it started with a carton of milk and a very unfortunate pair of pajamas. kageyama was not exactly a man of many words, but he was a man of very specific, very rigid routines. wake up, stretch until his joints popped like bubble wrap, drink milk, and stare out the window to check the weather. the problem was that his window didn't just overlook a garden; it looked directly into yours, separated by a fence so thin it might as well have been made of paper.
the first time he saw you, he nearly choked. you were standing there in an oversized t-shirt, hair looking like a bird had tried to build a luxury condo in it, trying to catch a fly with a tupperware lid. kageyama had frozen, milk carton pressed to his lips, eyes widening until he looked like a startled owl. you had caught his gaze, face morphing into one of horror, and ducked so fast you vanished below the windowsill like a glitch in a video game.
that was three months ago.
since then, your lives had become a silent, high-stakes comedy of errors. his bedroom was his sanctuary, but now it felt like a stage. every time he reached for his volleyball, he’d find his eyes drifting to the left. there you’d be, doing homework or painting your nails, and the second his shadow hit the glass, your head would snap up.
kageyama was a disaster. he was a literal tectonic plate of pining, shifting and grinding under the pressure of wanting to say anything to the girl next door. he’d spend twenty minutes choosing which t-shirt looked the least wrinkled just in case you happened to look over while he was doing his nightly finger exercises. his older sister, miwa, had caught him once, standing three feet back from the glass and practicing a “casual” wave that looked more like he was trying to ward off a swarm of bees.
“you look like you’re having a stroke, tobio,” she’d deadpanned, leaning against his doorframe. “just go over there. bring her a vegetable. people like vegetables.”
“i’m not giving her a vegetable, miwa! shut up!” he’d barked back, his ears glowing a frantic, incandescent crimson.
the interactions were small, microscopic even, but they felt like championship points to him. there was the time he’d accidentally left his window open and you’d sneezed so loudly he’d blurted out ‘bless you!’ before he could stop himself. you’d squeaked, whispered a tiny ‘thank you,’ and then both of you had slammed your respective windows shut with enough force to rattle the foundations of the neighborhood. kageyama sat on his floor for an hour after that, heart drumming a frantic rhythm against his ribs, wondering if a sneeze blessing was a legally binding contract of affection.
then there was the ‘notebook incident.’ he had been struggling with a particularly heinous english assignment, his brow furrowed so deeply it looked like a topographical map of the alps. he’d looked up to find you holding a piece of paper against your window. in neat, bubbly handwriting, it read: “the answer to number four is ‘whom’.”
he’d stared at it, then at you. you were looking down, like you wanted to evaporate into the carpet. he’d scribbled ‘thanks’ in aggressive, blocky kanji on the back of a practice log and held it up. you’d smiled—a real, genuine smile that made his brain turn into a bowl of lukewarm oatmeal—and kageyama had to physically turn away to keep his soul from exiting through his mouth.
he was falling apart. he was a mess of athletic tape and unexpressed longing. every time you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear while reading, he felt like he’d been hit by a professional-grade serve straight to the solar plexus. he started memorizing your schedule. not in a creepy way, he told himself, but in a ‘i need to be doing something impressive when she looks over’ way. he’d started doing extra push-ups by the window, but he got so distracted watching you eat a slice of toast that he’d collapsed onto his face, bruising his nose and his dignity simultaneously.
𓏵
the breaking point came on a rainy tuesday. the sky was a miserable shade of dishwater, and the world felt damp and grey. kageyama was staring at his volleyball, spinning it on one finger, feeling a level of desperation that usually only occurred when he missed a set. he looked over, and there you were, leaning your forehead against the cool glass. you looked tired. you looked like you needed someone to tell you a joke, but kageyama’s only joke involved a pun about liberos that no one ever laughed at.
he watched you trace a line through the condensation on your window. slowly, you drew a tiny, lopsided heart.
kageyama’s lungs stopped working. he felt like a shaken soda bottle, the carbonation of his feelings bubbling up until his cap was ready to blow. he didn’t think. thinking was for people who weren't currently vibrating out of their skin with pure, unadulterated adoration.
he grabbed a thick black marker and a piece of cardboard from a delivery box. he wrote one word in massive, messy letters: ‘wait.’
he saw your eyes go wide through the glass. he scrambled out of his room, nearly tripping over a rogue dumbbell, and sprinted down the stairs.
“tobio? where are you going in your socks?” miwa called from the kitchen.
“TO WAR!” kageyama screamed back, which was definitely not the right word, but his brain was currently being powered by a single, frantic hamster on a wheel.
he burst out his side door, the rain instantly soaking through his shirt. he didn’t care. he looked like a drowned rat, but a drowned rat with a mission. he reached the fence, his sneakers slipping in the mud, and realized he couldn’t actually see into your room from the ground. he jumped. he literally performed a vertical leap that would have made coach ukai weep with joy, grabbing the top of the wooden fence and hauling himself up like an aggressive gargoyle.
your window was right there. you had opened it, leaning out into the rain with an expression of sheer, bewildered shock.
“kageyama?” you breathed, your voice barely audible over the pitter-patter of the droplets.
“you!” he bellowed, his voice cracking halfway through. he winced, his face turning a shade of purple that matched his school kit. “i mean—hi. hello. i’m kageyama tobio. but you know that. i mean, we’ve been staring at each other for ninety-four days.”
you blinked, a small laugh bubbling out of you. “you’ve been counting?”
“i... i’m an athlete. i track statistics,” he lied poorly, his fingers white-knuckled on the fence. rain was dripping off the tip of his nose, but he refused to look away. “listen. i can’t do the window thing anymore. it’s killing me. i spend more time looking at the side of your head than i do at the ball, and i’m pretty sure my setter’s intuition is being replaced by knowledge of your favorite snacks.”
you leaned a little further out, your own hair getting damp, a soft, radiant glow in your eyes. “is that right?”
“yes!” he shouted, then immediately lowered his voice when a neighbor’s light flickered on. “it’s highly inefficient. and my chest feels like it’s full of bees every time you smile at me. i don’t like bees, but i really like the feeling. no, that’s a lie. i hate the feeling because it makes me feel like i’m losing my mind, but i want to keep feeling it. with you. closer. without a fence.”
he was rambling. he was a runaway train of emotion, and he had no brakes. he looked at you, and the sheer intensity of his gaze was enough to melt lead. kageyama was so hopelessly, devastatingly gone for you that it felt like his heart was trying to physically leap out of his ribs and land on your windowsill.
“would you... would you want to maybe... not look at each other through glass?” he asked, his voice finally dropping to a soft, vulnerable register. “i have a lot of milk in my fridge. and i’m actually okay at talking—a little—when i’m not hanging off a fence like a maniac.”
you reached out, your fingers brushing against his hand where it gripped the wood. the contact felt like a lightning strike. kageyama jumped, nearly losing his balance, but your grip tightened, grounding him.
“i’d love to, tobio,” you whispered, a grin spreading across your face that made him feel like he’d just won the nationals. “but maybe put some shoes on first? and get an umbrella? you’re going to catch a cold.”
“i’m coming over,” he declared, his eyes burning with a sudden, fierce determination. “right now. don’t move. stay exactly where you are.”
he dropped down from the fence, landing in the mud with a wet thud, and sprinted back toward his house. he flew. he burst through his front door, ignored miwa’s confused shouting, grabbed his yellow umbrella, and threw on the first pair of shoes he could find—which happened to be his indoor volleyball sneakers.
thirty seconds later, he was at your front door, panting, dripping wet, and holding the umbrella over his head like a shield. when you opened the door, the warmth of your hallway spilling out into the rainy night, he didn’t wait. he stepped forward, the umbrella clattering to the porch floor as he wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
you smelled like home and something so.. you, kageyama felt the frantic buzzing in his chest finally settle into a steady, humming warmth. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb trembling as he brushed a stray raindrop from your cheek.
“finally,” he muttered, his voice thick with a million unsaid things. “i’ve wanted to do that since week two.”
you laughed, pulling him inside and closing the door on the rain, the fence, and the windows that had kept you apart. you didn’t care about the mud on your carpet or the fact that he was soaking wet. kageyama didn’t care about any of those either; he only cared about the way your hand felt in his, solid and real, as he followed you into a life that no longer required a view from across the yard.
n: i’m thinking of uploading once every two days and not pile them up like i do these days.
Venti is such a mother hen towards mondstadt in my eyes. In canon he calls them his children
He takes in anything that stays in his land.
cursed child from natlan? Thats his child Bennett. Prince of the nation sinners? His child now. Treasure hunter from liyue (ambers grandpa)? Yup that’s his kid now sorry Zhongli. A dragon that may potentially be the anemo sovereign? Thats his wonderful child dvalin. The children of the group of witches who want to kill him? They are all now his children and he will have tea with them.
However he still likes to mess with them in the way that your parents mess with you. He sings incorrect information about himself, steals wine, teases others, ect
He literally terraformed the landscape and changed the weather system because it was too harsh for his humans to live in. He baby-proofed mondstadt. No other god has gone out of their was to baby proof their nation to such a massive scale.
hii!! First of all ur theme is so aesthetically pleasing and I love all the nagi. I like binge read all of your event works and *chefs kiss*. Could I request a piece for karasu with the theme of like academic rivals/classmates? No worries if not, hoping ur doing well and taking care of urself!
On an unrelated note I saw that post about rude comments and im so sorry that’s happening to you! I honestly don’t know what drives ppl to bother leaving nasty comments esp when it’s not like they’re being forced to read anything T-T Hoping to send you a bit of love to counter those trolls!
Synopsis: Crows are clingy birds, and Tabito Karasu’s feelings are hurt easier than you realize. (part two here!) (part three here!)
Event Masterlist
Pairing: Karasu x Reader
Chapter Word Count: 9.1k
Content Warnings: academic rivals to lovers, karasu is an asshole, reader is also an asshole, jealous karasu 😍, hiori randomly pulls up at one point for some reason??, yukimiya requests to follow one (1) person and accidentally causes the most dramatic pseudo breakup ever
A/N: anon i used to pray for times like these 😭😩 LMAOAO karasu is my fav (behind nagi ofc) but i’ve never gotten around to writing him so getting this request made me SO excited HAHA. i haven’t done anything rivals/enemies to lovers before so fingers crossed this doesn’t feel too awkward or unrealistic or rushed anything!! and yayyy i love my little nagi theme (and also nagi in general) i’m glad you like it too!! and my writing too, you’re so sweet 🥹 there will always be jerks unfortunately but lovely people like you make it all worth it 💖 thank you again and i hope this is kind of what you were looking for 🫶🏻
Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.
ONE: POISON IT
You could hardly contain your smile as you sauntered up to Tabito Karasu’s desk, your exam held behind your back. He was sitting by himself — his seat partner was sick this week, from what you had heard, so he had taken the chance to spread out his things and stretch his legs. When he noticed you, he raised his eyebrows, mouth tugging into a frown at your amusement.
“What?” he said. You brandished the paper in front of you, irises sparkling as you leaned over to rest your forearms on the desk.
“I got full marks on the last Chemistry exam,” you said. Karasu made a face at you, snatching the test from your hands and scrunching his face up as he inspected it.
“Seriously?” he said.
“Seriously,” you said. “What did you get?”
He crossed his arms and looked away. “Not telling.”
“You definitely failed!” you said in delight, taking back the exam and laughing at him. “How embarrassing. You failed the easiest test of the year, and yet you consider Chemistry to be one of your best subjects? I can’t wait to see how badly you do during finals week.”
“I did not fail,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I got a ninety-eight.”
“Ninety-eight! That’s even worse than outright failure,” you said. “You were so close to perfection, and yet in the end, you fell short. It must sting for things to work out like that.”
“Yes, I’m positively wounded,” he said dryly before batting his eyelashes at you. From anyone else, the rapid switch in demeanor would’ve left you reeling, but the shifting mood was to be expected from him. “Will you give me a kiss and make it better?”
You rolled up your test and smacked him on the head with it. “No.”
“Anyways, my overall grade in the class is still higher than yours, because rankings were updated today and I’m still number one, so I’m not sure what cause you have to be boasting,” he said.
“Hm, but did you notice who’s number one in Modern Literature?” you said, pulling out your phone and opening the school’s app, which listed each class’s rankings in every subject. “Yup, that’s right, me.”
“Good job, Y/N!” he said, clapping mockingly. “Shall we have a party? It’s a big occasion — the mediocre number two has finally done something of such note that she’s number one for the first time in her life.”
“I’ve been number one plenty of other times!” you snapped. “For your information, I’ve been first in the class in mathematics and history every year since middle school, so who are you to be acting like this is a first? If anyone’s mediocre, it’s you!”
He raised his hands in the air innocently, his trademark smirk gracing his features once more now that he had succeeded in irritating you, as was his typical goal.
“Alright, alright, no need to be upset,” he said. “It’s not good for you. Clouds your judgment.”
“In what way?” you said.
“I mean, somehow, you got the two of us confused,” he said. “And we’re nothing alike.”
“I did no such thing,” you said.
“Well, I seem to recall you calling me mediocre, but between the two of us, the subpar one is obviously you,” he said, flicking your forehead. You slapped his hand away.
“You — the bell is going to ring, so I’m going to go back to my seat, but just so you know, you’re way more mediocre than me, Mr. Two-Percent-Short!” you said.
“Stellar comeback!” he called out. “My ego is bruised beyond healing!”
“Good!” you called back, ignoring the sarcasm. “Maybe it’ll return to a more normal size. Your head has grown too big, it’s almost as ridiculous as that hair of yours!”
“Leave the hair alone!”
During your free period, you decided to go to the library for some peace and quiet to work on your homework and find some of the sources you needed for your next research project. For belonging to a high school, the library was surprisingly extensive, and you had managed to find relevant information for every other project you had ever done in it, so you had high hopes. Unfortunately, it seemed this latest assignment was more obscure than anything you had completed before, so on your second lap of the shelves where the books, if they existed, would be located, you resigned yourself to giving up.
Just then, a volume caught your eye. The cover was shiny and pristine, the spine still unbent with newness. Crouching, you pulled it out, and when you saw the title emblazoned across the cover in bright yellow lettering, you began to laugh, making a beeline to the checkout counter with it tucked under your arm.
“Hey, Y/N! How was your morning?” your best friend said as you set your things down next to her in the cafeteria. You hummed in agreement, searching the room for a familiar head of dark hair. “You good? Looking for someone? Let me guess: your secret boyfriend that you’re keeping from the rest of us.”
“Yeah, I’m looking for Karasu,” you said before the rest of her words registered. “No!”
“You’re finally coming out and saying it?” she said, holding her hands to her heart and pretending to swoon. “I’ve been waiting for you to confess.”
“He’s not my secret boyfriend that I’m keeping from everyone, I’m just looking for him!” you said.
“Could’ve fooled me,” she said. “What do you need him for, anyways?”
“I got a book for him in the library,” you said.
“Right, and this is the guy you hate? Your ‘mortal enemy’ or whatever?” she checked.
“Yes,” you said.
“But you…got a book for him from the library, and now you’re looking for him so that you can give it to him?” she said. You scoffed.
“When you put it like that, it sounds different than it really is,” you said. “Trust me, this isn’t a nice gesture or anything. You can consider it revenge.”
“When are you going to get over this stupid rivalry?” she said. “He’s not even that bad, you know.”
“Not even that bad? Not even that bad? Are we talking about the same Karasu here? I’m referring to Tabito, not his older sister,” you said.
“Ah, I think so? He’s a nice guy,” she said.
“He is the spawn of the devil! And he’s the one who started it, so I’ll stop hating him once he apologizes and means it,” you said.
“Do you think he even remembers that?” she said. “It was in middle school.”
You glared at her. “I remember it. If he doesn’t, well, that’s just more of a reason for me to dislike him on principle.”
“Okay, okay, whatever you say,” she said. “Sorry for complimenting him. He’s awful and rude and mean. I think he’s sitting outside with some of his soccer friends, if you still want to find him.”
“Thank you!” you said, instantly forgetting that you were upset with her for taking Karasu’s side instead of yours. “Watch my stuff, okay? I’ll be right back.”
“See you soon,” she said. “Have fun. Actually, maybe it’s more realistic for me to just tell you not do anything that’ll get you expelled.”
You waved her off as you marched out to the courtyard where Karasu and his friends were lounging, their chairs positioned in the shade so that they did not overheat while they ate. None of them noticed you approaching until you were tapping Karasu on the shoulder and smiling at him sweetly.
“Y/N? What are you doing here?” he said, sounding oddly flustered. One of his friends snorted, and more than a few chuckled, but you ignored all of them in favor of setting your bag on the armrest of Karasu’s chair.
“Hi, Karasu. I was in the library earlier and I saw this book that reminded me of you, so I took the liberty of checking it out,” you said.
“Oh,” he said. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“You’re so considerate, Y/N!” one of his friends said.
“We’re all so jealous of Karasu here,” another friend, the one who you believed had snorted, said. “You’re way too pretty for him.”
“Shut up,” Karasu said, sticking up his middle finger at his friend, though none of the group paid him much mind. In fact, it seemed to egg them on more, as they continued to hurl jabs at Karasu while simultaneously incessantly complimenting you.
You didn’t respond to any of them, instead pulling out the book and handing it to Karasu, interlacing your fingers and waiting for his reaction. At first he seemed confused, and then dismay dawned upon his features as he realized what he was holding in his hands: a copy of Chemistry for Dummies.
“What the fuck?” he said. You patted him on the shoulder.
“It’s only suitable,” you said. Suddenly, his expression cleared, and he beamed at you, which caused unease to brew in your stomach. You knew for a fact that he was about to say something infuriating, and you mentally prepared yourself to respond.
“What a roundabout way of telling me you need tutoring! Of course, I’m happy to help you anytime you want,” he said, tilting back in his chair so that he could cross his arms over his chest arrogantly.
“Why would I want tutoring from someone who does worse than me in the class?” you shot back, crossing your own arms in retaliation.
One of his friends whistled. “She got you there, Tabito.”
“Enough out of you,” Karasu said through gritted teeth. His friend winked at you and mouthed ‘nice one.’
“Look, man, all I’m saying is that if you want to ask out such a beautiful girl, you’ve gotta have a little more finesse than that!” he said.
“He can have all the finesse in the world, but I’d still say no,” you said. His friends hollered with raucous laughter, which caused Karasu’s face to turn red, but you only pressed the book into his hands. “It’s due in two weeks. That should be long enough, right? Make sure you return it on time, please, I don’t want late fines.“
“I hope you go into debt because of this stupid book,” he said.
“Aww,” you cooed. “You’ll be the one paying it off, so it doesn’t matter to me. See you around, Karasu — or, hopefully not.”
TWO: SHOOT IT
You and Karasu had met in middle school. The two of you had been assigned to work on a presentation together, and he had told you during your first meeting that because you were a dunce, you should just listen to him and do whatever he said. Ever since that day, you had done everything you could to show him how much better than him you were; for his part, he found great joy in getting on your nerves and so took part in every argument with pleasure.
You had long ago proved his middle school self wrong, by anyone’s standards, but at this point it was a habit for you to hate Tabito Karasu as well as a habit for him to hate you back. And of course, habits were hard to form but harder to break, so you would probably continue in that manner until the day you graduated and left him behind for good.
It was just the two of you who did not get along. Your friends were cordial with him and his ilk, and you did not really mind his little group all that much, crude though they sometimes were. After all, it was just in the manner of teenage boys, and when they were not taking advantage of your presence to make fun of Karasu, they were actually a pretty agreeable sort.
In fact, your friend groups tended to coexist most of the time, even having lunch together every now and again — though they were always careful to ensure that you and Karasu were kept entirely separate, or else you both were guaranteed to ruin the cheerful camaraderie with your sharp tongues and quick tempers. The measures they took were admirable, but unfortunately, they were not always enough. After all, what were precautions when compared with inevitabilities?
“Oh my god!” you squealed. “Guys! Oh my god, oh my god, I can’t believe this is happening?”
“Can’t believe what’s happening?” your best friend said, speaking for everyone at the table. They were all tuned in to you now, wondering what the big news might be that would bring about such a reaction from you, given how put-together you tended to be.
“Do you remember that one model I happened to meet while I was out last weekend? Kenyu Yukimiya? He just requested to follow me on social media!” you said.
“No way!” your best friend said.
“Way!” you said. The only warning you got was an arm pressing against your back, and then your phone was abruptly snatched from your hands. You gasped, spinning in your seat and scowling when you realized that the culprit was none other than that scavenging crow, Tabito Karasu.
“What the hell? He’s average at best, why are you so excited?” he said, scrolling through Yukimiya’s profile, his eyes narrowed critically. “Y/N, don’t you have any standards?”
“You’re probably the only person in the entire country who doesn’t find him gorgeous,” you said, exhaling dreamily as you took your phone back from him and stared at the artful manner Yukimiya was posing in for his profile photo. “He was even better looking in person. And sonice, too! They don’t make men like that often.”
Karasu frowned and swiped at your phone again. You held it out of his reach, reaching across the bench to press your foot against his chest, effectively holding him back from further attempts at thievery.
“Let me look at him again!” he said.
“Um, no,” you said. “I don’t need you making more fun of him. I know you’re jealous, but expressing it like this only makes you uglier, just so you know.”
“Looks like they’re back at it again,” one of your friends said, massaging her temples.
“Yup,” one of Karasu’s teammates said.
“Ugly? Ugly? You’re calling me ugly? Have you looked in a mirror recently? Also, get your gross shoe off of my shirt!” Karasu said.
“I have looked in a mirror recently, actually, and incidentally I’ve also been keeping an eye on my follow requests. Guess what? I’m obviously good looking, since a legitimate model wants to follow me! How many celebrities request to follow you, huh? I bet the answer is zero!” you said, though you did do him the favor of swinging your leg back, allowing him to brush himself off in disdain.
“Lots of soccer players want to follow me,” he said. “I’m quite good, you know.”
“That doesn’t count,” you said. “It has nothing to do with how you look. They’d request to follow you no matter how hideous and poorly styled you and your hair are.”
“Are they seriously arguing about which of them is worse looking?” Karasu’s teammate said.
“I suppose so,” your friend said. “They’re both really hot, though, so I don’t know what the big deal is…”
“Geez, they’ll take any excuse to go at it, huh?” Karasu’s teammate said.
“Pretty much,” your friend said.
“Guess all of that tension has to go somewhere,” his teammate said.
“Exactly,” your friend said, shaking her head as she finished up her lunch.
“That model probably only works for horror magazines!” Karasu said. “It barely even counts!”
“He was in Vogue Japan,” you said smugly. “Look it up, stupid.”
“So what?” he said.
“So he’s handsome,” you said. “Like I said, it’s okay if you’re envious of him, as long as you accept it instead of doing this whole weird denial thing. I don’t blame you for it — in fact, I thought you would be. You don’t have much going for you overall, do you? In all honesty, it’s only natural for you to feel like this when faced with what you lack.”
Karasu’s eyes widened, and then he stood abruptly, picking up his bag with one arm and haphazardly pulling it onto his back. “Goodbye.”
“Bye,” you said, not really caring one way or another what he did with himself. Actually, you would prefer it if he wasn’t there, interrupting your meal and your daydreaming about your impending romance with Kenyu Yukimiya.
“Wow, Y/N,” your best friend said once Karasu was gone. “You’re kind of dumb, you know that?”
“What are you talking about?” you said.
“It’s not her fault,” another one of Karasu’s teammates said. “He’s not much better.”
“Huh?” you said.
“Never mind,” your best friend said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I have a migraine now.”
“Want some ibuprofen?” Karasu’s teammate said. She accepted it gratefully, and nothing more was said on the subject. The rest of lunch passed in a peaceful manner, though strangely, Karasu did not return.
It should’ve made you happy. You wondered, then, why it felt so odd without him there, like there was a gaping maw sitting in the place that should’ve been occupied by him.
THREE: DROWN IT
Ever since the day that Yukimiya had requested to follow you, you and Karasu hadn’t spoken. He refused to make eye contact with you in the few classes the two of you had together, keeping his gaze lowered to his work and his shoulders hunched away from you. You didn’t even try to talk to him; something told you that it would not be well-received, and you weren’t anywhere near confrontational enough to bring up his odd behavior, so the time without him dragged on and on, seemingly without end.
At first, you were happy, and you told your friends as much. It was a much-needed break from the constant aggravation he brought you, and you found your classes without your competition to be almost boring in their simplicity.
“The more you say you’re happy that you and Karasu aren’t talking, the less it sounds believable,” your best friend said, taking a sip from her juice box.
“Believe it! This is what I’ve been wanting since middle school,” you said.
“Is it?” she said. “It sounds like you’re kind of upset.”
“Am not!” you said. She shrugged.
“Sure,” she said, drawing out the word. “Definitely not.”
“Why would I be upset?” you said.
“You tell me,” she said.
“I’m telling you that I’m not upset. You’re the one with the theory, so give me some evidence to substantiate it,” you said.
“Fine,” she said. “You talk about him all of the time, even when you guys are getting along — or, at least, your twisted little version of being friendly, which isn’t friendly by anyone else’s standards but it seems to work for you two, so I won’t comment further. You keep telling us that you’re so delighted he’s leaving you alone, but you do this thing with your face when you say it that makes it super obvious you’re not. It’s not the kind of behavior you’d display when discussing someone you hate as much as you claim to hate him. Finally, there’s a reason half the school thinks you guys are dating, and it’s not just the obvious aesthetic appeal of that match.”
“What? I thought you were just trying to bother me when you brought that up!” you said. She shook her head.
“No, it’s a common misconception. It’s why no one’s ever asked you out. They all think you’re already taken. Actually, the other day, a guy asked me if I thought he might have a chance with you now that you and Karasu had broken up,” she said.
“What’d you say?” you said, half in horror, half in fascination.
“I told him probably not, and that you and Karasu hadn’t broken up, because you were never together in the first place,” she said.
“Oh, okay,” you said.
“Should I have said something else?” she said. You shook your head.
“No,” you said. “What else would you have said?”
“Dunno,” she said. “Look, you need to cheer up. I’m sure that if you just try to talk to him, things will go back to normal in an instant. Then you can return to complaining about him like usual.”
“Talk to him? About what?” you said. She gave you an incredulous look.
“You were pretty mean to him the other day, Y/N,” she said.
“It wasn’t any meaner than what he says to me on the regular,” you said. “And what I say to him in return. I don’t see why he’d be more or less offended.”
“I think it was a little worse than what you typically say,” she said. “Plus, the context was different.”
“How so?” you said. She shook her head.
“That’s for him to explain, not me,” she said. “Come on, don’t be stubborn. Work things out with him. I miss hanging out with the guys.”
“Ah, so that’s why it matters to you,” you said. “Sorry to say it, but I don’t have any plans at attempting conversation with him anytime soon. Like I said, things are finally calm and stress-free for me. He’s the one being immature, as always, so why’s it up to me to make things better?”
“Immature?” your best friend said. “You’ve held a grudge against him since middle school.”
“And?” you said. She squinted at you before pursing her lips.
“Well, I guess the two of you really are made for one another,” she said.
“What?”
The next week would mark the beginning of the swimming unit in PE class, which you were actually looking forward to. You loved to swim, you had ever since you were a child and your parents had brought you into the water for the first time, and the thought of getting to earn a good grade for something you liked doing in the first place was an agreeable on.
In preparation, you decided to stop by the pool after classes were over so that you could acclimate yourself to the motions of the strokes once again. The swim team’s practice had been canceled, and no one else ever used the pool, so you would have the place to yourself, which was just about the closest thing to heaven you could imagine while still living on Earth.
Changing into your school-issued bathing suit and putting your things into a locker, you tied your hair back so that it was out of the way and stepped into the steaming indoor pool deck. The water was a bright cerulean shade, the lanes split by lane-lines which alternated colors to match your school’s emblem. When you dipped your toe into the deep end, you found it was warm, not cold like you had feared. The school didn’t splurge on heating the water of the rarely-used pool, so usually, it was all but freezing. You supposed that they must’ve had complaints from last year’s PE classes, so they had restarted the heaters in order to ensure that no one had any cause to whine about the temperature this year.
For a moment, you just sat on the tiled edge, your legs swishing about in the water, the heels of your palms pressing against the lip of the pool as you closed your eyes and luxuriated in the tangy scent of chlorine. So lost were you that you almost didn’t notice the door swinging open, but the clang of it shutting was unmistakable. Thinking it must’ve been a confused swim team member showing up to a practice that wasn’t happening, you opened your eyes, your lips parting to issue a reprimand that died before it could take shape.
It wasn’t a swim team member. It was Tabito Karasu, wearing a pair of swim trunks and nothing else, his jaw taut and his fists clenched as he inched towards the water. He hadn’t even noticed you, and you didn’t feel inclined to announce yourself, so you let your elbows dig into your thighs, your chin resting in your hands as you observed him.
You had known that he played soccer almost as long as you had known his name. It was the entire reason he was so popular and well-regarded in the school, and an inextricable part of his identity, but until now, you hadn’t quite considered what that actually meant. After all, you only ever saw him in the loose, modest clothing of the school’s uniform, so why would you jump to the conclusion that he was so — so — well, you were loath to admit it, but he had a striking body, and, now that he wasn’t being all cocky and maddening, you could appreciate that even his face was of a similar quality.
Blinking, you cocked your head as he extended a graceful foot towards the first stair leading into the shallow end. Water splashed against it, and he yanked it back like he had been scalded. You could not help yourself from giggling as he did this once and then twice again. On the third attempt, you forgot that the two of you weren’t acknowledging one another and cupped your hands around your mouth to amplify your voice.
“What are you doing?” you said.
“Who — Y/N? I didn’t realize anyone else was in here!” he said, stepping back from the pool and straightening his shorts, though there was nothing wrong with them that required straightening. You sprang to your feet and walked over to him, leaving wet footprints in your wake as you peered at him curiously.
“I was just going to do some laps to ensure that I’m at my best for the swimming unit next week. Did you have the same idea?” you said.
“Something like that,” he said.
“What’s with that whole ritual, though?” you said. “It’s not that cold. You should just get in.”
“Definitely not,” he said. You furrowed your brow.
“Okay,” you said. “Why are you at the pool, then, if you don’t want to go in the water?”
“It’s nothing you need to be concerned with!” he said. “Why are you so nosy? Just go away.”
“I was here first,” you said.
“Fine,” he said, spinning on his heel. “I’ll go, then.”
“Wait! Karasu, wait,” you said, grabbing onto his wrist as he made to leave. “Look, we don’t have to talk to one another or anything. We’re experienced enough at ignoring each other, so there’s not an issue in both of us being here.”
“Is that what you want?” he said.
“Yeah, sure,” you said. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, and you thought he would say something, but he only nodded curtly.
“Fine,” he said. You gave him an expectant look, but he did not move from the spot he was rooted in, so you thought that you might as well take the initiative. Looping around to the deep end, you inhaled and then dove into the water headfirst, staying under for as long as you could before finally surfacing and allowing yourself to settle into the familiar undulations that came with swimming.
After a few laps, you took a break, peeking up over the concrete to look at Karasu, who was still standing stubbornly in place, his nose wrinkling whenever he glanced at the pool.
“Hey,” you said. “Are you scared of the water or something?”
He froze. “Who told you that?”
“No one?” you said. “It’s pretty easy to tell as an onlooker. Were you planning on trying to get over your fear by coming to swim when no one was here? That’s dangerous if you don’t know how. You could drown.”
“I’m not scared of the water,” he said.
“Really? Then why’re you just standing there?” you said. His mouth opened and closed a few times, and then finally he hung his head in reluctant defeat.
“Whatever,” he said. Judging by the way he tensed immediately after the confession, he was expecting you to say something cruel, but you only boosted yourself out of the water and tapped him on the shoulder.
“I can help you, if you’d like,” you said. “I’m good at swimming.”
“Why would I want your help? And why would you even offer it in the first place? This is just one more subject you can beat me in, and that’s all you care about, so save it,” he said. “Congratulations, Y/N. You get to be number one this time.”
He looped a dry towel around his neck and left you standing alone, shivering and dripping pool water, a puddle forming around your feet as you gazed at the door he had vanished through.
The class rankings updated again after the swimming unit was over. You were in first place. Karasu didn’t even make it to the top ten. You wanted to celebrate the victory — it was the first time you had beaten him so thoroughly, after all — but for some reason, it didn’t really feel like something worth celebrating.
FOUR: STONE IT
School without Karasu was lonelier than you thought it would be. You hadn’t realized just how much you relied on him until he wasn’t there anymore. Without him, there wasn’t anyone you could exchange looks with across the room when somebody said something ridiculous in class. There wasn’t anyone who you could talk to in the minutes before the period began. There wasn’t anyone who made you push yourself to be better. What was the point of being first if Karasu wasn’t on your heels, ensuring that you stayed on the top for fear of losing to him? It was boring and lonely to try if he wasn’t doing the same.
You and he were still one and two, but it didn’t matter much anymore. The rankings were just numbers. They didn’t mean anything when Karasu still refused to even exchange pleasantries with you. Why would you want to compete when the other party didn’t share your interest? Now, if you managed to pull out ahead of him, it felt more like you had kicked a dog that was already down than if you had actually won anything. When he got first over you, it didn’t fuel your ambition any. You just wished he would come over and gloat instead of sitting there so solemnly, like none of it had ever mattered to him in the first place.
You couldn’t understand why he was so angry. What had you said that was so egregious? You hardly remembered the conversation you had had with him, it was that thoughtlessly done. You really hadn’t meant much if anything by it. One second, the two of you had been squabbling as you were prone to doing, and the next, he was so furious that he couldn’t bear to interact with you even still.
The day you were ambushed was nondescript. It was just like any other Wednesday, and you were walking back home from school when you were forced to stop in your tracks. A tall man — no, he was a boy, probably a year or two younger than you based on his soft and innocent expression — was barring your way, his arms outstretched and feet planted firmly in the ground to prove the depth of his conviction. He had pale hair and sky-colored eyes framed by the longest eyelashes you had ever seen on anyone, man or woman, with a small mouth pinched into an expression of discontent and lines like tire tracks between his eyebrows.
“Who are you?” you said warily, reaching for your phone, though you hardly knew who you would call. The setting was wrong for this to be a mugging, as it was sunny out and you were on a well-traveled street, but you didn’t really know what else to expect from the stranger, who could certainly outmuscle you if it came to it despite his lovely appearance.
“Yo Hiori,” he said. “I play on Bambi Osaka with Karasu. You’re Y/N L/N, correct?”
“Oh, one of the soccer guys?” you said. “Uh, hey. Yes, that’s me. Is something the matter? I’ve never seen you before. How do you even know who I am?”
“I’ve been watching Karasu for a while,” Hiori said with the utmost of seriousness, his hands dropping to his sides now that he was sure you weren’t going to run past him. “He’s a pretty fascinating person.”
“I’m sure,” you said, thinking to yourself that this Hiori kid was more than a little weird. Did Karasu know that he had acquired such a shadow? You supposed he must’ve. He had always been the observant type, so there was no way someone like Hiori would’ve escaped his keen notice.
“He’s been kind of down in the dumps recently, though. Even our coach noticed it. His playing hasn’t suffered too dramatically, but he’s the captain of the team, so he’s the guy everyone relies on for a funny pep talk or a word of advice when things are going south. Nowadays, however, when he’s off the field, he just sulks,” Hiori explained.
“I see,” you said. “That’s terrible.”
You meant it, too. Karasu without his asshole quips and ready jokes was a different person entirely. A person who you missed more than you could let on, even to yourself.
“It is,” Hiori said. “I took it upon myself to do some digging, and I’ve come to the conclusion that the reason is you.”
He was definitely a freak. You vowed to bring it up with Karasu, if he ever talked to you again. Even if he was already aware, it felt like a moral or civic duty of yours to ensure that he was fully informed about the extent that this child was inquiring into his life.
“What kind of, uh, digging do you mean?” you said, neatly avoiding the second thing he had said.
“It was pretty simple,” Hiori said. “One of the guys asked Karasu if he was acting off because he broke up with his girlfriend or something, and he got so mad that he left practice early. I opened up social media as soon as I got home and saw that you’re the only girl he follows, so by process of elimination, I figured the two of you were having some trouble in your relationship.”
“Relationship? I think you’re misunderstanding,” you said. “There’s no relationship. You could hardly even consider us friends.”
“Oh!” Hiori said. “I’m sorry. He’s mentioned you once or twice, so I just thought — and given what he said — and his reaction and all — no, I really am just sorry. It was wrong of me to make that assumption in the first place.”
“It’s alright,” you said. “I’m told it’s a relatively common misconception, so I can’t blame you. At least, it used to be. We haven’t really spoken in a while, so I guess everything thinks that it’s over, even though it never began in the first place.”
“You haven’t spoken in a while?” Hiori said. “Why not?”
“I think I said something that offended him, and we haven’t been on good terms since. Not that we ever really were in the first place,” you said.
“You did? He’s a pretty rational person, so it must’ve been something terrible for him to still be angry about it,” Hiori said.
“Maybe, but I don’t remember saying anything like that,” you said.
“What if you tell me how your last conversation went? Maybe I can help you,” he said.
“Sure, since you’re apparently the resident Karasu expert,” you said. “Wanna walk with me? I was heading home, but we can go to the convenience store and get some snacks or something instead. I don’t want to get in trouble for standing around in front of some random person’s house for too long.”
“Sounds good,” Hiori said. “There’s one a couple of minutes away, so we can head in that direction and keep talking as we go.”
“Great,” you said. “Okay, so the last time we talked…I think it was when Kenyu Yukimiya requested to follow me.”
“Who’s that?” Hiori said.
“He’s this model I met while I was shopping one day. Absolutely breathtaking,” you said. “Just really a stand-up guy. We’ve hung out a few times since then, he introduced me to the girlfriend I did not know he had, the works.“
“Yikes, unrequited love?” Hiori said with a wince.
“It was more of a celebrity crush. His girlfriend is super sweet, though, so I can’t complain. Anyways, I would consider them both casual acquaintances. The type you call to have a coffee with, but not the ones that help you move into a new apartment, you know?” you said.
“Uh, sure,” Hiori said in a tone which suggested he had no idea what you were talking about but was too scared to inquire further.
“Moving on, Yukimiya requested to follow me, and of course this was at the peak of my celebrity crush, so I started fawning over him, which prompted Karasu to take my phone and start insulting him,” you said.
“Interesting,” Hiori said.
“Then I called him ugly, and he called me ugly — that’s pretty standard for the two of us, so don’t look so shocked! After that, I said something about how I had expected him to be jealous of Yukimiya, since he didn’t have much going for him overall, so it made sense,” you said. “That’s when he left and things got weird.”
“Okay, I think I get it,” Hiori said. You waited for him to explain further. He smiled at you pleasantly.
“Right, so are you going to share with the class or am I meant to read your mind?” you said after a moment.
“I don’t want to give anything away that I shouldn’t,” he said. “But it’s a pretty simple issue to fix. Try thinking about what you said from his perspective.”
“He has a dumbass perspective. It’s impossible for me to think that way,” you said automatically.
“Do you think that he dislikes you?” Hiori said, taking two bottles of Yakult down from the shelf, handing one to you and keeping the other for himself.
“I’m not really sure how he feels about me, to tell you the truth,” you said.
“I don’t think he does,” Hiori said. “So, try thinking about someone you like and then imagine them saying to you what you said to them. Would you be inclined to be nice to them after that?”
“Well…” Your tongue was heavy and leaden in your mouth, and you ducked your head as you searched through your wallet for money. “No, not at all. I’d probably hate them for a really long time. Maybe forever.”
“That’s possible,” he said.
“Do you think he’ll hate me forever?” you said.
“Most likely not. Like I said earlier, he’s a rational person. I think that if you say sorry and sincerely mean it, he’ll forgive you. There’s a chance he won’t, though; you’ll have to listen to what he says and accept it,” Hiori said.
“But when? I hardly have the chance to see him in school. He just avoids me, and the building’s so big that it’s all but impossible to track him down!” you said.
“We have a soccer game in the evening today,” Hiori said. “I’m heading over there in a bit. Wanna come? You can talk to him once it’s over.”
“Am I allowed to?” you said.
“Why wouldn’t you be?” Hiori said. “If anyone says anything, just tell them I invited you. Here, I’ll give you the address and time now, and you can decide if you want to show up.”
“Okay,” you said, typing out his instructions in your notes app. “Thanks a lot for your help, Hiori.”
“Anytime!” he said. “Hope to see you at the game!”
“Even if I don’t go, I’d still like to meet you again. You’re a pretty cool kid,” you said, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Kind of weird, if I’m being fully honest, but cool nonetheless. Karasu’s lucky to have a teammate like you.”
He grinned, and it was a tender, shy thing, as if he was earnestly seeking your praise or approval — like how a cat would bring a dead rat to its master or a child would show their parents a treasured drawing. “Thank you. Even if you don’t try to talk to Karasu…maybe you can still come anyways?”
“Alright, then,” you said. “Since you asked so nicely, I guess I have to. I’ll be there.”
FIVE: TAME IT
The sun was nearing the horizon, but it still had not officially begun to set by the time you settled in the bleachers on Bambi Osaka’s side. Besides a couple of women your mother’s age and an elderly man who must’ve been someone’s grandfather, there weren’t any other spectators. Hiori had mentioned that this wasn’t a particularly serious game, as they didn’t even need to beat the team to make it to Nationals, so it was more like a friendly exhibition game than anything — hence the low turnout.
“Hello, dear,” a woman said when she noticed you sitting by yourself. “Are you friends with one of the players?”
“Yes. Um, Tabito Karasu? I’m his classmate,” you said. Technically, you were there on Hiori’s goodwill, not Karasu’s, but for you to not mention Karasu would be like a betrayal. You weren’t sure if it was him or yourself that you’d be betraying, but either way you did not want to chance it.
“You’re one of Karasu’s friends? Lucky you, then,” she said. “He’s a delightful boy, or so I’ve heard. This is my son’s first year on the team, and he was really nervous to join such a prestigious organization, but ever since his first day, all he can talk about is how amazing his captain is. Karasu’s tough on all of the players, but he really works hard to make all of them feel welcomed, too.”
Bambi Osaka’s team took the field, and you smiled when you saw Karasu in the front, his name across the back of his jersey, a pair of black gloves covering his large hands, an insolent leer on his face as he greeted the other team’s captain. He had not noticed you yet, and you were not sure if this was for the better or worse, because you wanted him to see you, but you didn’t want him to be distracted and play poorly as a result.
“He’s a wonderful person,” you agreed. “He’s the only one in the entire school who can keep up with me, academically or otherwise. I didn’t realize until recently how much I admire him for that.”
The woman’s eyes crinkled around the corners with the ease that came from a lifetime of happiness. For some reason, you thought that she knew something you did not, or could not, but it wasn’t uncomfortable that she did. It seemed to you that being left in the dark was just your lot this time around, and you found that oddly enough, it felt acceptable.
“Is this your first time coming to watch him?” she said.
“Yes, it is,” you said.
“You know, he has this habit before every match of scanning the stands, like he’s looking for someone. I thought it might be his parents, but at the last match, just about his entire family showed up, and he still seemed disappointed,” she said.
“That’s a shame,” you said noncommittally, not sure what else you should say. The woman shrugged.
“Well, I wonder what it’ll be like today,” she said. “There he goes.”
True to her words, Karasu was craning his neck towards the Bambi Osaka side, his eyes darting from person to person until they settled on you. You raised your hand hesitantly, waving at him, knowing that he probably wouldn’t reciprocate.
He turned away almost immediately, but not before you saw him fight back a smile — not the smug type he generally donned, but one you had only ever seen on him once or twice. It was one that made him seem charming and boyish and sweet, that made you want to take back every negative word you had ever said about him. Only now could you understand that it showed who he really was, that at his heart Karasu was that kind of person, not anything like the facade you were so accustomed to, which he showed you for the sole reason that it was what you unconsciously demanded of him.
You had judged him to be horrible, and so he became the bane of your existence. You had told him he was good for nothing, so he disappeared like he really was just that. Everything you said, Karasu went along with gamely, and you wished you could’ve known that earlier, so you would’ve spent less time hating him and more time comprehending these intricacies, which entranced you in the way a spider’s web entranced a butterfly.
“Looks like I don’t need to worry about that child any more,” the woman said as the referee blew the whistle to signal the start of the game.
“Pardon?” you said. “Were you talking to me?”
“No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I was just musing to myself. Ignore me. Let’s watch the game; I have a feeling that some of our players are going to go all out today.”
Bambi Osaka completely annihilated the other team. Maybe the match didn’t matter, but none of them played that way; instead, they were aggressive and focused, with Karasu at the forefront of every goal they made, commending his teammates and deriding his opposition in the same breath.
That was something you had not expected — he had a massively foul mouth when he played soccer. You had thought that he was rude when he spoke to you, but the things you overheard from him whenever he ran by within earshot made your conversations seem tame. You couldn’t help but pity the poor defenders that he shoved past and spat barbed-wire abuse at.
He was merciless and beautiful and you could probably spend a dozen more hours watching him play without even a trace of boredom, but by the time the sky had turned gold and the sun had dipped towards the ground, the game was over and the members of Bambi Osaka were packing up their things to leave for the night after yet another landslide win.
You snuck onto the field once you were extremely assured that nobody would be upset with you for it, making your way over to where Karasu was chugging a bottle of water.
“Hi,” you said when he was finished, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and tossing the now-empty bottle into his bag. “You played really well.”
“Thanks,” he said. There was impatience but also longing in his voice, like he wanted you to say something so badly but he knew you would not, would never, and so he would rather get the conversation over with and move on with the business of his life than stick around and waste time with you.
“I’m sorry,” you said.
“What?” he said.
“I’m sorry,” you said. “Karasu, I’m really sorry. I don’t think that you have nothing going for you. I don’t know why I said that. Well, I do, it’s because I wanted to have the last word like I always do, but I don’t mind if I don’t have it this time. Or any other time. Or ever again.”
“What?” he repeated, as though he had been rendered dumb by your confession.
“I miss you,” you admitted. “I didn’t believe I could, but apparently, I can, and I do. A lot. I know that I’m unpleasant and disparaging and haughty when it comes to you, but I won’t be that way anymore if you forgive me for my vices one last time. If it means you’ll talk to me, I’ll be a fool. I’ll be in second place. I’ll be an idiot. But please, please forgive me.”
He took a deep breath. You handed him the bottle of kombucha that you had bought on your way to the game because you saw him drink it so frequently that you figured he must like it. He accepted it gingerly, holding it with the delicacy of a newborn, unscrewing the lid and sipping on it pensively.
“Alright,” he said.
“Alright?” you said.
“I’ll forgive you,” he said. “But on one condition.”
“Anything,” you said.
“You better not do anything as dumb as trying to be mediocre on purpose because you think it’ll make me feel better. What the hell is that proposition, huh? It’ll make me feel worse if anything! I like you because you’re unpleasant and disparaging and haughty and whatever else you said, not in spite of those qualities. I’m sure you heard me while I was playing…anyone who isn’t you would probably be terrified of me when I’m like that,” he said. “Just, y’know, I’m a person with feelings, too, so keep that in mind if you can. Oh, and don’t wait so long to say sorry next time, because it’s seriously annoying for me to feel all out-of-sorts for ages!” he said.
“That’s it?” you said.
“That’s it,” he said. “Hug?”
Ordinarily, you would’ve said no, but you were so weepy at the reconciliation that you nodded and let him embrace you, his arms caging you against his chest, holding you to him so that you could not escape.
“Ew!” you shouted when you registered what he was trying to do, shoving him off of you as he cackled and released you without much of a fight. “Gross, Karasu, you’re disgusting! Get away from me! I can’t believe you did that!”
“I can’t believe you fell for it!” he said as you frantically tried to wipe yourself off, though it was largely in vain. In your emotional state, you had forgotten that he was still drenched with sweat from the game, and you were now reaping the consequences of your poor decision making.
“You’re a bad person,” you said.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Whatever you say.”
“I probably deserved that one, though, so I won’t hold it against you,” you said.
“Smart decision,” he said. “Wait. Unrelated, but whatever ended up happening between you and that model dude? What was his name again?”
“Yukimiya? He has a girlfriend,” you said. “Oh, well. What can you do, right? I’m not upset about it. Besides, everyone and their mother thinks I have a boyfriend already, so it’s probably for the best that it worked out like this. I wouldn’t want his modeling career to be ruined by home-wrecking allegations or anything.”
“It must be a pretty serious not-relationship you’ve got there, if it’s the career-ending type,” he said.
“I’d say it’s pretty serious, yes,” you said. “He’s an awesome guy. You’d like him.”
“I’ll respect it, then,” he said. “But…if you ever find yourself not-breaking up with him, then, uh, let me know. I’ll take you on a date somewhere. We can argue and reminisce about the day we met over dinner or something. It’ll be super romantic.”
He said it casually, but you were more familiar with him than either of you ever could’ve predicted you’d be. He was secretly nervous about how big of a risk he had taken, fiddling with the zipper of his soccer bag, avoiding your eyes while he waited for your response. You let the silence stretch on for a minute, just to make him squirm, and then you poked him in the ribs.
“Karasu,” you said.
“What’s up?” he said, and he must’ve been trying very hard to keep his cool, but his anxiety transmitted through the endearing crack of his voice.
“I have to tell you something,” you said.
“Go ahead,” he said.
“I’m not-single now,” you said. “So. Will you take me on a date this weekend?”
He lit up, so bright that you were all but blinded by the brilliance of his joy. Then he cleared his throat and pretended to check the non-existent watch on his wrist.
“You’re in luck,” he said. “That works for me. I’ll pick you up on Saturday for dinner.”
“Great,” you said. “I look forward to it.”
“Hold on, don’t go just yet,” he said. You paused, about to ask him what else he needed when he stooped over and pressed his lips to your cheek. “Thanks for coming to my game. I’m not really sure how you knew I was playing, but I’m glad you could make it either way.”
“Um — uh — Hiori told me, he told me you were playing, and, er, where to go and what time and all,” you stammered, trying to wrap your head around what had just happened, replaying it in your mind over and over.
“Hiori? I should’ve known he’d be the type to meddle like that,” he said. “I’m not even going to ask how you know each other. The answer will probably make me feel vaguely discomfited, so I’ll abide by an ‘ignorance is bliss’ policy.”
“That’s probably for the best,” you said, composing yourself, though internally, you were imagining what it would be like if you had turned your head, if instead of your cheek his lips had landed somewhere else. “Okay, I should go now. See you on Saturday?”
“One last thing. You’re pretty transparent, you know,” he said, grasping your chin in his left hand and leaning in. Your eyelashes fluttered shut as he grew closer and closer, but right when his mouth was a hair’s breadth from yourself, he chuckled. “Also, pretty gullible.”
Instead of kissing you like you had anticipated he would, he tackled you in another hug. You squealed in protest, but he held fast, his body rumbling with laughter as you simultaneously struggled to escape and clung onto him as tightly as you could.
“I hate you,” you said when your half-hearted efforts proved to be entirely futile.
“Sure you do,” he said.
“You’re the worst,” you said.
“Absolutely,” he said.
“I’m being serious here. You smell!” you said.
“Well, that’s plain rude of you to say,” he said, messing up your hair in what you were sure he deemed to be a punishment, as if being crushed against his sweaty form wasn’t punishment enough.
“Let go of me, you idiot crow!” you said.
“No can do,” he said. “Crows are clingy birds, you know. Even the idiotic ones. Ask me again in twenty years and maybe we can revisit the issue.”
Hiii pookie!!♡♡ Do a Park Humin (Baku) ff where the reader wass playing shooting game on her phone and loses, throwing tantrums or curses over it and blaming it to Baku who is just minding his own business next to you. Like they ended up bickering.......... After that, the reader got upset and ignored Baku, him ended up comforting and making up for it even if it's wasn't his fault. I feel like it'll be a chaotic scene 💀💀✌
pairing — park humin (baku) x gn!reader
genre — fluff, comedy, established relationship
warnings — mild language, excessive boyfriend whining, baku being baku
word count — ~400
masterlist | join the taglist | request a fic
note: finally some good guys™ on here !! i am such a lovey dovey baku truther he would be so whipped and be super lovely to his partner. i love doing shorter reqs like this to fill in the gap between my longer fics.
you were sprawled across the couch, laser-focused on your phone screen, muttering threats under your breath as your in-game ammo count dropped lower and lower.
“die, die, die—”
defeat.
the bright red letters flashed mockingly.
“NOOOOO!” you shrieked, smacking the couch cushion and flailing your legs. “i had that! i had that!”
baku, sitting beside you eating chips and watching a basketball highlight video, turned to you with wide eyes. “yo, what happened??”
“your fault!” you groaned, flopping sideways and lightly punching his shoulder.
“HUH?!” he yelped, holding the chip bag protectively as it shook in his grasp. “what’d i do?! i was just sitting here breathing, peacefully!”
“exactly,” you grumbled. “you jinxed me with your stupid happy breathing.”
he blinked. “what’s wrong with my breathing?! it’s normal human breathing!!”
“normal and cursed,” you muttered, pouting as you hugged your phone to your chest like a child whose toy was just taken away. “i swear that last headshot didn’t even count.”
baku opened his mouth to argue but paused when he saw the full-blown pout forming on your lips. he immediately softened. “...wait. you’re mad mad?”
you sniffed dramatically and turned away. “go breathe over there. traitor.”
he panicked. “hey—wait, don’t ignore me. babe. baby. i love you. please.”
you didn’t answer, which made him whine louder.
“noooo, don’t do this to me. don’t ice me out,” he said, scooting closer and wrapping his arms around you like an octopus. “i’ll uninstall the game for you. i’ll email the devs and tell them to apologize. i’ll 1v1 whoever killed you. right now.” baku pouts, brows furrowing.
you resisted laughing. “you don’t even play this game.”
“i will now. out of spite.”
he tucked his chin over your shoulder and started swaying you gently, like he was trying to soothe a toddler mid-meltdown. “aigoo... my baby’s upset. i can feel the sadness radiating from your pores. it’s okay. blame me, hit me, kick me—just don’t ignore me. please!” he whines, all in theatrics.
you tried to hold back a smile, but it slipped.
“there it is,” he coos with a grin. “my cute, scary little sharpshooter.”
“you’re so annoying,” you muttered, leaning into his chest despite everything.
he kissed the top of your head. “but you absolutely love it.”
you sighed. “…if i lose again, it’s still your fault.”
“fair.”
“and you owe me boba.”
“make it two,” he grinned, already grabbing his hoodie. “let’s go right now. no game defeat can hold us down when we got boba and love.”
“...you’re such a dork.”
“but i’m your dork,” he quips again, flashing you a peace sign and poking his cheek with it, showing off his dumb little smile.
synopsis: Jason didn’t mean to keep your existence secret from his family—really! At first, it was for his and your own protection more than anything, his double life wasn’t just for any average person after all. But, even after the whole marriage and settling down thing, he may have just—honest to god—forgot to mention it?
includes: silly shenanigans, fluff, civilian wife!reader, + pregnant reader but it’s really only mentioned like twice, she/her pronouns used, oblivious & extremely confused batfam, jason & reader share a singular + 1/2 of a brain cell, domestic life, annoying siblings, jason being terrible at communicating, he’s also got a bit of a potty mouth, warning for my absolute horrible punctuation & run-on sentences + not beta-read
cast: jason todd, dick grayson, tim drake, damian wayne, cassandra cain, bruce wayne, alfred pennyworth, you!
a/n: I love Jason with a secret family trope >w< !!! thus I took it upon myself to write my own. sorry if anyone seems out of character or odd!! I tried to keep this as fun and lighthearted as possible <3 this is my first ever x reader fic! be kind to me world :3…
wc: 6.4k
09.28.25
In the beginning, Jason was apprehensive about you. You who approached him first, completely unprompted, at your favorite coffee shop. All red and fidgety with nerves when you asked him for his number.
At first he was sure it was a trap, someone sent sweet, unassuming you to catch him off guard. Try and trip him up then get him when he’s unprepared and vulnerable. After all, regular people didn’t just walk up to Jason on purpose to ask him anything, let alone on a date. Jason knew he didn’t really give off dinner and a movie vibes.
Still, something about you drew him in. Maybe it was the overwhelming normalcy of you. Your outfit was overly-casual, like one of those too-late-in-the-week-to-care outfits when it was only Tuesday. You had a kind of anxious, hurried jitteriness to you that screamed that late-for-everything-college-student vibe.
With your bag slung over your shoulder, bursting with notebooks, textbooks, and stray paper, and your iced-coffee order’s condensation beginning to soak your hands, you weren’t extraordinarily beautiful, or blindly radiant, or mysterious like you were hiding a million secrets from the world. You were just any other twenty-something year old running late for her morning classes.
You were also beginning to tense from Jason’s continued silence, embarrassment overwhelming your body language.
Just as you begin to open your mouth, laugh it off and go about your day pretending like you won’t be thinking about the most beautiful boy you’ve ever met’s hard rejection of you at your favorite coffee place (which you’d never be able to return to again) for the next thirty years of your life—he agreed.
With eyes narrowed in suspicion Jason gave you his number, telling himself it was only to figure out who’s ploy this was and what they wanted with him.
Well, Jason’s investigation lasted eight dates before becoming an official label. And somewhere between the meeting your family and the engagement to marriage pipeline, Jason had to admit you might have really just wanted his number.
Jason was unlike anyone you’d ever met, just like you’d known the second you laid eyes on him. He was rugged and rough around the edges in a charming way. Confident and unwavering at one minute, and then second guessing and completely stumbling over himself the next. When it came to you, he was so unsure about everything. Afraid his touch might break you into a million pieces, and his scars—literal and figurative—would scare you away. All he knew was he could not mess this ups
Jason was pretty closed off when you first started going out, he hid secrets you couldn’t begin to decipher and told lies like a priest spreading the gospel. It took a while to crack him open, but when you did the damage was irreparable.
You confronted him one night about his coming and goings at unholy hours of night and morning. It was not too long after the two of you moved in together, it was getting near impossible for him to hide the bruises from you now and the anxiety of not knowing where your boyfriend was disappearing to kept you up all night.
You wanted to give Jason his privacy, just let the sickening feeling coiling in your stomach slowly eat away at you. Keep it locked up snug and tight. But, one too many sleepless nights and you broke like a dam under distress.
Tears and flurried words and too many feelings for you to keep up with all came rushing out when he stumbled back into your shared apartment one night smelling blood, sweat, and something feminine. You asked if he was in some kind of trouble, or if there was someone else—if he didn’t want to be around you anymore that was totally fine, but at least let you know before you get into this too deep—
Jason cut off your rambling with a bone-crushing hug. Tripping over his own words in a hurry to reassure you, the thought of losing you enough of an adrenaline rush to have him forgetting about any injuries he may have procured and his heart feeling like it just might implode in his chest.
And then Jason broke too. He told you the truth—about everything. His nighttime activities moonlighting as Gotham’s vigilante slash crime lord, his history, his family. He spoke of the monsters he fought day in day out, the sacrifices he often had to make to keep a temporary peace in his city—often times those sacrifices having to be pieces of himself.
He told you about you, how you were his sanctuary. A reminder of what he fought for. Your innocence and light. You were no saint by any means, but you’d never be able to accumulate half the sin just he had on his hands in four lifetimes. You were there to remind him that there was still good worth fighting for in the world. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.
He then apologized profusely for lying to you, and you could never stay mad at him for long anyway. However, to make up for it (on his insistence) you did make him tell you the civilian identities of all your favorite heroes. A fair trade, you’d say.
Which now brings Jason here. Married, paying off a monthly mortgage, attending Thanksgiving and Christmas parties at your family’s house, waving to neighbors at ungodly hours of the morning as he walked your dogs, and soon expecting a little one of his own.
Yeah, it definitely wasn’t what four-years-ago-Jason would’ve imagined himself as either, or even further back than that Jason. He wouldn’t trade a second of it for the world.
He’d like to say a part of him was reluctant to tell his family of your guys’ relationship because they’d disapprove, and that was why they didn’t know. Saying something like you two were rushing into things and that you had no business being in their line of work due to the dangers. But, in all reality, even after Jason had started to rekindle his relationship with his family and see them more often, he’d just…forgotten.
To tell anybody, really. His family, his friends, he just thought at some point he had told people and they just never mentioned it—there was no way the people he surrounded himself with wouldn’t be able to find out. So, they had to have just no interest in you two, right?
Wrong. Apparently. Jason found out this fact firsthand.
Jason didn’t wear his wedding ring while at work, for obvious reasons. Some of the most notable being, it wasn’t very practical nor was it anyone’s business what the Red Hood’s love life was like. Plus, he didn’t want it to get dirty or risk losing it. He often opted out of wearing it all together deciding the best course of action is to leave it at home, however that night had been different.
Patrol had ended early one night, something Jason was rather irked by considering he’d rushed here from out of state visiting your family due to a false alarm ‘emergency’. He’d had to leave you behind and wouldn’t be able to see you for another week, as the excuse he’d given your family was supposed to be long-term and he refused to let you cut your visit short.
He, along with the other assorted members of Gotham’s vigilantes, ended up back in the Batcave. Jason sat by himself, off to the side where he was not sulking, and—more importantly—where you were not answering his messages.
Dick waltzes up to Jason, who doesn’t even acknowledge his presence, and flops down on the couch next to him,throwing his legs over Jason’s body and making a show of getting comfortable.
Jason glares at him over the screen of his phone and roughly shoves Dick’s feet off of him, promptly turning his attention back to his phone.
Dick cocks a brow. Jason had been particularly quiet and prickly tonight—and he means even more than usual.
It wasn’t uncommon for Jason to be in a bad mood, especially around them, but in recent years he’d been better. He’d started to actually spend time with them—even outside parole, reaching out first occasionally, and they could go several hours without him blowing up and storming off! All in all, Dick wouldn’t call Jason’s behavior unusual, just odd for it to be tonight of all nights.
“What’s so interesting?” Dick asks, nosiness curiosity getting the better of him. He switches his position, instead draping himself over Jason, who was still glued to his phone, and trying to peek at Jason’s screen.
“None of your business, dickhead!” Jason snaps, trying to push Dick away from him.
“What? What is it? Come on! I want to see!” Dick says insistently, chuckling as Jason gets more and more riled up. They wrestle for a moment, Jason outright childishly holding his phone up in the air, away from Dick, as Dick tries to grasp for it but is stopped by Jason’s hands and feet pushing him away.
“Is it something naughty?” Dick teases, mock gasping. “Is that why you won’t show me, Jason? Are you being a bad boy?”
“Shut up! You weirdo!”
Dick howls with laughter as all but Jason tackles him to the floor once Dick gets ahold of his phone. They continue their roughhousing, Dick trying to unlock Jason’s phone screen as Jason fights to get it back. However, Dick has rolled onto his stomach now, and hunches over the phone moving this way and that to prevent Jason from seizing it back. Their commotion draws over the other inhabitants of the cave.
Jason’s phone is snatched from Dick’s hands, Jason lunges after it but is held back by Dick.
“Don’t let him get it, Dami!” Dick says, a wild grin on his face and breathing harshly from laughing so hard.
Damian stands in front of them, Jason’s phone in his hand as he gives the phone a suspicious look. The lock screen is a picture of a woman, her back to the camera as she looks out at the setting sun across the ocean with her hand atop a dog’s head sitting obediently at her feet. Damian raises a brow slightly at this, but opts not to mention it. It wasn’t any of his business what Jason found aesthetically pleasing, after all.
He instead turns back to the real objective at hand: making Jason’s life miserable.
“What is that you’re hiding, Todd?” Damian demands, not asks. “Give it up now and save yourself the trouble. I will find out, one way or another.”
“I’m not hiding anything!” Jason says, irritated. He technically wasn’t lying. He wasn’t intentionally hiding anything from them. He was simply waiting for a very important message from you that he didn’t want to miss because of his annoying, asshole siblings.
Damian clicks his tongue, not believing Jason’s words. He crosses his arms and holds the phone out to his left, handing it over to Tim who starts examining it top to bottom.
Jason rolls his eyes, “You guys are making such an unbelievable deal out of this. It’s just a phone!”
“Nuh uh!” Dick ever-so-helpfully cuts in, his grin still having not left his face as he holds onto Jason even though Jason had stopped struggling. “It’s a phone you don’t want us to see! Which makes it much, much more than just a phone.”
Jason rolls his eyes harder, if that’s even possible, and attacks Dick again. This time, just for Dick being obnoxious.
Tim continues to look over the phone with a critical eye. The case is a black otterbox, the lock screen the picture of a woman and a dog, and a basic numbered password locks the phone. Overall, nothing stands out to him. No secret mechanics or buttons. Well, nothing but the fact that this was definitely not the phone Jason used around them.
That was nothing too shocking though, they all had secret phones. Except the fact that this one seemed to be the personal one, not the work one.
Okay—maybe Jason was hiding one little thing from them, but hiding his personal number from them was nothing egregious.
“A secret phone?” Cass says as she looks over Tim’s shoulder, a smirk on her face and a conspiring glint in her eyes.
“Seems like it.” Tim replies, ignoring Jason and Dick’s squabbling, a twin smirk on his mouth.
“Open it, Drake!” Damian says impatiently, smacking Tim’s arm repeatedly.
“Alright, alright! Stop it!” Tim shakes Damian’s hand off and tries to unlock the phone. He first tries numerous combinations of numbers he knows Jason would use to try and trip them up, but they don’t work. Tim frowns.
Of course they didn’t work, the password was your birthday, but Jason would never use something so simple as a birthday as a password, right? Not that they knew your birthday, anyway.
Jason made it easy for you. He never used his personal phone for anything other than you and the civilian side of his life, anyway.
Usually, he never carries his personal phone with him while he’s at work, much like his wedding ring, and he would never give you his work phone contact to potentially have your number compromised if his phone is ever stolen while he’s out at night. All he has installed on your phone while he’s out is a panic button, it’s made to alert him immediately on any of his devices of your location once it’s activated.
Tonight, though, in his rush he’d kept his personal phone on him—and thank god for it otherwise he’d be bored out of his mind, stuck in the batcave with only his family to keep him company. Well, up till you stopped replying of course.
Tim tries four more passwords before the phone shuts him out for a two minute cool-down. Tim grumbles deep in his throat, starting to get irritated himself.
“Jason, what is it?” Tim grumbles, tapping his foot insistently waiting for the two minutes to finish up. “What’s the password?” Jason doesn’t answer, too caught up with getting out of Dick’s headlock.
“Try one-two-three-four.” Cass suggests.
“Why would it be one-two-three-four?” Tim asks, exasperated. Cass shrugs. Tim sighs.
Jason’s phone suddenly dings with a notification, the sound drowned out by the surrounding chaos. Still, it cuts through the cacophony of noise to Jason like a siren.
“Message from ‘ba—’” Tim starts to read. Jason leaps off of Dick, his brother yelping as he’s trampled under Jason’s feet.
His heart soared when he saw your name on his screen. His shoulders loosens and his face softens, his heart beats a million miles an hour as he taps to open the message. However, his demeanor quickly sours once again once he sees he’s locked out for another forty-two seconds.
Cass’ brows rise imperceptibly as she watches Jason’s body language rapidly change, seemingly going unnoticed by their brothers. She grins and studies Jason closely, thoroughly intrigued now.
She cocks her head, that sly grin still splayed across her lips, and approaches Jason. She peeks over at his phone screen that he alternates from glaring at to Tim and back.
“Who is it?” She asks in a whisper, like they were trading secrets under a comforter way past their bedtime. She hangs over Jason’s arm, trying to get a look at the message as the timer ticks closer to zero, before she’s pushed out of the way by Damian.
“What? What is it?” Damian demands. “I want to see.” He tugs down at Jason’s arm, trying to move it out of the way and snatch the phone back.
Cass pushes Damian back and retakes her spot, Damian doesn’t take kindly to that and soon they’re having an all-out tug of war with Jason’s forearm.
Jason tries to push them both off, but he’s quickly bombarded by his plethora of siblings. Dick finally gets up off the floor with a groan and drapes himself over Jason’s back, and Tim takes a spot hanging over Jason’s other open arm. His siblings’ voices all overlap one another as they continuously get louder trying to speak over the others, making it nearly impossible to pinpoint what one is saying. However, if Jason had to guess, the gist of it all was them wanting to know what was on his phone.
“Would you idiots calm down?!” Jason shouts over them, though it does little to quell their mayhem. However, once he ever-so-casually drops that it’s just you messaging him, that gets them to freeze and the cave suddenly goes dead silent.
Jason rolls his eyes, finally squeezing out of his siblings’ grasps and walking back over to the couch he was previously sitting on. All the while, Dick, Cass, Tim, and Damian stare after him in utter confusion, Jason doesn’t even notice their puzzlement.
The four share looks with each other, looking to one another for answers but coming up short each time.
“Uh…” Tim finally speaks up, “Who?”
Jason repeated your name absentmindedly, like it was one he said on a result basis. Like it was one they were supposed to know.
This also catches the attention of Bruce, who’d previously been sitting at the batcomputer ignoring his children’s rambunctiousness. The four kids glance back at him for answers, but he has no answer for him.
“Right.” Dick says, walking over to Jason who was almost giddily tapping away at his phone, completely unaware of their odd behavior. “And…who is that again?”
Dick chuckles awkwardly, trying to gently coax an answer out of Jason. He leans over the back of the couch and peers at Jason’s phone with his siblings joining him, no resistance from the younger man this time.
However, that seemed to be the wrong thing to ask as Jason whirls around to glower at Dick, pure disbelief and outrage on his face like Dick had just committed the most heinous of crimes.
“Are you serious?” Jason asks, tone hard and deadly. “My wife, jackass?”
Jason scoffs and turns away from Dick, and Dick notices for the first time that night Jason’s fiddling with the necklace strung around his throat. The necklace with a wedding ring hung from it, the inside of the ring engraved with ‘Mr & Mrs’ followed by initials of two names, one he knew as Jason’s and the other hyphenated, and a date. A wedding date if Dick was so bold to assume.
The cave was now so quiet Dick could swear even the resident bats had stopped to settle into absolute shock. He could practically hear Tim’s jaw drop to the floor.
Also for the first time that night, Dick got a good view of Jason’s phone screen. Jason was scrolling through a chat on his messages app;
‘baby 💍💖’:
sorry!! I got caught up in a poker tournament (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞
but don’t worry you worry your pretty little head sugar, I won hehehe (¬‿¬ )
no matter what that little tyrant cousin of mine tries to say
[6 attachments]
what do you think of these ones??
Dick watches in stunned silence as Jason replies to each message, taking time to reply to the person saved as ‘baby’ with a heart and ring in his phone that texts with emoticons, with care and attention.
Dick thinks he nearly falls to his knees with a heart attack when he sees the images sent to Jason were baby cribs—and he’s pretty sure Bruce actually does when he hears a strangled gasp to his left. He hadn’t even noticed when the man had come up and joined him and the others, but there he stands mouth agape and his skin a worrying pallor.
“Todd…” Damian is the first to the silence, his voice barely above a whisper at first thought he might as well have just set off a hydrogen bomb.
“You have a wife?!” The boy screeches, voice raising an octave in disbelief.
“Since when?” Cass asks next, in complete disarray.
“Since how?” Tim chimes in, eyes nearly bulging out of his head trying to piece some puzzle together.
“Jason…” Bruce says breathlessly, the quietest among them sans Dick’s abstaining, the gears in his head working overtime trying to figure things out. His brow furrowed and his eyes rapidly blinking, he looks almost…hurt.
Jason looks at them all quizzically, almost appearing as confused as them though Dick is positive that may be impossible.
“What? What are you morons talking about?” Jason asks, his demeanor truly lost.
“What are you talking about?” Dick can’t help but throw his question back at him. He feels his legs starting to get shaky and he has to sit down.
“I’ve been married.” Jason says as if he’s stating the sky is blue.
“Jason…I—why didn’t you—when did—“ Possibly for the first time ever Dick witnesses Bruce at a loss for words. No contingency plan existed for missing your son’s wedding, apparently.
Jason stares at them all strangely, seeming particularly unsettled by Bruce’s reaction. “Uh…yeah. I’ve been married for like two years now.” He says casually.
“Two—two years?!” Tim and Dick shout simultaneously, Dick shooting to his feet. Bruce releases another one of those dying animal sounds and sits down where Dick was previously before he could topple to the floor, rubbing his hand over his face.
“Yeah…” Jason is startled now, clarity slowly starting to creep into his features now. “Didn’t I…tell you guys?” He asks apprehensively.
“No!” They all shout back.
“Well, how did you not know?!” Jason replies defensively. “Aren’t you people supposed to be the ‘world’s greatest detectives’?”
“Jason, no offense, buddy, but you don’t exactly give off the whole loving husband vibe.” Tim says, looking Jason over as if seeing a whole new person.
Jason’s face screws up in definite offense. “Oh fu—”
“You are having a baby!” Cass interrupts, tone caught somewhere between bewilderment and excitement. She’d snagged Jason’s phone while he’d been distracted and now she and Damian scroll through the two of your messages.
Bruce really does collapse that time.
It’s the next day when they all gather together again. The night before, after Dick and Jason had deposited Bruce in his bedroom upstairs, they’d all agreed to get some sleep and resume their talk in the morning. Hopefully, some rest and preparation would help soothe the situation and their conversation can happen in a more civilized manner.
That was the plan, however, even Jason walked into the dining room the next morning for breakfast, he found his family already there looking as if they hadn’t slept a wink.
Jason sits down in his usual seat, ignoring the disappointed look Alfred gives him as he places a plate in front of him. They all sit in silence as Jason serves himself breakfast.
“Look…it was uh—an honest mistake.” Jason says sheepishly, breaking the silence. The sound of forks scraping porcelain halts at Jason’s words as his family all look up and stare at him incredulously.
“An honest mistake?” Dick asks, as if his lack of sleep was causing auditory hallucinations.
“To neglect to inform us that you’ve been in a relationship. The past four years.” Damian tags on—rather judgmentally might Jason add.
“And married. The last two.” Tim says. What was this, some kind of circus act?
“Also, you are expecting a baby.” Cass helpfully adds.
Jason shrugs, finding his food rather captivating. “Could happen to anybody.” That was that catalyst. All of a sudden everyone is speaking loudly trying to speak over each other.
“Right. That too. Is there anything else you’ve forgotten to tell us about, Jason?” Dick asks, overly sarcastic. “You know, besides your secret family.”
“Any more babies?” Cass—voice bright.
“Oh god, please, no.” Bruce moans.
“Why have you hidden this woman from us, Todd? Are you ashamed?” Damian narrows his eyes suspiciously.
“What—no—!”
“Is she a hero?” Tim.
“Who does she work with?” Bruce.
“Is she a criminal? That would explain your reluctance.” Damian, again.
“No, she’s not—”
“Who is she? What does she look like?“
“Are you going to invite her over?”
“Oh! Tell her to come to dinner tonight!”
Jason could hardly keep up anymore, between his brothers’ rapid questions, Bruce’s hard scrutiny—as if he could figure every answer to his questions if he stared at Jason long enough, and Cass making dinner plans with Alfred.
“Shut up! How am I supposed to answer anything if you don’t give me time to breathe?” Jason snaps, huffing and throwing his fork down. “Ruined my damn breakfast.” He mutters, crossing his arms across his chest.
“Oh, quit pouting, Todd—” Damian rolls his eyes.
“I am not pouting, you little—”
“That’s enough!” Bruce cuts in, his tone firm and commanding, quelling the cacophony of voices.
“Jason…” He says, trailing off like he wasn’t sure where he was originally going with his sentence. “Are you sure about this? Marriage is uh…a big decision—”
Jason snorts, cutting Bruce off before he could hurt something with how uncomfortable he was. “Little late for that, big guy.”
“When are you bringing her over?” Cass inquires again. She seemed to be the only one finding the positive in this situation. “Tonight? What should we make for dinner? Does she have any allergies? Alfred—”
Cass turns to Alfred and continues with her dinner plans, not waiting to consult with Jason.
“She can’t come tonight.” Jason rolls his eyes, sighing heavily. “She’s visiting her family in her hometown.”
A collective groan of disappointment resounds around the room, even Alfred and Bruce seem to huff a bit in despondency.
“So even your own wife can’t stand to be around you, huh?” Damian taunts.
“I swear to god—”
A week later, you and Jason stand out front the manor.
“We can leave, if you want.” Jason says, squeezing your hand reassuringly. Though, you think that was more for himself than you. “Really. No offense on either side, we’ll just say something came up with the baby. That you’re not feeling good, or—”
“Jason.” You interrupt, gently gripping his hand in both of yours. “It’s going to be fine. I promise.”
“I know. I know that. Of course it’s going to be fine.” Jason scoffs, seemingly thinking his casual attitude covered up the stiffness of his shoulders. Your sweet Jason, doesn’t he know you know him too well for that?
“Doesn’t mean I have to want to do it.” He mutters under his breath. You huff out a small breath of laughter, shaking your head.
You rub comforting circles on the back of Jason’s hand. “You ready?” You ask, hopping excitedly on the tips of your toes once you two stop in front of the large, double front doors.
Jason softened as he observed you. A smile slowly overtaking his smile and his shoulders loosening, your presence was calming and your smile infectious. He couldn’t help but almost share in your excitement—almost.
Before you could even finish knocking, the door swings open. Standing in the threshold was Jason’s sister, and if you didn’t know any better you’d suspect she’d been standing there watching and waiting for you two to knock.
She looks over you critically, doing a full head to toe scan of you before looking you straight in the eyes.
You clear your throat, squeezing Jason’s hand for courage. However, before you can let nerves get the better of you, her face breaks out into a brilliant smile.
“Hi!” Cass says, her eagerness barely being restrained. “Welcome! I am Cassandra—but just call me Cass.”
Cass reaches out for your hand, pausing for a moment to see if you’re alright with her grabbing ahold of it. You meet her halfway—much to Jason’s dismay—and you swear the sun shines a little brighter as her face lightens.
She pulls you into the foyer, talking amicably with her entire body as if there weren’t enough words in the world to express her thoughts. “I’m so excited to meet you! I can’t believe Jason has tried to hide you from us.”
“I didn’t—” Jason tries to cut in.
“I asked Jason what you like so I hope everything is perfect for you.” Cass says excitedly, ignoring Jason’s grumbling. She pulls you along further and you have to pick up the pace to keep up with her.
“Hey, careful!” Jason growls, you swat at him and quietly tell him to ‘knock it off’. He looks at you with blatant offense, his eyes telling you he can’t believe you’re taking her side. You roll your eyes and continue following Cass.
Cass drags you into the dining room, Jason trailing in not far behind you. The atmosphere is warm with candles lit and the table all set, the air filled with the comforting smell of all your favorite foods.
An old man dressed in a butler’s suit appears through a swinging door, presumably from the kitchen the smells of food are wafting from.
“Good evening, Miss.” He smiles politely, warm and grandfatherly. “I am Alfred Pennyworth, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
You brighten at the familiar name. “Ah! Alfred, yes, Jason’s told me so much about you!” Alfred nods and pulls out a seat for you, you take it gratefully. You smile jubilantly at Jason as he takes the seat next to you, conveying an ‘I told you so!’, absolutely elated with the smooth meetings so far.
Jason shakes his head fondly. Cass pats your arm on her way out of the dining room, smiling reassuringly. Faintly, drop the hall in the foyer you’d just arrived from, you hear her voice call out; “They’re here! Dinner!”
A moment of silence goes by. You and Jason were left alone in the dining room speaking quietly amongst yourselves, Jason’s hand never having left yours.
Then, you hear thundering footsteps approaching from the hallway. Jason groans and slumps down into his chair.
The dining room door bursts open, and a man you recognize as Dick Grayson, Jason’s older brother, stumbles in pushing through the crowd of his younger siblings also trying to fight their way in. You giggle and his eyes snap to you, his face brightening with a charming smile.
He calls out your name and approaches you with his arms spread like he was coming in for a hug. “It’s so great to finally meet you! I’d like to say Jason has told me a lot about you, but he really hasn’t.” He says, obviously still bitter over the fact Jason had kept your relationship a secret from him.
You chuckle sheepishly, glancing at Jason who was glaring at Dick. Jason told you about how it may have slipped his mind the least couple years to mention he was in a relationship to his family. You couldn’t even really be upset considering the fact it may have…slipped yours as well?
The thing was you had met his family before! Sort of. About a year into you two dating, Jason had dragged you to a gala hosted by Bruce Wayne, practically begging you to accompany him so he wouldn’t be ‘bored to death surrounded by a bunch of pompous assholes’ (his words, not yours). You’d clung to Jason’s arm the whole time as Jason skirted on the edges of the ballroom, and fifteen minutes in you two had elected to ditch the event as a whole instead having a date night in.
Throughout the evening, however, quite a couple of his family members had chased him down, and at the least greeted him before he could shake them off. Ok, you guess you can see how Bering seen walking beside Jason at a gala filled to the brim with people could be overlooked as a proper introduction.
But you knew of Jason’s unconventional relationship with his family, he’d only just started—slowly, integrating himself into their lives after all, so you never pushed for anything.
You felt a bit guilty now, though, after finding out how upset his family had been about not knowing of you.
Dick tries to take the seat next to you but Cass is quiet and silent as she slips behind him, yanking the chair out from under Dick before he can properly sit down and sending him crashing to the floor. She maneuvers the chair around him and places the seat next to you again, sitting down with a smug grin.
Jason bursts out laughing. You try to stifle your own laughter and ask Dick if he’s okay, but with the way Cass and Jason are looking at you with amusement you must be doing a terrible job.
The youngest of the bunch, that you know is Damian Wayne, clicks his tongue. “Get off the floor, Richard, you are embarrassing me.”
You nearly lose your composure again after hearing the words coming out of the young man’s mouth. You can’t help finding it incredibly endearing how prim and proper he presented himself. You really do laugh when the boy’s face turns bright red after you tell him that very notion.
Last to enter is Tim Drake, snickering at the sulking Dick who took the seat across from you instead, and the blushing Damian.
You’re pleasantly surprised how easily you all slip into comfortable conversation. Laughing and teasing, trading stories and lighthearted secrets as if you’ve been doing it for years.
You were having an amazing time, any doubt or anxiety you previously had completely disappearing with your reverberating laughter. Even Jason had lightened up.
Bruce Wayne finally made his appearance once Alfred began bringing out the night’s dinner on trays.
You stiffen imperceptibly, that anxiety slowly creeping back into your stomach, but you don’t let it dampen your mood. Only sitting up straighter and keeping your carefree smile on your face.
Jason sets a reassuring hand on your thigh, heavy and warm and familiar. It soothes your nerves and you take his hand in yours, sending a smile his way.
Bruce sits down quietly, the other Wayne family members not bothering to briefly break in their conversations to acknowledge him. He seems content with this so you don’t say anything either, only waiting for him to look up and meet your eyes.
You greet him politely, and he says your name in return with a small nod. From what you’ve heard from Jason that is a wonderful sign and probably the most you’re going to get out of him, so you take it in stride and smile widely returning to the rest of the table.
It was nice being so included in their inner circle. You had a bit of a rocky relationship with your family yourself, but you’d all been working on it in recent years. However, the way you slipped so naturally into their dysfunctional quota was like a missing piece of a puzzle finally finding its home.
You could feel even through all the teasing and poking fun that this family would always have each other’s backs. Through the rough and hard times, or even when they’re at each other’s throats, they’d never give up on one another. Knowing Jason had something like that to look after him if anything ever happened to you comforted a piece of your soul.
Halfway through dinner, you glanced at Bruce Wayne, having almost forgotten he was there. Silently he sat, eating his dinner and observing the attendants at the table and your heart melts as you saw the contented warmth in his eyes. He met your eyes and gave you a slight, warm smile, you saw the way he watched Jason and you.
How open and easygoing Jason became with you around, his arm thrown over the back of your chair and him openly talking and laughing without a care. Your heart soared as he gave you an approving nod, almost thanking you for taking care of his son.
Wow. You totally got why people lost their mind’s for the Batman’s approval now.
“Hey.” You’re pulled away from Cass and answering her million questions about your pregnancy; ‘Did you know what it was yet?’ ‘How far along are you?’ ‘Have you picked out names?’ ‘What do you think about this nursery? Or this one?’ ‘Have you considered Kassandra if it’s a girl? With a K of course.’—when Tim whisper-yelled your name across the table.
You chuckled leaning in with the others as they all acquired a conspiring glints in their eyes.
“Be honest—did you totally kick Jason’s ass when you found out his incredible incompetence struck again?” Damian asks, almost excited to hear about your imagined wrath.
“Please tell me you did.” Tim chimed in, still whispering as if Jason wasn’t sitting directly to your left.
“Oh, don’t be too upset with him!” Dick says, though his wolfish grin betrayed his true thoughts. “He’s not the brightest person sometimes, but he means well! We all have our flaws.”
Jason scoffs and you could practically hear him roll his eyes. You respond before Jason can start retort.
“Well actually…” You begin, tentatively. “I thought you all knew too.” You confess.
The table goes silent.
“I just thought none of you ever mentioned anything! So I didn’t either.” You chuckle bashfully.
Well weren’t you two just a pair of peas in a pod.
“And technically!” You add quickly, trying to defend yourself. “We have met before! At a gala, three years ago, around Christmas time.”
“The Christmas Wayne Foundation gala…?” Dick mumbles.
“Mhm!” You nod, Jason holding a hand up to you as if you were proving some point of his.
“Three years ago…” Tim says, almost like he’s trying to make sure he heard you right.
“Where Jason avoided us the whole night and then disappeared before the event really even started?” Cass asks, this time. You’re sort of starting to get the feeling you’ve said the wrong thing.
You nod again, a little less assured now. “Well, yes. But I was there with him!”
“That counts as a meeting, right? I did see all of you.” You turn to Jason who nods in agreement.
“Not your fault they couldn’t put two and two together—” Jason tries to say.
“No!” They shout in unison.
“Are you people living in delusion?”
“You didn’t even invite us to the wedding! How’re we supposed to guess that you’re married?”
“Well it was small! There were only like—two other people there anyway!” Jason tries to defend.
“Not even a Facebook relationship status change?”
Lesson learned. Jason will never assume the ‘world’s greatest detectives’ (derogatory) knew everything ever again.
It also didn’t sail too smoothly when Jason got the bright idea to check if he maybe ever informed his friends of his relationship status. (Spoiler: he hadn’t.)
“Did you hear about Tamioka from Demon Slayer? He proposed to his long-term girlfriend!” – @cottonlemonade for my first event.
Secret engagement
wc 671 – f!reader
Tamioka was surprised by the knock on his door one early evening, as he was not expecting any visitors. You were out to see some friends, and he had the estate to himself.
It was about to become a much less peaceful day than he expected.
“Hello,” Shinobu greeted with her trademark smile. Her head tilted, and Tamioka nodded.
“Hello, I was not expecting you.”
Shinobu whipped a letter out of her haori and held it up. “Speaking of not expecting, what is this?”
Confused, Tamioka’s eyes zeroed in on the letter, only to see the simple cover you had decorated for the save-the-date cards to your wedding. Tamioka smiled a little, a proper one that made Shinobu even more bewildered. “It’s a save-the-date for my wedding. I proposed to my partner last week.”
His pride would have been admirable, had it not come as a surprise to everyone that he had a partner at all.
“Your partner?” Mitsuri squealed, having just come over with Obanai to ask the same question as Shinobu. “I didn’t know you had a partner!”
“Neither did I,” Shinobu said calmly.
Obanai reeked of annoyance, arms crossed as he stayed in the courtyard. “A miracle,” he mumbled.
Tamioka was about to say something more, perhaps even explain, when he noticed the rest of the Hashira storming towards his door.
His eyes widened as they all talked over each other. Gyomei congratulated him, Sanemi yelled at him for inviting him, Tengen said his wives would like to help with the planning, and Muichiro wanted to know if Tanjiro was invited.
Shinobu cleared her throat, a sugary sweet sound that made everyone quiet down. “Perhaps you forgot to tell us about her?”
Tamioka thought for a second, hand to his chin as he tried to conjure up a memory of telling either of them about you. “I keep getting distracted whenever I think of her…” He sighed and held his forehead, looking into the distance. “I’m still in shock she accepted me.”
“That makes two of us,” Sanemi muttered, turning away to stand with Obanai instead.
Mitsuri looked around, then leaned towards the entrance. “Perhaps we could meet your fiancé?” she asked with a hopeful voice.
“I’m the only one that’s home, but you can wait here until-“
Before he even finished his sentence, Tengen had pushed past him and entered the estate, making the rest follow in suit. Neither of them had ever been there before.
“I imagined more… water…”
“Yuu!” you called out to your fiancé, running through the house to find him and hoping he would have time to hear about the new cake you got to try at a food stall. “Where are yo-“
As you rounded the corner into the living area, you stopped abruptly to see that you had guests.
None other than all the Hashiras.
Mitsuri gasped, standing up to pull you into a hug. You returned it, but made eye contact with Tamioka in panic over her shoulder. “I didn’t know we had guests.”
“When we heard about the wedding, we wanted to come congratulate you,” Gyomei said on everyone’s behalf, which was not well received.
“I came here to deny the invitation!”
“I didn’t believe it.”
“I was hoping to get food.”
First, your mind browsed through any possible food you could offer the guests, letting Mitsuri pull you over to sit with the group. But then you frowned. “What do you mean he didn’t have anyone to marry? Do I not qualify?”
Tamioka seemed to divert his attention to the single line of spiderweb in the corner, which was suspicious enough.
“Tamioka forgot to tell us he was seeing someone,” Shinobu informed you, not wanting you to be left out.
Your jaw dropped, and you smacked your fiancé’s shoulder. “You were supposed to brag about me!”
“I was not informed about this requirement, but I sincerely apologise,” Tamioka answered, taking your hand and turning to your guests. “I hope you will still be able to save the date.”
Yolo! May I request a muichiro x reader where reader likes to be carried around? She just doesn't want to use her legs to travel to places (being lazy) so she latches or jumps into his arms with every chance she gets! Thank you!
🌫⊹˚₊"𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐞."⋆｡°🐨
───────୨ৎ───────
₊°ᗢ₊˚✧☕Writer's Note: stop I love this😭 this was fun to write, enjoy!
Starring: Muichiro Tokito.
Includes: lazy!hashira!reader, fluff, other hashira mentioned.
───────୨ৎ───────
It had become a running joke in the Demon Slayer Headquarters.
Every time someone saw you, you weren’t walking. You were in Muichiro’s arms.
Sometimes bridal-style, sometimes piggyback, sometimes you just launched yourself at him mid-conversation and expected him to catch you (he always did, no hesitation).
“[Name],” Shinobu said once, eyebrow twitching when she spotted you in the courtyard. Muichiro was walking casually, like he was taking a stroll through a meadow, while you were draped over him like a princess. “You do have legs, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you replied matter-of-factly. “I just don’t feel like using them.”
“…You’re a Hashira.”
“And?”
Meanwhile, Muichiro blinked at the Insect Hashira, tilting his head like he didn’t see the problem.
“She doesn't bother me,” he said simply. “She's light.”
You melted dramatically against his shoulder. “SEE? My sweet, sweet cloud understands me.”
Shinobu gave up.
It wasn’t just laziness, though—it became your favorite form of affection. Whenever you needed comfort, or when you just wanted his attention, you’d sidle up to him, hop, and cling like a stubborn cat.
The first time you actually jumped into his arms, Muichiro didn’t even flinch. He caught you instantly, arms snug under your thighs as if he had been expecting it.
“You could’ve fallen,” he’d said calmly, eyes drifting toward the horizon.
“You would’ve caught me.”
He blinked, then gave a small nod. “…Yeah. I would’ve.”
That was the end of that. You had free transportation forever.
Other Hashira reactions?
Sanemi: “FOR GOD’S SAKE, WALK LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!” (you blew him a kiss while Muichiro just blinked in confusion).
Rengoku: “AH! TRUE TEAMWORK! INSPIRING!!” (he then offered to carry you if Muichiro ever got tired. Muichiro deadpanned: “I won’t.”).
Tengen: “That’s not flamboyant enough. At least make him spin you while he does it.”
Muichiro’s only reaction through all of this was his usual serene look, but deep down, he didn’t mind. He liked the warmth. He liked that you trusted him enough to literally throw yourself into his arms without warning. And though he wouldn’t say it out loud, he’d gotten so used to it that walking around without you clinging to him felt strangely empty.
One night, you were curled up in his lap under the stars, head resting against his shoulder.
“You know,” you murmured, “you really don’t mind carrying me everywhere?”
He looked down at you, eyes soft in the moonlight. “No. I think it’s nice. It’s… peaceful.”
You grinned sleepily, wrapping your arms tighter around him. “Good. ’Cause I’m never using my legs again.”
He gave a tiny huff of laughter, pressing his chin against your hair.
“…That’s fine. I’ll carry you.”
And he meant it. For as long as you wanted.
🌙 Extras! (Headcanons)
Muichiro doesn’t even hesitate anymore. You could be three feet away or halfway across the garden—if you leap, he will catch you, zero questions asked.
Sometimes he’ll quietly reposition you if you’re not comfortable. You’ll be like: “Wait, why’d you—” and he’s just like: “Your arm looked squished. Now it’s better.” 🥺
If you fall asleep while being carried (which you always do on long walks), he’ll instinctively slow his pace, making sure not to jostle you. He looks like a walking weighted blanket provider.
He’s not outwardly clingy, so carrying you around is actually his secret love language. He gets to be close without saying it out loud.
Lowkey… he memorized the exact strength it takes to carry you comfortably. Like he knows your weight down to the decimal. Scientist Muichiro arc.
If anyone suggests you’re being “lazy,” he’ll just tilt his head and say: “No, she's just like being carried.” End of argument.
You once tried to sneak-attack jump onto him while he was distracted. He caught you without even looking and went, “Hi.” You almost screamed.
The other Hashira made a betting pool: “How many times today will [Name] leap into his arms?” Rengoku is the undefeated champion at guessing.
Sanemi: “YOU’RE A HASHIRA, ACT LIKE ONE!”
You: “I am acting like one. I’m delegating the walking to my assistant.”
Muichiro: “I’m not an assistant. I’m her ride.”
Once you were clinging bridal-style and Muichiro absentmindedly climbed a tree. Everyone panicked but you were just chilling like: “We are evolving past the need for ground.”
Tengen told Muichiro he should start charging you like a rickshaw. Muichiro didn’t get the joke and actually asked you if you wanted to pay him. You were like: “Pay you? Angel eyes, I am the prize.”
When you get dramatic you’ll just scream “CATCH ME” across the room and dive. He hasn’t dropped you once. Mitsuri swears it’s true love.
You 100% pretend the floor is lava in front of him just so you have an excuse. He plays along with a completely straight face like: “Ah, dangerous terrain. I’ll carry you.”
synopsis: Rin gets it—his brother doesn’t get bitches. But that does NOT give him the right to crash other people’s relationships. Especially his little brother’s.
a/n: FCK FCK FCK I MISSED HIS BIRTHDAY MAN IMMA KMS 😭🙏 help I thought editing wouldn’t take this much time but oh well. HLBD to one of my fav bois in bllk. I aspire to be as nonchalant as u Itoshi Rin. Love u. (i was high or smtg bc what is this lmao) timeline is kinda confusing but yoloo
characters: itoshi bros
“Every morning you wake up…I’ll be there”
“I’m back.”
Two words.
That’s all Rin hears from upstairs before his mom’s scream of joy and his dad’s laugh echo through the house. He barely has time to process the surroundings before it sinks in—Sae’s home.
And not just home.
The midfielder’s staying.
For at least a few weeks.
You drag yourself down minutes later, rubbing the sleepiness from your eyes and mumbling a “hi” to your (unofficial) brother-in-law when Sae smirks like the devil, Rin scowls at the early morning chaos, and just like that, autumn break is already going sideways.
This was supposed to be your time.
You flew all the way here to do everything and nothing with him—no distractions.
And definitely no siblings.
But Sae also just happened to get off a long flight, and apparently his old room looks like it’s been abandoned for years—dusty, messy, totally unlivable.
So, obviously, he decides to crash in Rin’s and your (temporary) room instead bc duh. Which is exactly why you and your boyfriend are now stuck cleaning it for him.
At eight.
In the morning.
Rin with a broom, you with a rag.
Child labor at its finest, all because his older brother “needs to rest.”
“He just fell asleep” Rin’s mom whispers, giving you a thumbs-up as an act of support for her free cleaning service.
Yeah, that’s bullshit.
Rin knows the second she shut HIS bedroom door, Sae was already awake, probably snooping through his stuff.
By the end of the day—after scrubbing, packing, and planning—Rin’s more than ready to set his alarm and drift off to sleep with you when he hears football commentary from the TV downstairs.
And that’s when it hits him.
The signs are everywhere…
…creaky stairs, the shower turned on at dawn, even the occasional sneeze.
The house is haunted again.
Haunted by the one and only ghost called Itoshi Sae.
“Every night at dinner…I’ll be there”
The air is thick with tension—so thick even a knife couldn’t cut it. Well, unless it’s cutting the chicken on Rin’s curry.
That’s how it feels to him at least…
You’re sitting next to him, comfortably chatting with his parents, politely laughing at Sae’s “questions” like they’re jokes.
Except Rin knows better.
Sae isn’t being “friendly.”
He’s playing Detective Conan—masking interrogation-worthy questions under a polite smile and the occasional sharp glance at his younger brother.
“How did you meet Rin?”
“Did he threaten you?”
“Is he paying you to love him?”
You giggle, thinking it’s his older brother’s humor.
Rin?
He’s silently screaming. Because he can see it—the bitterness behind the smirk, the subtle glare across the table. Sae may play the cold, nonchalant older brother role, but Rin knows what’s eating him alive…the sight of the two of you sitting together, easy and comfortable, while Sae sits aloof and alone with nothing but his curry and stupid pride.
He simply scoffs tho, ready to fire back, when BAM—a swift kick to the shin under the table.
Of course.
A call of a duel.
A sign of “don’t talk back or i’ll spill embarrassing stories about you”.
A challenge of who gets to eat the last ice cream in the refrigerator after dinner.
Classic Sae.
And just like that, the war Rin’s been itching to start is shoved onto today’s to-do list.
And the next day’s.
And the day after that too.
Because apparently, Sae’s new hobby is haunting Rin’s break.
“Every birthday party…I’ll be there”
Rin couldn’t be happier to have you spend the day with him—not through FaceTime, not through texts, but in person.
Just you, him, and…Sae.
His parents had already congratulated him in the morning before leaving you two alone, because apparently he “needed to celebrate with friends”.
Friends meaning you, a lukewarm Isagi, and that absolute lunatic Bachira who got invited without his permission via a message from you.
The two Blue Lock boys were giddily finishing up decorating the living room while you made the birthday boy sit on the couch in a hat, his grumpy face complaining about the boring TV channel playing and the balloon letter ‘R’ being too far from the ‘I’.
“Do I have to control you with the antenna on your head to see that it’s not straight?” Rin groaned, a vein popping on his forehead from seeing his “friend” struggle.
“Will you shut up and let me calculate the right angle?” Isagi shot back, sticking the balloon onto the wall while Bachira gleefully sprinkled confetti everywhere. (he was a fairy~)
Just as they finished, you turned off the lights and slowly walked in with a candlelit cake, singing “Happy Birthday” in slightly off-key tones. The boys joined in as well, hands waving in the air.
Rin blew out the candles, and as the boys clapped, you went in for a hug. He immediately nuzzled into you, flustered face hidden in the crook of your neck.
And that’s exactly when a flash from the doorway blinded everyone.
“Happy birthday, Rin” Sae slowly said, standing in pajama pants at the door, and wiggling his phone with a pic of his younger brother hiding like a child.
Two days later, the photo ended up framed on the living room wall—right next to the others where Rin blew off candles as Sae stood behind him almost like a guardian angel…or a ghost.
“Every Christmas…I’LL BE THERE~”
Why, in the spirit of Santa Claus and Rudolph or whatever, is his brother sitting between you and him during the family Xmas movie time?
Everyone else is comfortable—meaning his parents snuggled together—while the three of you are squished in the middle of the couch.
Sae’s athletic and surprisingly wide shoulders take up all the space so that Rin can’t even drape an arm around you without bumping into his brother.
Why was he even home in the first place?
Perhaps Sae missed his home…
Actual Japanese food…
His little brother, maybe?
No, definitely not.
He just heard the news of you visiting. And wanted to crash his alone time with you…AGAIN.
“Want some?” the older asks, offering both of you his diet kale chips with a teasing smirk like it’s some kind of delicacy.
He victoriously grins at your frowns before turning his attention back to the movie. You’re so close yet so far from Rin that the long-suffering looks he sends you from the other side of the couch are almost painful to watch.
But then comes gift-giving, and that’s when the real fun begins.
You got everyone something small but meaningful, beautifully wrapped under the tree, while your boyfriend—ever the practical one—just shoved everything into bags.
Sae, of course, had to make things more interesting for the sake of his well-being.
He first rearranged the gifts Rin wanted to hand out, whispered “wrong person” whenever he passed a present, and somehow managed to receive the most gifts out of everyone.
Then, after dealing with his hassle of a brother, the photoshoots started.
The very first Christmas with both you AND the brothers together.
Snap after snap, Rin stood next to you in matching ugly Christmas sweatshirts, trying his best not to look too annoyed, while Sae stood off to the side, hands in his pockets, grey sweatpants on, looking like he’s the main event.
And yknow what?
Maybe he was.
“Year after year after year…we’ll grow old together”
Watching The Boss Baby, both brothers were surprisingly quiet—maybe they were rethinking their life choices, perhaps realizing the similarities they shared w the characters or maybe they were plotting how to survive without killing each other before they grew old.
Either way, peace reigned on the couch for once.
You, on the other hand, got bored pretty quickly and wandered over to the living room walls. Pictures of the Itoshi family covered almost every corner—mostly of the brothers, always side by side like two soldiers.
One with choppy bangs, the other never quite looking at the camera but rather at his brother.
You spotted a few pictures with yourself tucked in now too before stumbling on a family album half-hidden under the table. Sliding back onto the couch, you flipped through it carefully, page by page, watching them grow up in photos over the years.
Your quiet giggling gave you away.
Sae noticed first, side-eyeing you with that bored, almost amused expression before muttering, “Wanna see his younger self stuffing three ice cream sticks in his face?”
Rin was ready to launch himself on the album and his brother.
You and I…will always be brothers
“I’ll-I’ll-I’ll be there~”
“Stop that.” Rin deadpanned, rolling over in bed to snatch your phone.
“What?” you asked, trying to grab it back as he tossed the device onto his nightstand.
“I had a nightmare yesterday.” he started, face twisting in mortification just by remembering it. “While sleeping on the couch. With the Boss Baby audio and Sae’s face circling my head like a mantra.”
You stayed silent for a second, processing what he just said before bursting out in laughter, slapping his arm at the ridiculous dream. “His presence must’ve affected your mental health” you teased, rolling onto your stomach.
Rin only glared, then shut his eyes, determined to get some sleep after yet another day of “fun” with Sae third-wheeling you both.
The room quickly went quiet, moonligjt spilling in, your limbs tangled with his.
Peaceful.
Almost.
Because hours later Rin was sweating. Hard.
“Rin~ Rin~ Rin~”
Sae’s voice echoed, hypnotic, and when Rin’s vision cleared, he was in a retirement home. Stuck in a chair. Next to his older brother.
Oh no.
He struggled, tossed, tried to run, but the seat held him hostage. Sae sat beside him, perfectly calm, eyes buried in a book like it was nothing.
Then the younger one’s eyes flew open—chest heaving—only to lock onto a turquoise pair staring directly into his soul.
The midfielder was hovering over him. Morning sunlight leaked through the blinds, cruelly spotlighting his older brother, already dressed in training gear.
“Shhh—”
“WHAT THE FU—”
A hand clamped over his mouth, Sae squinting down at him, silently demanding him to shut up before accidentally waking you too.
Rin froze, still squirming until his brother deemed him calm enough.
That’s when Sae whispered.
“Where’s your spare football?”
And as Rin glared up at him, memories clicked into place—him at eight years old, doing this exact same thing to Sae. Standing over his brother at dawn, shaking him awake just to demand where the ball was so he could sneak outside and practice.
AO3 | 7k wc. afab!reader. unreliable narration. selfship coded. songfic. exes. past relationships. forced proximity. fluff. humor. hurt/comfort. food. movies. childhood home. pets. familial issues. unresolved feelings. non-explicit sex. everything is loaded including my shotgun. lots of indirect communication (gods help them).
a/n: almost didn’t post this as this felt too personal to me. lol. thank you, @angstigone, for planting this idea in my head <3
“I’m home!” you called out. And despite the walls that smothered the drumming rain, it still seemed loud against the silence that greeted you back. Not for long though, because Pyper, the dog, came zooming in for her long overdue cuddles, forcing your belongings to kiss the entryway floor.
Pyper led you, taking you on a personal tour of her upgraded domain. Although you’d seen it during video calls, you marveled at the size of her dog bed. And yet, she lounged on the couch like she owned that too (she does).
Looking around now, the house appeared bare compared to the last time you were here. A couple of years ago, houseplants were everywhere, scattered among furniture, up from the ceiling, shoved in the corners and windowsills. Those that were left stood tall by the windows, slightly bending towards the light.
As you padded closer to the kitchen, the air swirled of warmth, pulling you deeper into the house with the scents of your favorite home-cooked meals. One of the neighbors must be helping her out as you heard hushed chatter and two working pairs of hands: one was chopping, the other, stirring. You were thankful for them for coming over a lot, especially now, to check up on your mom and help her around the house.
However, as soon as you saw the state of the kitchen, it was as if you vacuumed all the air in the room with a single gasp. The comforting mood that initially had drawn you in, now faded into a dull hum. In a state of standstill. Were you in the wrong house? An intruder in your own home?
No and no.
This was definitely where you grew up. And in front of you, was your mom. She was not alone—that, you had been aware. But next to her wasn’t even the next door neighbor, nor was one of your siblings. And not exactly a stranger either.
It was Nagumo.
Nagumo towered over the island counter with his sleeves rolled up, looking undeniably amused by your reaction.
The same Nagumo whom you had broken up with, whose number had been blocked since, whom you hadn’t seen for almost a year—stood smack in the middle of the kitchen. Your mom’s kitchen.
“Oh, I didn’t hear you come in!” she beamed and came in for a long melting hug. She smelled of fresh-cut flowers, of comfort food. Of home.
She began filling in the blanks for you. According to her, Nagumo arrived yesterday. You were sure she had said more, before and after that, but all of those had dissolved into distant echoes, passing through one ear to the next.
“So, surprise!” she exclaimed. Half teasing, maybe half accusing.
Perhaps this could’ve been avoided if you hadn’t left your mom on read and purposefully missed her calls, days before coming here.
“Is your … What’s his name again? Oh. Yoichi. Is he going with you?” she had asked.
Knowing her, she probably was just asking so she could prep the house for guests. Hospitality and whatnot. You could’ve made some lousy excuse, that he couldn’t make it. His job was demanding after all. That you hadn’t been seeing him as much, but not because you were having problems—of course not—and make up a hundred interconnected excuses why they couldn’t meet just yet.
But, nope. It had become exceedingly daunting with each question, that you kept putting it off, until you were swamped with a long list of things you had to power through, just so you could have a relaxing, uninterrupted time once you were back home—until it was too late.
You were definitely too late.
Nagumo, the mastermind of whatever the hell was going on, chimed in, “Surprise!”
“Surprise?” you repeated with a sharp edge to it, probably sharper than the knife he was holding.
Indifferent, he pivoted, “How should I chop these?” And your mother, whom he had completely disarmed, came to his aid.
Am I being Punk’d? you mused. Where are the cameras?
“Well, don’t just stand there.” She cocked her head, “Change into something nice.”
It was barely 6 p.m but she liked her dinners early. So, with an eager nod, you said, “Yeah, I’ll go.” But first—
Nagumo, with his whole back vibrating from stifling his laughter, turned to the sink. But you weren’t the type to go down without a fight. So, in the sweetest tone you could muster, you called, “Hey babe, can you come with me for a bit?”
“I’d love to, but,” said Nagumo over his shoulder, so at-home, so laidback. Unbelievably audacious, he shrugged. “As you can see, I kinda have a lot on my plate.”
“No,” you said pointedly. And the sweetness? Gone. “You will put the nonexistent plate down and come with me.”
Silence fell like someone had shattered the said plate. The shift in the air was tense, more heated than it already was. Did the exhaust suddenly stop working? Maybe that was just you.
Maybe it was Nagumo being a little shit.
“Is something wrong?” Her gaze flickered between you two. “Are you kids fighting?”
“No.” you both answered in unison, his smile twitching to go wider. Yours, tight.
“Alright alright.” Nagumo huffed and tossed his apron aside, now coming closer to put an arm around you, “I know you miss me, but, really? In front of your mom? That’s a little excessive.”
Huh.
How much force, you wondered, did one need to push all the air out of someone with an elbow to the gut? But as though a divine intervention had occurred, a chuckle bubbled out of your mom, “Shoo now, you two.” waving the both of you off, “No flirting in my kitchen.”
And so you wrapped an arm around his waist and dragged him upstairs.
***
“Hey now, you’re the daughter.” Nagumo said, his voice muffled through the door. “That’s on you.”
“Of course, it is. It always is.” A distracted mumble slipped past your lips as you struggled to unlock your luggage. Perhaps changing your combination last minute before the trip was not the best idea. Perhaps using anniversaries for locks was the worst.
“Having trouble?” His voice cracked into a chuckle. “Want me to come in?”
“Don’t you dare,” You froze, crouched on the floor with nothing but your underwear. “Mind telling me how on earth did you plan all this?”
“Uh … technology? She calls me often.”
“What?” That came out harsher than you intended. She could be overbearing, though that might be an understatement, but this was an all-new low.
A hearty laugh sent tremors through the door and spread to your bedroom walls. Your mouth opened, words wouldn’t come out and so you closed it again. Nagumo was wheezing by the end of it. You know what? Who cares! I don’t wanna know—you mused.
After a series of hushed profanities, you finally emerged through the door. Nagumo waited close by with his infamous puppy dog eyes, looking delighted as if you hadn’t shut the door on his face.
“Not to be rude but you don’t really need to stay.” You moved past him, one controlled step after another. “Check in at a hotel, Airbnb—I don’t care.”
“And what, demolish all the food on your own?” Nagumo shuffled behind, “Don’t wanna.”
“Haven’t you had your silly little fun yesterday? I’m being so fucking serious right now.”
“Aaand I’m not?” He pointed at himself, appearing anything but. “Besides, this is like, payment for offering my help.”
“Help with what exactly?”
“Oh, you know,” Lowering his voice to a whisper. “this fake relationship you got going on?”
Heat rose up to your cheeks. “Excuse me? If you didn’t come all the way here in the first place—” Something you had buried was clawing its way up to the surface, threatening to escape. Not now—you mused—Not ever, as you pushed it back down. You exhaled deeply. Calmly. “Why did you even come here?”
“Man, I wonder why?” He crossed his arms, pointed at his chin as if in deep thought. “First, you’re a lousy liar … Okay, maybe not. I’m actually quite impressed at how long you’ve got this going on.”
You gestured at him, “Learned from the best.”
He huffed, totally ignoring what you just said. “But I digress. Second, you dragged me into this. Third, I wasn’t briefed—at all. Lastly—”
“Fine!” you shushed him, “Point taken!”
He wasn’t exactly wrong. But, what were you supposed to say?
Sure, you had a million chances to tell her the truth each time his name was brought up in conversation, but a sickness was gunning to take your mom away. The horrible news had hit you right at the time when your relationship with Nagumo had started being flimsy. There was no way you were going to tell a soul, even saying it out loud had hurt too much. The last thing you wanted was for anyone—for your mom to feel sorry for you, to strip them off the idea that you were doing great: Breadwinner. High paying job. Living abroad away from everyone. Bonus: a hot boyfriend.
Despite her knowing about Nagumo, you had never let them speak to each other. He only lived in the stories where everyone was happy and everything was perfect. Which was why you had to get to the bottom of how this “surprise” had ever come to be. He could’ve made an excuse then! You were sure he was able to discern such things. He could’ve said, just like he had always done, that he couldn’t make it—or better yet, say nothing at all.
Still, out of all the chances he had, he really chose to show up now. How ridiculous.
“Please,” you huffed, exasperated, almost whining. “I’m tired. I just wanna relax and not think about …” failing to find the right word, you winced, “this.”
“Then relax.” He drawled, rolled his eyes, as if it was the most obvious choice. “I’m outta here first thing in the morning. 7 a.m., tops.”
Whether the quick tug in your chest was because of the ease in which he had said it, rather than what he had actually said, you ignored it. Kicked it under the rug. It simply didn’t matter.
Not anymore.
***
Nagumo, for once, kept his word. The dinner was so far, sailing smoothly. At least that was how it appeared to be—hopefully. Because the constant displays of affection and inside jokes, for appearances, kept throwing you off. Whether he was genuinely enjoying dinner, or was just here to keep up with the lie, you made sure not to turn it over and over in your head. He and your mom took turns chatting, stealing all the attention away from you.
You marveled at the amount of carefully selected grey lies that Nagumo placed on the table, the technique in which he gradually sprinkled them around. How he, at times, as if to enhance texture, let a detail sizzle longer than it should, before moving to the next. Serving a whole michelin star meal, garnished with the most tasty looking lies. And while you nodded and smiled on cue, you couldn’t help but wonder how much of this had he done to you as well.
“You’ve been quiet,” There was a hint of worry in your mom’s voice. It was enough to drag you back with a single pull. “You alright?”
Pretending through calls and lit up screens were much less claustrophobic than doing it face-to-face. So, you forced a smile, hoping she wouldn’t notice. “Yeah, I just feel … off.”
“Sleepy?” said your mom.
“Or,” Nagumo interjected, “jet lag?”
“Maybe those overtime hours are finally catching up to you,” said your mom. “I told you so many times—”
“Or,” You interrupted, making sure not to make eye contact as you poke at your food. “Maybe I’m perfectly fine and I just wanna eat in silence.”
The dining room held its breath. Even Nagumo, who had been unfazed throughout, paused for a fraction of a second. You shouldn’t have used that tone. Your gaze slowly slid up to your mom, expecting a reaction that wasn’t there. Her stare was unrevealing. You could tell she was mellowing down, turning into the person you had wished she were back then. Had she been pissed, she wouldn't show.
“Sorry,” You said with a brittle laugh, “Yeah, just jet lag.”
Dinner resumed soon after that.
“Hey,” Nagumo leaned in, “Wanna swap?”
Back when you were still a thing, when one had what the other wanted, you would either swap or eat on each other’s plate. Putting the pettiness aside, you gave in for the sake of performing like the most affectionate couple, even if it wasn’t exactly the truth anymore.
Suddenly, your mom asked, “I don’t think I ever asked how you two met.”
Nagumo exchanged glances with you, as if saying: You got this one. “He broke my phone.” you said, “bumped into me so hard, it went flying near the train tracks. He had it fixed though.”
She snorted. “That’s one way to get someone’s attention.”
“Right?” He leaned back in his seat, eyes faraway. “Had no choice but to exchange infos. Genius if you ask me.”
“I broke a nail and almost fell face first on the subway floor. But sure,” You rolled your eyes. “Genius.”
“Caught you just in time so I don’t see the issue.” He shrugged. “Had to shoot my shot, you know?”
You fought a smile. “Could’ve just asked like a normal person.”
“Eh, that’s boring.” He bit into his food, the tines pressed between his lips. “Knowing you now, you’d forget me in less than a day.”
“I highly doubt that.” Your mom chuckled, you had almost forgotten she was there. “Why were you in such a hurry anyway?”
“I don’t remember …” He pondered it for a bit as he chewed, “It was purely by accident, but,” the sides of his lips twitching into a curve. “She wouldn’t let me go. I couldn’t get through her! She was calm, but I could tell she was furious … ears red and all.”
“Well, you did shatter my work phone. You can’t charm yourself through everything—not with me.”
“She does have trouble letting things go,” said your mom. Surely a loaded comment.
“Does she?” He mumbled.
“Alright,” you smacked your palms together, its echo ringing through the walls. “Time for dessert!”
——
By the time you were about to sneak the six-pack up to your room, the image of Nagumo crouching on the living room carpet and rummaging through a cardboard box made you stop in your tracks. There, on the ground next to him were stacks of VHS—one of your mom’s many collections.
“You’re making a mess.”
“Am I now?” He pointed at the contraband dangling from your hand. “Quit sneaking around like a teenager and watch a movie with me.”
“Why would I wanna do that?”
“Because I’m your guest, duh?” His gaze flickered between two tapes. Then, as if talking to himself. “Should we watch horror?”
“Who’s we?”
“You’re hurting my feelings.” Now arranging the eliminated stack back in its place, he said, “Wasn’t it you who said ‘Promise we’ll never watch shows without the other’?”
Yeah, back when we’re still together, idiot—you wanted to say but it was pointless.
After a few tweaks and pushing of buttons, the VCR made a whirring sound a clunk after swallowing his film of choice. “There we go.”
You left him and when you returned with a tub of coffee jelly, you handed a bowl and spoon to him. “You know Netflix is a thing, right?”
“Out with new. In with the old.” The couch dipped as Nagumo sat on the other end, “… Or whatever the saying goes.”
***
You were on your third drink by now, the can hissed as you lifted its tab. “This is one hell of a horror movie.”
“This isn’t horror to you?” said Nagumo, wiping the sides of his lips smeared with cream. “Just ‘cause you hated the ending doesn’t mean the whole movie was bad.”
“Fair. But who rides a bike like that?” With fingers counting, “Main road. No helmet. Hands anywhere but on the actual bike. And apparently,” you air quoted, “you can’t hear shit when your eyes are shut?”
“I know right?” Egging you on, he said, “Who does that?”
“People in love?” You shrugged. “Or something?”
He snorted, “Or something.”
As the credits rolled, you found that this wasn’t as bad as you had initially thought. Just like another familiar friend, while you and Nagumo sat on opposite ends of the couch, silence settled comfortably in the space between.
“Can we watch The Terminal next? I think it’s somewhere in there … We never got to—” you blurted out. Perhaps it was the alcohol doing its thing, something was coming loose. Clearing your throat, you continued, “you know … Tom Hanks?”
“Sure, yeah.” Despite your slightly muddled vision, you were certain, with the television casting a glow on his face, there was something weighing him down. He buried it as fast as a camera flash and said, “Thought you wanted horror though?”
“Getting stuck at the airport for nine months isn’t horror to you?”
Your gazes met. He finally smiled. You did too.
***
Two movies down and by the time the credits began rolling, you reached for the sole unopened beer can.
Nagumo held you by the wrist. It took you a moment to understand what he was doing.
“Hey.” you warned, as he was prying the drink from your hand.
“That’s gonna be one nasty hangover.”
You raised an eyebrow, “What’s it to you?”
“It’s everything to me,” He let go, now holding the drink out of reach. “‘cause you’re my driver tomorrow.”
“Uh—no?” You were taken aback. “I’m sleeping ‘til noon.”
“Not if I wake you with morning breath.”
You grimaced. “You’re disgusting.”
“Oh, shut up,” he drawled. “You love that shit.”
“Not if I double lock my door.”
“Not if I climb the window.”
“Will you serenade me before climbing?” you leaned back. “That’s kinda custom here.”
“If you so desire …”
A distant scratching echoed from the front door, interrupting your lively exchange with Nagumo. It was Pyper.
“You think she needs to take a dump?” said Nagumo, standing behind as you were both peeking at the hallway.
“No, she doesn’t.”
“Yep, she does.” His hands light on your shoulders.
“Did you …” it dawned on you. You turned, lifting a hand to hit his arm. “You gave her more kibbles!”
“She kept following me to the bathroom!” He dodged, barking a laugh as he backed away. “What was I supposed to do?”
“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe just … pee?!”
***
It was a little past midnight. The deserted street glistened with tiny puddles for mirrors. Thanks to the downpour earlier, the stars were blooming against the dark cloudless sky.
“We’ve been scammed.” You had been walking for a while now, long enough to sober you up.
“Trust me.” said Nagumo, a few paces ahead, holding Pyper’s leash. “She’ll take a dump.”
“Okay, Mr. Dog Whisperer. Were you a dog in your past life?”
“Yup!” Enthusiastic, he said, “I waited at a train station for years, but no one came back for me.”
“Tragic.” You shook your head. “But your ass is not Hachiko.”
“No, I swear,” He turned to you, shuffling backwards, “True story.”
“I know it is. Everyone does!” You snapped, “But Hachiko is definitely not you.”
“How’d you know?” A smug grin flashed across his face. “Were you my owner in your past life?”
“How should I know?” You mimicked. “I died of a stroke, remember?”
He gasped, stopping in his tracks. “So, it was you!”
The moon hung bright behind Nagumo, bathing his outlines with a soft glow. You held each other’s gaze. And before you could catch it, both of your laughs loosened, shedding away, circling around the two of you—just like how it all used to be. No faking. No pretenses.
Pyper barked.
“See,” Nagumo gestured with an open palm, like showing his latest invention. “Told you she’ll take a shit.”
“You’ll pick that up, right?”
“Huh?” He looked incredulous. “I’m already holding the leash.”
“Such hardwork! Want a medal with that?”
“I only take cash.” He unlatched the roll of waste bags and tossed it to you. “Your turn.”
And so you reluctantly did.
“Hey, Chi.”
“Yeah?” He panted while Pyper playfully chased him in circles.
“If I throw this at you, would you get mad?”
“Eh, not sure,” He slowed down and came closer, mischief lit up like lanterns in his eyes. “But I’d love to see you try.”
——
There wasn’t anything much to do back at the house except making sure Pyper’s paws were clean and all the doors were locked. So when those were cleared, you headed upstairs.
Upon entering your bedroom, Nagumo was already there. Not that you were expecting him, nor did you want him there, but you had an inkling that he would sneak up on you.
Thankfully he didn’t. Unfortunately…
“What’s … all this?”
“Oh, you’re here.” A quick glance before he pondered back the two sets of pajamas laid out on your bed. “Tryna choose which one to wear.”
“Does it matter?” Leaning by the door frame, you snorted. “You sleep naked anyway.”
“I wanted to be considerate since … you know,” he looked at you from feet and up, then shrugged, “But if you insist—”
“Hold on, wait wait wait …” you stepped in to get his attention and pointed out, “Spare room’s over there.”
“Yeah, about that …” he paused, gauging your mood, as if he was about to say something stupid.
“What?” you snapped.
“I think,” he stepped closer and took your hands in his. Too distracted by its warmth, you didn’t back away. “The house is haunted.”
“The house … ” you deadpanned, “is haunted?”
“Yup! You learn fast!” He let go and patted your head. Now pointing back to his previous dilemma, he asked, “So, which one? Or should I just … sleep naked? Like you said?”
“Get out.” You pushed the door wider, “You’re not sleeping here.”
He scowled, incredulous. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? Besides,” pointing at a corner, “My stuff’s already here.”
Right there, next to your luggage was his own. Side by side in complementary colors. His and hers. Yin and yang? Ugh. Unbelievable. So that’s why he went upstairs without a word, you thought.
“Have you really no shame?”
With his shit eating grin, he said, “Not in the slightest!”
“Fine,” hands raised in surrender, you said. “I’ll take the couch.”
“No no no …” He rushed to block and closed the door behind you, “We can’t sleep separately. Your mom, remember?”
“I’ll just tell her you pissed me off … Which is true. For once.”
“Oh, c’mon now!” He deflated, “I’ll behave, I promise … since you’ll be driving me tomorrow.”
Behave? No shit.
“Sure,” you crossed the room to get your own change of clothes. “If you don’t mind me reverse driving into incoming traffic, then deal.”
He snorted. “Deal.” And took off his shirt. As though you hadn’t seen every inch of him, you looked away. You shouldn’t be having obscene thoughts about your ex right now.
Speed walking into the attached bath, you clutched your clothes and towel to your chest, only for him to trail behind you. Inside, you noticed his toothbrush was already in the cup along with yours. The nerve.
“Ah, I see you didn’t switch back.”
You knew full well what he was talking about but you acted oblivious instead. “Huh?”
“Toothpaste?” He squeezed some onto his toothbrush.
“It’s literally just toothpaste, Yoichi.”
“Is it?” He smirked.
It wasn’t. Among many things after the break up, you had tried going back to the things you used pre-Nagumo but it just wouldn’t hit the same anymore. He kind of ruined a lot of things for you.
“It’s not that deep.”
“Of course it isn’t.” He made a toast with your toothbrush. You made sure not to meet his eyes through the giant mirror. What a funny thing deja vu was.
Taking turns with the sink, the both of you finished almost at the same time. The gentle sloshes of water swirled against the deafening silence. It was so quiet—too quiet—that your heart almost leaped out of your chest when he leaned in and paused so close you felt his minty breath brushed briefly against your skin. He then whispered, “Oops. Habits.”
Habits? Who is he kidding? Your face burned hot. Your knees turned Jell-O.
“You go in first.” He said and left as fast as it happened. Gathering yourself, you stood frozen for a moment. You had almost welcomed it, almost pulled him in. Almost wanted it. Almost—
“Unless …” His stupid grinning face popped back through the doorway, “You wanna save water?”
“Get. Out.” you said, voice tight as you scowled at him through the mirror. His chuckles echoed distantly as he walked away.
***
You were hoping to be asleep by the time Nagumo was finished, but you were stuck sitting on the side of your bed drying your hair with a towel. You were sure you had packed your blow dryer away. But, for some odd reason, you couldn’t find it anywhere.
He stepped out of the bathroom, hair dripping on the towel wrapped around his nape, typing away on his phone with just his boxers on. Judging by the scent wafting through the room, you were sure he had used up half of your body wash and hair conditioner. After all, he had always loved smelling like you.
Great. Just great.
The bed dipped under his weight, ignoring the foldable mattress you had prepared for him.
“Hey, wrong bed.”
He tossed his phone and towel somewhere. With eyes closed and a soft smile, he shamelessly slipped under the covers. “I don’t think so.”
“You’re dripping all over my pillows!” you tried pushing him off, but he was as good as an immovable boulder. “First, my bath stuff, and now you’re hogging my bed. What’s next?”
He looked up at you, a smile playing on his lips. “You know what.”
His cheeks were dusted pink. You tossed your towel on his face and turned away. “Dry your hair first at least.”
He stirred and sat up with a grunt, “Fine.”
With your back on him, you listened closely to the way he dragged his feet around your room, looking at all the things you have ever loved—pausing to lift something, asking, and then putting them down.
After a while, you joined him. Like on a tour, you allowed him to see parts of you that you had longed to show him, parts that no one had seen before. He asked and asked and asked, and you indulged in the weight of his boyish curiosity, sinking in the relief and fear of being finally known.
“Just one?” He opened the cassette tapes’ case and lifted its J-card.
“Explains why it’s battered.”
He snorted, “I’d say it’s well-loved.”
You took the tape and ran your thumb across the album name—Shades of Purple. “I used to play this thing nonstop.”
Nagumo looked around and found another “well-loved” thing that was your Sanrio cassette player.
“I don’t think that works anymore.”
“Wouldn’t hurt to try.” He reached his hand out.
“The walls are thin.” Giving the tape to him, his hand briefly brushed yours. “Just keep the volume down.”
His eyes swept through the title tracks. “Which one’s your fave?”
“Pretty boy.”
A satisfying crunch echoed as he closed the tab. After a series of ‘rewind’ ‘okay, stop’ ‘no, rewind some more’, the song he was aiming for finally played. Nagumo, then, noticed another thing next to it.
“You’re quite the hoarder.” He looked amused, staring down at an old yellowing gift box filled with stickers and other ephemera you had kept through the years.
You joined in looking through them. Somehow, your fingers stumbled upon a crescent moon shaped sticker, glittery and slightly embossed. You peeled it and stuck it onto his cheek.
“Is this song for me?” He suddenly turned girlish, “Do I look pretty?”
Even with the low light lamp staining the room with its color changing effects, it was clear that he very much was. You couldn’t help but nod.
“Then put on some more.” He closed the distance. Turned the other cheek. “Here.”
Suddenly, it felt hard to breathe, like your throat was closing in on itself. You averted your gaze and raked your hand through the box, peeling one, sticking them, and another. And another. All while his gaze followed your every move.
“Who are those little guys?”
You looked his way. He was gazing at the framed photograph sitting atop the dresser. It was your child self clutching a kitten in each arm.
“Oh, those are Bambi and Pumpkin.” you shrugged. “Had to give them away.”
You told Nagumo how you had them as strays, had nursed them to health, bonded with them, only to find out that your baby brother was allergic to them.
“I remember being so angry because little me couldn’t understand why they had to be given away.” You smiled wistfully. “Hated it so much I locked myself here during the send off.”
“I get it.” He peeled a random sticker and stuck it on the tip of your nose. You let him. “How’d you feel about it now?”
You shrugged. “I’ve made peace with it.”
He said nothing, his gaze watchful.
“You know, I was always so scared of using these.” Talking about the stickers. “Didn’t wanna waste them. Kinda wish I used them sooner.”
“Lucky you, I’m here. Stick ‘em all on me.” His eyes glossed over your lips. “All of it.”
I’m here … his words echoed in your mind, turned over and over until the heaviness felt physical. Everything went utterly still and motionless against the quiet warm beats playing from the cassette player.
“Turn that off. You’ll wake mom.” You closed the box’s lid and rose to your feet. “Good night, Nagumo.”
Just like the evening you had called it quits. He didn’t stop you. Didn’t protest. Didn’t say a word. It was as if he had been anticipating it, like he was used to it—like he was completely fine without you.
Sleep wasn’t coming anytime soon. In bed, with your back on Nagumo, you asked, “Why did you come here?”
“You know why.”
“No, I don’t. I’m surprised you even have the time.”
The mattress creaked as he stirred, and by the sound of his voice you could tell he was facing you now. “I’ve lots. I got fired.”
“You?” you scoffed. Words wrapped in blades. “If anything, you should be employee of the century for being the workaholic you are.”
“That’s rich coming from you.” He chuckled dryly. “If it makes you feel better, I’m not fired fired yet.”
“How come? Unfinished business? Backlogs? They haven’t milked you dry yet?”
“You can put it that way.”
His head pressed between your shoulder blades. This was the part where you used to ask him, “Do you wanna talk about it, or just hug it out?”
He had never talked about it. The hug wouldn’t end with just a hug either. But your heart squeezed at the thought of him curled up behind you. You knew if you turned around, you might just go crumbling down.
Your head was spinning, heart thumping in your ears. Hope and fear, and another thing you refused to name, now melding together, pooling inside you. Your lips found each other then. Who had leaned in first, you couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. You inhaled him, drinking the sweet movements of his lips.
“Now you’re really wasting them.” whispered Nagumo, as you hurriedly peeled the stickers off his face.
“No.” you smiled, swallowing a lump in your throat, “Not when it’s you.”
His smile died as he pressed himself against you. His touch, though gentle, as if smoothing a delicate flower, felt all consuming. Doubt and want prodded at you to unravel. And so you did, like petals dropping away among the pillows—does he love you? Does he love you not?
“Got condoms on you?”
“What for?” He snickered, teeth grazing your lips. “Is that a trick question?”
“Why?” You sneered, “Have you been fucking other people?”
“Have you?”
“Do you care?”
“I don’t know,” He parted your legs, “Should I?”
He trembled and trembled. You knew what he wanted, what pleasure looked like once he began wearing it. His gaze was fixed, feverish yet sharp, on you. You used to look back at him like this, longing to understand the thick viscous air that lay in the narrow space between, heavy from thousands of loud unintelligible words that it held, leaking through every touch, before hiding his face in the curve of your neck.
This time he didn’t.
Cupping his face, you wanted to dip your fingers into his mind. Feel its crevices, its curls. Memorize its shape. You wanted to kick all the doors open, walk through every floor, every room, draw all the curtains wide—dance around while he, forcibly or willingly, watched you.
“You’re crying,” he said between broken gasps, “Are you hurt?”
Holding him tighter, you nodded.
“Where?” He cooed, kissing your tears away.
Where? How could you possibly think when he was this close. As close as he could be, yet he still felt so far away. He was yours yet belonged to no one. He was both too much and never enough.
Where does it hurt? He really didn’t have any idea, did he? He didn’t know how disappointing—how embarrassing it had been for you. All the missed calls, forgotten plans. The waiting, ghosting—secrets. Feelings of inadequacy, feeling unloved.
The maybes. Maybe he’s burnt out. Maybe he’s just going through it again. Maybe he’ll come around. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe—
Do you want to stop? He asked. You found your fingers through his hair. His face now pressed against your neck. You wanted to push him away, yet didn’t want him to stop. You wanted him to leave, yet didn’t want to let go. Not now. Not ever. You wanted to tell him that, but the words kept dying as soon as it had reached your lips.
Back then, it had felt too dreadful for you to keep going. The exhilarating high wasn’t worth the crash anymore. So, you had retreated back, had not let your mind wander, sure that thoughts of him would’ve splintered you. Had built walls upon walls upon walls—only for him to break them down as if made of brittle glass.
Where are you hurting? He asked again.
“I don’t know.” you managed to speak. Yet your tongue became a scorched jumbled mess of words, tumbling upon each other. “Everywhere?”
He held you tighter. His breathing quickened as if he had sprinted through hell just to get you back. Pleasure ripped through you. Then him. And you swore he had said your name. Perhaps an apology too, perhaps something more. All of them too hushed to hear, like the walls in your bedroom would shatter if he said it a touch louder.
A pleasant fatigue was stealing over you as Nagumo crawled into your arms. He stayed there, unmoving. And despite many moons apart, you could tell he wasn’t sleeping. His breaths, the way it hadn’t deeply picked up yet, hadn’t relaxed yet. His toes still flexing, thumbs still circling. The teeth grinding and the subtle twitching of his body that had yet to begin. Those half asleep pulls and kisses, like muscle memory, when he stirs in his sleep—
“I wish you’d burdened me.” you whispered, hoping he would hear. Hoping he wouldn’t speak.
His grip tightened. He let out a half laugh, a half scoff and buried his face deeper against you. There was a strain in his voice. “You’re one to talk.”
——
However brief, you had a deep restful sleep. One of the best in a long while. The sheets felt extra soft, the pillows extra cold. All of yesterday felt like a fever dream but once it dawned on you that it was all real, the pang in your chest came piercing through sharper than ever.
It was rather familiar. The mornings were always the hardest once the realization hits you, forcing you to accept that it would never be the same again. That you would carry on for days and days like you had lost an invisible body part, until you get used to it, until you eventually numb yourself to the feeling. Only now, this wasn’t remotely close to a break up. Yet, loss all the same.
It was still so early. Though there were still echoes of him left—the subtle scent of shaving cream, the tiles still dewed, the shower curtain still moist, your toothbrush sat alone in its cup. Nagumo’s belongings were nowhere to be found. Maybe he hadn’t gotten that far yet. But what was the use? It’s not like you were going to follow him. Or drive him to the airport. You hated send offs, remember?
Breakfast could fix this, you thought as you headed downstairs. Since you had left home, life had gotten so hectic that you kept longing for slow mornings. Though sparingly, your most cherished were the ones spent with Nagumo, during off days, in bed, his arms pooling around your waist muttering ‘five more minutes’ as you stared at the sunbeams streaming through the blinds’ gaps, thinking of what to have for brunch—
“Ah, my driver’s here.”
Nagumo, halfway through his food, placed his phone down, his sudoku app lighting up its screen. Relief and shame washed over you, it was hard to tell them apart.
“I thought you—” checking the wall clock, you said, “Aren’t you supposed to be on the road?”
“Not for another two hours.” His smile didn’t reach his slightly swollen eyes.
Slowly nodding, you took the seat across from him. “Where’s mom?” Though you could hear her tending to her plants outside, you still asked just to fill in the silence. And as if he understood that, he gestured that she was out.
***
From the driver’s seat of your mom’s car, you eavesdropped on her and Nagumo’s conversation as he loaded the trunk, telling him how he was always welcome to come back, how lovely it was finally meeting him. At last, from the side mirror, you saw how she tightly embraced him, rubbed his back, and said comforting things as though he was her own son.
While waiting, you inclined his seat and left all the windows half down, just for him to sit at the back.
“Mind if I catch some z’s?” He was in a good mood, though he didn’t wait for an answer as he draped his hoodie over himself, looking like a ghost living in your rearview mirror.
Leaving at rush hour, you were met with horrendous traffic jams due to neverending road constructions, yet Nagumo slept like a log through it all, only waking up after securing a parking spot.
At the airport, as you both strolled closer to his assigned terminal, the small talks turned more and more sparse, the questions becoming nonsensical, such as: “You sure you didn’t forget anything?” As if he’d come back for it. Suddenly, your throat felt like sand, making it harder to speak.
“So,” he turned, directly standing in front of you. “This is it.”
You nodded, “This is it.”
He stared, his eyes roaming all over your face with an easy mellow smile, all while you held everything back like floodgates.
Finally, he bowed slightly and swiveled away. You gazed at his retreating figure, hoping he’d look back, hoping he wouldn’t. The cord connecting you to him drew tight enough to snap. And yet, just before the crowd swallowed him, he did.
He turned around, a stupid smile plastered on his face, seeming excited to say something as he paced back to you. With your heart beating out of your chest, you didn’t move an inch.
“Can you,” a dry chuckle bubbled out of him as he got closer, “unblock me? Just today? I mean, what if Japan’s at war—closed their borders for all we know and I get stuck in here?”
You bursted out laughing, he did too, tears staining the sides of your eyes. Wiping them, you sniffled and exhaled sharply, as if gathering strength.
“No, you won’t.” It hurt even to shake your head, you smiled, “You’re gonna go back there and carry on.”
He nodded at this, your gazes stretching on. And before you knew it, he pulled you in with his hand at the back of your head. He pressed his lips against your forehead. And instead of saying goodbye, he took his time there, planting three quivering empathic kisses, like the sun shining in spite of the pouring rain.
While you collected yourself to say farewell, he quickly turned away. You didn’t get to see his face. He didn’t even spare a single glance as he advanced toward the sea of people.
But did he really not look back? Perhaps he truly didn’t. Perhaps he did. A familiar feeling clawing and nagging so intensely inside your ribcage like it had a life of its own.
But did it matter now? It wouldn’t change a thing, because before he could disappear from your view, the thread had already snapped. You had already turned around and vanished on your own, leaving everything behind—leaving him—once and for all.
— you think kenma dislikes you but he’s just over there, crashing out about how pretty you are.
kozume kenma x telepath!f!reader
i accidentally deleted this shit and the undo button wouldn’t work so i had a mental breakdown for 30mins.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you had always been convinced kenma kozume couldn’t stand you.
the evidence was damning: no eye contact, minimal replies, a habit of immediately flicking open his switch the second you approached, like you were some kind of warning notification he could swipe away. once, you’d sat beside him on the gym floor and watched his entire body tense like you’d dumped a bucket of cold water on him. another time, you’d waved at him across the court and thought—swear to god—you saw him flinch.
to you, it was obvious: kenma didn’t like you. maybe not hatred, but at the very least, a strong, silent please don’t talk to me.
and that was fine. you could deal. it wasn’t like you had a huge crush on him or anything. just a small one. a manageable one. one you kept tucked away in the corner of your chest, easy to ignore because, really, there was no chance. crushes on boys who couldn’t stand your existence were a dead end.
then you woke up one morning with mind-reading powers.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
at first, it was disorienting—little bursts of sentences that weren’t yours sneaking into your head when people walked by. nothing dramatic, just random stuff like don’t forget to buy milk or god i hope coach doesn’t make us run sprints today. you thought maybe you were overtired. maybe hallucinating.
but then you sat next to kenma.
from the outside, he looked exactly the same: slouched shoulders, hair half hiding his face, switch balanced in his hands, fingers tapping slowly. he didn’t look at you when you sat down. he didn’t greet you. just… the same as always.
but his mind?
‘don’t sit next to me don’t sit next to me don’t sit next to— oh my god. she’s sitting next to me. she’s right here. her sleeve just brushed mine. i’m gonna combust. my heart’s gonna explode out of my chest. breathe. kenma, breathe. you look insane. do i smell bad? what if she notices? don’t look at her. no—look at her. just a peek. no, that’s worse. oh god she’s so close. her shampoo smells like candy. i want to bury my face in her hair. no no no. abort. abort. stop thinking. stop thinking.’
you blinked.
…what.
you turned your head slightly. kenma’s expression was unreadable, bored, as if he wasn’t secretly narrating a live breakdown in your head.
“hey, kenma,” you said carefully.
he nodded, not looking up. “…hey.”
but his brain?
‘she said hi. she said hi to me. she’s talking to me on purpose. play it cool. don’t scream. don’t blurt something stupid. don’t confess to her right here like a maniac. she looks really pretty when she talks. god, i sound deranged. she’s gonna think i’m deranged. oh no. oh no.’
you nearly choked on your own breath.
this boy. this boy you thought hated you. this boy was hopeless.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
it became addicting, listening in. like you’d unlocked the director’s commentary for a movie you thought you’d already seen, only to realize the entire plot was different.
when you offered him chips after practice, he barely glanced at you. “no, thanks.”
but in his head: ‘oh my god. she’s offering me food. like we’re close. like we’re already sharing snacks in a relationship. i should say yes. say yes. wait, i said no?? why did i say no?? i’m an idiot. she’s gonna think i don’t care. i care so much. i’d eat every single chip out of her hand if she asked. no, too much. too creepy. oh my god delete that thought delete delete delete.’
when you sneezed during study hall, he didn’t look up from his notes.
‘that was so cute. bless you. wait, she didn’t hear me. should i say it out loud? no, too late. i’ll just think it extra hard. bless you bless you bless you. i want to wrap her in a million blankets and make her tea. i’ll fight every germ in the universe. i’ll wage war on bacteria if i have to.’
it was ridiculous. it was deranged. it was kind of adorable.
and it made your tiny crush grow claws.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the funniest part was when kuroo got involved.
“y/n,” kuroo called across the gym one afternoon, “you coming to the arcade with us later?”
you opened your mouth to answer, but kenma’s brain detonated first.
‘no. no no no. she can’t. not with kuroo. he’s tall. he’s funny. he makes everyone laugh. what if she likes him? what if she stands next to him at the claw machine and smiles at him? i’ll die. i’ll break every machine in the arcade. i’ll throw myself into the skee-ball pit. i’ll yank the plug out of the wall. no arcade. no kuroo. please, god, no.’
you glanced at kenma. he was calmly clicking his switch. absolutely blank-faced.
“…sure,” you said, just to see what would happen.
kenma’s mind went into nuclear meltdown. ‘she said yes. this is it. i’ve lost. goodbye, cruel world. i’ll haunt the arcade machines forever. kuroo’s gonna make her laugh and i’ll keel over. i should fake a fever. i should set the arcade on fire. no, that’s a felony. oh my god.’
“cool,” kuroo grinned, clearly oblivious to the psychic death spiral happening two feet away.
you had to excuse yourself to the bathroom to laugh.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
at the arcade, kenma stuck to your side the entire time. not that he admitted it. he walked behind you, a careful half-step, like he just happened to be moving at the same pace.
but in his head? ‘don’t let her wander off with kuroo. stay close. closer. if she reaches for his tokens, i’ll chop my own hand off and offer it instead. god, she looks so cute when she concentrates on the claw machine. she’s biting her lip. oh my god. oh my god. i’d let her crush my head with that claw. i’d thank her for it.’
you nearly dropped your stuffed animal prize.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
practice wasn’t any better.
when you clapped for him after a clean set, he barely looked up.
‘she’s clapping for me. she saw me. she noticed me. that’s it, i’m retiring. my career peaked. bury me now. she’s so supportive. i’d play until my fingers bled if she was the one cheering. oh god, she’s smiling. don’t smile back. no, smile back. wait, don’t. too late.’
he smiled—tiny, barely there. you almost melted.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
and then, one evening, there was a team sleepover at kuroo’s place. you’d been invited too, mostly because no one had the heart to leave you out.
you ended up on the couch beside kenma, legs tucked under you, blanket shared between you. his body was stiff as a statue, but his head was screaming.
‘we’re sharing a blanket. we’re literally sharing. this is basically marriage. our knees touched. i can feel her warmth. don’t move. don’t breathe too loud. oh my god, what if she hears my heartbeat? it’s so loud. i’m sweating. i’m disgusting. she’s so pretty up close. she’s gonna notice i’m staring. stop staring. stop. i want to hold her hand. no. no. i’d ruin everything. but her hand’s right there. her nails are cute. i’d paint them for her. i’d let her stab me with them. oh my god, i’m insane. i’m insane.’
you couldn’t stop the tiny laugh that bubbled out of you.
kenma flinched. “…what?”
“nothing,” you said, hiding your grin in the blanket.
but you reached out anyway, sliding your fingers over his.
he went still. then, slowly, his hand turned under yours, palm up, holding on.
his mind went quiet for half a second—then exploded. ‘don’t let go. don’t ever let go. mine. mine. mine.’
and maybe, you thought, as your heart pounded, you didn’t plan to let go either.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you thought maybe kenma would relax once the blanket-sharing moment passed, but no. the longer the night went on, the more his mind spiraled. while everyone else played cards, ate pizza, and shouted over each other, you sat beside him, and his head was a storm.
‘she’s right here. she’s leaning against me. she doesn’t even realize. her hair brushed my shoulder. i want to bury my face in it. i want to lock every door so no one can come between us. i’d carry her into another room and keep her there, just us, just—no. no. calm down. don’t scare her. breathe. pretend to game. act normal. do NOT let kuroo sit on her other side. i’ll kill him. i won’t. but i’ll want to. oh my god, she’s laughing. she’s laughing at yaku’s joke. i wish it was me. i’d sell my soul if she laughed at me like that.’
your cheeks warmed. he sat so stiff, pretending he wasn’t burning up inside, while his brain looped mine mine mine like a broken record.
and you realized something important: kenma kozume was not just yearning. he was starving.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
by the next week, it was unbearable. for him, and, honestly, for you too.
you went to watch practice, sitting on the bleachers with a snack. kenma, on the court, barely glanced at you once.
inside?
‘she came. she came just to watch. she’s eating pocky. i want one. not the box—hers. the exact stick she bit into. is that gross? it’s gross. i don’t care. i’d do worse. oh my god she’s swinging her legs. she doesn’t know how cute she looks. everyone can see. everyone’s staring. i hate it. don’t look at her. she’s mine. she should only smile like that for me. i’d put her in my pocket if i could. i’d carry her around everywhere. god, imagine. no one else would get to look at her. just me.’
your heart slammed against your ribs. his head was a cage full of secrets, and he was rattling it so hard you almost thought he’d break.
when practice ended, you walked over with a bottle of water. “good job out there.”
he took it with a quiet “thanks.”
his thoughts? ‘SHE THINKS I DID GOOD. i’d die for her praise. i’d play until my knees gave out if she kept looking at me like that. oh god, her hand brushed mine. i’ll never wash this hand again. wait. i want her to touch it more. everywhere. her fingers in my hair. down my arm. don’t think about that now. not in front of everyone. breathe. act normal. NORMAL.’
you swallowed, fighting the urge to laugh and melt and scream all at once.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
and then came the breaking point.
it was small, stupid, and entirely kuroo’s fault. (kenma’s words, not mine.)
the team had gone to the convenience store together, and kuroo—being kuroo—slung an arm over your shoulder as you browsed the snack aisle.
harmless. casual. friendly.
but kenma saw.
he froze in the middle of the aisle, can of energy drink in hand, and his thoughts went absolutely feral.
‘no. no no no no. get your arm off her. don’t touch her. don’t touch what’s mine. i’ll break it. i’ll break your hand. i’ll smash this can into your face. she’s not yours. she’s not anyone’s. she’s mine. she doesn’t even know it yet. but she will. i’ll make sure she knows. i’ll carve it into the universe if i have to. god, i want to rip him away from her. i want to grab her wrist and drag her out of here. keep her where no one else can touch. no one else can even look. she’d be safe. she’d be mine. mine mine mine.’
his fingers clenched so hard around the can you thought it might burst. his eyes, usually dull and tired, flicked up to kuroo with a sharpness that made your stomach flip.
you gasped quietly, stunned at the rawness of it.
kenma looked away fast, pretending to study the shelves. but his mind wouldn’t shut up.
‘i can’t keep this in. i can’t keep pretending. she’ll slip away. she’ll smile at someone else. she’ll leave me behind. no. no, i won’t let it happen. i’ll tell her. i’ll tell her everything. even if it ruins me. i don’t care anymore. i can’t take it.’
your pulse quickened. was he—?
later that night, when everyone else drifted off home, you found him waiting outside, hood up, switch tucked under his arm like he needed the comfort.
he didn’t look at you when he spoke. “do you… have a minute?”
his thoughts screamed, ‘don’t run. don’t laugh. don’t say no. please. please. i’ll beg if i have to.’
you nodded. “yeah.”
the walk was quiet, filled only with the sound of cicadas and kenma’s head screaming loud enough for you to drown in it.
‘say it. say it now. she’s gonna leave. she’s gonna smile at someone else. i can’t let that happen. i’ll die if it happens. i’ll chain myself to her side if i have to. no one else deserves her. no one else even sees her the way i do. god, i sound insane. i am insane. but i love her. i love her so much it’s eating me alive.’
he stopped under the streetlight, fists buried in his hoodie pocket, shoulders trembling just slightly.
“…i don’t hate you,” he said, voice soft.
you swallowed. “i know.”
his head snapped up, startled.
‘she knows?? she knows?? how?? oh god. oh god. abort. no—don’t abort. it’s too late. she has to know. i’ll tell her. i’ll ruin myself right here.’
“kenma,” you said, heart thudding, “i like you.”
silence.
and then—like a crack in the dam—his thoughts spilled over, wild and unfiltered.
‘she likes me. she likes me. she LIKES ME. holy shit. holy shit. she’s mine. i’ll never let her go. i’ll hold her hand until my fingers fall off. i’ll kiss her until i forget my own name. i’ll keep her so close no one else can even breathe her air. mine. she’s mine. forever. god, i love her. i love her. i love her. i’ll never stop.’
and when he finally smiled, crooked and trembling, when his hand reached for yours with a desperation he couldn’t hide anymore—you didn’t pull away.
you laced your fingers through his, and felt the world go quiet.
for the first time, his mind whispered. finally.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
a/n: i alr have an idea on what twist i should put in next.
context: you’re inarizaki’s only manager since you’re not freaking over the twins and you’re the captain’s beloved girlfriend.
category: fluff fluff fluffff!!
another kita fic since idk. the thumbnails ARE repetitive, i know but i don’t want a day to come where i run out of photos so i’m staying consistent.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you only sneezed once. once.
it wasn’t even a dramatic, echoing, cartoon-level sneeze—more of a tiny, almost cute “achoo” that got lost in the sound of volleyballs hitting the gym floor. but unfortunately for you, the one pair of ears that picked it up belonged to kita shinsuke.
the ball thumped, osamu groaned about atsumu’s set, aran shouted for focus—normal practice chaos. but the moment kita’s head whipped toward you, eyes narrowing like he’d just spotted a national emergency, you realized your sneeze had doomed you.
“y/n,” he said firmly, jogging over with that unshakable calm that somehow carried the weight of an entire family’s worth of responsibility. “you sneezed.”
“…yes?” you blinked, half-expecting him to scold you for disrupting practice.
he pressed his lips into a line, already reaching for his phone. “you’re sick.”
before you could protest, kita’s thumbs were flying at lightning speed, typing with terrifying efficiency.
“shinsuke, i literally just sneezed—”
“symptoms of sudden sneezing,” he muttered under his breath, squinting at the glowing screen. his frown deepened. “common cold. influenza. dust allergies. pneumonia. no, that one’s not it, you’re not coughing.”
across the court, atsumu served his ball straight into the net, distracted by the sight of his captain crouched like an old man googling medical articles. “uh, what’s goin’ on?”
“our manager’s sick,” kita said, already dialing.
“i’m not sick!” you tried, your voice muffled as he gently tugged you toward the bench like you were made of glass.
the ringing of a phone came through, and then—“yes, granny, it’s shinsuke. what’s your remedy for colds again?”
the gym went silent. aran stopped mid-spike. suna blinked. ginjima mouthed “is he serious?” while osamu smirked like christmas had come early.
“ginger tea with honey and sliced lemon,” kita repeated into the phone. “warm blanket. no cold drinks. okay, thank you.” he hung up, slipping his phone into his pocket before looking at you with absolute seriousness. “granny says you need ginger tea. and no cold drinks. we’ll get lemon slices after practice.”
“i don’t—”
he crouched in front of you like a knight swearing an oath. “i’ll take care of you.”
atsumu cackled from across the court, doubling over. “SHE SNEEZED ONE TIME, CAPTAIN.”
osamu elbowed him, but he was grinning too. “nah, let him cook. granny kita’s comin’ out.”
you covered your face with your hands, groaning. “guys, please—”
but it was too late. kita had already grabbed a towel, folding it neatly before setting it on your lap like it was some kind of protective barrier.
“don’t touch her,” he told the team firmly, his tone so authoritative that suna actually froze mid-step on his way to the bench. “she’s fragile right now.”
“…fragile,” suna repeated slowly, eyes glinting with mischief. “from a sneeze.”
kita shot him a look so sharp that suna held up both hands, backing away like he’d been threatened with bodily harm.
aran, bless his soul, tried to reason. “captain, maybe she’s just allergic to the dust in the gym.”
“no,” kita said flatly. “i keep the gym clean. it’s not the dust.”
atsumu, never one to miss an opportunity, sauntered over with the smuggest grin imaginable. “so what, if she hiccups are ya gonna call an ambulance?”
kita didn’t even flinch. “if necessary.”
the entire team erupted. ginjima almost fell to the floor wheezing, while osamu wiped tears from his eyes.
you sat there in disbelief, wrapped in a towel like a Victorian child recovering from the plague, while your boyfriend—the ever-stoic, ever-collected kita shinsuke—stood guard like a watchdog, eyes flicking to anyone who dared come too close.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
practice was doomed after that.
“captain, can we get water?” ginjima asked cautiously, eyeing the way kita hovered near you.
“one at a time. don’t crowd the cooler, she might catch your sweat droplets.”
“WHAT?” atsumu howled.
suna leaned against the wall, smirking. “oh, i’m documenting this. this is history in the making.”
sure enough, you caught the faint click of his phone camera. “hold still, manager-chan, let me get one with your blanket and towel throne. very regal.”
you threw the towel at him, and he dodged it easily, laughing. “count your days, sunarin.”
meanwhile, kita was rummaging through his bag, producing a thermos like he’d planned for this scenario his whole life.
“you brought tea to practice?” you asked, bewildered.
“always,” he said simply, unscrewing the lid. “just in case.”
the entire team groaned in unison, but not one of them dared argue when he poured the steaming liquid into the cup lid and handed it to you with both hands like it was sacred.
“drink.”
you sipped obediently, partly because you loved him and partly because arguing in front of the peanut gallery would only make the teasing worse.
the tea was warm, slightly spicy, and definitely loaded with ginger. “oh wow. this is actually good.”
kita’s lips softened into the faintest smile. “granny’s recipe.”
osamu clutched at his chest dramatically. “he SMILED. she drank the tea and he SMILED. y/n, you’ve turned our captain into a lovesick granny hybrid.”
atsumu was already halfway up the bleachers, yelling like he was announcing breaking news. “BREAKING: kita shinsuke quits volleyball to pursue full-time nursing career for his girlfriend! tune in at six!”
aran threw a ball at his head.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
by the end of practice, you were officially labeled “fragile” in the team’s group chat (suna had changed your nickname while kita wasn’t looking), and the boys had developed a running joke of fake sneezing just to see kita twitch.
“ah-choo,” osamu said dramatically, clutching his chest. “captain, i think i need ginger tea.”
“make your own,” kita deadpanned, but his hand automatically checked your forehead for a fever.
atsumu collapsed to the floor, wheezing. “SHE’S THE ONLY ONE WHO GETS THE ROYAL TREATMENT.”
“that’s right,” kita said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
and honestly? you couldn’t even be embarrassed anymore. because the truth was, being fussed over by kita shinsuke—stoic, steady, responsible kita—wasn’t bad at all.
in fact, when he draped his jacket over your shoulders as you left the gym, muttering about how the night air might make your “symptoms worse,” your heart felt warmer than the tea had.
the team hooted and hollered behind you, of course. but you didn’t care.
because you only sneezed once, and suddenly you were the most precious thing in the world to him.
and honestly? you could get used to that. either way, you wouldn’t be getting away from his care anytime soon.
