#This is her attempt at asking him to do it - but also shamelessly deflecting. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

startanewdream · 3 years

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Do you know when there is something you are really happy of how it turned out but you also know that you'll never finish it? So a while ago I tried to write a fic about Harry realizing a little bit sooner that he fancied Ginny and Ginny not dating Dean at the beginning of HBP. All because, really, I wanted to give them more time together and allow Harry to be more of a teenager in love.

Well, I won't finish this, but it's too long to sit unread on my desktop, so I hope you enjoy those little moments of Hinny that could have been, with a strangely romantic Harry.

The moment that Ginny walks away from him, after telling she promised to meet her friends on the Hogwarts Express, Harry feels a strange twinge of annoyance. He watches her go, her long hair dancing behind her in a way that seems to reflect all the sunlight and he thinks he has become so used to her presence over the summer that he hadn’t stopped to think she usually did not hang out with him while at school.

He wishes he’d asked her sooner to sit with him.

It’s only when he is walking along the train with Neville and Luna, and he sees Cho Chang darting hurriedly into her compartment to avoid him, that he realizes this is not the first time he has wished he’d invited someone sooner. A shiver goes through his spine as he realizes the implications.

It’s not as if he feels for Ginny as he felt for Cho, he reasons silently. When he was near Cho, he was always nervous, like if there was a hole in his chest that was threatening to engulf him.

When he thinks of Ginny, he doesn’t feel nervous, he doesn’t feel like he is missing anything. If he thinks of Ginny in those last weeks of the summer, he remembers her being brighter than the summer sun. She is lively and fiery, and Harry had enjoyed her company, had shared her jokes, had made her laugh as much as she had made him laugh. After everything that happened – after Sirius – it had been nice to feel light and Ginny had helped him.

He feels peaceful and complete around her, which Harry tells himself it is perfectly reasonable. She is his friend after all, and if he considers Ron as his brother, then she would be like his sister, like Hermione.

Except now that Harry’s mind is grasping the effects of Ginny Weasley on his life, he realizes he doesn’t really think of her as his sister, no way. He remembers watching her imitating Fleur, her long red hair dancing around her in a way that seemed more entrancing than any veela power Harry ever met; he remembers when they got caught in the summer rain and the way her clothes were glued to her body and he had hastily looked away, feeling so embarrassed at how his stupid teenage body was reacting to that vision.

But now Harry doesn’t think it was just a normal teenage reaction. He thinks about how it would be if he were in the same situation with Hermione and the thought is unappealing just because he doesn’t really see her as anything but his friend.

It’s not the same with Ginny.

He thinks about her smile, about her long red hair, about the curves of her body he’d noticed even though he tried not to and about the freckles on her face that he was once strangely attempted to count.

He feels attracted to her.

That realization comes at the same moment that Ron enters their compartment and Harry feels suddenly guilty; Ron trusts him. He remembers hearing to Fred and George teasing her about her previous boyfriend and how her brothers are so protective of her; Ron would hate him if he knew Harry was –

What? Harry doesn’t know what he is feeling. Somehow this makes him feel less guilty. So he thinks Ginny is pretty. That’s reasonable, anyone with eyes could see she’s beautiful. So he misses her presence; that’s also fair, considering how much time they spent together over the summer.

That doesn’t mean anything, he tells himself when he attends the invitation of Slughorn and his heart skips when he sees that Ginny is already there.

It’s just a silly attraction, he insists, when his fists close after hearing Blaise Zabini commenting on how good-looking she is.

Oh, I'm screwed, he admits when Hermione is explaining how Amortentia works and Harry knows exactly whose perfume he is smelling in the potion.

-----------------

So he has a crush on Ginny Weasley.

That’s okay, Harry tells himself, I can manage it.

Except he is really horrible at pretending he doesn’t care for her. Harry knows this is stupid; it’s not like those feelings developed overnight, he probably was falling for her during the summer, but somehow realizing these feelings exist have made him flustered around her.

He nearly drools during trials when she flies perfectly and outflows all the competition, thinking that her flying is better than any dance he’d ever seen.

He sighs watching her play with her pigmy puff, and he looks around hoping that no one saw it.

Still, he can’t help but keep stealing glances at her in the Common Room, careful only to avoid Hermione’s increasingly knowing looks, and he realizes that maybe he should stop pretending he doesn’t have feelings for Ginny when he sees her talking to a boy from her year.

They could be just friends, for all Harry knows, but that’s when he understands that if he doesn’t do anything, someone will ask her out and eventually she will say yes.

He remembers how she teased a while ago that she was going out with Dean Thomas just to pest Ron and he feels suddenly happy that Dean is not on the Quidditch Team, that he doesn’t spend much time with her. He’d heard Dean and Seamus talking in low voices about her in their dormitory when Ron is not around, and he knows Dean still fancies her.

Sometimes Harry looks at Ginny and wonders what she would say if he asks her out. He remembers Hermione telling them that Ginny used to like him but she gave up on him ages ago. Indeed, now she treats him with so much friendship that Harry wonders if she will just be offended with his invitation. That fear burns inside him, but he cannot help himself from walking back with her from training – even if Ron’s there most of the time – and he doesn’t really think when he volunteers to help her with some spells for extra points in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Harry soon finds out it was a terrible wonderful idea to spend a few hours with her on Friday night, just the two of them, in a closed classroom. His heart is beating faster as he watches her dodge his spells and he knows it’s not adrenaline from the duel. It’s her, it’s always her.

She is strong, he realizes, when Ginny looks fiercely as she fights him, her eyes blazing with determination and she deflects spell after spell he throws in her direction. She is gorgeous, he notices shamelessly, when her face is red and sweaty from their duel, and she is beaming at him at the end of their duel.

‘You are amazing’, he says and if his eyes are shining he thinks it could be explained by the fact that she really was very good.

But what he can’t explain is how much the energy he was spending on their duel is still running through his vein, filling him with heat and desire for her, desire to do something, anything. He wonders what she would say if he suddenly acted in his urges and just kissed her – he wonders if she would hex him if he pushed her against the wall, and his lips captured hers, his body pressed against hers, feeling her curves, their hands desperate, hearing her moan into his kiss –

‘Thanks’, she says, breaking his imagination. Harry nods, avoiding looking at her. The images are still very clear in his head and he’s glad he’s wearing a cloak. It’s much easier to hide the effects of his imagination this way. ‘I thought you were going easy on me at first’.

It’s the teasing in her voice that makes Harry turns towards her and he almost regrets it. She is still breathing hard, sweat shining on her neck, and Harry’s eyes are drawn to her neckline and then lower seeing her chest going up and down and suddenly the room becomes even hotter.

It takes real effort to look her in the eyes.

‘I would never’, he promises. ‘You’d hex me if I did’.

She giggles and Harry pretends that innocent sound doesn’t fill his chest with longing.

��Let’s go? I need a bath after this’, she says and Harry considers seriously that she has to know the effect her comment makes on him. His imagination has been working overtime lately.

‘I need too’, he whispers more to himself than her. He doubts she needs a cold shower as much as he does.

‘So’, she begins, as they walk back to the Gryffindor Tower. ‘Excited for tomorrow?’

‘What?’

‘Don’t tell me you forgot the first trip to Hogsmeade. I’ve been waiting for ages for a day-off’.

The thing is Harry hadn’t forgotten Hogsmeade. He couldn’t, not when ideas of taking a stroll with Ginny through the village were constant on his mind; he’d thought about it ever since they announced the date of the trip, but his – that one that always got him into trouble – had faltered him for once.

‘I just lost track of time’, he says, hoping to sound distracted. ‘Got any plans?’

‘None so far’, she replies, her voice sounding as distant as his.

Harry takes a deep breath and urges himself to be brave. If he can face a basilisk, he can do this.

‘You could come with me’, he says, and when she turns to look at him, Harry discovers that looking her directly in the eyes would probably be as mortal as a basilisk eye. ‘Us, I mean, me and Ron and Hermione’. Harry forces himself to smile calmly, even though his heart is beating painfully fast now. ‘You know, if you want our company’.

He glances briefly at her. Ginny is frowning slightly.

‘I don’t want to intrude’, she says finally. Harry is glad she is not rejecting the idea.

‘You wouldn’t’. He smiled as charmingly as he can. ‘Come on, it will be like summer over again, we can tease Ron and Hermione’.

She laughs. ‘I would never miss an opportunity to tease them’, she agrees, and Harry tries not to beam as she accepts joining him – them – for Hogsmeade.

But he beams later that night when he hears Dean grumbling to Seamus that he’d asked Ginny out for Hogsmeade and she answered that she already had other plans.

Plans. They have plans together.

---------------------

The trip to Hogsmeade is an utterly disappointment, with the bad weather and finding Mundungus Fletcher nicking Sirius’s stuff and the curse of Katie Bell. Not even Ginny’s presence is enough to save the day and Harry is left feeling miserable the whole weekend.

The meeting with Dumbledore helps to ease his tension – never mind that they are discussing Voldemort’s past – but it’s in the next morning that Harry feels hopeful again.

First, Hermione tells him of Slughorn’s Christmas party and Harry’s mind, already exceptionally good at creating scenarios involving him and Ginny (he’s been so creative lately that he thinks he could provide ideas for Fred and George’s Patented Daydream Charm), immediately wants this opportunity to ask Ginny out. And second, Hermione invites Ron to go with her, and Ron’s subsequently bliss is enough for Harry to feel that his best friend wouldn’t mind if he asks Ginny out.

Harry tries to say to himself that it’s still early – they’ve just entered November and the party is a month away, but an unforeseen complication arrives the moment that Harry asks Dean to join the team.

He’d thought that Dean would have given up on Ginny already, but from what he collects – and Harry is becoming really good at overhearing conversations -, Dean considered that Ginny denying his invitation was not because she already had a date, just because she was going with her brother. He sees Dean is more invested than ever, and when he gives her a very nice drawing of her face, Harry feels suddenly useless.

Dean can draw. What can Harry do? Sure, he flies well, but it’s not like he could impress Ginny with that when she probably flies better than him. And it’s not like being the Chosen One is a talent – it’s more of a burden, really, and Ginny already knows him enough to see he is not a hero.

He’s feeling really dismayed after the training and for once, when he realizes he and Ginny are alone in the changing room, he doesn’t feel excited.

‘Spit it out’, she says, standing in front of him with her arms crossed, as soon as the door closes after Ron.

‘What?’

‘What’s been bothering you’. She frows at him. ‘You’ve been quiet all training. You didn’t say anything when I called Ron a prat. You didn’t say anything when Ron punched Demelza and he really deserved a call. So tell me, what’s wrong?’

‘Do you ever feel like a failure?’

She blinks, clearly not expecting that question.

‘Hum. Yeah. I once opened a secret chamber, you know’.

‘That was Voldemort, not you’.

‘Well -’, she takes a step back, but she relaxes her arms. ‘But before it was his fault, it was mine. I only let him get to me because I was feeling so insecure’.

‘You were eleven’.

‘When you were eleven you were stopping You-Know-Who’, notes Ginny, rolling her eyes. ‘But what I meant is that I still question myself sometimes. And when I do, I remember that the last time I really doubted myself, I let someone control me’. Her gaze burns into his eyes and Harry thinks she never looked so fierce than now. ‘No fear will ever control me again’.

Oh, God, he feels so smitten by her.

‘Thanks’, he says instead of pulling her closer to him, which is everything his body screams for him to do. She smiles.

‘No problem, Captain. And you are not a failure. How could you be when you have me in the team?’

He laughs easily.

As they walk the grounds, Harry asks her in the most meaningless voice he can manage: ‘I saw Dean giving you a present early. You and him –‘

She sighs and Harry tries to understand if it’s a happy or sad sigh.

‘Yeah, he is – and that’s his words, not mine – courting me’.

She doesn’t sound pleased and Harry’s heart nearly bursts then, satisfied.

‘It was a nice drawing’, he says nonchalantly. She just nods. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘Really? We wouldn’t work out together’.

‘How do you know?’, asks Harry, but he is not really thinking about Dean.

‘Well, for starters, he uses the term courting’, she says, making Harry chuckle without meaning to. ‘It’s just – well, I had one relationship so I’m not an expert but – he is the kind of guy who runs to open doors and I am the kind of girl who likes to open doors for herself. We just wouldn’t click’.

‘Oh!’, Harry bits his lips but the question is his mind slips through his mouth anyway. ‘And what kind of guy am I?’

She stops to look at him. They are a few steps away from the Entrance Hall and Harry almost lost his track when he sees her illuminated by the light of the castle. It feels like a vision from the heavens.

‘The kind who would let a girl open the door if she were closer’, she says warmly, but before Harry can answer, she turns away from him, entering the castle.

--------------------

The minute the door closes on the changing room, Harry lets out a dismayed sigh. His plan was supposed to help Ron get his confidence again, to let himself back into that bliss that had accompanied him in the days after Hermione asked him out for Slughorn’s party. Now, he doesn’t even know if Ron and Hermione will remain friends.

When he leaves the changing room, there is a crowd, many of whom are congratulating him. He just nods without really listening and when someone pulls him away from the crowd, he reacts until he realizes it’s Ginny.

‘Come on’, she says and instead of taking the shortcut that every other Gryffindor is using, they use the normal stairs to go up. ‘What happened?’, Ginny asks, when the sound of the crowd vanishes behind them.

He tells the story in a low voice, not wanting to look at her as he recalls his plan, wondering now how he didn’t think Hermione would assume the worst –

‘It was a good plan’, Ginny mumbleswhen he finishes the story. They are in the seventh-floor corridor now, and she stops by a window, crossing her arms as she lays her back against the wall. The wind makes her hair flow like flames around her; this distracts Harry for a few seconds until he sighs.

‘It backfired completely’.

‘Well, yes, but only after the game’. She bits her lips, thoroughly. ‘But for your plan of helping Ron, it worked. He is a good keeper when he can keep his head in the right place’.

‘Yeah’. He sighs again, taking a step closer to her and looking at the window, trying to ignore how her scent of flowers threatens to overwhelm him. ‘Except now he is mad at Hermione and she is feeling hurt and –‘

‘They are bickering, Harry’, she notes. ‘That’s what they do’.

‘Yeah, but –‘, he remembers that day in the greenhouses. ‘- but for once they were closer to be over that phase, you know? They were going together to Slughorn’s party’.

‘They still will’, Ginny says calmly. ‘It’s just another fight for them. You could call it foreplay even’.

‘Ew, thanks for the image’, he complains, but there is a smile on his face that reveals his amusement. It’s easy to let her quiet words wash over him, drawing away the apprehension.

That’s Ginny’s power over him, he thinks. There is a lightness in her, something that makes him feel as if he had just eaten a chocolate after encountering a dementor, or as if he is as protected as if he just casted the Patronus Charm.

‘You know, I can’t still believe Hermione invited Ron’, she says almost absently.

When Harry thinks about it, he considers that maybe Hermione just lost the patience that Ron would ever ask her out; but right now, he feels envy for her courage, for her stepping over any fear and asking out someone who is one of her closest friends. If Hermione could do it, then he can too.

‘I take you are nervous about it?’, she asks, and Harry turns to her, confused to what she means. ‘About Ron and Hermione, you know, dating’.

Harry shrugs, trying to look nonchalant.

‘As long as I don’t have to see it’, he says. She raises her eyebrows, not believing his indifference. ‘Okay, I worry a bit. If they split up, I don’t know how things would be’.

‘No one knows. But that’s their problem, Harry, not yours’.

‘Our friendship –‘

‘- will survive’, she finishes for him.

‘How do you know?’

‘With the things you’ve faced together, you just can’t stop being friends’. She stares at him for a few seconds, then adds gently: ‘And they won’t ever leave you’.

He blinks, losing himself in the warm brown of her eyes, marvelous at how she always seems to read his mind. He wonders if there is more she can see through him.

If she knows how he feels for her.

‘And if they do split up, at least they will know. Not knowing is the worst sometimes’.

Harry agrees. Sometimes at night when he wonders how it would be Ginny’s reaction to him asking her out, he thinks that the agony of unknowing is worse than any rejection he could face.

‘So it’s good they have a date’, Ginny is saying, seeming to not notice any of Harry’s internal discussion. ‘Slughorn’s party looks nice’, she glances at him rather amusedly. ‘You would know if you had gone into any of his dinners’.

‘I wish I’d gone’, Harry says rather fervidly, thinking he’d enjoy that extra time with Ginny. Then he takes a deep breath. It doesn’t make sense to wish for more time and do nothing about it. ‘Are you going with someone?’

She blinks slowly.

‘Dean’s been giving me some hints he’d like to go with me, but, you know –‘

‘- you are not interested in being courted’, he remembers, with a smile that is calmer than he really feels. His heart is beating so loud in his chest that he wonders if she can hear it. ‘So if you don’t have any plans, would you like to come with me?’

The words are said so naturally that something inside him is almost applauding him, elated that he could really ask her without tumbling the words; he can still remember that Wangoballwime fiasco. But now, as time seems to stop as he waits for her answer, he thinks it’s obvious he would be better asking Ginny out.

Whatever he felt for Cho is in no way comparable to what he feels now.

Ginny is still looking at him, without blinking, and he thinks it’s the first time in a long time he sees her so quiet.

‘Just to be clear –‘, she begins, then she shakes her head. He sees her taking a short breath. ‘We could go together, yes’. There is a smile on her lips that doesn’t reach her eyes. ‘I imagine this way Romilda Vane and all those other girls will stop pestering you about’.

He could just nod. He could accept her perfect reasonable explanation for them going together to the party and that way there will be no chance of things being weird between them.

But for her, he is willing to take a chance.

‘They would, but that’s not because I am asking you’, he says, his voice low. 'I really -'

There is a high shriek on the end of the corridor. They turn around together to see the portrait of the Fat Lady opening and Hermione is leaving the Common Room. There is a cloud of birds around her head and as they watch, the birds suddenly fly directly to the Common Room; there is a scream of pain.

Harry and Ginny look at each other.

'I'll see Hermione', she says, just as Harry nods.

'I'll go check Ron', and they split.

--------------------

There are many things Harry could've foreseen, but Ron dating Lavender Brown is not one of them.

Things between Ron and Hermione are rocky, and as he plays the middle man between them, he finds out there is not much room for telling either of them that he has invited Ginny to go with him to Slughorn's party.

He supposes Ron wouldn't be mad at him, but he only supposes because his friend is always occupied with Lavender these days - or rather their mouths are. At least Harry feels any protectiveness of Ron would be rather hypocrite considering how much Harry has unfortunately seen his best friend snogging.

And Hermione looks so heartbroken and furious these days that he doesn't have the heart to tell her about his plans with Ginny.

He couldn't stop beaming if he told her and that's not very tactful.

Sometimes he feels like the worst friend – his best friends aren't talking to each other, Ron has lost himself in a relationship and Hermione is so upset – but the truth is that the idea of going on a date with Ginny fills his heart with glee and makes him want to sing.

And if Ginny mentioned to anyone that they will go together, Harry wouldn't know. He thinks not, because he doesn't hear anyone talking about it – and between Dean Thomas and Romilda Vane, he would've heard; even Ron would return to the surface to say something, he thinks.

It's just one of these things that somehow feels weird to announce after not announcing it immediately, so he considers that people will just notice when they go together.

And it's not like there is anything different between him and Ginny. She treats him as normal as before he'd asked her out, and if their eyes meet randomly through the day – and she smiles at him – it's still normal.

But he waits more anxiously than before to Slughorn's party, imagining candle lights and romantic songs, maybe a slow dance.

He can’t dance for his life, but for Ginny he thinks he could learn ballet.

Romilda Vane keeps hinting that she’d like to go to the party with him and Hermione advices that he should ask someone else so people can stop pestering him.

‘I have’, he says finally, and the smile is already in the corner of his mouth, as much as he wants to pretend it's no big deal. ‘I’m going with Ginny’.

His attempt at apathy is pathetic and even though Hermione has not been herself lately, she is still smart enough to see right past him.

‘Oh. Finally, then’.

Harry pretends to not understand.

‘Why are you keeping it a secret?’

They aren’t, not really, so Harry just shrugs. He has dealt with the effects that being related to him have caused before, and he doesn’t want for it to happen again - not so soon, not before he and Ginny even… What?

He doesn’t know what he is waiting to happen first, but, still, it seems important to wait.

‘You better tell…’, Hermione is suddenly quiet. ‘Well, you don’t want people to know second-hand’.

Harry sighs, but he nods in agreement. Hermione is probably right, as always.

‘For what matters, Harry, I’m happy for you. I hope things go well’. They exchange a short smile, before Hermione is serious again. ‘Now, I really think you need to be careful with love potions...’

Hermione’s advice - both about love potions and telling Ron – stays in Harry’s mind. He doesn’t get the chance to tell Ron that night – Ron’s too much occupied with Lavender to notice Harry – and he promises that he will tell Ron the next day, hoping his friend won’t notice that he is telling just hours before the party.

The next morning, he waits until Ron finishes his breakfast – his humour is always better when his stomach is full – before telling him bluntly just outside the Transfiguration classroom.

‘There’s something I need to tell you. Slughorn’s party tonight. I’m going with Ginny’.

The fact that Ron doesn’t immediately draw his wand encourages Harry.

‘Ginny? As in my sister Ginny?’

Harry nods in silence, careful not to give any provocative answer. Sarcasm has always been his best defence, but he doesn't think Ron would appreciate it right now.

‘As friends?’

‘Hmmm, not exactly, we - we will see’.

‘Oh’.

And then Ron stays silent, but Harry sees him throwing glances at Hermione for the first time in weeks and when Lavender approaches him, he looks less thrilled than before.

‘Don’t mess this up’, is all Ron says quietly to him, just before the class begins, and Harry wonders if Ron is sorry for all the things he has messed up with his own love life.

-----------------

The thing is Harry doesn’t get many moments in his life where he can feel like something has changed; well, at least not many good moments. When he found out he was a wizard is one. The first time he flew on a broomstick. When he and Ron saved Hermione and they became friends.

But he likes to think he’s in one of these moments now, as he watches Ginny coming down the stairs.

He knows she is beautiful and he knows he has been smitten with her for a while now, but still his heart skips a beat as he takes in her figure: the shining red hair, which instead of being in the usual practical ponytail is falling in delicate curls; the way her eyes are glinting, with a soft make-up that he rarely sees her wearing; and the dark green robes she wears, hightlighting her figure and showing her curves much more than the school robes.

'Hi', she says brightly, and Harry appreciates the fact that she doesn't comment on how he is blushing (he must be, his face seems to be on flames) or how he's staring open-mouthed at her. 'You look nice'.

Harry couldn't describe for his life the clothes he is wearing. He could be naked and he wouldn't notice it.

'You look amazing', he insists, and there is so much sincerity in her voice that a light pinkness arises in her face.

But all she says is: 'Shall we go?'

He nods quietly, and then he wonders if he should offer his hand - or his arm? His arm would be the respectable option, but if he took her hand, then -

Ginny decides it for him. As they walk through the portrait, in a gesture that seems more natural than breathing, she takes his hand.

Her hand is soft and warm and as their fingers interlace, it takes all of Harry's effort not to kiss her now and then, even before their date really begins.

'Who do you think Slughorn invited?', she asks, her voice casual.

Harry smiles to himself. Of course Ginny wouldn't let things get strange between them.

They talk normally as they descend the stairs to Slughorn's office, and Harry is feeling silly for all the times he has feared that something could go wrong this night. It's Ginny whom he is with.

So he talks with Slughorn and accepts being presented to anyone because with Ginny by his side, he thinks he can face anything. She makes funny comments – and Harry chokes more than once when she passes ironic comments with the most innocent face he's ever seen – and after a while he notes that even when the people they are talking to were originally interested in Harry, it's Ginny that draws the attention. She is so lively that he can't blame others for noticing it.

They talk and they laugh and they save Hermione from Cormac McLaggen.

''She'll come back in a minute, Cormac', Ginny says with a straight face when McLaggen asks them if they saw Hermione. 'Why don't you try these custard creams while you wait?, and she apparently takes a biscuit from the nearest tray, offering him one. 'Let's get some air, Harry?'

Harry nods with a smile, already awaiting. He and Ginny are already on the other side of the room when there is a sudden pop and they turn to watch a canary appearing in the middle of Slughorn's office, in the place McLaggen was.

They laugh together, but as his eyes meet hers, Harry feels the reason for his amusement changing.

Or maybe not. In any case it is Ginny that makes him happy.

But now instead of feeling joy for a prank, he feels a quiet warmth spreading through his body and when their laugh dies, the silence that fills them is not heavy; it's a silence that questions Harry and it's a silence that there is only one answer he could give.

His eyes drift to her lips for a brief second – they are pink and shiny and they look so soft – and when he looks at her again, there is a blazing look in her face that Harry wants to see forever.

Her hand is still connected with his – he realizes now that they never once broke apart during the party – so it's the easiest thing to pull her through a curtain, to a nice desert balcony and take a step closer to her.

For a moment, they stand together, looking at each other, then Harry presses his lips softly to hers.

The softness lasts two seconds as if neither believes the kiss is really happening. Then Ginny places her free hand on his neck and Harry holds her by the waist and then suddenly they are closer, their bodies together and their lips urgently. Her lips part and he can taste her - really feel the taste of the butterbeer she drank and the other flavor that is spicy and sweet and intoxicating that screams of Ginny. Her hand playing in his hair causes shivers that have nothing to do with the cold air of December.

A part of Harry wonders if maybe there are fireworks in the party, because he can hear them exploding, he can see all the colours even though his eyes are closed. He doesn't know where he is, what day it is,how long they've been kissing each other on that balcony; all he knows is that she is the only real thing in the world and he promises he won't ever stop kissing her –

Unfortunately Harry breaks this promise a second later. There is a distraction back in the room and the loud noise is enough to break them apart. Still, Harry doesn't really move, breathing hard – they hadn't stopped for something as silly as breathing –, his heart pumping fast in his chest, all his senses still concentrated on Ginny, until he recognises the voices.

Snape. Malfoy. Their voices break through his bubble of happiness and blissfulness.

His distress must be evident on his face, because Ginny takes a step back, with a knowing smile, and pulls him back to Slughorn's office.

He watches the discussion and when Snape and Malfoy are leaving, he hesitates, looking back at Ginny.

For one second his eyes drift to her lips – their lipstick is gone and he remembers his promise, wants to taste her again, wants to be lost in the feeling of having her in his arms –, but when their eyes meet, she unclasps their hands.

'Go', she says in a quiet voice. 'I'll come up with something'. When he still doesn't move, she smiles slightly. 'We'll have all winter holiday, Harry'.

It's that promise – and the ideas of being together with her for two weeks – that makes him leave her side for the night.

------------------

He doesn't meet Ginny again until the next morning, when he arrives to get the Floo for the Burrow.

Ginny smiles brightly at him. His body reacts as always – warmth spreads through every part, a grin comes to his face and his heart beats faster –, but it's a welcome feeling after all the worry he had been with Unbreakable Vows or whatever.

He will worry about it later; now his only concern is being with Ginny and –

His eyes fall on Ron, at her side. His best friend has his eyebrows raised, and he looks to Harry rather questioningly, but he stays strangely quiet. Then Lavender is there, kissing him as if Ron's going to war, rather than being away from her for two weeks, and Ginny rolls her eyes in disgust, but doesn't say anything.

'Happy Holidays, Harry, Ginny', he hears Hermione saying by his side, her eyes suddenly red and she enters the fireplace hurriedly.

Ginny scowls at this and throws an annoyed look at Ron – Harry sees her hand twitching to brag ger wand –, but she presses her lips firmly.

Harry feels like he's missing something.

'Hi', he begins tentatively, and Ginny turns to him with a softer expression.

'Hi. Ready to go?'

'Always. Ah - about the end of the party –'

Her smile falters for a short second.

'No harm done. I got back in time to save Hermione one last time from McLaggen, so everything worked out perfectly'.

Harry sighs.

'That is not how I imagined the night ending'.

'So you were imagining things?', she asks teasingly and Harry feels his cheek burning, but he nods, taking a careful step closer to her.

'I've been imagining them for a while now', he whispers, for once happy with all the kissing noise of Ron and Lavender behind them. There is a sparkle in Ginny's eyes now.

'Perhaps we can turn those imaginations into reality'.

He raises his hand, putting a lost strand of her hair behind her ear, and he thinks her smile is warmer than the fireplace in the room. He wonders if he'd dare kiss her now – there is certainly a challenge in her eyes – but before he can move, McGonagall is calling them for taking the Floo.

'Later then', whispers Ginny, winking at him, and Harry's heart beats faster.

------------------

The Christmas Holiday is anything but frosty for Harry, even though he has his fair share of stressful moments - werewolves, discussing Unbreakable Vows, unexpected visits from the Minister of Magic.

Still, if Harry had to summarize those two weeks in one word, he would say Ginny.

Not that anyone asks him about. There is some mutual agreement between Ron and Ginny, so no one knows they went out together to Slughorn's party just as Fred and George are left without knowing about Ron's new girlfriend and their activities.

That means no one – except Ron but he is turning a blind eye, albeit a slight judgemental blind eye – really understand why Harry is grinning through the holidays, why he always wakes up smiling, why he offers to help Ginny set the decorations, why he and Ginny tries to cook apple pie closed together in the kitchen (the pie ends up quite tasty if a little bit burnt).

Sometimes Harry thinks people should know – they can't be really keeping a secret from Fred and George, and Mrs. Weasley always seemed to know things –, but most of the time his thoughts are occupied somewhere else.

Or rather in someone else.

Harry is patient on the first day of the holidays. He lets Mrs. Weasley take care of him – complaining that he is still too thin, asking how things are in school – until he drops his things on Ron's bedroom and says something about needing to take some air. Ron is not convinced, but Harry can't really care right now. Thirty seconds after leaving Ron he is already out of the house; ten seconds later, Ginny is in his arms, her body pressed against his as they kiss under an apple tree in the garden.

It's hidden there, with only the moonlight as witness, and Harry loses himself gladly in the feeling of her lips, her hands in his neck, the softness of her skin as he finds an opening in her jumper and touches her back, marvelling at the fact that she trembles upon his touch.

It's a routine they will share for the next few days. Hidden stolen moments in the garden, in the attic (ignoring the sleeping ghoul there), their lips exploring each other, discovering the best angle to kiss, until they are both left gasping for air, their lips swollen from the kisses and with that smile that Harry feels like an outdoor for ‘hey, I’ve been snogging’.

Still, no one asks him anything and for once Harry prefers it that way. They will tell people later, it’s just that for now it’s good to keep a secret that has nothing to do with Dark Arts or Voldemort, and it’s good to avoid any teasing or older brother-talking or – as Ginny says with a shudder – Mrs. Weasley’s delightful approval.

Maybe people think they are just good friends. In fact, every time he can’t be alone with Ginny without arousing suspicion, they are together, talking and discussing anything. It’s not much different from what they did during summer holidays, but Harry now thoroughly appreciates how Ginny is a good company, how he can talk to her about any subject.

Well, almost any subject. She doesn’t ask what he found out following Malfoy and Snape on the night of Slughorn’s party, and Harry doesn’t want to share with her – not because he doesn’t trust her, but because telling her it would somehow involve in that mystery and it would be too close to the fact that he is the Chosen One, and when he is with her, he just wants to forget it and be a normal teenager.

She seems to understand it. That's the thing he most likes about her, more even than the physical things he feels when he is with her; she never presses him for anything.

They kiss under the mistletoe she has left on the porch (and Harry can't help but think it's really an improvement from his first kiss), they kiss in the kitchen when they happen to meet late in the night for a hot chocolate (that he can taste in her lips).

It's the best holiday Harry ever had.

--------------

The night before they return to Hogwarts, Ron asks Harry nervously:

'What's going on between you and Ginny? Are you going out?'

Harry hesitates for a second.

'I don't know', he answers truthfully, but now that Ron has asked, this uncertainty bothers him. Ron frowns, his disapproval evident, and Harry hurries to add: 'I'm not messing her around. I really like her'.

At this, Ron seems to relax a little.

'Just - just talk to her, ok? I don't want people saying that my sister - well - just decide what's going on with you two'.

Harry nods in silence.

He lays in his bed for a while, hearing Ron’s soft snores in the bed next to his, before he quietly slips out of the bed. He’s careful to avoid any of the steps that always seems to resonate in the house, and before he can lose his courage, he knocks on her door.

After five seconds that seem to last longer, she opens her door.

‘Harry?’, she asks, blinking and confused. Harry doesn’t think she was asleep, but she was obviously preparing to; she’s wearing a robe, her hair wet, and he sees her holding a towel that she was using to dry her hair. When she sees him staring, a faint blush comes to her face. ‘I take a shower when I can’t sleep’, she admits.

That’s not where Harry’s mind was. He must have kissed her a hundred times by now, must have seen her blushing and teasingly and confident and daring, but seeing her fresh from a shower, with her floral scent heavier in the air, the only thing he was considering is how much he wants her, how much he is falling for her.

‘Do you want to go out with me?’, asks Harry. She blinks, surprised, and looks around quickly.

‘Come on’, she says, pushing him inside her bedroom and closing the door.

Harry had never ever seen her room before, so he is distracted for a moment, taking in the small bedroom, her decoration. Then his eyes fall on the bed and he feels suddenly very hot.

He tries to ignore the flush creeping over his neck as he turns back to her, but he can’t really meet her eyes – Ginny always seemed to read him very well…

‘Why are you asking me out, Harry?’

That stops his creative mind that was still fixed on her bed.

‘Well - because I want to go out with you?’

‘I figured that out, you know, considering how much we’ve been snogging’, Ginny points out. ‘But that doesn’t answer my question’.

‘It’s just – Ron said -’, at this, Ginny furrows her brows and Harry considers that maybe Ron is in danger. ‘I just don’t want to seem like I’m taking advantage of you or –’

‘I believe I was having as much “advantage” as you’, she says with a grin that Harry can’t help but share too. Then he shakes his head.

‘I want to do things right’, he says firmly.

‘You mostly definitive are’, Ginny assures him, winking. ‘I just don’t know if you really want to date me’.

‘Of course I –’

‘I mean, we sort of never told anyone we were going together for Slughorn’s party and I thought you wanted to keep things private’. Harry bits his lips. She takes a step closer to him, grabbing his hand gently. ‘I know you don’t like getting attention and if we’ve dated, people would talk about. I can handle people – that’s why I learnt the Bat-Bogey Hex, but I thought you’d be stressed’.

Harry raises his free hand, touching her face, the wet locks of her copper hair.

‘I don’t like people talking about my life’, he whispers. ‘But for once people would talk about something that’s making me happier than I remember being in a while, so that would be a change. Still – if we could keep just between us – I just don’t want to seem like I’m ashamed of you or that I want to keep you a secret -’

She smiles.

‘Keeping this low was my idea as much as yours’, she remembers. ‘And we don’t need to keep it a secret forever, just, you know, until people find out. Until then –’, she approaches him, raising on her tiptoes to press her lips softly in this neck. The goosebumps erupt all over Harry. ‘– we can have some fun’.

#hinny #wip without progress #just sharing some nice moments #i like the words there #Harry feels really romantic when he is pining #and hinny is my otp #just words lots of words and feelings #for curiosity this would go until the end of the book #lots of snogging happy moments for them #some fights because now there would be time to discuss everything they don't discuss #but still they would be happy together

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xreaderbooks · 3 years

Text

Hidden (1)

Pair: Draco Malfoy x reader, Harry Potter x sister! reader, Platonic! Cedric Diggory x reader

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: curse/swear words, fluff, soft Draco

Summary: You and Draco have been in a secret relationship for 2 years already and he wants to go public but you don’t think that your brother is ready.

Masterlist - part 2

If he were to ever find out; you would be dead. Or maybe he'd be supportive. It's always important to remain optimistic in situations like this, But then again how many people can say they are put in the position where they fall in love with their brother's enemy. Knowing Harry he'd probably be understanding, maybe, who were you kidding the rivalry between Harry and your boyfriend have been going on for years now and Harry would only ever see Draco for his past mistakes and... the more recent ones. The only reason he continues to bother your brother anymore is to keep up the charade of hating him. In reality he actually doesn't mind Harry anymore, at least that's what he tells you. In the end it'll all be worth it.

You were nervously wringing your hands as you were walking towards the room of requirements to meet your secret lover. You wanted Draco to ask you to be his date to the yule ball and publicly announce yourselves as a couple, you was tired of sneaking around and pretending to fake fight in front of your brother and your friends. You wanted to hold his hand as you walked through the halls and have him walk you to classes and sit next to you in the ones you did have together. You wanted him to kiss you good morning when you see each other in the great hall for breakfast and kiss you good night when you go to your respective dorms or houses. It was exhausting having to come up with excuses to see each other and hard trying to come with reasons to argue in front of people when all you wanted to say was that you loved him and thought he was perfect.

In the moments where girls would come up to him and shamelessly flirt with him because, for all they knew, he was single, You just wanted to come up to him right in front of the other girl and show that he was yours, and you were his. Unfortunately, Draco just had to go and mess things up without knowing the trouble it'd bring for your relationship. Not that you knew you would fall for each other.

Now you were trying to find a way of asking Draco to the Yule ball. For a year and a couple of months already you've been hinting at exposing yourselves and let everyone know you're a couple. However, every time you tried to make an actual conversation of it Draco would deflect and change the conversation or would shut down the idea completely. You knew it was scary and Harry's opinion mattered to you, way more than she'd care to admit but she loved Draco and wanted everyone to know it.

The room of requirements appeared itself to you; your reoccurring meeting spot. The anxiety of rejection making your palms sweat a little.

"Hello, My love." He leaned down to kiss you. "How were your lessons?"

"Boring as usual, I zoned out in Mcgonagalls class and of course she noticed and called me out." You huffed plopping down on the sofa that always appeared in the room. The room of requirements always showed up as a living area with a fireplace and couches with an assortment of fruits, snacks, and drinks. Sometimes even a bed for other times... "I had no clue what she was asking I guessed but I still got the question wrong. It was so embarrassing."

You let out a sigh. "Anyways how were yours?"

"The same as every other day, I missed you." He sat down next to you, pulling you closer to him so that you sat between his legs as he played with your hands. Your heartbeat sped up at his touch also knowing you had to bring up the yule ball. You inhaled and decided it was now or never. "Draco, How would you feel if we went to the Yule ball together?"

He got up, loosening his tie a little. You got up from the couch knowing where this was going.

"Y/N I don't think it's such a good idea." Your cheeks began to heat up with anger. You've been together for almost two years now and he wanted to reject You? Your mind was racing with all the bullshit excuses he would use, all the excuses he would bring up you were ready to rebuttle. Now your insecurities began to creep up. What if there was someone else? What if he was embarrassed by you?

"And why not?" Your voice raised a tiny bit, you tried to keep it in check to not start a screaming match.

"It's not safe for you, My father-"

"Screw your father Draco, When are you going to stand up to him?" She rolled her eyes.

"He hates your brother and if he finds out we're together who knows what he'll do to you."

"My safety is the least of my worries. Besides I'm not scared of your father."

"Your safety is my top priority Y/N, don't you understand?" He steps closer, grabbing your face in his hands.

You remove his hands and shake your head. "I don't believe that."

"You don't believe that I care for you, after all this time." His head tilts to the side, a look of hurt flashed before his face.

"No I do, I just dont believe my safety is your top priority, you're afraid of your father and what he'll do to you as well."

"You don't know what he's capable of."

"I have an idea but I don't care."

"Aren't you afraid of what Harry and your friends would say?"

"Yes and No, They'll have their opinions but nothing they say will change how much I love you." You raise your head to seem taller somehow.

He paced around the couch. "Just give me a couple more months to introduce the idea to my family."

"I've been bringing this up for months Draco and the yule ball is the perfect way to do it."

"I know we have it but just give me a little more time." He begged

"A little more time? really?" You laugh bitterly. "I can't do this anymore."

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"I love you, you know that, but I want to be able to tell the world how much I love you because I can't handle seeing another person flirting with you because they dont know that your mine or other guys approaching me when I'm not the slightest bit interested." You gently grab his face pulling him closer. "It's just not enough for me. I'm tired of this."

"I love you too but I can't."

You took your hands off of his face and stepped back. "I'm done."

"What would happen if your brother knew, you think he would just step back and let us be happy?" He shouted as you began to leave. Tears were forming in your eyes. "Or your friends, they'll try to separate us and you know it!"

"Don't you dare pretend you know anything about them! I already told you I don't care if they don't approve." You turn back to argue. "You're not even afraid of my friends, you're afraid of what your little pureblood buddies will say."

He stayed silent, you could tell he was trying to bite back his tears. "You're a coward, We obviously didn't think this through in the beginning." You look down refusing to show that you were about to cry.

"I-" You interrupted. "No Malfoy, I think I know what you want, its all clear now." You back away from him. "These past few years were amazing but I can't keep us a secret anymore. I think we need time to ourselves."

You walked out of the room of requirements with warm tears streaming down your face, but he wasn't going to let you go that easily. He ran after you shouting out your name in attempt to catch your attention but you didn't turn back.

Draco noticed Harry has approached you, engulfing you in a hug. "Y/N what happened?" Harry met Draco's eyes. "What did Malfoy do to you?"

"Nothing." You tried to force Harrys attention elsewhere. "I was just being emotional, you know? and I kind of just broke down in the wrong place."

"C'mon lemme walk you to your dorm."

~~~

It was breakfast time a couple days before the Yule ball. Since the argument with Draco, Y/N has been attempting to lift up her own spirits. Trying to convince herself that she was an independent person, she didn't need him. Besides, he seemed to be getting along fine without her now.

In Draco's mind however he was anxious to be with her again. He was sure she was going to get over it and come back to him in no time. This was an ongoing argument between them anyways and her and Draco always came to an understanding.

At least that was his thought process before he overheard a group of girls gossiping about Cedric Diggory. They were talking about a girl who they thought the popular Hufflepuff would ask the upcoming ball. Normally he'd be uninterested but Y/N's name was brought up to conversation. They were rating if they'd be a good pair and if she was even good enough for Cedric, as if they had any right to. Dracos mind became wrapped in jealousy. 'Prick' he thought. He never had any bad blood with Diggory til now when he suddenly showed an interest in Y/N. He couldn't stand the idea. He also thought that if he were to show up with a date you'd also be infuriated and come crawling back to him. And he knew just the person to ask.

~~~

Later when everyone was in Snapes class writing down notes, Hermione next to Ron who was next to Harry. You were across from Hermione. Ron was complaining about not having a date to the ball. "This is mad, at this rate we'll be the only ones in our year without dates." He said, while Snape was walking by and he snapped Rons head to his notebook.

He continues and leans towards Harry and breathes out a laugh as he says "Well, us and neville."

"Then again he can take himself." Harry laughs along.

You and Hermione share a look. You rolled your eyes and continues to do your work as Hermione tells them that Neville already has a date.

"Oh now I'm really depressed." Ron whines.

On the other side of the table Fred sends a note to Ron telling him to find a date before all the good ones are gone. Whatever that's supposed to mean.

"Who are you going with then?" Ron whispers to his brother. In response Fred chucks a paper ball at Angelina Johnson. Who looks annoyed when she looks back at him.

"Angelina-" Fred mouths while pretending to dance. "Will you go to the ball with me?" She agrees and Fred winks back at Ron.

Ron then leans towards Hermione starting off the conversation with "Why Hermione, You're a girl." 'Honestly Ron' you thought 'This boy couldn't be any more stupid.'

"Oh well spotted" she retorts. Harry taps Ron on his arm to warn him that snapes coming their way but its too late. Snape slaps Ron on his head with a book as well as harry and walks off, reading someone's notebook.

"C'mon it's one thing for a bloke to go alone, for a girl it's just sad." Ron makes a 'sympathetic' face at her.

"I won't be going alone because believe it or not someones asked me." She slams her book closed, hands it to Snape, walks back to respond with "And I said yes" she whisper shouts as she leaves.

"God Ron, you're such an idiot." You say.

"How was I supposed to know?"

"You could've said it in a better way, is all I'm trying to say." she puts her hands up in surrender.

"Well, what about you (y/n)?" He says suggestively. "Any eligible bachelors worthy enough?"

"No but I'm definitely not going with you."

"Why not?"

"Because she's my sister" Harry gives him a face as if it was obvious.

"Exactly it'll be embarrassing if I go with you-" You notice how he looked down. "It's not you, well, it is." You couldn't find the right words without making him feel worse. "It's just that if I go with you, it'll seem like I couldn't get a date of my own so I had to go with my brother's best friend type of thing."

"You understand don't you?"

"Yeah whatever" He responds and changes the subject.

~~~

The same topic is brought up again later that evening when you hung out with Harry in the Gryffindor common room. Nobody would shut up about it so you left. You were reading a book, trying to study for a defense against the dark arts test and you did not wanna get on Moodys bad side so you didn't see when you bumped into someone.

"Oops sorry, wasn't looking where I was going." You wanted to finish your last sentence before you looked up and saw that it was one of the champions. Cedric Diggory. You also recognized him from the quidditch world cup/port-key incident that happened before school. You didn't formally meet.

"No worries." He smiled. "You're Harry's sister, right?"

"I'm (y/n)." You put your hand out for him to shake. He shook her hand, "I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to properly introduce myself, I'm Cedric Diggory."

You chuckled and nodded your head. "I know."

He tilted his head then realized he was practically famous around Hogwarts now. "Right." He smiled again.

"Excuse me, Ive got to go, it's almost curfew and I definitely don't want to get caught out."

"Don't worry about it, I'm a prefect. I could walk you to your house if you'd like?"

"Sure" You accepted his offer, not being foolish enough to walk around without the proper authority to get you out of trouble.

~~~

After that night with Cedric, You had spent more and more time with him. It would always be a coincidence that you'd meet. In classes they never knew they had together, walking beside each other in a rush to get to any of their meals, etc. the only times you would both see each other on purpose was in the halls talking to your friends and going to say hi to one another or when you went to wish Cedric luck. You were friends, you thought it was a nice change hanging out freely with someone instead of sneaking around. And just hanging out with someone other than Draco in her free time in general. Not that you didn't still love him it was just nice.

What you didn't know was that the platinum haired slytherin saw every interaction. Every laugh, every smile, every that was innocent in the eyes of everyone else; was criminal in Dracos. He was pissed so as revenge he decided to make his "relationship" with Pansy more public in an attempt to make you jealous. His plan was futile since you weren't paying the slightest bit of attention to him. Or so he thought. You saw every interaction that he and Pansy had and tried to play it off cool, not let him see how much it affected you. He made his decision and you broke up with him, you can't claim him anymore.

The day before the Yule Ball came quick, you were walking around the lake and Cedric came running up behind you.

"(y/n)! Wait up!" He waved you down.

You turned around "Hey Ced" you smiled. "what's up?"

"So the balls tomorrow..." He suggested

"yes..." You urged him to continue, a slight smile was playing on your lips

"Would you- and I know this is an odd question to ask but I do think we've been getting closer..."

"Oh get on with it!" You yelled

"Would you like to go the ball with me?"

"Yes, Yes I would." You laughed, he let out a breath of relief and hugged you.

"Oh thank Merlin, I thought you were also going to reject me."

"No way somebody rejected you!"

"Remember that girl I told you about?" you nodded, "Cho said she already had somebody else."

"I'm sorry Ced" You rested your hand on his shoulder in sympathy.

"It's alright (y/n), now I get to go with somebody better." He playfully pushed you. "Hey! I just realized I was your second choice, you twat!" She joked and pushed back.

"I will never forgive you for this Diggory!" You said dramatically pretending to swoon. He played along, grabbing your hand, pulling you closer to him. "Oh, how must I redeem myself."

"It cannot be done" You continued the act by pretending to ignore him.

"How about butterbeer on me?" You glanced at him. "Done."

"Cool, I'll meet you at the stairs by the great hall before the ball starts, remember the champions walk and all that."

"Alright."

~~~

You were nervous as you walked down the steps to the great hall to meet up with your date. It was a magical moment, he had his back to you. He hadn't noticed you were coming down until Parvarti Patil pointed you out. He turned around and grinned, reaching out a hand to help you from the steps.

"You look stunning." He complimented. A light blush spread on your cheeks as she thanked him.

You joined the other champions in a line with their dates. You saw Hermoine and Victor Krum together, in your mind you applauded Hermoine for scoring a date with the Durmstrang boy. During the ceremonial dance, the champions had to do with their dates you secretly tried to look for Draco through the crowd of students who were watching, but you couldn't find him. ' With Parkinson' you thought bitterly.

When people started to join in on the dancing with their partners you decided to excuse yourself to get a drink and hopefully cool the rage you felt when you thought of Draco and Pansy together. 'They were probably in a broom closet snogging' you internally rolled your eyes at that. Cedric came looking for you a little while after, asking if you were alright. "As good as I can be." You responded.

Cedrics brows furrowed. "What's wrong? Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?" he asked panicked, "No, no you're great." You sighed. "You're practically perfect and I don't wanna make you think I didn't enjoy spending time with you or that you're a second choice..."

"But you'd rather spend your time with some other guy?"

"Not the way I would've worded it. But yes, there's this guy that I really like, we were dating for while actually and..." You sighed again. "Nobody knew, I wanted to tell people and he didn't so we broke up."

"And now your here with me." Cedric gave her a small smile. "Hey, listen it happens I'm glad we're here together even if it's just as friends."

You felt your heart lift up, no longer weighed down with guilt for leading him on. He put his arm around you, you let your head rest on his chest.

~~~

The night was almost coming to end half of the students already went up to bed, the other half was still dancing the night away. You and Cedric included, you shouted and jumped and actually danced, enjoying this time. You forgot about Draco for a period of time, ignoring him as he danced with Pansy. That is until Cedric excused himself to go to the restroom. Draco came up to you with a determined look on his face.

"Ditching dates now?" You commented.

"I left her with Blaise, she'll be fine." He shrugged. "Where'd Diggory go?"

"Bathroom." You tried to be dry in conversation so that he'd leave you alone.

"You sure he didn't ditch you?" He replies with a smirk. You scoffed, "Like you care."

"Contrary to your belief I do actually care about you."

"Doesn't seem like it."

"I'm tired of this Y/N, I love you and this time away from you has made me realize how much I need you."

"Then prove it."

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quickspinner · 3 years

Text

Damsel in Distress for Hire

I wrote this for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers sprint challenge ages ago, but life happened and I never got it edited and cleaned up. Now I have, so here it is! I used the @mlweeklyprompts prompt Bard.

Luka reined in Sass before the gelding could clear the shadows of the trees, and eyed the keep tower with some satisfaction. It stood alone on a hill, with ground cleared around it and a wall around the courtyard, and only a single tower rising out of the fortifications. It looked like their information had been good, then. Their opponent didn’t have a large force, hence their underhanded approach. They were depending on the seclusion of this place to keep them safe, and not strength of arms. That made him breathe a sigh of relief. He of all people knew how much harm misinformation could do, and though he had done everything in his power to be sure of his information, there always was that worry in the back of his mind.

Luka urged Sass forward at a walk.

“Hail and well met!” he called cheerfully, waving. “I am but a single traveler, of no threat to you!” He dismounted from Sass and spread his arms wide, hands far from the rapier hanging at his side. The guards exchanged a look, but didn’t move.

“I am a minstrel on my way from the capital to cities in the south,” Luka said, with a little bow that still kept his hands well clear of his weapon. “I’ve been travelling all night to get through these woods, and as I’ve stumbled on you here, I was hoping I could perhaps share your fire and the protection your company would afford me from the local dregs so that I may take a short rest in peace? I have some goods of my own that are better shared, if you would be so kind to allow me to sup with you.” He leaned over and reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a large bottle that glinted appealingly in the sunlight.

The guardsmen exchanged grins with each other, and invited him at once to come and share their watch, on the condition that he give them all the news he had and play a little for their entertainment.

“Shall I not be detaining you from your duties?” Luka asked, glancing up at the Keep as he tethered Sass. “I’ve no wish to get you in trouble, nor be chased away for causing undue distraction.” He winked at the guards, who chuckled.

“It’s light duty today,” one of them said easily, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Any force large enough to breach it will be seen from the tower long before we spy it from here, and nothing here to tempt anyone except a fine lady who barely even had any baggage. Come and give us the news!”

It was amazing, Luka reflected to himself as he sat down, opening the bottle and pouring generous measures into the cups they they held out for him, what you could get away with when you carried a lute and some good wine.

“Aye, she was a nice one to look at though,” the second guard observed with a sigh. “I was on duty when they escorted her in this morning. A highborn lady, that, worth her weight I’m sure. Not that the higher ups tell us much.” His companion elbowed him and gave him a dark look, before turning back to waggle bushy eyebrows at Luka.

“Ye seen many pretty ladies?” he asked, and a smile twitched at Luka’s mouth at the obvious attempt to deflect the conversation. “Bet ye have, a court songbird like you.”

“Oh, many,” Luka agreed, hiding his distaste at the epithet. Court songbird, indeed. “Duchesses and princesses and high court ladies of every kind, but there is only one lady that holds my heart, no matter how much my eyes may wander.” He winked and the two men guffawed. Luka disguised a roll of his eyes with another deep drink from his cup. He’d been around this type enough to know what kind of humor they enjoyed. Luka turned his eyes up in the direction of the keep, hiding his scrutiny behind a dreamy expression.

“My lady is as lovely as any princess I’ve ever seen,” Luka continued. “Clumsy, sometimes, but all the more joy in catching her, ey?” Another round of laughter. “She has beautiful dark hair, and the sweetest, most beguiling eyes you’ve ever seen, and her mouth was carved by the gods.” He sighed longingly. “And I’ve been apart from her much too long. I’m on my way back to her now, and I appreciate you sharing your fire with a lonely minstrel.”

“There, there,” the taller man said, not without genuine sympathy, and patted Luka’s shoulder roughly. “Ye’ll be with her again soon, no doubt.”

Luka looked toward the Keep gates and smiled as shouts began to rise in the courtyard. “I do believe you’re right,” he said, finishing the last of his cup. “It’s been a pleasure, gentlemen, but my lady awaits. I leave you this medicinal powder and my sincerest apologies for the headache you’re going to have in the mornings.”

He set a small pouch on the ground, where it would be in plain sight of the men who had just slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Luka tsked as he picked up their empty cups and examined the residue at the bottom. “More than enough to keep them out most of the day,” he murmured with satisfaction. He leaned back against his pack and waited.

Eventually, the heavy keep doors swung open, and a petite figure in a lovely velvet red dress came striding out. Luka couldn’t help his smile, or the sigh of relief and longing that passed his lips.

She caught sight of him and scowled, completely ignoring the passed out guards that lay on the ground.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Well met, to you as well, Marinette,” Luka laughed. His roguish smile made a mockery of his courtly bow.

“Why are you here?” she asked again, crossing her arms. “You were supposed to wait in the capital.”

“I am no court bard, to find inspiration in perfume and flattery and empty love affairs,” Luka sniffed affectedly. “I am a seeker of adventure, and I follow my heart.”

“You dog my heels,” Marinette accused, reaching down to pull out the hidden ribbon she had worked into her gown. The dress split on the sides, and Marinette straightened, rolling the ribbon carefully around her fingers even as she glared at him. “Admit it.”

“Admit that you have my heart? Gladly.” Luka swept a bow, and Marinette rolled her eyes.

“Don’t flatter me,” she snorted. “You’re not any good at it.”

“Shall I compliment you instead?” Luka asked pointedly, and Marinette blushed, looking away. His compliments were always far worse than his flattery, because he meant them.

“Don’t change the subject. You were worried about me,” she accused, waving a dagger like an admonitionary finger. “I can handle myself.”

“You can handle yourself, and me as well,” Luka grinned, and then softened his tone, dropping his courtly pretense. “But I’m always worried about you. That proves nothing except that I care about you.” He held up a furled parchment between them. “However, this is actually why I’m here. I also bring Lady Kagami’s thanks and her appreciation for your very convincing performance of a helpless highborn princess being carried off, although she feels it wasn’t a very accurate imitation of her.”

Marinette snorted. “Kagami could have easily handled these idiots herself if her mother wasn’t such a stick in the mud. It probably would have been more entertaining for everyone if they had managed to kidnap her.” She sheathed her dagger and took the parchment, unrolling it as she added, “I hope she sent her payment as well as her thanks.” Her lips pursed as she read, and then pushed out in a pout as she looked up at him. “Okay. That’s a good reason.”

“No point in riding all the way back just to traverse the exact same route again,” Luka agreed. “And since I was coming all this way, why not meet you at the door? I’ve stashed our supplies in a nice little campsite far enough away from this mess,” he gestured at the tower. “We can spend the night and set out in the morning.”

“We?” Marinette asked, eyebrows raising. Luka shrugged.

“I’ve no mind to let you get that far away from me for that long,” he told her, only half joking. “I’m sure there’s a noble house somewhere in the city looking for entertainment, and if not—” Luka shrugged. “Then there’s certain to be a tavern."

Marinette grimaced. “I don’t like it when you play taverns,” she muttered. “You’re far too good for that.”

“We take the pay where it comes,” Luka reminded her, plucking the parchment from her hand and tucking it back in his saddlebag.

“It doesn’t have to come with tavern wenches hanging all over you,” Marinette complained.

Luka barked a laugh. “The noble ladies are just as bad, only more subtle,” he chuckled, mounting his horse. He extended a hand down to Marinette. “Shall we? I’m sure Tikki’s getting hungry.”

Marinette looked up at his tall gelding and sighed. “I can get up myself,” she muttered, but she let Luka grip her wrist to give her a little extra boost. She landed across Sass on her belly with a small grunt, and then scrambled into place behind Luka. She could see the curve of his smile just before he faced forward.

“I’m glad you’re coming with me,” she murmured into his shoulder blades. “And I’ll gut anyone who touches you.”

“My thanks, my gallant lady protector,” Luka said, patting the hands clasped around his waist. “I need fear nothing as long as you are with me, except the hour of parting.”

Marinette huffed, her breath tickling his neck. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

Luka looked over his shoulder and winked. “If my heart grew much fonder of you, you would never be rid of me.”

Marinette was silent for a moment, and then said, “Maybe I don’t want to be.” She said it very quietly, and held her breath after. Luka’s big hand covered hers again, his thumb caressing the back.

“Then maybe you should say yes the next time I propose,” came the teasing answer, and Marinette’s mouth dropped in outrage.

“You propose every time we pass a church!” she scoffed.

“Yes,” Luka agreed shamelessly. “How many churches do you think there are between here and the Jewel of the Southern Wastes ?”

“Not enough to convince me to marry you,” Marinette shot back. “I like the way things are.”

"As do I," Luka chuckled.

Marinette sniffed. "I knew you weren't serious."

"Of course I am. I will wed you the moment you say the word. But if you are content, then so am I."

"You're infuriating, you know that?" Marinette huffed.

“There, there,” Luka laughed, patting her hand before putting his own back on the reins. “We’ve a long way to go to get there, and through some pretty sketchy territory. Maybe if you’re really lucky, we’ll get robbed.”

“You think?” Marinette perked up. “Bandits?”

“Possibly even ruffians ,” Luka teased, and laughed when she smacked his shoulder.

“Ruffians are always broke,” Marinette complained. “I want bandits. I’m going to have to buy new dresses when we get there, I can’t wear dresses from the Northern court in the South. I’d look ridiculous.” Her eyes widened slightly. “Luka, what did you do with my dresses? You didn’t pack them yourself, did you? They’re much too delicate—”

“I had them professionally packed and sealed and sent to Lady Alya for safekeeping,” Luka reassured her. “I would never dare let harm come to your wardrobe.”

Marinette slumped in relief. “Oh, good.” After a moment she added, “Thank you.”

Luka lifted one of her hands from his waist and kissed the palm softly.

#quickspins #lbsc sprint fic challenge #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #quicksprints

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birbleafs · 3 years

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[fic] A Tragicomedy In Five Acts

Series: Saiki Kusuo no Ψ-nan || The Disastrous Life of Saiki K. Rating: T Genre: Friendship, Humour, Breaking the Fourth Wall Character(s): Akechi Touma, Saiki Kusuo, Saiki Kurumi, Saiki Kuniharu, Saiki Kuusuke Warnings: None, save for the canon-typical shenanigans Summary: Akechi has made a habit of showing up unannounced, uninvited at the Saiki residence. The inevitable "bonding" occurs and Kusuo despairs; the world continues to turn. A/N: A piece I wrote for the Disastrous Life Zine, a charity zine. I wanted to share the uncut version here since I like how it reads more (it's not too different from zine version, though). Leftover sales are currently still live, so here's your last chance to grab some limited items if you had missed the pre-orders earlier! Thanks to the mods & other contributors over at @disastrouslifezine, for all their hard work on this project. Many thanks also to my bro Digi for the awesome beta work and for always being an all-round great pal ❤ Fic can also be read AO3. _______ i. It’s a problem Saiki Kusuo should have—could have—nipped earlier in the bud, when he’d been forced to spend a whole Sunday with Akechi Touma betting on horse-racing. But between Akechi being (begrudgingly) accepted as one of the PK Psychickers to Kusuo having to stop a meteor from slamming into the planet—well, a lot had happened. Akechi had since taken to visiting the Saiki residence at random, with little notice in advance. On his second visit, Mom had invited him in before Kusuo could intervene. If it weren’t for the cupcakes Akechi had brought along—not to mention the terrifying heat of Mom’s demonic glare at the first sign of a protest—Kusuo would have teleported him miles away without hesitation. That’s how Kusuo finds himself now—glowering at Akechi who’s sitting politely in his room and firing a running commentary about nothing and too many things all at once. Resigned, he leans back into his study chair and asks, point-blank: What do you want, Akechi?

“Your mother is lovely as always,” Akechi replies instead, dancing around the question. “I’m grateful she’s gone from remembering me as ‘Pee Boy’ to ‘Kusuo’s Friend Who Only Ever Wets His Pants Occasionally’. Surely that’s a sign we have gotten closer.” It sounds just as terrible as the first—only a simpleton would be okay with that as a defining trait, Kusuo retorts. In any case, we’re hardly more than classmates. So, why are you here again? “I thought you would have realized it by now with your telepathy. But I suppose I can explain it for the sake of the readers!” Akechi beams, holding up a small case in his hand. Don’t just casually break the fourth wall, Kusuo frowns, even as he leans forward for a closer look. Akechi pops the case open and turns towards the game console. “I was recently gifted this game by my cousin, who assured me that, while underrated, it’s still a cult hit among fans. I thought it would be fun to play it together.” Kusuo stares flatly at the title OVERWORKED displayed on the disc as it slides into the console drive, already unimpressed. That is such a blatant rip-off. “Oh, no, it's a completely different game from the one you’re thinking of!” Akechi says. “Here you play as the overworked waiter of a cafe who serves multiple orders at once and takes over the cooking whenever the head chef throws a tantrum and storms right off.” How is that different from OVERC***ED? It is totally OVERC***ED! “Regardless, shall we have a play-off?” Akechi offers the controller to him. “Winner gets this box of cupcakes. I got them from the best pâtisserie in town, which is no easy feat. Why just this morning I left home at the crack of dawn to secure a spot in the queue, and even then, there were already about 30-odd people ahead of me! Who knew it was so popular—A-ah!” Kusuo yanks the controller easily from Akechi’s hand towards him with telekinesis, a glint of determination in his eyes now. Best two out of three levels. Loser also has to leave immediately. Akechi grins knowingly and cracks his knuckles, reaching for the second controller. “You’re quick to assume victory, Kusuo-kun. Very well, then!” Thirty-seven minutes later and Kusuo’s left staring at the final scores, appalled. He would have won if his character hadn’t kept freezing in place and glitching at crucial moments, messing up in the kitchens and sending out wrong orders. How is he always losing to Akechi like this? Clearly the universe is still conspiring against him. “You were so close to beefing my lask score dhoo,” Akechi says shamelessly through a mouthful of strawberry frosting. “And my, deez fupfakes are s’per dhasty!” Are you taunting me now? Kusuo scowls enviously at the cupcake in Akechi’s hand before he huffs, slinking back into his chair. Well, I’ll be staring dejectedly out my window for a bit, so feel free to eat your cupcakes and then leave. But Akechi only laughs then and, to Kusuo’s surprise, moves to place a chocolate cupcake before him. “You’re so melodramatic, Kusuo-kun. I never said the winner can’t share.” ... I guess you didn’t. They spend the rest of the afternoon eating cupcakes. _______ ii. This again? It’s been a month, but Kusuo already feels a sense of gloom settling over him when Akechi steps into the genkan. He would have been fine with leaving Akechi outside blathering away through closed doors for the entire day while he pretended not to be home, but obviously Mom is having none of that. “I’m so glad you’ve been coming over to play with Ku-chan!” she greets cheerfully. “I couldn’t believe it when I first heard, but you and Kusuo are getting along well, huh, Akechi-kun!” Dad says with a sagely nod, looking every bit the part of the morally upright, reliable father. Bold of you to believe such delusional notions of camaraderie, or that you even look the part of an admirable adult, Kusuo comments drily, before turning to leave. “We don’t just get along,” Akechi chimes in reply. “You could even say our friendship is super-califragilisticexpialidocious!” GET OUT. If looks could kill, Kusuo’s current expression is pure genocide. But his parents are already fawning and AH-HYUU-!!-ing at Akechi’s words, tears of joy gushing down their cheeks like an endless waterfall. Kusuo watches in quiet despair as Akechi is readily accepted into their fold with welcomed embraces, a key development in this romantic soap opera. Oi, what’s with the misleading narrative?! We’re not in that kind of fanfic right now! Dad and Akechi hit it off well enough, one thing leads to another, and Kusuo suddenly finds himself roped into playing MECH-O ARENA VR on the WAB station in Dad’s study. Seriously, stop it with the terrible rip-offs of actual games already, Kusuo frowns as he watches Dad’s and Akechi’s characters flitting about on the screen to fight off an incoming attack. “I suppose it’s not very original, is it?” Akechi says, punching the controller buttons in a flurry of movements. “But it’s different enough that we can probably avoid any unwanted copyright lawsuits.” That’s completely beside the point. Dad’s wholly immersed with the game now, so it’s impossible for Kusuo to get rid of Akechi without Dad throwing a childish fuss about losing his new gaming buddy. Not to mention Mom’s uncanny ability to appear with coffee and snacks each time Kusuo had tried to inconspicuously retreat back into his room, all while exuding an ominous aura that effectively dissuaded his need to leave immediately. Good grief—everyone’s being such a pain today, Kusuo sighs, before he finally relents to Mom’s cajoling to team up with her against Dad and Akechi in the final round. He figures it can’t get worse than this anyway. That is, until Kuusuke gets involved. _______ iii. When Kusuo returns home from a quick grocery trip for Mom, he walks into a surprisingly empty living room. He can hear Dad and Kuusuke’s voices from upstairs but for some reason he’s not quite able to perceive the atmosphere within—it’s as if his senses are partially blocked by a cognitive fog with the study engulfed in a dead zone. Must be that prototype “router” Kuusuke had installed in Dad’s study yesterday. Kusuo has zero interest in his brother’s tiresome antics, but is compelled nonetheless to check on them, if only to ensure Kuusuke isn’t playing Mad Scientist and coaxing Dad into yet another deranged human project. He opens the door, nearly lashes out in shock with telekinesis when he sees Akechi staring through the doorway with a creepy, owlish expression. “Oh, were you actually surprised, Kusuo-kun?” Akechi says. “My apologies for frightening you like that.” Kusuo studies the room cautiously, only to realize he’s unable to hear anyone’s thoughts with telepathy. He glares at his brother in suspicion. “Welcome back, little brother!” Kuusuke greets him with a Cheshire grin. “I see you’ve got yourself a new playmate. Hmm? Ah, you must think it strange that I've taken to Akechi-kun so readily.” Strange and highly dubious, Kusuo counters. What are you scheming? “Well, Akechi-kun shows the most potential and capacity for mental growth amongst the lesser primates close to you—” What a disparaging worldview. And stop deflecting! I know you can still understand me. “—So, he may yet make a good test subj—Ah, I mean, a good friend! Interesting specimens tend to gravitate towards you, after all. Though his propensity for peeing sure is troubling, isn’t it? Haha!” You can excuse questionable human experimentations, but you draw the line at incontinence? Kuusuke attempts a nonchalant shrug. “Priorities, amirite?” “But this is amazing, Kuusuke-san,” Akechi says, glancing up in awe at the blinking device on the ceiling. “The telepathy canceller really does block our thoughts efficiently!” “It’s child's play compared to Kusuo’s abilities,” Kuusuke says, seemingly modest, but Kusuo doesn’t miss the devious glint in his eyes when he reaches into his coat pocket to pull out what looks suspiciously like a detonator with a giant red button. “Still, with this, Operation SM☆SH can now finally commence—” Wait, Operation what?? Kuusuke, don’t you dare...! But Kuusuke is already pressing the button, and the study is plunged into darkness as the lights flicker off and the blinds draw shut. Alarmed, Kusuo wrenches the detonator away from Kuusuke’s grip with his telekinesis. What did you just do?! There’s an electronic whirr, a blinding flash, and Kusuo finds himself suddenly staring at a large LCD screen as it emerges from the ceiling. Music blares from overhead speakers as a cinematic opening sequence begins to play. “There you are, Kusuo!” Dad looks up from behind the coffee table where he’d been fiddling with the game console. He adjusts the VR headset over his eyes. “It’s time to finally beat you at SUPER SM☆SH BUDS as payback for last time! HII-YAAAH!!” ... Oh. So it’s just another game. “That’s right!” Kuusuke claps his hands together, blissfully ignoring the heat of Kusuo’s baleful glare. “I heard about your horse-racing bet from Akechi-kun and found this as the best way to even the odds for other types of games.” “The idea came to me while peeing in the shower; to find ways you could play and not get bored easily, Kusuo-kun,” Akechi adds in unnecessary detail. “But I didn’t think Kuusuke-san could actually pull it off.” “Here, Kusuo,” Dad says, waving his controller. “Come choose your character—” But Kusuo’s already teleporting away, fleeing the wretched upheaval within his own home to hide at Cafe Mami for the rest of the day. _______ iv. Akechi corners him after school three weeks later. Kusuo is surprised and unsurprised all at once; he had worn the germanium ring to class, after all, in a bid to avoid spoilers for the direct-to-streaming release movie adaptation of a book he’d been fond of. It’s easy to ignore everyone’s spoilery chatter when it isn’t droning directly into his mind—he’d kept his fingers stuck into his ears each time class ended, oblivious to the strange looks thrown his way, and had even hidden away in the restroom cubicle during breaks, successfully avoiding any interaction with the usual human nuisances. Until now, that is. “Let’s walk home together, Kusuo-kun!” Akechi calls, jogging after him. I’m suddenly deaf and sound has eluded me, Kusuo deadpans as he breaks into a sprint, determined to leave before Akechi starts blabbing spoilers. “I noticed you weren’t quite yourself today,” Akechi continues, catching up with him. “And I thought it might have something to do with the ring on your left index finger that you’ve fondled precisely seventeen times throughout the day.” What an awful way to describe it. I didn’t fondle anything. “Perhaps the material of that ring works in the same manner as the telepathy canceller—which would explain why you seemed uncharacteristically skittish today since you’re pretty bad at discerning people’s intentions without your telepathy.” What are you? A psychic? But Akechi only persists. “I realized later that you’d always leave whenever anyone started talking about that new movie on Netfl*x—” Can’t hear now, Kusuo slaps his hands over his ears. Gone horribly deaf. “And I figured it must be that you haven’t watched it yet for some reason, like maybe your home internet is down because your father forgot to pay the bills for three whole months and so it got cut—” How did you even..? Kusuo grimaces. N-nope, not listening! 100% deaf! “I know you don’t have a mobile phone to watch it on either,” Akechi continues. “So, that’s why I wanted to invite you to my house today, to watch it together. Oh, don’t worry, I know absolutely nothing about the movie. In fact, I’d only heard Kaidou-kun screaming out the title just ten minutes ago.” Kusuo pauses then, glancing back at Akechi in hesitance. Akechi only meets his wary gaze with a knowing smirk, and says, “We also have strawberry shortcake in the fridge.” _______ v. I don’t suppose there’s a good reason this time either, Kusuo sighs wearily, closing his book. Still, there’s a glimmer in his eyes; he knows Akechi had come bearing gifts—a selection of coffee jellies topped with cherries and chocolate drizzle. “I’ve made a habit of crashing your place unannounced, haven’t I?” Akechi offers a contrite grin, watching as Kusuo helps himself to a spoonful of jelly. “I do apologize, but whenever I get restless, I find myself wandering here by instinct. Admittedly, I was worried about being a bother, but your mother is always so welcoming at the door despite that dreary, constipated look in your eyes—” You are being a bother. Like a persistent mosquito that thinks it's summer all year round, Kusuo grouses with his Most Annoyed Expression, knowing how ineffectual his Feigning Ignorance Face had become over time. Also, have you graduated from pee references to shitty jokes now? Disgusting. But Akechi takes it all in stride, undeterred by Kusuo’s ugly grimace and acerbic jibes. “—Plus, it’d be considered extremely rude if I didn’t come in after that, and I certainly do not want you to think of me as rude. You’re a friend I hold in high regard, after all. I always have, ever since I found out it was you who saved me from the bullies back then.” The earnestness in Akechi’s words stumps him, if only a little. And though Kusuo is careful to keep his surprise from showing, there’s a part deep down in his not-so-granite heart that feels a touch of warmth at the sentiment. Akechi’s already placing the Scrabble board on the floor, so he misses the ghost of a smile that crosses Kusuo’s lips. Did Akechi honestly think he could beat a psychic at Scrabble too? How naive. “You’re probably thinking how naive I must be, believing I could beat you at a board game with your powers and all,” Akechi notes cheerfully, almost as if he’s a mind-reader himself. Kusuo frowns, slightly disgruntled by the fourth-wall breaking once more and wishes they would give it a rest for once. Overusing a trope gets really tiring, you know? Still, he smiles again as he takes a seat across from Akechi—who is now shuffling the Scrabble chips while nattering away about the history of board games and how the loser would have to give up his share of coffee jelly (as if Kusuo would allow it to come to that again). Two Sunday visits per month only, Kusuo says, lifting several chips into the air with a wave of his hand. If you beat me... I’ll allow it. Akechi’s eyes widen, before he breaks into a playful grin. “Very well, then. May the best man win.” Kusuo only lets out a soft laugh. Perhaps it’s not too late to pick up where they had left off in grade school. —End—

#saiki kusuo no psi nan #the disastrous life of saiki k.#saiki kusuo #akechi touma #disastrous life zine #fanfic #please check out and support the other contributors' pieces too !

27 notes · View notes

izcana · 3 years

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House of Rosier and All of It’s Glorious Flaws

Before you read this, you should read Lover Boy (the whole series). You don't have to, it can be a stand-alone story, but I think it makes it so much better to see the dynamics of those people.

The story is told from Thomas' P.O.V.

***

"Mr Park, Mr Isaacs, Mr Agnes. This is the 3rd time you 3 have been late to my class," McGonagall seethed, her stony glare fixed on the three boys (us) who looked nowhere near guilty enough for their tardiness. "Detention with me tonight, half past 7." A girl sitting in the first row (one row in front of us) looked back from her (was that 6th year?) textbook disdainfully and rolled her hazel eyes. Who reads a textbook one year ahead in their free time? I was worried about my marks but reading one year ahead was just beyond me. Either she was way too smart or she was just a snob.

"Yes, Professor," Newt and I, the said Mr Isaacs and Mr Agnes (pleasure to meet you) mumbled. We were always the obedient ones and Minho (Mr Park) was the opposite.

"Sure, Prof," Minho snickered, sitting down with Newt at his table with a goblet on it. I mentally facepalmed. He'll definitely get in trouble for that.

McGonagall glared at the Minho. "Double detention, Mr Park." That's what I thought.

She turned her back to the boys and strolled up to the desk. "We will be practising how to do the Vanishing Spell. Take out your wands, please." I took a peek and noticed the girl had closed her textbook, sticking gold-foil bookmark in place. A name was written in perfect (of course...) calligraphy on the cover, though it was partially blocked by the tassel of the bookmark. Typical rich pureblood Slytherin, I thought, eying her Slytherin tie and necklace (family heirloom, perhaps? Whatever it was, it certainly looked expensive...)

There was a rustle as the students of Gryffindor and Slytherin opened their satchels and took out our wands. Such a shame we shared transfiguration with the Slytherins, too. Transfiguration was always my favourite class and McGonagall was a brilliant teacher and all, but the Slytherins made it unbearable. I could just hear their taunts of "Mudblood!" and "Filthy half breed!". Most of the Slytherins were pureblood maniacs, as Minho shamelessly said.

"Good. Now repeat after me – Evanesco. Do not point your wands and attempt this, yet. Make sure you articulate every syllable." All of us repeated the word. Everyone kept their arms at their sides, though I saw some people's (namely Minho) hands twitched as if they wanted nothing more than to jab their wand and get the spell over with.

"The movement to accompany this would be a sharp jab towards the object. Everyone try that, please. Without the word." We all did so again, and this time.

"Now you may try the spell."

The classroom exploded in sounds of Evanesco's! I tried it once and nothing happened (according to Newt, at least), although, in my opinion, it became a bit more transparent, so that's something. Somehow, the girl sitting in front of me managed to get it on her first try and Professor McGonagall beamed at her proudly. I wasn't sure what her reaction was because she had her back to me.

Newt followed my eyes to the girl. "Who's that?"

"Some rich Slytherin pureblood," I muttered, glaring at her back.

"What's got you so sour?" Minho questioned, waving a hand in front of my face.

"Tommy's obsessed with some Slytherin girl sitting in front of us," Newt told him, even though I slapped my hand over his mouth.

"Who is–––" Minho started to ask but he didn't get very far with it before McGonagall interrupted him.

"Mr Agnes, Mr Park, Mr Isaacs, that doesn't look like you practising the spell to me. Unless you want to receive another detention–––"

"No thank you, Professor!" Newt interrupted quickly, jabbing his wand furiously in the direction of his goblet. Before I turned away, I thought I caught a small flicker of a smile on the corner of McGonagall's lips.

We headed to detention at twenty past 7 (we were actually on time, Minho!) To my dismay, the girl from the transfiguration class was there, also. She spared us a glance but turned her head away disinterestedly as if we weren't worth her time or attention. I seethed silently and directed my glare elsewhere.

"For detention today, you'll be organising the supplies for the next lesson," McGonagall said, eyeing the goblets and animal cages warily. "That will consist of cleaning the animal cages and stacking the goblets in the shelf over there," she said, gesturing loosely to the said shelf. "No magic allowed. I won't be supervising you but I'll know if you use magic." And with that, McGonagall took her leave.

I don't think she'd actually be able to know if we used magic or not, but who knows? I'm not willing to test her bluff.

"She's not going to actually know, is she?" Minho questioned, raising his wand.

The Slytherin girl tapped it away. "I'd rather not receive another detention. Don't let's use our wands...we can get it over with, now."

I sent her a fierce glare. "Stop telling us what to do!"

"Why do you hate me so much?" The girl deflected, stacking the goblets. "Have I done something to you?"

"You and your fellow Slytherins...rich and fancy purebloods..." My anger was starting to boil over. I channelled that into stacking goblets faster than she was, which wasn't that big of a challenge considering how slowly she was doing it.

"What's your name?" She asked.

"Why should I tell you?" I demanded. Perhaps this was unreasonable, but at the time, I was furious.

"I can't call you 'Mr Agnes', can I?"

"Thomas," I muttered, shaking my head.

"Oh," she commented flatly. I was waiting for the 'Mudblood!' comment but none came. Instead..."You're Teresa's brother."

"Yeah. You know her?" I thought my attitude towards this girl was starting to deflate, as much as I hated to mention it. "Also, what's your name?"

"Cyrah Evangeline Rosier, at your service," the girl ––– Cyrah Evangeline Rosier said, with a mock curtsey.

"Making the service of a Mudblood?" I questioned. She's a Rosier; throwing this kind of stuff around was dangerous for her.

"Why not? We're both in detention, anyway." I noticed she sped up on the goblet stacking. "I think we're done with these."

"Ya know," Minho drawled. "It's unfair that you two are stacking goblets whereas we're cleaning iguana poop. What did you do to get here anyway, Cyrah?"

"I hexed Malfoy," Cyrah answered simply.

"Malfoy...as in –––"

"How many Malfoy's do you know, Tommy?" Cyrah cut in, rolling her eyes.

"Hey!" Newt complained. "Only I call him Tommy." Now it was my turn to roll my eyes.

"Awfully possessive, aren't you?"

"All that aside – why did you hex Malfoy?" Minho asked. He was smiling widely, on the edge of grinning. I could understand why. Lucius Malfoy was one of the most egocentric people on the planet. It was also satisfying to hear that a fellow pureblood and "proper" student had hexed him.

"I made sure he knew what would happen if he hurt Cissy. He stared at Emma for too long and Cissy was upset about it. So...ya know..." She made a twirling motion with her wand. Who's "Cissy"? Probably Lucius' girlfriend, I reckon.

"I'm pretty sure Cissy could have come to her own defence, though," Minho commented. "She's in the 7th year."

Cyrah nodded her head shallowly. "Yes, but she was too upset to do anything about it, so..."

"Who's 'Cissy'?" I asked, unable to contain my curiosity. Newt gave me a 'don't pry' glance, but I could read him well enough to see that he was grateful, too. I'm sure he wanted to know who 'Cissy' was, also.

"Narcissa Black. My cousin."

"Wait..." Newt muttered, connecting dots, definitely. He had that look when he was trying to pay attention in History. "You're related to Bellatrix Lestrange?"

Cyrah stared at him warily. "Yes."

We were silent during the processing of this information. "How's Aunt Esteeli?" Cyrah asked suddenly. I had no clue what she was talking about.

Apparently, Minho did. "She's doing quite well." Unlike Cyrah, Minho was generous enough to spare us an explanation. "'Aunt Esteeli' is my mum."

"You two...are related???" Newt demanded, his face stretched into a "what the shuck?" expression. I was sure my face was the same.

"Yeah, we're cousins."

We processed this information again. "Ummm, how come Minho's not a...no offence...pureblood maniac?" Newt asked uncomfortably.

"Hey!" Cyrah protested. "I'm not a 'pureblood maniac'! That's Bella," she added on second thought.

"My side of the family are 'blood-traitors', see," Minho explained. "Technically, my mum was disowned after her 16th birthday. From the Néturn family."

"We–––"

"Ah, I see you've cleaned everything up," McGonagall said, coming in at the worst moment possible. "You may go, then."

"Bye," Cyrah said with a small smile and left.

***

If anyone wants a sequel, please message me either here or on Archive of Our Own. Disclaimer: I don’t own Maze Runner or Harry Potter. I wish I did (J. K. Rowling and James Dashner are amazing), but I don’t.

#Harry Potter #The Maze Runner #tmr #hp #harry potter AU #lover boy #newt #minho #thomas #teresa #teresa is thomas' twin #narcissa black #bellatrix black #crossover #maze runner x harry potter #professor mcgonagall

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artificialqueens · 5 years

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i don't want to be alone anymore (branjie) -- frenchy

a/n: hi hi!! i want to thank you all for the love on my first part of this story, i appreciate that more than you know!!! i decided to give it a second part, though both can be read on their own. & yes i am running this billy joel song title theme with the names. ps. i can be found at alaskathunder on tumblr & also now at frenchys on ao3, where these will end up eventually, along with others, i definitely plan to write more things & pairings soon. hope y'all enjoy, angels!! <3

@Bhytes1: @VanessaVanjie I’m going to Starbucks you want something?

*****

Brooke wasn’t sure how they did it, how they proceeded to shamelessly flirt online as if their private kiss hadn’t even happened only a few nights ago. If it wasn’t for the video evidence, she could have sworn that entire night was a fever dream. Part of her almost wished that she didn’t remember it so vividly, that the way Vanessa touched her and kissed her with no audience wasn’t so detailed in her head. Wished she didn’t have to stop herself from smiling when she remembered it.

It was one thing remembering and thinking about the kiss – she couldn’t change that that happened, and that she didn’t stop it. If anything, she wanted it. She knew it was partly on her for leaning into it, and for getting upset that it hadn’t lasted even longer. She couldn’t blame Vanessa for that. But she could blame Vanessa for what she said.

“At some point we have to quit pretending like this is only for the fans.”

If Brooke thought she was over analyzing these social media interactions before, she was even more fucked now. She only assumed this is how the fans felt on the daily, trying to decipher everything, trying to figure out if this was all Vanessa playing into the contract or using it to hint at how she really felt. How she still felt.

It was futile to put any music on as she took her time getting into drag for the viewing party tonight, where she’d be joining Phi Phi O’hara in a screening of episode 5 – the Monster Ball. No attempts at turning up said music could stop her mind from being only focused on Vanessa, on the moment they shared, on the fact that she had to spend another night reliving the honeymoon phase of their relationship on a giant screen in front of an audience.

Just as Brooke anticipated, it was rough. No. Rough was an understatement. She was conscious of how often she gazed dreamily into the screen, star-eyed. Watching them kiss, and comfort each other, and not be able to predict their fate.

She didn’t expect anyone else to notice, too.

“Can I ask you something? Without you getting defensive?” Phi Phi asked after the episode and Brooke’s consequent performance, standing against the closed dressing room door. She kept her distance, her prodding question accompanied by a sensitive color in her voice. Brooke knew she was trying her best to sound open minded, borderline empathetic.

Brooke sighed. “Shoot,” she encouraged the other queen, but didn’t look up. Phi Phi’s second question was enough to warn her that this wouldn’t be a lighthearted conversation.

“If it wasn’t for the fans. Or the publicity, or the ratings, or the – you get the point,” Phi Phi cut herself off, presuming that Brooke heard enough synonyms. “Would you care?”

Brooke stopped fiddling with her bobby pin, blinking up at Phi Phi through the mirror. “What do you mean?”

“Would you be able to stop all this weird, mysterious twitter stuff tomorrow and not give it a second thought?” Phi Phi wasn’t sure if Brooke was just deflecting, or if she was really that far removed from reality and genuinely needed the simplifying. “Not miss him in your life?” At the use of ‘him’, Brooke knew this was deeper than just not having Vanjie as a fellow queen and friend. “I know it’s none of my business, but if you could see what I saw – the way you watched that episode out there tonight – you’d be asking the same thing.” Phi Phi shrugged, and Brooke hated her for it. She hated how easily Phi Phi could get into her head and understand. Worst of all, she hated how Phi Phi saw it her duty to confront Brooke about it. Maybe she’d thank her in the future, but for now she was brimming with frustration.

“I don’t know. I don’t know, okay?” Another sigh, this one inspired by her own irritation and defeat. “One second we’re flirting and both understanding that we need to stop it before it goes too far. The next we’re –” Brooke stopped, closing her eyes as to stop herself from admitting to Phi Phi what went down the other night. Was it even a big deal? As big as she was clearly making it in her own mind?

“You’re…?” Phi Phi lifted an eyebrow, coaxing Brooke’s frustrated rant. Feelings could be spared for the truth.

Brooke took a deep breath, steadying herself, hands planted onto the table. “We kissed. Like, actually kissed. And I don’t know what her intentions are.”

“Well, I recommend figuring that out. Maybe talk to her? You guys are clearly not on awful terms, how hard could that be?” Phi Phi pressed.

You have no idea, Brooke thought. “Yeah, I’ll try. Thanks, girl,” Brooke smiled at Phi Phi, hoping her appreciation was evident.

*****

She was thrilled to finally share the photos taken of her Monster Ball looks, looks that proved successful in the challenge. She was especially thrilled at the comments regarding her final look, the one that she had fabricated herself. A storm of tulle and black fabric, off the shoulder, with a snake wrapped tastefully around her neck. The more she looked at it, the more critical, but she would defend her win.

She scrolled through the comments, smiling at the sufficient compliments and praise. How would she ever stop being appreciative of everyone who appreciated her back?

Her finger stopped scrolling upon seeing Vanessa’s Instagram handle, a blue check verifying it wasn’t a fan account.

@vanessavanjie: Put my snake around ya neck

She didn’t know whether to like it, comment some orange heart emojis and move on or to roll her eyes after what had happened the other night.

She chose a third option.

If Vanjie wants to keep playing this, then fine. I’ll play along, she thought before hitting send on the comment.

@bhytes: @vanessavanjie haven’t we already done that?

Brooke barely had time to think about the repercussions of her remark before she received a text, shocked at the speed at which Vanessa saw the comment.

Vanjie: Careful there Brooky Poo

Vanjie: Don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea

Brooke felt her heart rate speed up with no gradual increase, immediately beating fast enough to shatter through her rib-cage and land across the room only upon reading Vanessa’s messages. She took a deep breath and typed, then retyped her message a few times, wondering if Vanessa was watching the dots disappear and reappear. Wondering if it was killing her just as much as it was Brooke. When did they turn into giddy teenagers again, instead of professionals with a common goal?

Brooke: What if i do?

She decided against adding a winking face to the end of her reply, but it didn’t stop her from immediately locking her phone and throwing it to her side. God, she needed a cigarette. And maybe a cold shower now. She’d revisit that idea depending on what her phone read next.

As if on cue, she heard the buzz of the phone ring through the bed. She took a minute to gather herself – or prepare herself was maybe the better way to put it. With a reluctance she could only blame on her fear of misunderstanding, Brooke let her hand approach her phone again. It was silly, she thought, how she could fear misunderstanding Vanessa’s intentions even after her initiation of the kiss making it fairly clear how she felt about them.

Vanjie: Oh

Two minutes ago. Brooke tried to ignore the way her heart dropped at the one-word answer; one she couldn’t even see herself replying to in a way that made sense. Maybe it was best left there, and Vanessa really was just adding a playful comment that held no substance.

She was moments away from plugging her phone in for the night and setting it aside with an air of defeat, when it buzzed in her hand. A message from Vanessa. She held her breath as she slid to open it.

Vanjie: You home?

She never exhaled quicker, and never replied quicker, either.

Brooke: Text me when you’re here.

Brooke couldn’t have anticipated what came over her to make her invite Vanessa to come over, if not beg her to come, following her last text with a sharing of her location and hotel room number. All she could do was thank the universe that they were in the same city, which was rare considering their consistent interviews, appearances and performances.

She didn’t think she had been this nervous about something since they first began seeing each other, minus possibly the night that the cast was revealed. And deep within she knew that perhaps her nerves were fruitless – what guaranteed that she and Vanessa would even do anything beyond talk? She wouldn’t dare get her hopes up based on an Instagram comment that was no different than their usual flirt-mance. But she also knew that she had to take this opportunity to confront this, whatever it was.

It wasn’t long before she heard a faint, yet urgent, knock on the door, though it felt like forever. Rolling her eyes, Brooke made her way to the door to the room, opening it with a look of counterfeit annoyance. “I told you to text me when you got here, bitch.”

“Shut up,” Vanessa was quiet, fondness diminishing the harshness of her words. “Can I come in or not?”

Brooke stepped aside, allowing Vanessa to pass her and enter the dimly lit hotel room. Brooke watched her for a moment, so caught up in the way she smelled and the way her hat sat backwards on her head in the most endearing way possible that she almost forgot to close the door.

“Don’t forget to put the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign out,” Vanessa called behind her, laughing to herself before taking a seat on the edge of the bed, looking up at Brooke, who followed her into the larger area. Vanessa’s laugh didn’t linger after seeing Brooke’s humorless expression. “I was kidding.”

“You have no idea how hard it was, Vanjie, to watch that episode up there. Phi Phi actually clocked me, y’know. The way I looked at you up there. No doubt some of the fans did, too. It was the hardest thing. You don’t even know.”

“You think I wasn’t watching the same episode? I never said it was easy for me, Brooke,” Vanessa didn’t let her continue, nor did she let the incredulous laugh leave her lips, in fear of making Brooke more upset. “I don’t like watching it either.”

“I think I’m confused,” Brooke didn’t mean to change the topic so abruptly, but this had been bugging her for days. “This was your idea. It was your idea to take a break – said you knew the ‘pressures that came with TV’,” Brooke’s immediate dive into the deep end caught Vanessa off guard. If she knew that her visit would turn into her own interrogation, she would have stayed home. “You were the one who said this wouldn’t work, Jose,” Brooke stood her ground, arms folded across her chest. Vanessa didn’t like the way she looked down upon her. Cringed at the way her real name was used. “Why the change of heart?”

“It’s not a change of heart,” Vanessa countered, eyes lit with a newfound boldness. “It’s the… same heart, just. Tired of hiding it. Which, we can keep doing it, we don’t gotta tell anyone anything. But, B,” she stood then, moving to take hold of Brooke’s hands, forcing her to uncross her arms. “I’m not a fan of us lying to ourselves, to each other.”

“Yeah? And when you tweet another flirty reply or comment something on my next live, then what? I’m not a fan of not being able to tell the real from the fake.”

“Tell me this is fake,” Vanessa was calm when she said it, her words and the way she slid her hand to the back of Brooke’s neck serving as the only preparation for the way she brought their lips together. Brooke couldn’t act surprised, like she didn’t anticipate this after their texts and intuition that what happened in that office wasn’t a one-off thing. Her expectation helped her react faster this time, without letting Vanessa end the moment before Brooke had a chance to take action. It was a much necessary continuation of what they didn’t get to finish prior to Vanessa’s performance.

Her frustration, her passion, her longing all charged Brooke into flipping their positions, hands on Vanessa’s shoulders as she held the shorter man against the wall she had been leaning against, prompting a whimper to pass between them from Vanjie’s lips. This was no sweet reunion kiss, but one that had been months in the making.

Brooke could feel Vanessa’s smile after they parted, nothing but heat in the space between them (or lack thereof), their lips still phantoms on each other. “I’m waiting,” she whispered against Brooke’s lips, all victorious smiles. “Tell me.”

“Didn’t you already try this the other day?” Brooke didn’t return her smile, but Vanessa could hear it in her voice.

“Worked, didn’t it?” She carded her hand through the barely-there hair at the back of Brooke’s neck, oblivious to how badly Brooke wanted to kiss that damn smirk off her face. “All you been thinking about, isn’t it? Our kiss?” Brooke tried to step back, though she still felt Vanessa’s hand on her, the other one now coming up to rest on Brooke’s waist. “Shit, I gotta say, though, I think I liked this one better.”

“Yeah?” Brooke cursed herself for the teasing spirit in her voice, but for some reason, she couldn’t help it. Something about Vanessa was electrifying, intoxicating her even after a year. Kicking all her resolve and purpose under the hotel carpet.

“Mhmm,” Vanjie’s eyes lay heavy-lidded, her hunger telling through her gaze. Brooke knew due to her makeup-free face that her bedroom eyes weren’t painted on deliberately. She also knew that she held the same ache in her own body, wondered if her own eyes were as teasing as her voice. “You wanna Instagram live this or somethin’?”

Brooke found herself laughing more at the way Vanessa’s suggestive voice didn’t match her sarcastic question rather than the implication itself. “Oh, fuck off,” she laughed under her breath, swatting Vanjie’s chest as gently as possible, her hand lingering there. They both glanced down at the contact, reminding Brooke of the way their eyes had been jointly fixed on Vanessa’s hand in the room at the club, mindlessly tracing patterns into Brooke’s leg. But there was somehow more tension now, the tension only slightly more comfortable than it had been before. Less fear, but just as much caution and the question of ‘What are we doing?’ not yet obsolete.

It was Brooke who leaned in first this time with little hesitance, hand spreading out more against Vanessa’s chest, twisting delicately in her shirt. Her kisses transferred from lips, to cheek, to jaw, then placing open mouthed kisses along the shorter queen’s neck, evoking a throaty moan above her.

“C’mere,” Brooke wondered if she only imagined the rasped whisper, and she blinked back up at Vanessa, who looked desperate. Brooke noted the way her tattoo was coated red under the flush on her neck and chest, only the top of it visible from under her black T-shirt. She noted the way Vanessa’s breathing was ragged. She looked so fucked, so in disarray, and they hadn’t even taken their shirts off yet.

Brooke’s stomach knotted at just the suggestion that she had that power.

Vanessa pulled her back up, hands coming to hold the sides of Brooke’s face and kissing her with a passion that they hadn’t yet reached before. It was a kiss that guaranteed to Brooke that this wasn’t a convenient fuck, or make out, or just Vanessa feeling lonely.

“I have a flight tonight,” Brooke broke between their kiss and their gasping for breath. “God, I’d give anything to stay here. You know that, right?” She studied Vanjie’s eyes, needed to know that Vanessa understood her intentions. She’d rather do anything than have to look at the pout she looked at now on Vanessa’s face.

“You could stay. What’s one flight?” Vanessa whined, pressing kisses along Brooke’s jaw, her knee pushing between the other’s legs. “I miss you,” she breathed against Brooke’s ear, arms enveloping the taller man.

“You know it’s not that easy. This isn’t stuff we can put off, not like we put off each other. I wish I didn’t have to leave you.”

Vanessa sighed and slumped back against the wall, a hand coming up to run through her hair after the other had lifted her hat off. The broken connection between Vanessa’s flushed face and body, and her disappointed expression, broke Brooke’s heart more than she thought it would.

“That’s cool. I said what I said, and I know now that you’re not so innocent yourself, Miss Brooke Lynn, just like I said so,” Vanessa pointed a finger into Brooke’s chest accusingly, her eyes sparkling with warmth. “Who’s right again? Miss Vanessa Vanjie Isabella Mateo Hytes. Bam!” With a snap of her fingers, Vanessa pulled away from Brooke’s grasp, sliding against the wall she had been held against and back towards the door. Brooke watched her gather her things – her phone, only.

“Where are you going?”

Vanessa turned back around, puzzled. “You said you got a flight tonight. I can’t come with you.”

Brooke mimicked Vanjie’s pout from before, sitting herself down on the side of the bed and extending her arms. “You said you missed me. You made it very clear. My flight’s not until later tonight. You can stay. Until then, I mean. I want you to.”

And who was Vanessa to refuse that invitation.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #canon #fluff #angst #frenchy #sometimes a fantasy #s11 #canon compliant

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haru-desune · 6 years

Text

Our Nights Are Quiet But Never Silent

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Rating: T

Pairings: Iwaoi and Matsuhana

Summary: Hajime realizes he should probably more concerned about the fact that he’s been effectively kidnapped- if quietly agreeing to cooperate with this madness counts as being kidnapped- and that he has no idea where they’re going or when they’ll be back, but honestly he’s been through too many of Oikawa’s- and this is definitely all Oikawa despite the fact they’re currently striding towards Makki’s sister’s car- hare-brained schemes to really care. He knows the drill by now.

Also found on AO3 and FF.net

A/N- Okay so I was meant to write my chapter for the DA fic, but this happened instead? First Haikyuu!! fic so tell me what you think!

A sharp crack against the window pane breaks the silence of the summer night, and Hajime looks up from essay he’s writing. Crack. The sound is sharp against the serenity of the night, and he really has no choice but to huff and push his chair back, stretch his sore muscles, and make his way to the window. He opens it, leaning his head out, only to jerk backwards to narrowly avoid a third pebble, which clatters harmlessly, if noisily, on the wooden floor of his bedroom. He glares into the darkness before his eyes settle on the sheepish figure of his best friend, yet another noisy but harmless thing, in the yard, pebbles in hand. A car revs in the background, and he knows Hanamaki and Matsukawa are inside, waiting. He sighs, knowing there will be no progress made on the essay today. Summer homework blows anyway.

He nods quickly at Oikawa, and can see his friend’s face light up in a big grin. He grabs his wallet and house keys- though he knows he’s not likely to use them- before pausing for a second, debating what to do next. On the one hand, his parents have never been particularly light sleepers, he’s wearing his indoor slippers, and he could conceivably make it down the stairs and out the door without anyone realizing. On the other hand, Oikawa always brought out the madness in him. Decision made, he pulled out a pair of sneakers he’d stashed in his closet after last time, and didn’t bother changing out of his pyjamas- he doubted the other three had either- before crawling out of the window and climbing down the convenient tree who’s branches just happened to touch his window sill. He jumped from the lowest branch, landing in front of a grinning Oikawa.

“What are you waiting for, Shittykawa? Let’s go.” he said gruffly, choosing to overlook the way the moonlight made Oikawa’s hair shine and put his cheekbones in sharp relief.

“We’ve been waiting on you, Iwa-chan. So slow!” he replied, teasingly before grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the car.

(Hajime realizes he should probably more concerned about the fact that he’s been effectively kidnapped- if quietly agreeing to cooperate with this madness counts as being kidnapped- and that he has no idea where they’re going or when they’ll be back, but honestly he’s been through too many of Oikawa’s- and this is definitely all Oikawa despite the fact they’re currently striding towards Makki’s sister’s car- hare-brained schemes to really care. He knows the drill by now.)

They slide into the backseat, and there’s plenty of room, really, but their thighs end up pressed against each other anyway and it’s familiar, and warm, and safe, and the most comfortable Hajime has been all night. Makki raises his eyebrows at them in the rear-view, and Matsun gives them his signature shit-eating grin. Hajime says nothing, just looks pointedly at where Matsun’s hand rests on Makki’s knee. They seem to get the hint. Makki starts the engine and they’re out of the neighbourhood before Hajime can blink.

“So,” Makki asks to the car at large. “Where are we headed?”

The destination turns out to be a 24-hour American-style diner that had just opened up in some far corner of the city called ‘The Greasy Spoon’, which Oikawa promises is some kind of joke in English. Hajime figures if it’s got Matsun’s approval- and it had to have Matsun’s approval or they wouldn’t be going there at all- he has no room to complain. They practically fall out of the car, and Hajime takes a moment to smack Makki for playing only Naruto openings all the way there. The restaurant is fairly small, containing only a few booths and a countertop with red shiny stools. It looks very much like the diner in an old American film he had watched once with his mom, and Hajime is pretty sure that’s the point. It’s empty aside from the wait staff, on account of it being midnight, so the four of them have their pick of the tables. They choose a booth tucked away in the corner and pile in. Oikawa flirts shamelessly- harmlessly, Hajime reminds himself- with the waitress who blushes prettily and offers them a menu. Hajime rolls his eyes at his friend’s antics and shares a mildly exasperated look with Matsun and Makki, who are pressed unnecessarily close to each other given the size of booth.

(And Hajime has never been quite sure what’s going on with them. Any attempt to ask has been masterfully deflected by a snarky comment or well-timed joke. It’s not like there was a drastic change in behaviour or anything, in fact it took him weeks to realize anything was different between them. They just seemed closer, somehow, and Hajime, though he hated to admit it, was envious.)

They order milkshakes for everyone. Hajime asks for vanilla, knowing it would annoy Oikawa. He’s not wrong, since his best friend wrinkles his nose.

“Boring, Iwa-chan!”

“Oh, and what is the Grand King ordering then?” asked Matsun lazily, using the nickname bestowed upon him by Karasuno’s tiny number 10.

“Chocolate, of course! What else but a classic flavour to go with my classically good looks.” replied Oikawa, giving the waitress a toothy smile that made her giggle and Makki gag. Somehow it was Hajime’s heart that fluttered at the sight.

Makki and Matsun order a single strawberry milkshake.

“With two straws” Makki adds, throwing the waitress a wink. She smiles indulgently at them, taking all the menus but one, just in case.

“I can never tell if you two are serious.” pouts Oikawa, and Hajime can’t help but agree.

“Oh but we’re always serious” says Makki, fluttering his eyelashes at them.

“Then are you two dating or not!”

“Well of course.” his tone becomes suddenly solemn “Issei’s the love of my life.”

“Aww babe, you’re so sweet.” Matsun coos, looking at Makki with an exaggeratedly dopey expression. Makki grins, all traces of seriousness gone from his face, and Oikawa groans in frustration. Hajime, however, notices the soft smile the two exchange when they think he’s not looking, and everything clicks into place.

Their milkshakes arrive, and the four suddenly realize they’re starving. They fight over the menu, nearly knocking over their shakes before Hajime grabs it through sheer upper-body strength and force of will, and orders burgers and fries for everyone. He adds four cokes to the list as an afterthought because he just knows someone- Oikawa- is going to complain that they’re thirsty halfway through the meal.

“Such a brute, iwa-chan” Oikawa whines, flipping his hair and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Drink your milkshake Trashykawa.”

Makki and Matsun are making good on their two straw deal. The heart eyes they’re making at each other over the frothy shake might be mostly to fuel Oikwa’s frustration- it’s working- but knowing what he does now, Hajime can see the genuine affection underneath and wonders how he could have missed it before. He snaps a picture when they aren’t paying attention. He’s never been the best photographer, the other three- even Matsun- far outstrip him in that area, but he thinks this one came out pretty well. The two of them look… soft. And happy. He sends it on the group chat, knowing that Oikawa would follow it up with a series of angry emojis that would just make their day.

(Part of him wishes he could be so blatant, that he could lean against Oikawa, hold hands under the table, share milkshakes, just tell the world that this boy was his. But then again, did Oikawa even want to be his alone? Was there a them that existed beyond childhood best friends and partners on the court? Hajime was too much of a coward to find out.)

“So Iwazumi.” Matsun grins as Makki slurps up the last of their shake, “Your tastes lean more toward vanilla huh?” he asks with a suggestive quirk of his eyebrows.

“That would be telling.” responds Hajime primly, pleased that he delivered the line without a blush or a stutter.

Makki chokes on the remnants of his milkshake, but saves himself with a Cheshire-cat smile. “Ooh, vanilla in the streets but chocolate in the sheets, aren’t we, Iwa-chan.”

Oikawa bristles besides him, because he’s made it very clear that that name is his, and Oikawa can be more possessive than the average toddler if given half the chance.

“That doesn’t even make sense.” he splutters, and Hajime would be paying more attention to the curious way his friend colours up if he wasn’t trying so hard to melt into his seat at the implication of Makki’s statement.

(One traitorous corner of his brain wonders exactly how far down that blush goes)

The waitress soon arrives with their burgers, and the discussion soon turns to lighter topics. They talk about volleyball and anime and Oikawa’s ever present fan club and the books they’ve been reading-because they’re all secretly nerds- and everything in between. Oikawa steals a bite of Hajime’s burger even though they’re both eating the exact same thing, inciting an age old argument which Makki and Matsun gleefully narrate like sports commentators. They unanimously announce Hajime the winner since, as Makki claims, pouting is an automatic forfeit. Oikawa throws a french fry at Makki, which he easily catches in his mouth, much to Oikawa’s outrage. Matsun laughs so hard soda comes out of his nose and Hajime orders another basket of fries to placate Oikawa, who takes a swig of his coke to calm down.

“Aren’t you using a straw? You heathen!” asks Makki as he notices Oikawa drink straight from the bottle.

“Straws are for plebs like you Makki.” he replies sweetly “I find there’s nothing more satisfying than the feel of the cool, hard tip against my lips.”

Hajime chokes on his burger and Oikawa freezes, realizing what he’s just said.

“The bottle!” he shrieks, “I was talking about the bottle!”

Hajime doubts Makki can hear him as he’s almost fallen out of the booth he’s cackling so hard. He’d help him if he could, but he’s still coughing on that burger. Matsun leans over the table and pats him on the back.

“It’s not too late to run you know.” he stage whispers.

“It was too late years ago.” replies in gasp, red-faced and not entirely sure what he’s admitting to. Okay that’s a lie. He knows exactly what he’s admitting to.

Oikawa looks seconds away from strangling Makki, who’s laughing so hard he’s not making a sound, just moving back and forth and clutching his stomach in a way that can’t be healthy. Matsun discreetly moves his cola away from Makki’s elbow and loudly engages Hajime in a conversation about the superiority of ghosts vs werewolves- Hajime is firmly in the werewolf camp in this debate while Matsun stubbornly clings to the delusion that ghosts are good for anything more than a few weak jump scares- until the other two are slowly drawn in and relative peace reigns once more. Hajime watches Oikawa’s animated face and hands as he argues that they’re all clearly wrong and that aliens are the true winners, and wonders when exactly he fell for this idiot, before jumping in to defend werewolves, because come on anyone with eyes can see that they’re the superior creature.

(They don’t talk about the future. About universities and careers and who’ll be doing what where after this year is over. They don’t talk about how these trips have been- and will become- more and more frequent the closer they get to graduation, how none of them want to let go of this fragile bubble they’ve built for themselves in since their first year of high school. And they definitely don’t speak about the way Oikawa rests his fingers on Hajime’s wrist as his knee is pressed against Matsun’s and his ankle is tangled with Makki’s, or the fact that this position is mirrored in some way by the other three to form a complicated web of connections that grounds their little group. Hajime is glad of this.)

It’s Matsun who notices that the sky is beginning to grow lighter, and with a muffled swear calls for the bill. They each dig through their wallets and throw down enough to cover their bill before rushing back to the car. They’ve had these little escapades for a year now without their parent’s knowledge, and they’d like to keep it that way, which may not be possible if Makki’s sister wakes up to find her car missing. Hanamaki Kaori is a wild card at the best of times- she had taught Makki how to drive illegally after all- and Hajime isn’t willing to risk his freedom for the rest of the summer on whether she was in a good enough mood to not rat out her little brother.

They drive home in relative silence, content and oddly awake, despite having been up all night. Matsun has his hand on Makki’s knee again, and Oikawa’s slender setter’s fingers are tapping a distracting rhythm onto Hajime’s thigh. He watches them move for a moment, debating carefully. In the end, he’s not quite sure what makes him reach for those fingers, interlacing them with his own. It might be the way they had all avoided the elephant in the room at the diner that night, or the way Matsun and Makki had been so casually affectionate, or it may be the serene atmosphere of the car even as Makki races against time to get them all home, or the way Oikawa’s features are perfectly framed against the backdrop of a slowly pinking sky. It could be any one of these reasons or a combination of them all that urges Iwaizumi Hajime to stop being a coward.

Oikawa looks at him with wide eyes, because they’ve done this before, held hands, but it’s not quite the same. They’re closer somehow. Hajime wants to look away, but he’s transfixed by those chocolate brown eyes, which is stupid because he’s seen those eyes every day since he was seven. He’s not sure if it’s just wishful thinking, but he senses something akin to hope in Oikawa’s gaze, in the way he squeezes his hand and doesn’t let go. He pretends not to notice Makki smiling at him in the rear view or Matsun’s shit-eating grin.

They reach Hajime’s house first and he hops out of the car. It’s not until he reaches the tree by his window that he realizes that he hasn’t let go of Oikawa’s hand. His friend glances at their interlocked fingers, and then back up at him.

“Iwa-chan?” he asks, tilting his head quizzically.

“Yeah, Tooru?”

Oikawa gives a little gasp at that, as though by simply using his first name Hajime has answered every question that has been swirling around in his head. He steps closer with fire in his eyes, and Hajime swallows heavily, heart thumping as Oikawa leans down and presses a chaste kiss to his lips. He steps back, a little shy, a little unsure and Hajime lets out a frustrated groan and untangles their fingers to grab his best friend by the collar and pull him down for a repeat performance, deeper and needier than before. He reaches up to run his fingers through Oikawa’s hair as the taller boy wraps his arm around his waist. It’s just as soft as it’s always been, but this feels different somehow. They break apart when the need for air becomes too much.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all night.” he mutters, his voice raw.

“Me too…Hajime.” replies Oikawa with a teasing smirk and Hajime is pretty sure his heart stops right there.

“You idiot.” he says instead “I’ve loved you since we were thirteen!”

Oikawa’s eyes grow comically wide. “You mean we could have been doing this for years?”

He sounds genuinely heartbroken and Hajime isn’t sure if he’s a terrible person for finding the expression on his face adorable.

“I guess we’ll have to make up for lost time.” he whispers leaning towards Oikawa once more.

“I guess we will.” Oikawa bends to close the distance, when a loud buzzing shatters the atmosphere. Oikawa picks up his phone with a frustrated “What?!” and Hajime can hear Matsun on the other line.

“Time to get moving lover-boy, we have three more stops to make and Makki’s slowly losing his shit.”

Oikawa’s ears turn red at the lover-boy comment, which Hajime finds strange. It’s hardly the first time they’ve called him that and it’s never garnered such a reaction before. Then again, Hajime supposes Oikawa had never really been serious about this before. At least that’s what he hopes.

“You could have just honked!” Oikawa hisses into the phone.

“And wake up the entire neighbourhood? Are you an idiot?”

Hajime snorts and Oikawa shoots him a wounded look.

“I’ll be there, give me a minute.”

“You have thirty seconds or we’re leaving without you!”

There’s an audible click as Matsun hangs up.

“You better get going, Trashykawa” Hajime says with a grin.

“Mean iwa-chan!” pouts Oikawa, before breaking out in a smile and pressing a quick kiss to his forehead.

“See you later Tooru.”

“See you later Hajime.”

Oikawa dashes off to the car and practically throws himself in. Makki takes off like the devil is on his tail, and Hajime would be worried if he didn’t know that Matsun would have him calmed down and following the speed limits in a second. He watches until he can no longer see the car in the distant horizon, before making his way up the tree and into his room.

(He ends up messaging Oikawa before collapsing on his bed in an effort to get a couple hours of sleep before his day officially starts, and if he sends Makki and Matsun a simple “thank you” as well, well that’s his own business.)

A/N- In short I’m graduating Uni in two months and I have a lot of feelings whoops. I went out for dinner and a long drive with some friends and this popped out of there. I hope it’s good! I have lifted an entire conversation from today’s dinner, good luck figuring out which one…

#haikyuu!!#iwaoi #matsuhana #iwaizumi hajime #oikawa tooru #hanamaki takahiro #matsukawa issei #my fic #dealing with graduation feels

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