn’t mean anything.

Scratch that: it doesn’t mean anything. Not to her. (Or so she tells herself.) This is a chance for her to tell Malfoy to sod off and to stop courting her. And for good, this time. No matter what that annoying little voice inside her head tells her, she can’t possibly even consider the idea of actually giving in to him. (And to herself.)

So she’s going to put a stop to it, once and for all.

“I’m going,” she decides over dinner, slamming her palms down on the table.

“Going where?” asks Harry.

“The Astronomy tower,” she replies resolutely.

“What, to go star-gazing?” Ron snickers. [Y/N] glances at him and realizes, quickly, that telling them had slipped her mind—she’d been far too preoccupied with her own conflicting thoughts.

She shifts in her seat. She doesn’t necessarily need to tell them, does she? It’s not as though it’s important enough to share. And besides, Ron would only badger her about it. Mercilessly. [Y/N] can already picture him in her head, talking about Malfoy and snogging under the stars and Merlin-knows-what-else.

“Nevermind,” says [Y/N], taking a bite out of a muffin and looking away. They don’t need to know; it’s not as though it’s important.

—

After [Y/N] has walked up all of the stairs to get there, only taking one or two shortcuts, she’s out of breath, but she creeps into the Astronomy tower anyway. It’s mostly dark save for the faint moonshine filtering in from the open sides, and, well—there he is.

Malfoy’s arms are crossed over his chest, his back mostly turned as he stands dangerously close to the railing, looking out over the dark landscape. Dim light catches on the side of his face, illuminating the grey of his eyes.

The curve of his nose.

Pale skin.

White-blond hair.

[Y/N] finds herself staring, one hand on the doorframe as though for support, brows furrowed in the middle in a slight frown as she watches him.

He looks lost in thought. Even from a few feet away, [Y/N] can see the far-off, distant look in his eyes. Like storms brewing behind dark clouds, she thinks to herself. It’s a quiet little whisper in the back of her mind that has her heart doing odd little flips inside of her chest that she never knew it was capable of.

But then she blinks.

This is the last thing [Y/N] needs. To see Malfoy stripped of his arrogance—to see him as he is, bathed in moonlight, glowing, almost. To look at him and to see a boy with eyes like molten silver and nothing more—it’s the last thing she needs to convince herself that she doesn’t feel something for him that isn’t hatred.

No, she doesn’t need this.

She turns around, breath caught in her throat, and starts walking down the steps. Accidentally, stupidly, her foot catches on a metal step and a loud clang echoes around the silent tower.

[Y/N] pauses, eyes wide.

“[Y/N]?” Malfoy’s voice says. He can’t see her. It’s too dark, and [Y/N] is too far down the steps.

She swallows. But instead of dreading what could come, she finds herself waiting, half-hoping that he’d check the staircase, that he would see her and—

And then what?

[Y/N] rushes down the steps, ignoring the loud noise her footsteps make on the way. This is the last thing she needs.

—

[Y/N] doesn’t like Malfoy.

[Y/N] doesn’t like Malfoy, and she is determined to make that clear. (Both to herself and to her friends, although the former seems to be taking a lot more convincing.)

“What is there to like about him? He’s nothing but an annoying pain in the arse who has an overwhelming amount of pride and arrogance simply because of his blood—which is not only something that he never rightfully earned but is also something that shouldn’t even bloody matter, except he thinks that it does solely because he is an absolute nutter who has nothing better to do with his life other than leech off of his parents’ money and shove it in other people’s faces.”

Ron meets Harry’s gaze from across the table, who seems to be trying very hard not to laugh. Swallowing down a forkful of pancakes, Ron looks back at [Y/N]. “I’m sorry,” he begins slowly. “But remind me again why we’re talking about Malfoy?”

“I’m not finished, Ronald,” [Y/N] snaps, shooting him a dirty look. Ron raises his eyebrows. “As I was saying before someone so rudely cut me off, Malfoy is a nasty little git who finds joy in making other people suffer. he probably has tiny puppies locked up inside his basement just so he can laugh in their faces and revel in their misery because he is that horrible of a person—”

Harry lurches with poorly suppressed laughter.

“An absolute terrible excuse for a human being! He basks in other people’s humiliation—mine, for example!—and I would much rather snog the Giant Squid than ever actually consider his—” She pauses, gritting her teeth. “Odd.. requests.”

“It’s not like he’s asking you to murder house-elves,” Ron mutters.

“Something that I would rather do than date him!”

“[Y/N]!” Hermione gasps, looking genuinely offended as she, for the first time since they’d arrived at the Great Hall for breakfast, looks up from the homework she’s rushing to finish. (As if her five pieces worth of parchment aren’t enough—Flitwick had only asked for three!)

“Sorry, Hermione,” [Y/N] says, offering her an apologetic look that she only half-means. This quickly turns into a fierce look of challenge as she swivels back around in her seat to face the redhead sitting next to her. “Honestly, since when have you started defending Malfoy?”

Ron blanches. “I’m not defending him!” he says indignantly, setting his fork down on his plate. “It’s just.. yeah, it’s a bit odd that he’s declaring his undying love for you out of bloody nowhere, but he’s stopped badgering us, hasn’t he? Nasty little ferret hasn’t said a word to Harry for weeks! And that goes for me and Hermione, too!”

[Y/N] narrows her eyes at him. “So you think it’s great that he’s stopped annoying you at the cost of my suffering?”

“What suffering!” Ron exclaims. “He’s been treating you like a bloody princess!”

“Oh, why don’t you just snog him yourself, then, if you think so highly of him?”

Ron’s jaw drops in shocked offense.

“Alright, that’s enough!” Harry announces, reaching over the table to shove the two apart from each other. “Why doesn’t one of you switch seats with me before you end up strangling each other?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” [Y/N]’s lip curls. “I might have to hold Ron back before he goes running off to his ferret prince—or should we just let him? Merlin knows he’d love to, won’t you, Ronald?”

Ron’s teeth are gritted; his eyes dart around the food on the table as though looking for the most effective weapon. He seems to be choosing between a green apple and rhubarb pie.

Thankfully, Ron never gets to take his pick. The bell rings, saving everyone in the Great Hall from witnessing what could have possibly been a brawl between friends. “Come on, let’s go,” says Harry quickly, relief evident in his tone of voice as he ushers the pair to their feet. “Wouldn’t want to be late for class.”

—

[Y/N] doesn’t like Malfoy.

[Y/N] doesn’t like Malfoy, but why does she find herself staring at him whenever she comes across him in the hallway the next day? Why, when Malfoy meets her gaze, does she look away and pretend to be immersed in something else?

And why in the bloody hell, when Malfoy playfully winks at her during Potions class, does she find it very, very hard not to smile?

She walks out of the dungeon classroom in a hurry with Ron, Harry, and Hermione, not wanting to spend a minute more in Malfoy’s presence; she doesn’t particularly enjoy being suddenly hyperaware of every move he makes, every little glance he sends her way when he thinks she isn’t paying attention. It’s as though something in her system has gone awry. Is that why her heart feels like it’s about to hop right out of her chest? Is that why she can’t stop wondering what would’ve happened if she’d stayed at the Astronomy tower?

“Hey, wait up!” Harry calls loudly as they walk up the stone steps leading away from the dungeons and into the main hallway, which is bustling with students.

[Y/N], who had been walking far too fast in front of the three, looks back over her shoulder and sees that they’re a few feet away. She stops, seemingly flustered, and waits for them to catch up.

"You look like you’ve wet your pants,” says Ron.

“I’m not you, Ron,” she retorts.

“Oh, can you two please stop bickering for once?” says Hermione, exasperated.

From behind the three, Draco Malfoy emerges from the potions classroom and begins walking up the stone steps. [Y/N]’s hands clench into fists at her side as she discretely presses her back to the stone wall at her sides.

The blond doesn’t even as much as glance at Ron, Harry, and Hermione as he passes by them on the steps. [Y/N], however—once Malfoy has reached the step below the one she’s standing on, he pauses, no less than two feet away from her, and quirks an eyebrow.

“What?” [Y/N] scowls, trying not to look at the strand of blond hair dangling in front of his eyes.

Malfoy’s gaze dances over her face. “Was it you?”

She meets her friends’ eyes over Malfoy’s shoulder. Ron and Harry have their eyebrows raised; Hermione looks concerned. [Y/N] takes a moment to compose herself—tries to force her heart back into her chest—before she folds her arms across her chest and looks at the Slytherin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“At the Astronomy tower,” Malfoy says, and moves up one step so that he’s standing on the same one she’s on. A foot away. “I heard someone last night, while I was waiting for you.”

Oh, Merlin.

“You came, didn’t you?” he presses on.

“No,” [Y/N] lies, and hates how defensive she sounds. She shifts a little on her feet, her eyes skirting away to look at a random spot behind Malfoy. “I was.. at the library. Doing things of actual importance.”

There’s a slight pause as Malfoy’s nose wrinkles. “Must’ve been someone else spying on me, then,” he finally says through a scoff, but [Y/N] knows disappointment when she sees it. He rolls his shoulders back and puts on his signature smirk, inclining his head towards her as he takes another step up the stairs. “Better hurry and give me an answer, [Y/N],” he tells her, grinning. “Before one of my admirers get to me first.”

[Y/N] watches as he walks up the steps and disappears into the hallway.

“The library?” a voice says incredulously. She turns back to Ron, whose face is scrunched in disbelief. “No, you weren’t! We were waiting for you there and you never came.”

[Y/N] folds her arms across her chest indignantly but doesn’t respond, instead walking up the stone steps.

“Malfoy said he was waiting for you at the Astronomy tower,” says Hermione slowly as they trail after her; [Y/N] speeds up her pace. “Is that why you mentioned going there during dinner last night?”

[Y/N] emerges into the main corridor first. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did!” bursts Ron, sounding downright triumphant.

“Congratulations, Ron, you don’t have the memory range of a teaspoon, after all,” [Y/N] mutters, looking around. Malfoy is walking down the hallway a few feet ahead of them, Crabbe and Goyle at his side.

Ron ignores her. “I bet you did go. I bet you did spy on him—” And then he gasps, looking as though he’s unearthed the secret of life. “Merlin’s beard, you really do fancy him, don’t you?”

[Y/N]’s footsteps falter. Ron, Harry, and Hermione stop right with her.

Hermione is the only one who doesn’t look stunned out of her mind. Looking between the two boys, she rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Honestly, is that so hard to believe?” says Hermione, frowning. “I understand that it’s Malfoy and he is a prick, but [Y/N] is perfectly entitled to fancy whoever she likes.” She turns to [Y/N]. “It’s fine, [Y/N], you don’t have to feel guilty about it. Anyone would catch feelings if someone started doing such sweet things for them, even if it were someone like Malfoy.”

“Blimey,” says Harry, breathless. “Which part sealed the deal, [Y/N]? The pick-up lines? Or was it the cupcakes?”

[Y/N], who had been opening and closing her mouth like a fish blown out of water, finally stops trying to find words that just aren’t there and instead drags her palm across her face in frustration. “I don’t..” she says, sounding defeated, but really—now that she’s faced with such confrontation, it’s easier to admit to herself that maybe.. maybe she does fancy Malfoy.

Ron’s lips have split into a jubilant grin. ”I called it!“ he says, smacking Harry’s shoulder. "Bloody knew it!”

Hermione reaches out to rub [Y/N]’s back. “Don’t feel too bad about it, [Y/N]. I sort of knew—you looked at him differently after he confessed to you on the pitch.”

[Y/N] sighs, realizing that no amount  of denying it will convince her friends. Or herself.

She does fancy Malfoy.

Properly acknowledging it—finally admitting it to herself—is oddly relieving. She’s been keeping her feelings cooped up inside of her chest despite the fact they are so much bigger than her, and now that she’s letting them burst free.. now that she’s coming to terms with them..

Well. It’s not the worst feeling ever.

Ron is still beaming, looking as though he’s won the lottery. And apparently, in a way, he has: “Fred and George said it’d take you a month longer to give in. I said it’d take you less—guess I’ve won myself two galleons!”

[Y/N]’s mouth falls open. “You bet on this?”

Ron raises his eyebrows, as though surprised to hear that she didn’t know. “Uh, I and the entire bloody castle.”

Struck by a sudden burst of both annoyance and confidence, [Y/N], scowling, detaches herself from her friends and strides down the hallway towards Malfoy, full of intent. He hasn’t noticed her yet; his back is still turned, but she catches up to him easily. And when she does, she unceremoniously bumps her shoulder into his and grabs his hand, quickly interlacing her fingers through his.

“What the hell—”

Malfoy, obviously taken aback, tries to pull his hand away, sneering, until his gaze lands on [Y/N].

“Keep walking, Malfoy,” she says scathingly, not quite looking at him.

Baffled, Malfoy stares at her, then down at their hands, which are now tightly interlocked between them. [Y/N] scowls resolutely at the hallway ahead of her.

And then Malfoy laughs, more out of disbelief than amusement.

“Keep walking,” [Y/N] repeats, this time turning to look at him, fighting to keep her gaze indifferent. The last thing she wants Malfoy to know is that there is an onslaught of tiny little butterflies rampaging in her stomach and a tingly feeling spreading from their hands all the way up her spine and into her heart.

Malfoy’s lips tug up into a wide grin—a real one, [Y/N] thinks. Not an arrogant smirk or a deprecating sneer; one that she can’t ever recall seeing. But now that she has, she finds herself wishing he’d do it more often.

[Y/N] tugs him along as she walks, feeling the stunned stares of her friends boring into her skull from behind. (Ron is going to have a field day about this.)

“So,” Malfoy begins, and she doesn’t have to look at him to know that he’s still grinning down at her. “Changed your mind, haven’t you?”

[Y/N] rolls her eyes; she doesn’t fail to notice the way that the students they’re passing by are staring at them, eyes wide, whispering to themselves. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Malfoy shrugs. “Among other things.”

She side-eyes him, muttering, “Does that include snogging?”

He makes an amused sound at the back of his throat. “You said it, not me.”

[Y/N] has to grit her teeth to stop the corners of her lips from tugging up. They turn a corner down the hallway, disappearing from both their friends’ views (assuming they haven’t followed them). At this thought, [Y/N] takes a brief glance over her shoulder—and sure enough, there’s a redhead peeking out of a group of very confused Ravenclaws.

Cursing Ron Weasley inside her head, she turns her gaze back ahead of her. ”I have Charms class next.“

Malfoy raises his brows. "And what do you expect me to do with that information?”

“Walk me there,” says [Y/N] briskly.

She can practically feel the surprise radiating off of the blond next to her. A moment later, he throws his head back in a loud laugh. “And you want me to be late to Transfiguration? It’s all the way on the other side of the castle.”

[Y/N] hums. “Can’t even do that for the girl you fancy?”

There’s a beat of silence. His grip on her hand falters a little as he says, voice still nonchalant and yet at the same time holding an undeniable sense of sincerity, “I could if I knew she wasn’t leading me on.”

“She isn’t,” [Y/N] says, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

Malfoy is staring at her with his brows pulled in together just slightly at the middle, giving off the impression that he’s trying to decide whether or not she’s being serious. He slows down his pace until he comes to a full stop, urging [Y/N] to halt alongside him until they’re standing in the middle of the hallway, oblivious to the stares following them and the redhead a mere few feet away.

“How do I know this isn’t a prank?” says Malfoy, lip slowly curling as he narrows his eyes at her, the first few traces of suspicion etching itself onto his face now that the whole ridiculousness of the situation has finally sunken in. [Y/N] can’t blame him; her antics—suddenly marching up to him in the hallway, grabbing his hand and walking with him as though they’ve been doing it for years—all of it is uncalled for after having ruthlessly turned him down so many times before. But [Y/N] can’t delve into a discussion of her conflicting emotions—at least not right now—so she hopes, at least for now, that he will take her word for it.

She clears her throat.  "Well,“ she begins, looking down at their hands; Malfoy’s grip has gone slack. "If I wanted to hold your hand, I’d do it because I wanted to. Not because I wanted to get a rise out of you.” She lets her gaze go back up to his, brows rising in familiar challenge. “I don’t stoop that low, Malfoy. You’ve been in love with me for years—shouldn’t you know that by now?”

There are a few seconds in which the blond standing before her still looks at her with a scrutinizing gaze, lips set into a thin, hard line and his eyes swimming with conflict that [Y/N] wouldn’t have been able to see from afar, but sees in perfect clarity now that she’s standing a mere foot away from him. But then, after what feels like ages, Malfoy nods, slowly, frown smoothing out into an expression of—could that be relief?

“I will be late for Transfiguration, you know,” he says, lips quirking up into a grin.

[Y/N] laughs. (A real one, Draco thinks to himself.) This time she doesn’t try to stop herself from smiling; just lets her lips do so of their own accord. It feels nice. Freeing. “Better just one of us than two, don’t you think?” she says, mirroring his playful grin. “And besides, Goyle can stand in for you. You two do have quite the resemblance.”

“Oh, sod off.”

And it really is very odd, because everything about this shouldn’t feel right; they’ve been enemies for the longest time, and a year ago, [Y/N] would have been revolted at the mere idea of ever coming close to Draco Malfoy—but it does. That is, it feels right. Like they’ve been this way for ages and this playful, harmless banter is the most natural thing.

Draco isn’t perfect—Merlin, does he have a long way to go—but if he means to stop being a prat as long as [Y/N] is at his side, then she is willing to venture into whatever has formed between them.

And if this little bond is going to involve any more of this—this being her and Draco exaggeratedly swinging their arms between them as he walks her to Charms class with their fingers still intertwined, snickering, waiting for one of them to start complaining about their arm sockets hurting—then maybe it isn’t the worst thing ever, after all.