I miss your keeping up with the Miya's series, is there going to be an update to it anytime soon 🥺🥺🥺
Omg wow 😅 I haven’t been actively posting anything of my own on my page for years now so I didn’t think anyone was interested anymore.
I actually have a lot planned for it but never got around to posting since I didn’t think anyone else was interested but now you’ve made me motivated to write more for it so I’ll try to get something written up 🥹
Summary : The team thinks Bucky has a crush on the tower’s interior designer. They don’t know that they’re already married.
Pairing : New Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Interior designer!reader (she/her)
Warnings/tags : Thunderbolts* spoilers!!!!!!! Secret wife trope. Tower fic! Secret-ish baby. Cursing, not-too-detailed descriptions of sex, pregnancy, (Please let me know if I miss anything!!!)
Word count : 6.7k
Requested by : two anons! Based on this and this.
Note : I combined two requests, I hope that’s alright, anons! Enjoy!
Bucky only stayed at The Watchtower three days a week.
Officially, those days were for debriefings, strategy syncs, mission prep, and what Alexei affectionately called team bonding.
The rest of the week, he goes off-grid and minimal contact, calling it rest and recuperation.
He spent those days outside the city, tucked away in a modest, two-story house in the suburbs.
The walls were painted in earthy tones. The porch creaked when it rained. The neighbours didn’t ask questions. But most importantly, it was where you, the love of his life, resided full time.
It was home.
Bucky had closed on the house exactly nine months and fourteen days ago. A week later, he’d married you under a willow tree in the backyard with no fanfare, only Sam, Joaquin, and Isaiah Bradley as guests, and a ring you both picked out from a vintage shop in Brooklyn. Sam had joked that it must have been the best day of his overextended, complicated life.
He was right.
Still, not a single member of his newly assembled team had a clue.
They knew Bucky Barnes, the leader of the New Avengers, war-hardened and famously chronically single. They knew the efficient, don’t-ask-me-about-my-weekends version of him. They did not know that the same man kissed his wife’s temple every morning before she left for work, took out the trash without being asked, and spent his evenings slow dancing with you in the kitchen to whatever jazz record was spinning on the old turntable.
That part of him was private.
He didn’t keep you a secret out of shame — Bucky showed how much he loved you in the ways that mattered. But with many of his old enemies still out there, keeping you out of the spotlight was non-negotiable.
It was especially necessary now that the New Avengers were under public scrutiny, the media hounding them with every move, and Val running ops like a government-sponsored reality show.
But, of course, what he least expected happened.
When Val asked Mel to source a top-tier interior designer for the Watchtower’s massive renovation, Bucky didn’t say anything.
He didn’t pull any strings. He didn’t say a word.
But of course, Mel found your firm. It was one of the best in town, after all.
Of course, all he could do was stare blankly when Mel casually dropped your name in a team meeting two weeks later. You, who’d been growing your design firm from the ground up, known for clean lines and warm spaces and zero tolerance for pretentious decor.
And when you told Bucky that you’d accepted the Watchtower job, he’d smiled weakly and said, “We’ll figure it out.”
Which led to this moment.
—
Your first day on the job was a Monday morning.
You stepped into the lobby of the newly renamed Watchtower, hard hat hooked on your hip, leather-bound notebook under one arm, and your chewed up pencil behind your ear.
You, as planned, acted completely unfamiliar with the man you’d kissed goodbye at 7 a.m. over toast.
You approached the cluster of Avengers who’d been haphazardly gathered for your arrival — Ava, John, Yelena, Bob, Alexei, and Bucky. Your husband leaned against a column, arms folded, feigning indifference while silently praying his face didn’t give away his precious little secret.
But then your eyes met.
For one fleeting moment, your smile brightened. But you covered it up and offered him a hand like you hadn’t fallen asleep his bare chest fourteen hours ago, and said, “Nice to meet you. I’m your interior designer.”
Bucky took your hand.
The handshake lasted two seconds too long.
“James Barnes,” he said. “Pleasure.”
Ava raised an eyebrow.
You let go of his hand, nodded politely, and turned to the others to introduce yourself.
Your voice was steady, your posture perfect, but Bucky noticed the way you tapped your thumb against the spine of your notebook — the tiniest nervous habit. He kissed that hand every night.
When you walked off to start your tour, Ava elbowed Bucky in the ribs.
“She is too pretty. If you don’t ask her out, I will.”
“M’ not into her,” Bucky said. It was the worst lie he’d told in years.
“C’mon man,” John chuckled. “That looked like love at first right.”
Bucky just shrugged and turned away, pretending to be interested in a support beam.
—
Six Weeks Later
You were everywhere.
Literally everywhere inside the Watchtower.
You were in hallways, stairwells, and repurposed labs. You were under floorboards to check for old wiring. You were balancing precariously on scaffolding with paint samples in one hand and a clipboard in the other. You had a team, sure, but you were the kind of interior designer who believed that breathing the same dust as your contractors was the only way to truly understand your art.
Within a month, you turned a gutted superhero facility into your battlefield.
And you made it look good.
You had turned bare concrete into well thought out sketches, made a temporary lounge out of broken furniture and vintage rugs, and wrestled the tower’s unmaintained lighting grid into semi-functional compliance. You worked long hours. You cursed openly at bad insulation. You drank your coffee black and your water in gallons, and somewhere along the way, the tower became a passion project, your baby.
And the New Avengers grew fond of you.
They tried to be subtle about it, watching you from doorways or pausing in their sparring sessions whenever you passed through to say hi.
You’d wave a friendly hi back, before going back to being all-business.
At this point, you and Bucky had practiced your we-just-met act to an Oscar-worthy level. You faked polite smiles, formal greetings, and total lack of familiarity, even when you showered together the night before.
But sometimes, it slipped through the cracks.
You can help but steal glances at each other — each one lasting just a little too long. His hand would find your lower back when he leaned over your desk to study a blueprint, fingertips brushing that sensitive spot just beneath your shirt hem. Your voice dropped half an octave whenever you addressed him in front of others, slipping in sergeant under your breath like it wasn’t a private reference from your bedroom.
Sometimes, you’d pass him in the hallway and murmur things quiet enough only he could hear. A reminder of what you’d do to him the moment he got home. Or what he’d done to you the last time he snuck back to the house for the night. You’d say it just loud enough to leave him frozen in place for a second — then he’d look like he needed to punch a wall or take a very cold shower to stay professional.
You made it impossible to concentrate.
So Bucky, for all his practiced stoicism and control, was coming undone.
Which was probably why the team started to notice.
Or, more accurately, why John Walker lost his goddamn mind one Tuesday afternoon.
The makeshift common room — still mid-renovation — was still half-furnished, but they made it work. Yelena was scrolling through her phone while Bob napped on a deflated air mattress. Ava cleaned her knives at the dining table that had mismatched chairs. Alexei was rearranging the fridge after someone messed up his system.
Bucky stood near the large window, arms folded, pretending to be interested in the HVAC schematics you were showing to one of your contractors across the room.
You laughed at something the guy said, and Bucky’s eyes twitched in jealousy.
That was all it took.
John groaned loud enough to echo off the half-installed acoustic panels. Then, on his last straw, he flopped onto the couch dramatically.
“If you like her, Barnes, just ask her out already. Jesus,” John said, dragging a hand down his face. “You’ve been eye-fucking her across the hall for a month.”
Bucky just raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“She’s out of my league,” he said coolly. It was a textbook deflection. “Besides, she’s not even my type.”
Yelena immediately snorted. “Liar.”
Ava didn’t look up from her knives. “Liar.”
Even Bob, barely conscious, mumbled. “Liarrrr.”
Alexei only chuckled.
“What is wrong with you?!” John sat up, “You’re literally, like—what? A hundred and ten years old? You can’t still be doing the whole ‘girls don’t like me’ routine.”
Bucky gave a half-shrug, still not looking away from where you were, now climbing a ladder with a pencil behind your ear.
“She’s here to work,” he said. “I respect that.”
“Ah,” Alexei scoffed. “Is that why you follow her around like Roomba?”
Bucky had no answer to that.
—
One Afternoon
Today had been a long day
It was dusty. It was loud. Contractors bickered, blueprints got smudged, and Bucky had looked unreasonably good doing absolutely nothing — just standing around in that damn new uniform with the red star on his right arm.
You hadn’t had more than a couple hours alone where you weren’t sleeping or eating— not at home, and especially not in the Tower, when at least one other team member would be hovering like a nosy, overgrown child.
So when you saw Bucky slipping into the elevator alone, you called out for him.
“Mr. Barnes,” you half-shouted to get his attention, jogging across the hall. “Hold the door.”
He pressed the button with his metal hand, glancing up with a fond smile. “Didn’t know we were doing last names now,” he said, just above a whisper.
“Would you rather I call you Sergeant?” you replied quietly as you slipped inside, brushing past him just enough to make it intentional.
The doors slid shut.
And then, just as the elevator began its slow descent, you heard a mechanical in the belly of the Watchtower. The lights above flickered once—then again—before cutting out entirely.
A single red emergency light buzzed to life.
You stumbled slightly, grabbing onto Bucky’s arm instinctively.
“What was that?” you asked.
“Power’s off,” he confirmed, chuckling when you jumped, kissing your temple to let you know that it was going to be okay, that the elevator was ventilated well enough for you to survive a long time in there.
You slapped the emergency call button, and…. Nothing. Not even a buzz.
You blinked up at the ceiling like divine intervention might come through the grates.
“Bucky,” you pouted, clutching his arm a little tighter, “do something.”
“I am doing something,” he said as he crouched down and nudged at the panel, making no real effort. “It's just not working.”
“Well, pry the door open or—use your metal arm or something!”
He shot you a dry look over his shoulder. “Can’t. This thing was built to withstand the hulk.”
You watched him stand and lean back against the wall like he was settling in. Like… he didn’t mind this.
“You have got to be kidding me,” you sighed, “I’ve got to meet the people installing wallpaper in ten minutes.”
Bucky folded his arms across his broad chest, his eyes maddeningly calm. “Could be worse,” he offered with a shrug.
“Bucky,” you warned, eyes narrowing.
“What?” he replied, too innocently, too calmly.
“We’re technically both on the clock,” you reminded him.
He shrugged. “We’re also stuck. Sounds like PTO to me.”
You rolled your eyes, but can’t help the smile on the corners of your mouth. “You’re impossible.”
That crooked grin formed on his face. “You’re tellin’ me you haven’t missed me, doll?”
“Don’t,” you said, pointing a finger to his chest.
“Don’t what?”
“That voice. That look. You're gonna get us in trouble.”
He pushed off the wall and stepped closer. He was not touching you, but he was near enough that your heart began its traitorous dance, even after all this time. “We’ve barely touched each other. Last time was what— four days ago?”
“Four days is not that long,” you said.
He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “It used to be four hours.”
You swallowed hard, but he was not done yet.
“Used to be I couldn’t walk past you in our house without stopping to touch you.”
You looked away, heat creeping up your neck.
“Used to be I’d wake up with your thighs already wrapped around my face,” his voice dropped an octave lower, “And now I’m lucky if I get a quick kiss before you run off to yell at plumbers.”
“I did give you a kiss this morning,” you looked up at him.
“Not the kind I meant,” he said, eyes glued to your mouth, then back to your eyes.
You choked on a laugh, shoving at his chest weakly. “That’s very inappropriate, Mr. Barnes.”
“I’m your husband.” He bit your earlobe gently. “And I’m tired of pretending we don’t wake up in the same bed.”
“We’ve got… responsibilities.” Your fingers were already in his hair. “People are counting on us.”
“Let them wait,” he muttered, kissing you slow and deep now, mouth moving with that sinful confidence that made your knees buckle. “You’ve been killing me all week, walking around this place like you don’t belong to me.”
“I am yours,” you whispered against his lips, heat coiling in your belly. “But the cameras—”
“Power’s off.” He reminded, hand sliding up your thigh, curling behind your knee and hiking your leg around his hip. “You need this. I know you do.”
“You’re cocky.”
“I’m right,” he said, kissing you again. This time you kissed him back harder.
Your body gave in before your words did. It always did with him.
And as his fingers slipped past the lace of your underwear and his mouth returned to your neck, you forgot entirely about the elevator, the job, the rules.
You weren’t the Watchtower’s interior designer anymore.
You were just his wife.
And he was very, very good at reminding you why.
Neither of you noticed the faint red light in the ceiling blink back to life. Didn’t notice the tiny lens in the far corner of the elevator was still functional.
You had no idea Yelena had rigged a backup battery into the surveillance system.
And you definitely didn’t know the power outage wasn’t an accident.
It was a setup.
—
Later that afternoon
The new Avengers gathered in the security room like kids about to witness an R-rated movie.
And in a way… they were.
Yelena had the footage queued up. She sat with arms folded, boots propped up on the console, a smug grin across her face.
This was her idea, after all— playing matchmaker as a favour to Bucky.
“It’s visual-only,” she said, almost too casually. “No audio. You know—normal CCTV stuff. But we don’t need sound to read body language.”
She hit play.
The plan was simple: trap Bucky Barnes and that absurdly hot interior designer in the Watchtower elevator to see if he finally made a move.
“Ten bucks says he doesn’t even talk to her,” Ava declared, leaning against the wall.
“I say he kisses her,” Bob offered gently, still half-asleep in sweatpants, rubbing his eyes. “Just a little one. He’s always so tense, it would be nice to see him… be sweet.”
John had brought popcorn like it was a movie premiere. “I want to believe he asked her out,” he said.
“Today is the day,” Alexei nodded in agreement, “ I can feel it.”
The screen flickered to life.
Bucky stepped into the elevator first, holding the door for you.
The doors closed.
Nothing out of the ordinary at first. It looked like normal conversation.
Then the elevator stopped.
You pressed the emergency call button. Nothing.
Bucky tried the panel, giving up too quickly.
Yelena’s grin widened. “Showtime.”
And then, Bucky stepped closer, whispering something into your ears.
“Classic,” John said, leaning in. “Here we go. Here comes the kiss on the cheek.”
The kiss landed on your lips instead.
It was not a peck. To everyone’s surprise, it was hungry.
The room went deathly silent.
Ava’s arms slowly uncrossed. “Okay….”
Bob’s mouth parted. “Oh…”
Then— then came the second kiss.
It was longer.
Your hands in his hair. His metal arm was up… your skirt?
Your back hit the elevator wall.
John sat forward slowly. “Wait… wait.”
Then, you climbed him.
It got very explicit very quickly.
John’s popcorn slid from his lap, forgotten.
Alexei was blinking like he’d witnessed a cult ritual.
Ava whispered, “Jesus Christ.”
Bob clutched the arms of his chair. “That’s— that’s not him asking her out on a date.”
“Is the—” Alexei squinted, his voice dry, “—is the camera shaking?”
“No,” Ava said hoarsely. “That’s the elevator shaking.”
“Fuck,” John gasped. “We should— we should stop.”
Yelena stared at the screen, frozen. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
Alexei held up a trembling finger. “He has not taken her to dinner. There was no courtship. There was no honour.”
Ava turned away from the monitor. “Turn it off. Turn it off!”
Yelena did.
The room plunged into an eerie silence.
Bob was still cross-legged on the floor. “I… I think there was a round two. Like… halfway through. I think I counted it. Different positions. Less vertical.”
They were all pale now.
Yelena stood up like she’d survived a car crash. “We are never speaking of this.”
“Delete the footage,” Ava added. “Burn it. Hack the cloud. Scrub the backups.”
“Gone,” Yelena said grimly. “It’s already gone.”
Alexei placed his mug down. “He has not even taken her out on date yet,” he repeated, horrified.
John slumped back into his chair, stunned “I’ll never look at elevators the same way.”
No one—not one of them—suspected marriage. No one suspected long-time commitment.
Not even a little.
They thought they’d witnessed a slip. A one-time break in Barnes’ solitude, a rare show of his desire.
They had no idea he fucked you like that at home every other day.
They just thought Bucky Barnes had the most soul-shattering game any man had ever possessed.
And not a single one of them ever got in that elevator without wincing ever again.
—
Six Weeks Later
It started out like any other off-day in the suburbs.
The early morning was quiet, with pale light spilling across the hardwood floors, the distant hum of a lawn mower down the street, and the smell of Bucky’s burnt-but-endearing attempt at breakfast wafting in from the kitchen.
It was supposed to be peaceful.
But you were in the bathroom, staring at the positive pregnancy test with your hands trembling and your heart threatening to beat out of your chest.
Pregnant.
Three times, all different brands.
It wasn’t planned, not really. You have been talking about it, and even said you’d give it a go by the end of the year.
Hell, you were on even the pill. But the last couple months had been a blur— long hours at the tower and stress-induced forgetfulness.
Somewhere in the chaos of overtime and rushing out the door with a protein bar instead of breakfast, you must’ve slipped up. Maybe once. Maybe twice. Maybe that was enough.
You barely heard your own footsteps as you tiptoed down the hallway in a fog, still holding one of the tests like it might disappear if you blinked. Bucky was at the kitchen counter, humming under his breath, shirtless in his gray sweatpants, a bowl of strawberries in front of him with his dog tags reflecting in the morning sun.
He turned when he heard you come in, and his smile immediately faltered.
He could tell by the look on your face that something was… off.
“Sweetheart?” His brow furrowed as he stepped toward you, eyes looking over as if scanning for wounds. “Are you okay?”
You tried to say something, but nothing came out. You just looked at him with wide eyes, parted lips, and the test clenched tightly in your hand.
His hands gently closed around your arms.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, his voice a little rough. “Breathe, doll. Tell me what’s going on. Did something happen?”
You shook your head, lip trembling. “No. Nothing like that. I just… I…”
He ducked his head, trying to catch your eyes. “Look at me,” he said, less demanding but more gentle. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, we can fix it. Just tell me.”
Your breath hitched. You looked down, uncurled your fingers, and held out the test.
Bucky looked at it.
Then up at you.
“…What is this?” he asked, almost cautiously. Like he needed confirmation.
You opened your mouth, but your voice cracked before it even came out. “I think I’m pregnant.”
He blinked twice. “You’re—”
You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. “I—I know. I was on the pill. I swear I was. But with everything going on at the tower and those back-to-back all-nighters and fuck, James, I must’ve messed up, I must’ve missed one or two—”
“Wait. Wait—wait,” he said suddenly. He stepped back just enough to look at you fully, like he needed the whole picture to understand. “You’re serious?”
You nodded again. “I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t joke about this.”
He was completely still, like the words were sinking into him bit by bit.
And then, to your surprise, he let out a shaky breath, laughed a little, and ran a hand through his hair.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “You’re pregnant.”
You looked at him nervously, heart pounding. “I—I mean, it’s early. Like really early. Just a few weeks, I think. We don’t have to freak out. We can talk about it. Think about it. We can—”
But he cut you off, stepping forward again and cupping your face in both hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. His eyes were glistening.
“Hey,” he said gently. “I’m not freaking out. I’m not freaking out. I’m just—holy shit, baby. I— you’re growing a little version of us in there. We’re doing this... if you… if you want this, too.”
You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, your arms wrapping around him instinctively.
“We’re doing this,” you whispered back, like saying it out loud made it more real. “I… I do want this.”
He kissed the top of your head, your temple, your cheek. “We were headed here anyway. Maybe I didn’t know it’d happen now, but…” He leaned back to look at you, eyes full of wonder. “I love you so much.”
You sniffled, laughing through it. “I was so scared.”
“You don’t have to be,” he said, “Never with me.”
There was a long moment where the two of you just held each other, breathing in the warmth of the moment. When…
“So, uh. What do we tell the team?”
You chuckled. “About what? The baby or the fact that we’re married?”
He winced. “Shit.”
“Yeah.”
Bucky wanted to share his joy, he really did.
But he still had enemies. The kind who would use anything, anyone, to get to him.
And he would rather die than see your name — and his baby’s— end up on one of their lists.
“You still want to keep it quiet?” you asked quietly.
He didn’t answer right away. He looked at your stomach, his teeth clenching.
“I don’t want anyone knowing if it puts you in danger,” he said finally. “I don’t care what they think of me. I just want you safe. Our family safe.”
You nodded. “Okay. So... in two or three months— the tower renovations’ll be done by then. I can just wear baggy clothes.”
He gave you a wary look. “You already wear baggy clothes.”
You shrugged. “I’ll wear bigger ones.”
Surely, this was a foolproof plan, right?
—
It was successful for all of two weeks. You played your part, showed up to the tower, exchanged the usual small talk with the team, and pretended everything was normal, all while avoiding harmful construction materials and focusing on furnishing.
Then one morning, you looked pale coming out of the toilet, wiping acid from the corner of your mouth with tissue. Bob looked over, eyebrows raised in concern. You waved him off with a smile.
“Fuck morning sickness,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.
And that was it. You didn’t even think twice. You were too focused on the nausea, the spinning room, the unpleasant taste in your mouth. You didn’t realise you’d said it.
Bob didn’t clock it right away either. You’d already left the room by the time the words caught up with him. He was halfway through his coffee, reading a book, when—
He froze. His eyes widened.
“Wait…”
Morning sickness?
—
Bob didn’t say anything right away.
He sat there for a moment, staring at the spot where you’d stood.
Morning sickness, his brain repeated again, louder now.
He stood up so fast his chair rolled back and hit the wall.
Fifteen minutes later, there was a closed-door meeting in Conference Room 7.
Ava, Yelena, Alexei, and John filed in, curious and worried—it wasn’t often that Bob called a we-need-to-talk-right-now meeting that didn’t involve a breach or a fire drill.
Bob stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, unreadable.
“She’s pregnant,” he said flatly.
Everyone blinked.
“…Who?” Ava asked, tilting her head.
Bob stared at her. “Bucky’s little elevator secret.”
Yelena raised an eyebrow. “How… How do you know?”
“She….” Bob started. “She said something about morning sickness.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Oh,” said Alexei, thoughtfully.
“...Oh,” Ava echoed.
Yelena’s eyes widened. “OH?”
John straightened up in his chair. “Hold on. Do you think—” He looked around the room, dropping his voice to a whisper, “—do you think Bucky could be the dad?”
They all looked at each other. The memory hit them at once like a suppressed group hallucination.
No one’s talked about it since.
Not out of respect, but out of sheer trauma suppression and the fact that, frankly, they weren’t paid enough to bring it up.
“I mean,” Ava said slowly, “Did anyone see him with a condom?”
“Not that I can remember,” Yelena shuddered, brow furrowed. “But I wasn’t exactly memorising it.”
“Elevator baby,” Alexei whispered, stunned.
Bob just nodded grimly.
Then John, who’d been thinking too hard, looked up. “Do you think Bucky knows?”
The room went completely silent.
Ava blinked. “Shit.”
Yelena exhaled through her nose. “He’s either going to marry her in a panic or pass out.”
John rubbed his temples. “Do we… do we tell him?”
Bob looked down nervously. “Better question—who’s going to tell him?”
Everyone looked at each other.
No one volunteered.
So they did it together.
—
They confronted Bucky two hours later. In the gym, of all places.
He was mid-rep when they approached—shirt damp with sweat, and music blaring in his ears. His brows furrowed in concentration as he finished his set and racked the barbell with a clang.
That’s when he noticed them.
Five fully-grown adults in a semicircle, watching him. Staring, like it was going to be a goddamn intervention.
He tilted his head. “...who did you kill and where did you bury the body?”
Bob cleared his throat, stepping forward like a nervous HR rep. “Umm, that’s not why we’re here.”
Bucky pulled out one earbud. “Then what’s going on?”
“We need to talk.”
That phrase never meant anything good, and they all knew it. Ava shifted her weight from foot to foot like she had somewhere more pleasant to be (a landmine field, perhaps). John had his arms crossed and was chewing the inside of his cheek. Alexei was trying to look fatherly and failing spectacularly. And Yelena—oh, Yelena—was vibrating with the kind of energy that suggested she either had bad news or gossip so juicy it came with a side of fries.
Bucky glanced at them, suspicious. “Okay… what is this? Am I getting voted off the team?”
Yelena stepped forward, and just… spat it out. “She’s pregnant.”
That landed like a punch to the solar plexus. His brain buffered.
Oh shit. Oh shit.
They knew. They’d figured it out.
How?
He licked his lips, then attempted to play dumb. “….Who?”
Ava folded her arms. “We have a feeling,” she started, unimpressed, “you might be able to figure it out. Considering you had some… fun… in the elevator a couple months ago.”
Bucky’s eyes twitched.” I—what? You’re saying—how do you even know about that?”
Yelena raised a hand, almost sheepishly. “We, uh… we might’ve set up the elevator failure.”
John immediately smacked the back of her shoulder. “You. Not we. That was your idea.”
“I said might’ve!” she hissed.
“What we’re saying,” Alexei interjected, rubbing a hand down his face like a weary dad at a PTA meeting, “is that there is chance you are going to be dad.”
Bucky tried to laugh. It came out like a goose being strangled. “I’m not ready to move on from the elevator camera. That’s a massive violation of privacy. I—what kind of sick—”
“You did it in public,” Ava interrupted coldly.
“And you’re not denying it,” Bob added.
“I’m just saying,” Bucky snapped, pointing wildly, “you kept it? You still have the tape? Can I see it?”
Everyone groaned in unison.
John pinched the bridge of his nose. “You might have gotten a hook up pregnant, and the first thing you care about is your sex tape? Seriously?”
Bucky didn’t respond, which said a lot.
Bob said plainly, “But we’re pretty sure you didn’t use protection.”
“She was on the pill!” Bucky snapped.
“You still don’t do hookups bare, Bucky!” Ava exclaimed, voice rising.
“She hadn’t had sex with anyone else in years!”
“Anyone… else?” John asked, skeptical.
Bucky opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
And shut up.
Bucky groaned, dragging his hands down his face like he was trying to scrape the stress off his skin.
Then, finally, with a voice so quiet it barely made it through the hum of fluorescent lights, he finally said, “She’s…my wife.”
A beat passed with silence.
Then Ava shrieked, “I’m sorry—WHAT?!”
“When?!” John thundered.
“About a year ago,” Bucky admitted. “We kept it a secret. It wasn’t safe for her. I didn’t want anyone coming after her because of me.”
Alexei frowned, tone softer now. “And now…”
“Now she’s having my baby,” Bucky said. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “And I don’t know how to protect her from this. From all of this.”
“Fuck,” John let out a low whistle. “Is it… is it the elevator baby?”
“We did the math,” Bucky turned beet red, “there is a… pretty good chance that’s the case.”
“Elevator baby,” Yelena echoed, eyes wide.
She sounded almost proud.
Bucky looked at each of them— serious now. “You can’t tell anyone,” he warned, “She’s… she’s everything to me. If this gets out—if she’s hurt, if someone uses her to get to me—I wouldn’t— couldn’t— live with myself.”
And just like that, gone was the teasing.
They stood there, in a loose circle around him, the lights humming overhead, the scent of sweat in the air. A line crossed, and secrets spilled open. This was a line where their friendship was tested—and affirmed.
John, finally, clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “Congrats, man. You’re gonna be a dad.”
“Elevator dad,” Yelena added.
“Don’t,” Bucky warned, but he was smiling, just a little.
—
The shift was subtle at first.
Alexei started carrying things for you.
You’d walk into a room with a stack of sample boards or fabric swatches for a renovation pitch, and before you could even blink, he’d be at your side, snatching half of them away and saying, “You should not be lifting this.”
You tilted your head the first time. “I… I’m okay, Alexei.”
He just stared back, deadpan. “Does not mean you should.” And then walked away before you could argue.
Then there was Ava, who started checking the air quality constantly.
“Gotta keep the air pure,” she’d say, making sure your workstation was well-ventilated from paint fumes.
You started to get suspicious after the third can of air purifier she smuggled into the conference room.
And then came John, who strolled past your desk one morning with a coffee in one hand and a brochure in the other. He stopped like he just happened to remember something.
“Oh hey,” he said, waving the paper around. “That new baby store down the street? Massive sale. Car seats, little shoes, those bib things shaped like bandanas? You know, the cool ones. Just… figured I’d pass it along. Y’know. In case… anyone.”
You squinted. “Anyone?”
He coughed. “Just in case anyone… likes sales.”
Right.
It wasn’t until Yelena hugged you, that the alarm bells started getting harder to ignore.
She pulled away, uncharacteristically gentle, and said, “You’re good at taking care of things.”
“…Okay,” you said cautiously, “Are you dying?”
She just blinked. “No. I just think you are doing great.” She paused. “And you should not wear heels. They’re bad for your ankles.”
That was it.
You came home that night, dumped your bag by the door, and found Bucky on the couch eating mac and cheese he probably stole from the tower.
He looked up, beaming. “Hey, doll. You okay?”
You squinted at him. “Do you know something I don’t?”
He tilted his head. “About what?”
You flopped next to him, sighing. “Yelena hugged me today.”
His eyes widened. “…Oh.”
“And told me I’m good at taking care of things.”
He was dead silent.
“John is talking about baby boutiques to me. Ava keeps purifying the air. And I’m pretty sure Bob gave me vitamin water.”
Bucky looked down.
You gave him a pointed look. “So, I’m just gonna ask: Did you tell them?”
He winced. His whole face did the oh-no-don’t-be-mad-at-me scrunch.
“Umm…” he said.
“Oh my god.”
“I—I didn’t tell them, technically,” he started, clearly floundering. “They figured it out! Bob overheard something, and then there was a meeting, and I got cornered at the gym and they were all standing in a circle like some kind of intervention and they were like ‘we know,’ and I panicked and I didn’t want to lie and—”
“Bucky.”
He stopped, biting his lip.
“I’m not mad,” you said, cutting him off before the ramble could spiral into an apology monologue. “I’m… relieved.”
His brow furrowed. “You are?”
You nodded. “Do you know how exhausting it is trying to hide a whole human and pretend I’m not in love with you?”
“I just wanted you to be safe.” He looked down, a little guilty. “I thought if they didn’t know, there’d be less risk.”
“I know,” you murmured, reaching over to take his hand. “But honey… they’re not strangers. They’re your people. Our people, now.”
He smiled, fingers threading through yours. “Yelena did threaten to murder anyone who so much as looked at you wrong.”
“See?” You leaned in, kissing his cheek. “That’s the kind of prenatal care I’m talking about.”
He chuckled, pulling you close, one hand resting gently against your stomach. “We’ll still keep it quiet outside the tower. For safety.”
“Of course,” you said. “But at least I don’t have to hide there.”
Then Bucky said, “Also… Bob wants to throw you a secret baby shower. In the hangar. With… themed cupcakes.”
—
Eight Months Later
Jamie was six weeks old the first time you brought him to the Watchtower.
He was bundled up in a little blue onesie with a cartoon white wolf on the chest, swaddled like a burrito in a cotton blanket, and blissfully asleep in your arms.
The 87th floor had been converted for the three of you— a secure residential wing with baby gates and blackout curtains and a surprisingly tasteful wallpaper Bucky picked himself. You were here to check it out, and also introduce your baby to the team.
Most days, you would stay at the house in the suburbs, where birds chirped and neighbors waved and no one could hear Bucky singing lullabies off-key at 2 a.m. But it was nice to know you had a home in the Watchtower.
You barely stepped in the common room when the team got up.
“Is that him?” Ava whispered like she was approaching royalty.
“Don’t crowd the baby,” Bucky said, holding out an arm protectively.
John peered over Ava’s shoulder. “He looks like a tiny Bucky. But like, angrier. Is that even possible?”
Jamie yawned.
Yelena, unusually soft-voiced, leaned in “Look at him. So small. So squishy. Like a baby potato with many opinions.”
“He does look judgmental,” Bob offered.
“He is judgmental,” you smiled.
—
There were a couple more visits after that before your first official night at the tower.
They’d been asking for weeks to hold him now.
Every visit, every mission debrief, every team meeting that you attended with Jamie snoozing in a carrier strapped to your chest, someone would inevitably ask:
“Can I hold him?”
The answer had always been not yet.
Not until he had more of an immune system than a fruit fly.
Especially not until Bob stopped referring to his hands as “clean-ish.”
But today, Jamie was twelve weeks old.
Today was the day.
You warned them ahead of time, sending them a group text. Bucky enforced it like a drill sergeant, passing non-alcohol hand sanitiser around like communion.
The baby was clean. The adults were clean. The air smelled faintly of lemon.
Yelena was first, practically vibrating as she took Jamie into her arms like a sacred artifact.
“Bozhe moi,” she whispered, eyes wide.
“He’s real,” Bob said, as Jamie curled his arm around his finger, “we can touch him.”
Then John took a turn, cradling Jamie like he was made of glass. Bucky, perhaps knowing he had some experience and was trying to make amends with his own son, trusted him most. “He’s so… light.“
Eventually, one by one, everyone got their turn.
And then… Alexei.
He stepped forward quietly, hands extended, palms open and ready. There was a certain fondness in his eyes.
You gently handed Jamie over, and Alexei took him with a grace that didn’t match his usual bull-in-a-china-shop aesthetic. He rocked him slightly and began saying something soft in Russian. It sounded like a lullaby.
Jamie adorably blinked up at him.
And then, with the seriousness of a priest delivering a sermon, Alexei slowly walked across the room… and stopped in front of the elevator.
“Little Jamie,” he said in a soothing voice, still swaying, “this, my sweet little cherub, is where you were conceived.”
“Dad!” Yelena whisper-shouted, her hands in the air. “Stop!”
“I’m just telling him the truth!” Alexei protested.
“He’s a baby!” Ava barked.
“He needs context!”
“HE NEEDS A NAP!” John insisted.
Alexei looked down at Jamie, who stared back, completely unbothered.
“I think he gets it,” Alexei said, beaming.
Jamie sneezed.
Bucky buried his face in your shoulder. “I can’t believe we let him hold the baby.”
You, already laughing, said, “At least he didn’t point out the exact panel of the wall.”
Alexei turned around, lifting Jamie like Simba. “And over here, by button 13, that’s where your father’s ass was—”
“OH MY GOD,” Yelena wailed, launching a pillow at him.
Bob hastily caught it. “We shouldn’t throw things when the baby is airborne.”
John held out his arms. “Give him back before you scare him with a detailed retelling.”
Alexei sighed, but passed Jamie over. “You are going to be great warrior like your father, Jamie.”
You settled onto the couch beside Bucky, your body relaxing as you leaned into him. He pressed a kiss to your temple, then let his lips linger in your hair. He never failed to remind you that you were safe. That Jamie was safe.
Your eyes drifted across the room— your strange, chaotic, beautiful little makeshift family in a room that was a labour of your love. Bob was wiping down a clean countertop for the third time. Ava and Yelena were mid-argument about the correct way to swaddle a baby, neither remotely qualified but equally committed.
Jamie, unfazed by the commotion, cooed contentedly in John’s arms, his tiny fingers reaching for the man’s bead as Alexei kept talking to him in russian.
Your heart felt like it might burst.
He had your nose, Bucky’s eyes, and all the love in the world.
In the background, Alexei’s voice rose again, brimming with mischief. “Next time, I’ll show him the armoury.”
“NO!” came the instant chorus from everyone in the room.
You couldn’t help it, so you laughed.
Jamie was loved. Fiercely, ridiculously loved.
And there wasn’t a person in this room who wouldn’t burn the world down for him.
Summary - When a new baker in town refuses to abide by his rules, Bucky has no option but to go and take care of it himself. But nothing could prepare him for what stood on the other side. Nothing could prepare him for you.
Warnings - Each chapter has its own warnings but in general, this story will contain weapons, murder and a hell lot of sweets.
Hi! I was wondering if you could do a modern!au sukuna x fem!reader in which they're dating and they're babysitting little yuji for the day, going to the park, grocery store, or whatever, and some old lady thinks yuji is their son and sukuna and reader had yuji as teens so she starts judging, making comments and kinda insulting them for having a kid so young. (but yuji is just sukuna's little brother)
I hope what I said made sens 😅 and feel totally free to ignore my request if you don't want to do it or if you're not taking requests at the moment :)
tw// mean old ladies, insinuations of s3x in teenage years, sukuna talking back, lots of swearing, mentions of death, I wouldn’t normally put warnings but juuuuuuuuuust in case
There’s a scoff that rings out in the air as the last of your footstep passes her. It’s enough to make Sukuna stop on impact. You turn to him, and Yuuji in his stroller looks up to see what the stop is, but Sukuna’s eyes are firm in annoyance, the vein in his forehead pulsing.
“I’m sorry,” he begins, spinning on his heel. “Is there a problem, maam?” His voice dribbles sarcasm, and you feel your heart rate pick up from anxiety.
When you turn to face the old woman, her face is twisted in judgement, wrinkles furrowed deeper than natural as she glares past Sukuna and burrows her sights onto you. A chill shrills down your spine as her cold gaze fixes on you.
“Babies having babies,” she snarls cruelly, and you see Sukuna’s knuckles lighten from the force of gripping the handles. “You couldn’t keep it in your pants, and you couldn’t close your legs, hmm? Reproducing when you shouldn’t be. You ought to be embarrassed.”
You cheeks heat up in embarrassment, but when you look up at sukuna again, his grin is curled devilishly. You sigh, “sukuna, come on-“
“No,” he hisses. “I want to hear what the crypt keeper’s gotta say. One foot in the grave, one on a fucking oil spill and you’re wasting your breath spilling bullshit? You oughta be embarrassed.”
She clutches her chest in offense, “I can’t stand you youths these days, wasting your life on each other, disappointing your parents. Why they’d ever approve of you keeping that sin in the carriage is ridiculous.”
You’re quick to grab Sukuna’s collar and keep him from launching at the lady. He’s not happy about being stopped, he’s practically frothing at the mouth in rage, but at your grip, he stands down.
His mouth however, does not.
“I’m offended people like you even get to breathe my air,” he snarls, and you try to ignore the look the old lady gives you- she looks almost prideful to be getting such a reaction. “That child is not sin, that’s my fucking little brother- and even if it was, if you looked at him and the first thing you thought of was my girlfriend and I smashing, you need to tell your fucking hospice nurse, you pervert.”
“Sukuna-“
“It’s not my fault nor concern that your husband died from an asthma attack your dusty old pussy gave him, but if you ask me, he dodged a fucking bullet because holy fuck if I had to spend my days waiting for you to die first, I’d pull the plug myself.”
“Sukuna!”
“You think you get to sit here and judge my girlfriend, my self, my fucking brother without consequence, you are sadly mistaken. And I sincerely hope that, with the bottom of my soul, that when your decrepit heart finally decides to stop and bless the world by taking your life, no one bats an eye. If this is how you treat strangers with a child, I would love to see how you treat your loved ones. Sit on it and fucking twist, you old bitch.” Then, he flashes her a smile, “have the day you fucking deserve, you twat.”
The woman stares at him, eyes wide and jaw agape. You also, stare at him with wide eyes and an agape jaw, and it isn’t until he wraps his arm around your waist and starts to push the carriage again, that you follow.
“Sukuna,” you say, voice shaky. “Why…?”
“Because no one gets to look at my fucking family in any way other than damn respect,” he growls, fingers digging into your hip from anger. “No one.”
“No, I mean…” you swallow thickly. “Why do people feel the need to be so cruel?”
“The world is cruel,” he says flatly. Then, he sighs and shakes his head, “but I have no issue in putting terrible people in their place. Especially for yuuji. Especially for you.”
You smile softly and lay your hand on his, lacing your fingers with his as they rest on your hip, “we’re lucky to have you then, aren’t we?”
Y’all, I think I found Suna’s live action video of ‘the Miya Cup’
- the cool anon who sent that og spider video 😎
Omg ahshdkla THANK YOU FOR THIS 💀💀
The videos you send are always pure ✨GOLD✨
It's been a whole three years but I'm finally back and we can thank the new hailyuu movie for the sudden inspo
2am @ 7/11
In which: the Miya triplets sneak out at 2am to go for some grocery shopping
Warning: once again pure crack with these three (rip Mr and Mrs Miya we pray for y’all’s sanity)
Features: Atsumu and Osamu x sibling! reader (and some of Inarizaki)
Tag list: open
Requests: open
Navigation | Hq m.list | Keeping up with the Miya’s m.list
Tbf, you're parents had too much trust in y'all for something like this
Basically, they had to leave you three for the weekend home alone due to some adult stuff y'all weren't bothered to listen to the moment you three heard you were going to have the house for the whole weekend.
"Did you three get that?" - Mrs Miya
"Are ya payin' attention?" - Mr Miya
"Sleepover!" - you three
Mr and Mrs Miya looking at the camera The Office style -_- -_-
You three didn't even try to hide your plans either
Y'all started making plans right in front of them and they could only have the promise of no volleyball for the next two weeks keeping them sane if anything were to go wrong.
The moment your parent's left, Suna arrived
You guys did invite the entire team but everyone else just ditched the moment Kita started scolding y'all
Kita and Aran did say they'd come over for the night to make sure no one died
They were mainly worried about your safety and your parents' sanity
You can bet your ass Suna wanted to be a part of all this
He needed to stack up on his stash of blackmail photos and videos
He's a true friend
Nothing crazy happened the entire time
That is until you woke up and wanted to get some snacks in the nearby 7/11
sigh "Here we go again."
"'Samu-nii," you whisper-shouted to him in the living room, nudging him with your feet.
Everyone had fallen asleep, you and your brother's on the couch with Suna squished between Atsumu and the armrest, while Kita slept on a futon on the floor and Aran took up an armchair in a very uncomfortable position.
"Shut up, (F/n). Ask 'Tsumu for what you want," Osamu tells you as he turns away uncomfortably.
Your brothers were sitting up while you laid across their lap, your head by Suna.
You pouted and before you could even call onto Atsumu, he already shut you up.
"Ask Suna," he groans before shoving you a bit.
"But I'm hungry. Let's go out," you whine softly to them and they both glared at you with sleepy eyes.
"It's almost two in the mornin'. Go to the kitchen if yer hungry," Osamu tells you as he grabs one of the pillows and covers his face with it, trying to get back to sleep.
"'Samuuuu, 'Tsumuuuu, pleeeaaassseeee," you say as you poke their arms.
When you received no response you sighed and turned to Suna who was fast asleep.
"Fine, then. I'll ask Rin-kun to go with me," you say, a sly grin making its way to your face. "Alone."
At that you noticed their silhouette's tense but you ignore them as you sat on Suna's lap, lightly tapping his face as you whispered.
"Rin-kun," you whispered as you poked his cheek.
He groaned tiredly as he stirred awake.
"(F/n)?"
"'m hungry. Can you come with me to 7/11? My brothers are a bunch of rat ass dumbasses," you whisper and Suna snorts a laugh as he nods.
"Whatever, let's go," he says as you get off his lap.
"Thank you, Rin-kun! Maybe we can even go around the city before heading back," you say, side-eyeing your brothers with a grin.
"Sure, whateve-"
"No! We get your stupid ass food and we make sure your stupid ass comes home straight away," Atsumu interrupts as he and Osamu are already putting on a hoodie.
"Oh, but I thought you were busy sleepi-"
"Shut up, (F/n)," they say simultaneously as Kita and Aran wake up from all the noise.
"What are you four doing now?" Kita asks with a tired glare.
All four of you felt a shiver run down your spines as he silently seethed at the untimely adventure.
"(F/n) wants to go out to get food," your brothers rat you out and your jaw drops.
"So much for loyalty between womb-mates," you mutter in offence, grabbing your keys while Kita tiredly sighs and grabs his hoodie along with Aran grabbing his.
So, you five started making your way to the nearest 7/11 at 2am in the morning.
You seemed to be the only one with energy
Not even Atsumu had enough strength to joke around with you
So the entire walk consisted of you talking and the guys giving you tired replies
The fact that you had the most energy and yet you had the audacity to ask for a piggyback ride from Aran
Ma'am I-
When you guys did arrive, it was a free for all with the food
They suddenly had all the energy they could ever need
"Push me!" you told Atsumu as you climbed into a shopping cart.
Surprisingly, without any hesitance, he goes on and pushes the cart along with you sitting happily inside.
The others followed behind you two, some picking up snacks here and there while you and your brothers started hauling food into the cart with you.
You glanced around as Atsumu pushed you in the cart around the aisles before you let a smile reach your lips and stood up abruptly.
Atsumu immediately started giving out as he stopped the cart and grabbed your shirt to keep you from falling while you reached up to the highest shelf, grabbing the bag of chips you craved.
"If ya get hurt, ma and dad are goin' to kill me!" Atsumu scolded you as you sat back down with a smile.
"As you keep sayin', yer the oldest," you mock him as Osamu joins your side and nods his head deadpanned.
Atsumu scoffed in disbelief before shoving your head down and kicking the back of Osamu's knee, pushing the cart along.
Now, Kita actually thought you guys could have a normal, regular trip to 7/11 at 2am without anything bad happening when you guys were leaving without a single thing going wrong
But he should've known better than to jinx it
To be fair, someone (you) should've gotten out of the cart
But then again, someone else (Atsumu) shouldn't have gotten distracted by his snacks
BUT to be fair, someone else (Osamu) shouldn't have put a sour patch kid into Atsumu's coke
Yeah, Kita is too tired to even try to make sense of the situation
"I bet ya can't drink all your coke within two minutes," you say as Atsumu pushed the cart out of the shop.
Osamu grinned as Atsumu narrowed his eyes at you.
"Bet ya can't finish it faster than me," Osamu taunted.
You've got Atsumu where you wanted him.
Hook. Line. Sinker.
"As if! As if yer gag reflex'll let you even finish half way," Atsumu yelled, opening his coke as he grabs the handle of the cart, you still sitting happily inside.
"Are ya trying to insinuate somethin' with yer lack of a gag reflex, 'Tsumu?" Osamu yelled back, now also fired up after Atsumu's comment.
Suna whipped out his phone, the camera ready when he sensed the link between your brain cells.
"You guys need to calm down," Kita scolded quietly, causing the three of you to flinch. Suddenly remembering that it wasn't just you three there.
"It's already past three in the morning, guys," Aran tried to shush you three.
Seeing Atsumu distracted, you nudged Osamu towards Atsumu's opened can of coke.
He looked towards it then to his triplet before exchanging grins with you and a single nod.
"Well then, 'Tsumu?" you asked in a taunting tone, just as Osamu dropped a sour patch kid into the can.
"Shut up, (Y/n)!" Atsumu yelled before chugging his coke only to choke the moment he started.
Everyone watched as the coke exploded into Atsumu's mouth, choking him as Osamu and you burst out laughing.
It wasn't until you slapped Osamu's arm from your laughter, did danger enter the picture.
Literally.
Suna took a picture of it all.
You were still in the cart, laughing your ass off.
It was Kita and Aran that noticed your cart rolling away as Atsumu coughed and Osamu wiped his tears.
"(Y/n)," Aran and Kita called out as they started to try and chase the cart.
Osamu finally looked towards you only to realise you were no longer beside him and so was the cart.
"(N/n)!" he yelled as he raced after you, seeing the cart roll down the hill, picking up speed the further you went.
The photos from Suna's phone quickly became blurry as you scrolled through the gallery because at this point everyone, including Atsumu who was still coughing, was chasing after you down the hill as you screamed.
"Help me!!!!" you screamed as you clutched onto the cart, your eyes closed.
"Ma and dad are so gonna kill me," Atsumu yelled, managing to outrun the others with Osamu at his tail. Your brothers ran the fastest they've ever ran that they could almost reach the carts handles.
"Try to lean to one side, try and steer it," Osamu yelled and you leaned slightly, however, that only caused the four boys to pale as they were able to now see the small speed bump that you were about to reach.
"Oh come on!" your brothers yelled as your cart hit straight into it, causing you to go flying forward.
Kita, Aran and Suna were breathless as they witnessed your brothers, going too fast, unable to stop themselves on time and crashing right on top of you, the food, and the cart.
"So close," Kita muttered in between breaths, "so close to one normal hang out."
Needless to say, your parents were NOT happy with what they came back to
The three of you were injured, with you getting the worst of the injuries all thanks to your brothers crash landing on you
"Ya pigs are heavy," you whined, "could've killed me."
"Shut up!" they both yelled.
On the upside, your parents didn't have to ban you from volleyball for two weeks.
But that's because you all had a broken leg for four weeks.
It was the most peaceful, quiet and uneventful four weeks at Inarizaki.
Enemies to lovers - Requested by @notsochillnerd - with Atsumu as a terrible wingman who just wanted to check out his brothers' nemesis...
There is only one thing more annoying than Miya Osamu with his cooking talent, excellent marks, and unfairly good looks: his twin brother Atsumu.
“No.” You say again, arms filled with produce. He’s in your way and he’s not even sorry about it.
“Come oooon!” He whines, draping himself over the railing of the stairs as if this is a photoshoot for some perfume. “I’m so hungry! And Osamu won’t cook for me! I’ll even pay you!”
“Wow, now I want to do it even less, knowing you might not have paid me in the first place.” You snark, patience wearing thin.
“Now get out of my way, I need to get to my room.”
“To do what?” He steps to the side, but his face remains close to yours. You’re not the fastest as it is, even less when carrying that many vegetables.
“I need to cook.”
“Perfect.” His grin is so wide, it could split his face. “You cook, I’ll eat.”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
You hesitate, if only for a second. But Atsumu is like a shark and that was the single drop of blood that he needed.
Half an hour later he’s sitting at the little table in your apartment.
Your kitchen isn’t spacious, but equipped with everything you could possibly need - there’s a reason this school costs an arm and a leg each year. And Miya Osamu got the scholarship instead of you.
You wouldn’t have any problem with it if not for your father breathing down your neck. He’s got the money to send you here twice if he wanted to, but in his twisted mind, a 100% is barely a passing grade and you should have been able to win the scholarship, monetary status be damned.
“What are you making?” Atsumu asks from behind you.
“Udon.”
“Why is it black?”
“I’m using Sepia.”
“Why?”
“Because I can.” You snap back, hoping against hope that he will fall quiet. He doesn’t.
-
You’ve spent almost a year in a class with Osamu.
He might not always get a better mark than you, but he quickly figured out how much you hated it when he did. There’s nothing worse than someone else gloating over your loss.
The teachers love him and tolerate you.
So far they’ve been kind enough not to put the two of you into a group project, or maybe they just played it safe. The sheer bloodlust you feel when he grins in your direction must have tipped them off.
But this year is going to end soon and your teachers expect you to come up with a dish. Your own creation, not unlike the dish you had to make for your entry exam. This time, however, it’s supposed to showcase what you want to do, going forward.
You can’t bring the same thing you made for your entry exam, even though it was perfect and a delight - you made it roughly one hundred times before.
Your father has always been a fan of the Kaiseki Ryori and while you had loved taking part in the Haute Cuisine as a child, feeling grown up as you nibbled on tiny bites of expensive food, it has lost its appeal on you.
After all, there’s a set number of times you can eat a meal, even Chawanmushi, before you get sick of it.
“Hello? Are you still listening?” Nuisance number 2 asks behind you and you flinch, staring down at the dough that you kneaded for too long.
“What’s Osamu doing for his exam?” You ask, feeling a little guilty about your attempt at spying.
“Why do you want to know?”
Nevermind. Now you only feel annoyed.
“Just because. Maybe I want to talk about something other than you.”
You move to throw the dough out, only to be stopped by Atsumu’s voice.
“What are you doing?”
“I messed it up. It’s not going to taste good.”
“So what? I’m hungry.”
“You want to eat gross noodles?” You eye him warily, but he shrugs with a grin.
“It’s definitely going to be better than what I’d produce myself. But since I hate cooking, I’d probably just get takeout pizza anyway.”
“Aren’t you an athlete?”
“Yeah?”
“And they let you eat Pizza?”
“They don’t know. Or they don’t care. Whatever you like better. I mean, they gave me a list of stuff I should keep away from but that’s like, all the food I usually consume.”
“Here.” You pull out a pen and paper. “Write down what you eat in a day. Snacks included. And drinks.”
“Why?”
“If I have to endure your chatting, you might as well get something out of this. Now, shoo!”
You turn, lid of your composter already open when his voice reaches you.
“DON’T THROW AWAY THE DOUGH!”
“Fine!” You snap. “You can eat your disgusting noodles!”
They don’t taste that awful in the end, not with your delicate sauce with mussels and steamed broccoli that turned out so good Atsumu licks his plate clean.
-
You’d been part of the track club in Middle School, switched to Volleyball in High School because they had fewer practice hours per week. Your marks had always been more important than any side activities, your future as a part of Haute Cuisine decided before you could walk. But it had been fun, especially when Coach gathered you after practice to talk about the importance of self-care. How certain foods could make or break you. How important salt and minerals were for your body, how food was more than calories, protein, carbs, and fat.
You’re not even a little bit rusty when you scribble down a meal plan for him. You keep it easy and as cheap as possible, light on the cooking because you figured he must be the opposite of his twin in the kitchen if he came begging for food… You’re not sure if you’re buying his excuse of a brotherly fight, but you’re not ashamed to say that you didn’t mind him praising your food over Osamu’s. Suck that, Miya!
Meanwhile, Atsumu’s brows are pulled so high, they’re hiding behind his bangs.
“What’s that supposed to be?”
“Your new meal plan. You follow that, you’ll increase your stamina.”
“But it’s so much work.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
“Whatever.” You get up, throw the pen down at the table. Your patience has never been the best anyway.
“Hey, hey, hey.” He follows you to the sink but not to help with the dishes.
“You could cook for me.” He offers it like it’s a great deal. You snort.
“I bet there’s something you want. Something I could do for you…” He wiggles his brows now, looks disgustingly like Osamu when he got a better mark then you. And that kickstarts your brain.
“I want Osamu… I mean the recipe…You know, what Osamu made to get the scholarship. If you can get me that dish of him to try, I’ll cook for you.”
Atsumu grins in a way that doesn’t feel good but he nods.
“Alright, it’s a deal. You’ll cook for me and I get you the dish.” He holds out his hand to sign the deal but you’ve been the daughter of a cutthroat banker for too long to fall for that.
“I’ll cook for a week.” You tell him firmly and watch with a sick satisfaction as his face contorts. He looks awful when he’s pissed and there are definitely not enough moments of the Miya twins looking awful.
“Two weeks.
“One week, only dinner.”
“One week, lunch, dinner and snacks.”
“Are you insane?”
“Do you want Osamu’s food?”
There’s a moment of Silence, and you’re eyeing each other, calculating who’s bluffing and who’s not.
“Fine.” You huff eventually, because you feel it in your bones that trying that damned dish will get you a step closer to figuring out what you need to present for your Final.
-
You feel like a drug addict, going down the deep end, when Atsumu appears at your door one week later, carrying a Bento-Box wrapped in the cutest fabric you have ever seen.
“Are those little foxes?” You ask, eyeing the reddish-tinted animals on the grey fabric.
“What if ?” He asks back, nose up in the air.
“Jeez, I was just curious.” You snap back and muster him. He doesn’t look malnourished.
“What did you eat this week?”
“Why do you ask?” He sets the Bento-Box on your table and saunters into your kitchen, peering into the still empty pots and pans.
“You’re an awful liar.”
“Okay, so I told Samu that you cooked for me.” He throws his hands up in the air like you’re the one making a big fuss about things. “Told him it was fingerlickin’ good. Got him all angry and puffy.”
You are not ashamed to say that comment lifts you off your feet just a little bit. Hah!
“So?” You ask cooly, untying the Furoshiki with eager fingers.
“So he insisted that he would cook for me. Everything went according to plan, I pretended it wasn’t as good as your food until I asked for the dish he made for his entry exams.”
“Did you know what it was?” You ask as you lift the lid of the box.
“Maybe.” He says and you can hear in his voice that he knew. He probably didn’t tell you just to experience this.
“He made Onigiri?” You ask, your voice a little shrill.
You had made Chawanmushi, a dish literally to die for, practiced one hundred times, and he beat you with Onigiri?
“Try it.” He reaches for one of the Onigiri in the box and you slap his hand away.
“Mine!” You hiss angrily and his grin is almost feral.
“I’ll take a walk around the block then.” He jokes, moving toward the door. “Leave you alone with it.”
“Leave.” You wave him off. “I’ll make dinner later.”
“Half an hour.”
“Leave!” You huff and the door clicks shut behind him.
-
You bite into the first Onigiri and time stops for a second.
The rice is cooked to perfection, but you know the different varieties well. He must have splurged on this kind, bought from a boutique farmer of some sorts.
It’s filled with tuna and spring onion, but it tastes different then all the Tuna Onigiri you’ve had before. You write down all the different things you can taste, compare them to the knowledge you have but still - did he use a spice you don’t know? A combination you’re not familiar with?
The taste lingers, but you cannot put your finger on it. You feel a little weepy too, as if you had just watched your favorite movie from when you were a kid. You sniff and take the other Onigiri, bite into almost cautiously. It’s Tenmusu, your favorite kind of Onigiri.
This time, literal tears run down your cheeks. The shrimp is crisp, the sweet sauce calling you back to childhood, reminding you of the few free afternoons you got to spend with your mother, just the two of you, no work allowed. You only remember to write down the taste and ingredients when the last bite has disappeared and your hands leave the paper stained.
Well… You’re no closer to figuring out what to make for your finals, but you might be getting your period soon. Why else would you be moved to tears by food?
-
“Onigiri, huh?” You ask Osamu after class the next day. You can’t help yourself.
He looks up from his phone, surprise on his face. It’s ridiculous how good that makes him look.
“What about it?”
“I heard you made Onigiri for your Entry Exam.”
“Ah, yes.” He smiles, the kind of smile that makes you want to slap it off his face. “Tsumu told me he made you try it.”
You can feel your face go slack. WHAT?
“What did you think?” Osamu asks, way too confident for your taste. “Did you like them?”
You can’t decide between a huff and a snort and the sound that does come out reminds you more of a dying walruss.
“They were probably pitying you.” You point out, nose in the air. “I showed up with Kaiseki Ryori. I made Chawanmushi.”
“Ah.” Osamu sounds like he’s not sure what that is. But you’ve gone over that in class, he’s just messing with you.
“Well, when do I get to try it?”
You blink. “What?”
“Yeah, it’s only fair, right? After you tried mine.”
You swallow thickly, look around for some help, but you’re the only one’s still in the hallway.
“Fine.” You huff eventually, because he does have a point. “As long as I don’t have to eat it.”
His brows furrow and your mind unhelpfully supplies you with the information that his eyes are a different shade than Atsumu’s. Osamu’s eyes are almost as grey as his hair, reminding you of the sky outside.
His mouth moves and you blink, try to focus on his voice, but fail. Your collar feels too tight around your neck and you pull at it, too aware of Osamu’s eyes that flicker to your neck and stay there. God, what’s going on?”
“What did you say?” You ask in the most snooty voice you can manage. “I wasn’t listening.”
“Why do you cook something you don’t like?” He asks. “Don’t you enjoy cooking?”
Something snaps inside you like a rubberband that has been pulled taut for too long.
“Why do you care?” You sniff and he rolls his eyes.
“I was just asking.”
“Sure you were. But you’re psychological warfare doesn’t work on me! You can flutter your long eyelashes at someone else!”
Osamu laughs. “I wasn’t-”
“Neither was I. Well, are you coming or not?”
“Where?”
“You wanted to try my Chawanmushi!”
“Gesundheit.” You turn, not the least bit surprised to see Atsumu standing there. It’s lunchtime for him, he’s coming to collect his goods. “Or was that a codeword for something naughty?”
“Oh god, you’re awful.”
-
You know that the Chawanmushi has turned out as perfect as all the other times. You can tell by sight and smell, but you cannot bring yourself to try it.
The thought of it has you swallow back bile but you serve it to the brothers with the biggest smile you can manage.
“Here.” You present it in tiny, elegant bowls.
“Are you in pain?” Osamu asks and you drop the smile.
“Go f-”
“Why is it so tiny?” Atsumu asks, eyeing the bowl skeptically. “I’m hungry.”
“I made you Curry.” You tell him off. “This is just a tasting. You can’t eat full bowls with Kaiseki Ryori, you’d never manage that amount of food.”
“Don’t underestimate me.” Atsumu digs in, spoon clinking loudly against the bowl to the point you fear for its life.
He’s done with it before Osamu has even tasted his, still smelling the dish carefully, pulling the spoon through as if to check for clumps.
“It was fine.” Atsumu gives his mark as one would comment on an order of KFC. “Now, the Curry?”
You huff but don’t get up, eyes still trained on Osamu. Then, finally, he brings the spoon to his mouth. If you’re focusing a little too much on his full lips, that’s entirely because he’s the world's slowest eater at the moment and nothing else.
His face remains passive.
Cold sweat runs down your back as he slowly but surely finishes the dish and nods appraisingly.
“It was good.” Osamu says calmly. “The Curry?”
Breathing is a little hard at the moment, but you manage to get up, collect the bowls - you don’t throw them at the floor in a fit of rage and you’re very proud of yourself for that - and get them safely to the kitchen sink.
Your hands shake a little as you serve the Curry in three different plates, but if the boys notice, they don’t comment on it.
“I hope you like it.” Your voice is back to normal, your wounded heart tucked safely back into your chest. “It’s packed with protein and healthy vegetables to make sure you have all the necessary nutrients. You could eat this every day and wouldn’t have to worry about losing out on anything.”
Atsumu digs in without another word. He beams around the spoon, curses loudly.
“This is so good.” He says, mouth full.
“Pig.” Osamu announces next to him, puts the first spoon into his mouth and-
You can see it, in the widening of his eyes and the light blush that appears on the height of his unfairly sharp cheekbones. He likes it. He likes it very much.
You should probably feel a bit more upset about the fact that they insult your Chawanmushi but get high on your Curry, but then again, it just feels good to watch Osamu have the same reaction to your Curry that you had with his Onigiri.
“You should make this for the Exam.” Osamu points out in between a groan and another spoonful of Curry. “It’s amazing.”
“No!” Atsumu shakes his head, still speaks with his mouth full. “The Udon you made yesterday. That was crazy good.”
“What Udon?” Osamu’s voice has a tint to it you cannot place. Does he know about the Onigiri you tried but not about the deal itself? Is he jealous he didn’t get to try them?
“Okay, so she makes the Noodles herself, right? This time without the freaky black stuff-”
“Sepia,” you throw in but he ignores you, “But she used pork belly for the sauce and something creamy and mushrooms, I think-”
“Shiitake.”
“And I tell you, Samu, it was so so good! Like, it reminded me of Mom making that stew, you know? When Dad had that big sale thing and we got to celebrate it?”
Osamu’s eyes light up in a way that has you looking down at your food, heart thrumming in your chest like a hummingbird on speed.
“Can you-” He hesitates for a second. “Can you make me that?”
“I could.” You point out, not at all feeling the upper hand. You feel nervous instead as if this is a test or something worse. You swallow thickly, try to think of something to wager against it. Your mind is unhelpful at best, offering the possibility of a date - as if!
“If I get your recipe. For the Onigiri.”
Osamu’s mouth clicks shut. He blinks, clearly surprised. Then he grins, the kind of grin that tells you this isn’t going to work in your favor, at all.
“Sure. So, Udon tomorrow?”
“I was going to make Katsudon tomorrow.” You point out, pissed that he’s overthrowing your meal plan. Atsumu looks like he’s gotten a glimpse of heaven.
“Really?”
-
You hate to think about it, but the week is nearing its end and Osamu feels less like the devil and more like the dangerously cute boy from your class now. The dangerously cute boy who’s going to get a better mark than you, take the promised internship at one of Japan's leading five-star restaurants and laugh in your face if you don’t shape up right now.
Your father is as helpful as ever.
He’s currently obsessed with the Yakimono part of Kaiseki Ryori, taking you out to dinner each weekend only to try new variants that you should use for your Final Exam.
The food is good, there’s no denying that, but it lacks the emotional touch you had with the Onigiri.
The same Onigiri that you’ve made three times already. They never taste like Osamu’s.
You’re suspecting that he skipped on one ingredient in the recipe, the one thing you could not put your finger on when you tried them.
“Hey.” Atsumu’s waiting at your door when you return from coffee with your mother. She had been even less helpful, talking about the new dessert dish she was creating. You might have gotten her cooking skills, but you hate baking almost as much as Chawanmushi.
“I thought we said we would skip the cooking over the weekend.”
“Yeah, about that.” He lifts a heavy bag. “I wanted to ask for a favor.”
“I’m not setting for you.”
“Why would I- Never mind, I wanted to ask… Could you like, show me… how to cook?”
You blink in surprise.
“Why would I teach you that? Don’t you have your brother?”
“He’s not a good teacher.” Atsumu points out and you snort.
“So you want to learn how to cook? And stop harassing me and Osamu?”
“No, no, I will still harass the two of you for food, but it looked easy when you did it, so I thought you could teach me, maybe?”
“Fine.”
“I’m even pa- Fine? Oh, wow, that was easy.”
“If I can ask you some questions in turn without you judging me?”
“Me, judging someone? Never.” He puts a hand on his chest, probably aiming for his heart, but he’s now swearing on his left ribcage.
-
You watch like a Hawk as Atsumu prepares the Omurice. He’s got a bad habit of getting distracted, but he’s not a bad student.
“So…” You swallow your nerves. “You and Osamu used to play Volleyball together, right?”
“Yeah. He could have gone Pro, like me. But he said…” He raises his hands to make air quotes and lowers his voice into a deeper pitch to mock Osamu, “Skillswise I'm just as good as you. But I think that, when all's said and done, you love volleyball just a teensy bit more than me.”
“And you were okay with that?”
“Nah.” Atsumu flips the Omurice onto a plate and hands it over to you. “Try.”
“It’s good.” You hand it back to him. “Eat.”
-
When Atsumu leaves, you’re left with even more questions than before.
What does it mean to love something so much you’re willing to pass up something good?
Atsumu is making good money as a Pro, even now. But Osamu had no idea if he was going to make it into this school until he tried.
And why did he make freaking Onigiri?
Midnight has come and gone when you put a jacket over your sleepshirt and slip out of your apartment in nothing but booty shorts and bunny slippers.
You’re not sure if there’s a nightguard. There might be, this is still a mixed dorm filled with hormonal teens and tweens.
Even though you’ve never been to Osamu’s place before, you know the route by heart. You had memorized it in a childish fit when you realized his room was just below the fire escape.
You wouldn’t allow him to survive you in case of an emergency.
You knock twice before you can hear movement. The door opens and you almost swallow your tongue.
His hair is in disarray as if he’d dragged his hands through it all night and there’s the imprint of his pillow left on his cheek. He’s topless and you keep your eyes trained on the imprint on his cheek as if you don’t notice his happy trail or his still well-trained abs.
He blinks slowly and yawns.
“What’s up?” He asks. Something moves over his face, quick like a sparrow. “Shit, are you hurt? Did something happen?!”
“No, no, I… Shit, I don’t know, I-”
“Come in.” He pulls you inside, but he calculates wrong, uses too much force for your quivering body. You end up mushed against his chest, face plant right into the warm skin.
If you die like this, you won’t even be mad about it.
“Shit, sorry.” He grabs you and puts you at a distance again, blush high on his cheeks.
“Your Onigiri.” You start, before he can realize that you’re flustered too. “You didn’t list all the ingredients.”
“I did.”
“Did not. They don’t taste the same.”
“Ah.” He makes that insufferable sound like he knows everything you don’t.
You want to poke his abs, but you decide against it, mainly because it would make you look weird. But they do look ni-
“Tea?” He asks and you hold your right hand with your left, just in case it turns sentient.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Your Onigiri don’t taste like mine, because I make them for someone.”
“What?”
“The Tuna one.” He looks at the kettle instead of you, but his voice is wistful, distant. “I always make that one for Tsumu.”
“And the Tenmusu?”
“It’s my Mom’s favorite.” He says softly and you can’t help it, but you start to cry.
“Your Mom likes Tenmusu too?”
“Ah, shit, don’t tell me- Wait, here, take this…” He hands you a tissue to blow your nose and dry your tears.
“So you’re saying your secret ingredient is love? You’re really going to stand there and make me believe that you got the scholarship because you put love in your food?”
He shrugs. “You don’t have to believe me. But there’s a reason your Chawanmushi did not taste as good as your Curry.”
“Oh fuck off.”
“Gladly.” He smirks at you and this time your hand is faster than your mind, pointer finger digging into the firm muscle of his right pectoral.
“Don’t mess with me.”
“Why not?” His face moves closer to you, or did you move closer to his? “Isn’t it fun?”
Whoever moved first doesn’t matter now as his breath washes over you. His eyes skip to your lips and you lick them, no thoughts left in your brain.
Behind him, the kettle whistles, signaling that the water’s cooking, but neither of you moves.
This could end very badly, or very great, however you want to look at it.
Your mind, helpful as ever, comes up with a sentence that just slips out of your mouth unprompted.
“Atsumu said that you loved Volleyball a little-”
He draws back the moment he hears you speak, face now closed like a window that has let down its shutters.
“Right, Atsumu.” He says, interrupting you. “You should get back to the bed.”
“But the tea…”
“I forgot.” He takes the kettle off the stove. “I was going to make a hot water bottle for myself. Sorry.”
-
Somehow, somewhere, you took a wrong turn.
Maybe it was when you started liking Osamu, in this weird way that has you enjoy the bickering and the competitiveness. Maybe it was even before that, when you let Atsumu get away with his needling, fed him Udon instead of throwing him out.
Or maybe it was even before that, when you didn’t put up a fight everytime your father decided for you, when your mother put work before spending time with you.
It’s a good thing that Finals are right around the corner.
You can’t focus in most classes, left staring holes into Osamu’s back.
Atsumu’s stopped showing up himself, probably now a master in cooking for himself. Or he’s gone back to Osamu, to fantastic Onigiri and whatever else he knows how to make.
-
Four days before the Final, someone bangs on your door.
“Jeez, I’m coming.” You pull the door open to reveal Atsumu, soaked and clearly pissed..
“You okay?” You ask. “Or do you need a towel?”
“Why are you not a couple?” He asks back. “Like, the tension was there, you were practically undressing each other at the table - in front of me, might I add - and yet you’re not even speaking to each other? I even cooked all my meals these past weeks in the hopes of hearing good news but Samu’s acting like a bug crawled up his ass and died.”
“What are you even talking abou-”
“Oh, don’t fool me.” He steps inside and moves toward your bathroom without asking. “I just ran here because all I get from Samu are cryptic messages. Did you say something?”
“No, I-”
“Spill.” Atsumu points at the kitchentable, hesitates for a second, then he points at the kitchen itself. “Make some food while your at it. Also, can I have some change of clothes?”
You make Okayu with ginger and honey, the rice porridge a comfort to your heart and a boost to Atsumu’s immune system.
It’s not a long tale. It could be, probably, but you refuse to go into more detail than necessary. Atsumu might be kind of a friend, in his weird, annoying way, but he’s still Osamu’s twin brother.
“I’m gonna go talk to him.” He grabs the bag with his clothes and stalks off, dressed in one of your oversized hoodies and bright pink pajama pants, both things slightly too short on him.
“Give him a chance when he comes back,” are his parting words.
But Osamu does not show up.
Neither does he the next morning in class.
-
One of the teachers calls you over after class.
“You and Miya-san are pretty close, right?” She starts, speaks on while you’re still trying not to choke on your spit. “Could you bring him the notes from today? He called in sick. Tell him to take care and rest, so that he can take part in the Final.”
“I-I will.”
You end up in your own room instead, debating if you should just leave everything in front of his door and run. If he’s not at the final, you automatically win. But that’s not a win you’d feel good about, if you’re being honest to yourself.
Before you know it, you find yourself making Oyaku again, with Ginger and Honey, the one food that always gives you comfort and boosts your health. The process is simple, but it still calms you down every time. When it’s done, you look down at two portions and know what to do.
-
“Osamu?” The door is closed, but you can hear faint shuffling behind it. “I made you Oyaku. I heard you’re sick and got your notes from the teachers. I didn’t tell them that I’m a friend of yours, but she was convinced of it and didn’t let me change her mind. But I… we kinda are friends, right?” You feel so weird talking to the closed door.
“Even if you don’t like me, we got to keep up the reputation. Eat the Oyaku, okay? Winning doesn’t feel the same if you kick yourself out of the game.”
You put everything in front of his door and leave, lingering at the end of the hallway, just out of sight, until you hear his door. When you look back, the Oyaku is gone and all you have to do is wait.
-
Osamu is already outside when you step out of the classroom.
“Already finished?”
“Onigiri doesn’t take that long to make.”
“Ah, right.” You nod, don’t know if you should avoid his gaze or follow your instinct and look a bit more closely. He sounds healthy at least.
“What did you make?” His voice is gruff when he asks.
“Ginger Honey Oyaku.” You answer, voice soft. “Which might confuse the teachers because I had all the ingredients ready for honey-glazed pork belly but I decided against it at the last second.”
“I’d have loved to try that pork belly.” Osamu sighs dreamily. “But that Oyaku was so good. I could eat that everyday and never get tired of it.”
“Same.” You smile but it falters when you feel his eyes on you and you know you’ve got to say it. “I made it for you.”
“Yeah, I know-”
“No, what you said… about the Entry Exam.” You can feel your heartbeat, like the fluttering of hummingbird wings. If you’re going to pass out during your confession, you’re going to kill Osamu for it.
Behind you, the door opens and two more students step out. Osamu looks at them and back at you and you nod, point down the hallway. “Let’s take a walk?”
There’s a broom closet not far down and you slip inside only to regret it seconds later. There’s barely enough space for the two of you, his breath washing over you as you try to focus on the words you need to say. Out loud, so he can hear them too.
“I want to beat you.” You can hear him snort, but you keep your gaze on your hands. You won’t be able to speak if you look into his hands. “But you’re also really funny and caring and cute, in a way. I could see myself, I mean, I already, you know-”
“What about Tsumu?” He asks, voice strangely hoarse.
“What about him?”
“Don’t you like him more? You don’t feel the need to beat him every two seconds, right?”
You roll your eyes and groan.
“Seriously? The best thing about Atsumu is that he looks kinda like you.”
If you had wanted to say more - you didn’t, but you hate letting anyone else have the last word - it leaves your mind the second his lips press onto yours.
Your mind’s not yet caught up, but your body is, hands dragging through his hair to pull him closer, to marvel at the softness of it - what conditioner is he using? - to have him a little closer.
His hands are on your hip, your back, roam over your shoulders, leaving warm trails and goosebumps behind.
Then there’s bright light and a shrill shriek and you burst away from each other only to face one of your teachers.
“What? The indecency! During an exam no less! Detention! Detention!” Her garbled words don’t make much sense, but the last word you understand.
Osamu sends you a look, his eyes speaking of little guilt and a promise to continue this latter. You can’t help but feel the same.
-
As it turns out, Detention automatically overrules your exceptional Exam marks. Neither of you wins the internship. Neither of you cares.
Osamu had applied to an Onigiri shop not far from the school as a second option and with your last name you have no trouble securing an internship with a well-known nutritionist for Pro Athletes.
Your father is not happy about your change in dreams, but when you explain the earning capacity of this position, and the business plan you’re already halfway through making, your excitement swaps over.
Your mother, as usual, barely listens. But you take it in stride, her usual droning on about a recipe she’s working on, by thinking about how in less than an hour, you’ll see Osamu again.
-
“You guys owe me.” Atsumu declares during Movie night. He’s perched on the edge of the couch, the last piece of the Pizza in his hands. “I’m talking about food for life.”
“We could have done it without you,” Osamu insists, arm around you, face nuzzled into your hair. He pretends he’s watching the movie, but you know better. He’s been thinking about the cheese crackers in your pantry for hours.
“If I hadn’t pulled you out in the rain to talk things through, you wouldn’t have gotten sick and your girlfriend wouldn’t have made Oyaku for you! That’s enough reason for you to love me forever!”
“If you hadn’t interfered he wouldn’t have had to think we were dating instead.” You point out and dig your hands into Osamu’s grip on your arms, moving away from him.
“Babe, what-” He starts but you nod in the direction of your pantry. “Get the crackers. I can’t watch you any longer.”
“Really?” His face lights up like a child in front of a Christmas tree. It’s worth the ridiculous price you paid for the crackers.
“Really.”
He kisses you and the moment could be perfect. But there’s still Atsumu, fake gagging in the background.
Osamu walks out of Physics class, happy that his classes are over and all that is left is volleyball practice.
He walks down the familiar path towards his twin brother’s class, basically collecting him on the way to the gym hall.
When he gets closer, he hears multiple sounds of something banging against the lockers and when he gets closer to the noise, he squints his eyes before they widen in shock at the sight of Atsumu Miya, second-year high school Setter of the Inarizaki volleyball club banging his forehead constantly against his locker door.
Now, he has two options.
One, move along and pretend he didn’t see any of this and make it to practice on time without his brother. But the big downside is that Atsumu would probably be late for practice if Osamu doesn’t say anything to him, which will end up in Osamu getting an earful from their mother later on at home.
Or option number two, ask what Atsumu’s deal is and hopefully they both still make it on time for practice.
Since Osamu doesn’t want to get yelled at later on by their mother, he begrudgingly chooses option two.
"Tsumu, if ya keep smashin' yer head against the locker, yer gonna lose the two braincells ya have left." Osamu says when he walks closer to his brother.
For a split second, Atsumu looks at his brother through his peripheral vision with a pissed look and then continues to bang his head against the locker.
'Wow, not even a comeback.' Osamu thinks while he continues to watch him.
"Stop it." Osamu barks as he is getting annoyed by the noise.
"'M tryin' ta forget bout earlier. Ya remember (Y/N)?" Atsumu stops and just leans his forehead against his locker door, a sorrow expression rests on his face.
Osamu frowns in confusion and looks to the ceiling for a second before returning his gaze back to his twin.
"Ya mean (Y/L/N) (Y/F/N)? The one that shared her lunch with ya and ya sweared ya tasted heaven?" Osamu raises a brow.
"Yes." Atsumu confirms.
"What about her?" Osamu doesn’t get it, if Atsumu looks so miserable, surely something devastating must have happened.
"I wanted ta confess my feelings ta her, so I made her favorite dessert and when I went ta see her, yannow what I saw?"
"What?" Osamu sighs.
"She was talkin' ta Riseki!"
"Is she suddenly not allowed ta talk ta other people besides ya? Tsumu I don’t know if yer brain registered it yet but this is a high school. There’s more people than ya she can talk to. And so what if Riseki was talkin' ta her? What’s the big deal?!" Osamu is getting impatient since he doesn’t understand Atsumu‘s point of view.
"That’s not the point dipshit! Riseki asked her out and she said no because she said she is in love with another guy." Atsumu almost wails.
"And?… Does your story have an ending or is this it?"
"Be patient asshole, I was gettin' there. So after I heard that, I was devastated….an' I didn’t realize (Y/N) came outta the room seconds afterwards an' I was so mad that I squished the dessert outta anger. She was confused an' asked if I was alright and I replied 'Shouldn’t ya ask yer crush?' and then I just left!" The Setter explains and gets angrier by the second, talking to his long-time crush in such a tone was just childish and rude as hell. You didn’t deserve that at all but Atsumu just felt his heart shatter at that moment, so he was angry and let it out on you. Now he is just highly disappointed in himself on how disrespectfully he talked to you.
On the inside, Osamu facepalms himself at the sheer stupidity of his brother‘s unawareness of your affection towards the blonde.
The signs are all there that you like Atsumu and vice versa but of course something complicated like the shit Atsumu pulled just moments prior.
"Well, (Y/N) finally talked ta ya. That’s sorta awesome."
"No Samu! Not 'awesome'! I ruined ma only chance at talkin' ta (Y/N) and I ruined it. RUINED IT!" Atsumu slams his head against the locker and the whole locker clutters by the force of it.
Osamu can’t help but feel bad for his brother, knowing Atsumu has been having a crush on you since the first year of high school.
Students who pass them are giving them weird looks but the gray-haired twin is not fazed by it.
"Tsumu, yer startin' ta get looks. Quit yer dramatic act and move alon'. There’s pleny of fish in da sea."
The Setter was quiet for a few seconds and Osamu was quite worried Atsumu got a concussion from all that banging of his forehead against the locker.
But then he speaks again, in a voice so sad and soft, it sounds like Atsumu is truly heartbroken.
"But I don’ wan' other fish. I want (Y/N)." He is actually getting teary-eyed.
Osamu gives out a big annoyed sigh and knows he is already regretting his words.
"Want me ta help ya win (Y/N) over?"
Atsumu whips his head in his brother’s direction, a hopeful gleam in his hazel-brown eyes.
"Yer not screwin' with me?"
"No. Twin promise, cross my heart and all that shit. Come on, let’s find (Y/N)." Osamu starts to move to the gym for volleyball practice and he hears a locker door shut and a rushing steps of feet follow him.
a little yellow post-it by your bedside was unmissable as you stretched off any remaining traces of sleep. “breakfast is on the counter, made with extra love. see ya later — love, yer samu.”
you sighed contently, heart feeling full and ready to fill your stomach. not even five minutes later, you walked into the kitchen and saw him hunched over the kitchen island, happily munching away at the bacon. you watched as the bacon, your bacon, disappeared into his mouth when he caught sight of you, “hey sis!”
he’d swung by over your house (unannounced as per usual) and eaten the breakfast plate meant for you. atsumu was fortunate in that his twin brother had to attend to some restaurant emergency this morning.
“MY BACON!” atsumu drops his fork. the clattering of the metal utensil against the porcelain plate sent silent shock waves throughout the house. of course, of course, the breakfast had been for you. atsumu thought his brother got an inkling that he’d be coming over this morning. and atsumu, using this twin telepathy, had confirmed this plate was for him.
“’m sorry, sis, please don’t tell samu, he’ll kill me.” he begged, “the twin telepathy must’tav been broke today. ‘m sorry, ‘m so sorry. I’ll buy ya breakfast now, anything, just don’t tell him.”
seeing the pro-player so pathetically afraid of his brother was almost funny, almost, until you remembered the bacon.
“you mean it? anything?”
he nodded his head confidently, “anything, anything for ma lovely sis to not tell on me.”
“you got it, tsumu, but in exchange I want the video.”
realization dawned on him, the video might be worse than the breakfast debacle. “no no, he’d kill me now for real if I send ya the video. just tell on me. twins honor, I can’t do that to him.”
“nope, no going back on your words, miya atsumu. you said you’d do anything and I agreed, so hand over the video.”
there’s no winning when it comes to you, your stubbornness was notoriously unmatched. “fine, but ya gotta promise to not let him know it was from me. and if he does find out and ya don’t hear from me for a few days, go to the police and tell’em samu murdered me.”
“will do, now get out of my house and send it to me before the end of the day.”
a/n:: a sequel-ish to my “Haikyuu boys losing you at the mall”
⤷ BOKUTO Kotaro smiled at the TikTok you’ve just sent him. He was multitasking. Right hand holding his phone, while the left was gently pushing his sleeping son in his stroller. Bokuto finally looks up from his phone to check on his son. “hey buddy, you still sleep-”. He panics when he sees nothing but his son’s blue blankie in the otherwise empty stroller. “oh crap, oh crap, where is he?” The panic is his eyes were evident as he starts looking around, trying to spot any trace of his baby. So confused and bewildered when he considers the fact that the baby can’t even walk yet. Could he have been kidnapped while Bokuto was distracted by his phone? He reaches his hands up to clutch his chest, so close to a panic attack when he suddenly feels a little lump. Looking down, Bokuto lets out a shaky laugh when he realizes his son was strapped against his chest, sleeping peacefully this entire time. Bokuto won’t tell you about this little fiasco though. Returning home, your husband confidently says to you, “see honey? you’re wrong. We had a great day today and I didn’t even lose him.”
⤷ MIYA Atsumu “whoever runs to mom first wins!” Atsumu challenges his son. “but mommy says no running the mall.” “but mommy says…oh come on, haven’t I taught you anything?” Atsumu mocks the young boy of 8. And truly his father’s son, the boy takes off running. Atsumu laughs and was prepared to start running when he realizes he doesn’t know where you are, which means his son probably doesn’t know either. “oh shi-” Atsumu starts running like a wild man around the mall, not even caring who’s watching as he shouts his son’s name. Nervous sweats starts forming around his forehead as he imagines the fury in your eyes and his heart starts pounding at the possibility of his son being kidnapped. “Miya Atsumu.” The coldness in your voice had him turning around slowly, dreading this conversation. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sees his son standing to you. “oh buddy, there you are! what did I tell you about running off!” You glare at him, “don’t give me that bs Tsumu. I know you told him to run to find me.” Your son nods and glares at Atsumu too. He holds up his hands in surrender, muttering a “sorry, I won’t do it again honey.” The moment you look down at your phone to reply to your friend, he leans down to his son and whispers, “you little snitch.” Atsumu feels his blood run cold at his son’s next few words, “mommy, dad just called me a snitch.”
Hate to be that person, but WW3 trend on TikTok is not funny at all, especially your stupid POVs. Because no, Jessica from Chicago, you won’t have to hide in the basement to avoid being nuked and no, Kyle from LA, you won’t get drafted to the front lines.
You again missed the whole point and managed to make this situation all about yourself, so I’m going to assure your stupid ass - this war is not going to affect you in any way, but you know who it’s going to affect? Actual people from Ukraine, who are going to lose their lives and be displaced from their homes, just like for the past 8 years.
So congratulations on your stupidity, because it’s not about “I need a way to cope 🥺🥺🥺”, it’s about you celebrating and making fun of other people’s death.
I know 😭😭 it’s because tumblr keeps restricting my account, claiming it has “sensitive content” even tho it doesn’t???
I’ve contacted them several times that my account was incorrectly marked as restricted but they’ve only sorted it out once and within two days or so they restricted it once again.
It’s the reason why I decided not to write anymore except for the series I’ve already started and planned out
Hi!! Hope all is well with you and everything 🐣 I was wondering if you had plans to update the Haikyuu! Ouran AU fic? Love that story (and all of your other ones) and I’ve re-read it like 10x so I figured I’d check in 😊
Hiii! Thank you so much and I hope you’re doing well too <3
I am still planning on updating the Haikyuu! Ouran AU fic. It’s just taking me a while to write the next chapter since the previous one took me several weeks to have the full Ouran feel and I want the second one to still have that but 😅 I underestimated how hard it would be to turn OHSHC into something that fits Haikyuu seamlessly.
I’ll be updating it here on tumblr and on quotev which I have linked in my navigation. I won’t be writing anything else on my tumblr anymore other than Neko Neko Nekoma, Keeping Up With The Miya’s and All Too Well (BNHA fic) seeing as tumblr keeps restricting my account every time I request them to unrestrict it.
summary: ever since you knew about your feelings for your brother’s best friend, you knew you’d wait for him. no matter how many times he might’ve rejected you, you’d wait for him.
pairing: iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader
genre: fluff/slight angst/humor; you’re waiting for a guy for thirteen years (don’t do that irl unless it’s iwaizumi), brother!oikawa, you’re stubborn as heck (and a simp)
length: 9.7k words
a/n: repost!
AT FIVE YEARS OLD …
you’re a cute kid, you’ll put it as simply as that. your rosy cheeks and grin easily wins the hearts of all the adults in your life even after your adorable toddler years.
but, you’re three years younger than your brother and his friends. to en eight year old, you’re not that cute. in fact, the only purpose you have is to charm away adults, much like your brother, tooru, used to and still does, and torment him.
that doesn’t stop you from interrupting oikawa and his friend’s playdates and hangouts from then on until you'e well into high school.
so yeah, i guess with cute, you could be insufferable.
just like your brother, tooru.
“tooru~,” you sing, bouncing into the room with a handful of dolls, as a wide grin graces over your features. you’re head to toe in some royal getup, frilly and sparkly fabric galore.
“y/n,” is your eight year old brother’s immediate whine, looking away from the t.v. currently playing some rerun of a power rangers episode. “can’t you see i’m with iwa-chan right now?”
before iwaizumi, oikawa’s closest friend, could even scold him for the nickname, already sending daggers toward him, you pout. “but you said we’d play dolls today…”
there’s a little wobble in your tone as it lowers, and your frown is ever present. iwaizumi flits his eyes over to you briefly, quietly observing your reaction.
“maybe later,” oikawa waves you off, barely acknowledging your sadness and disappointment as he turns his attention back to the television.
the frown on your face only deepens when you realize your own brother is choosing a random boy he’d met recently over his own blood. his own sister!
okay, maybe you’re a little dramatic, too.
you’re about to let out some dramatic form of a wail when iwaizumi notices and widens his eyes in horror. iwaizumi doesn’t have siblings of his own so he can only guess what reaction you’ll have by the way your eyebrows furrow in anger. all he’s sure of is that he doesn’t wanna deal with a crying child, so he’s quick to nudge oikawa by budding shoulders with his.
“i think you should play with your sister for five minutes. at least get her in a better mood.”
oikawa’s face puckers in slight annoyance.
“why?”
… and the best brother award goes to … not him.
“girls can ruin your life,” iwaizumi mutters in a knowing tone. how does he know that so early? he’s only eight… and as far as you know, has no siblings.
regardless, you stand proudly with a beam (｡- ω -)
“but i want to watch this,” your brother complains, whiny tone toward the end of his statement filling his voice.
iwaizumi stares a this new friend with a deadpan expression, wondering why he’d rather face your inevitable wrath than just play with you…
so, he stands from the couch and walks over to you and holds his hands out, looking at you expectantly.
“iwa-chan, what’re you doing?” oikawa asks, noticing his presence gone from the couch when he looks over after a particularly enjoyable fight scene.
“i’m dealing with your sister,” he shoots back with a sneer before turning back to you with the same soft expression he held for you prior. “can i have a doll?”
you: (°ｏ°)
and just, like that, as you stare with your mouth agape - oikawa’s a little shocked, too, eyebrows furrowing is slight jealousy - iwaizumi becomes your friend, too.
so for the next ten minutes or so, iwaizumi sits beside you on the wooden floors (oikawa’s huffing from the sofa, wondering when his friend would return his attention to the t.v.) and pretends whatever dolls you have can fly or be more tough than you considered.
(you had you more buy one of you dolls a martial arts outfit just in case iwaizumi would ever agree to play with you again).
you found yourself being extra happy and giddy whenever iwaizumi came over to hang out with your brother (and inevitably you)
“can i play, too?” you’d appear in the backyard after seeing the two toss a volleyball to each other.
your brother loves you, no doubt. he’d easily beat up any one who picked on you.
but he needs his bro time, y'know?“
"it’s one on one right now-”
“-we wouldn’t want you getting hurt, y/n,” iwaizumi cuts him off, scowling at him to be nicer.
iwaizumi always looked out for you, and at five, you believed it was more than your own brother did.
and that instance was the first time he touched your heart and took a little piece with him wherever he went.
AT NINE YEARS OLD …
“hey! wait up!” you call after your brother on his way home from school.
you’re struggling to carry all your school books (you didn’t put them insider your bag because you were rushing to walk home with your brother and iwaizumi).
oikawa stops in his tracks and turns around to face you, sighing, “hurry up then, my slow sister~”
you manage to catch up to him, huffing and puffing by the time you reach him.
“how come you’re still here? dismissal was at 3,” iwaizumi questions from beside your brother, who was previously looking off in the distance of the convenience store, wondering if he had enough coins for a snack. he absentmindedly helps you hold your bookbag up as you pile all of your school books into it.
“yeah, we had practice,” oikawa narrows his eyes at you, adjusting his sling over bag strap on his shoulder, “what were you doing?”
“i can’t be in a club either?” you ask, furrowing your eyebrows at his judgmental gaze. ‘my friend asked me to come to her practice and watch her…“
the two boys beside you nodded their heads and you added, "plus, mom like when i walk home with you.”
that much was true.
it was also true that your friend invited you to her practice. however, you probably would’ve come up with any excuse to be able to walk home with your brother and his classmate.
because you have a crush on said classmate (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ
not that you’d ever tell him (yet)
since you’d been bugging the two since you were five, tagging along with them and hanging out with them wasn’t new or suspicious.
“what are we watching tonight?” you plop down on the sofa, right in between your brother and iwaizumi and dig your hand into the bowl of popcorn on your brother’s lap.
“something rated pg-13 so you cant watch,” oikawa says, swatting your hand away from the bowl as he grins wickedly at you.
“that’s just rude,” you huff and stand from the couch, knowing your mother would scold you if she caught you watching a movie inappropriate for you age.
“maybe another day, y/n,” iwaizumi encourages, eyes never leaving the screen. he lifts his arm, though, offering you a small bag in his hand.
“want the rest of my gummy worms? i know they’re your favorite.”
Σ>―(〃°ω°〃)♡→
(this boy doesn’t even know what he’s doing to you heart).
“thank,” you smile softly, deadpan expression wiped off your face, shyly taking the bag from his hand.
oikawa watches the exchange with suspicion and it’s when he notices the flush of your cheeks and flustered expression as you scamper back to your room that it dawns on him.
AT TWELVE YEARS OLD …
“thanks for the help my stupid brother refused to give me!” you sing happily, skipping beside iwaizumi on your way to school. when you reach the point at which your paths separate - where you go to middle school and he goes to high school - you wave.
“no problem, y/n,” he waves back as you part ways, pulling on the straps of his backpack, now turning to your brother for a new conversation.
reaching school, the boys walked over to their lockers, engaging in small talk about the volleyball match they both watched the night before.
as animated as oikawa wanted to be during the conversation, all he could think of was the dumb smile on your face since you walked downstairs for breakfast.
iwaizumi had come over and helped you with a project the night before, one of those science ones where most students made volcanoes or rock candy.
oikawa never came to you to ask you about your crush when he first had an inkling about it. and you never went to him, admitting to it either.
but you believe it’s universal knowledge that you have a crush on his best friend.
you weren’t exactly trying to hide it from your brother. it was sort of obvious.
to be honest, you didn’t really care about what oikawa had to say about it. nonetheless, you were grateful he never did.
however, as obvious as you made it look, the only person who didn’t seem to know about your crush was iwaizumi.
and oikawa was willing to keep your crush to himself since obviously it wasn’t his crush to reveal.
but for some reason - maybe because you’re especially giddy expression made him a little too antsy to know what his classmate’s reaction to the news would be - today was the day that he just couldn’t keep it in anymore.
“you should stop being so nice to my sister,” his voice is cold as he’s fiddling with the books in his book bag.
iwaizumi pauses what he’s doing in his locker and turns to your brother.
“huh?”
“i’m just saying, i know you help her out a lot but some distance might be good.”
iwaizumi: why tho ಠ_ಠ
oikawa looks at his friend with the most deadpanned face and he realizes:
oh my god, he’s just oblivious.
“maybe ‘cause my sister is in love with you?”
iwaizumi chokes.
and then he laughs.
because what??? haha, that’s real funny, bud.
“i’m serious,” oikawa says, closing his locker door and crossing his arms. “i blame all the time you’ve spent around her but she’s developed a crush on you…i’m more surprised that you haven’t noticed…”
well ofc he didn’t … you’re still in middle school.
“you must be blind. she definitely sees me as a brother.”
“i’d be concerned if that’s the case because ‘sweet home alabama.’” (i know they’re in japan but allow the reference pls)
“she does not like me.”
“fine, fine. don’t believe me then,” oikawa raises his hands in surrender, “but pay closer attention and maybe you’ll see for yourself.”
from that moment forward, iwaizumi paid more attention to you and specifically your actions.
and if your bright smiles and rosy cheeks weren’t a sure tell of your crush whenever he came around, it was definitely the small gifts of treats and snacks you’d shyly give him whenever he’d help you with your homework.
“y/n?” one day, iwaizumi stammers under your gaze, looking down at his hands. “we should talk.”
you also had a habit of staring at him. it was something he didn’t notice at first since he was usually so engrossed with what he was doing. but now it felt like you had laser eyes pointing right at his forehead.
you raise an eyebrow, pushing your notebook aside and plopping your head in your arms, putting your full attention on him. “about what?”
“i know you have a crush on me…”
oh…
that’s when your heart skipped a beat.
so he found out.
the butterflies in your stomach overpowered the embarrassment and you replied:
“so what?”
deep down, you knew it was a stupid crush since you had no chance with him in the first place…
but there was still that sliver of hope in your heart you refused to let go of.
he chuckles after hearing your answer. “i’m too old for you, y/n.“
sure, on the inside, you’re screaming since he was flat out rejecting you but outwardly, you’re showing no regret and instead, utter shamelessness.
“three years older isn’t that much,” you lower your voice to a murmur.
“kinda is. i’m in high school and you’re still in middle school.”
iwaizumi’s usually really careful around you with his words since you were younger but now he was being blunt and straight to the point
he wanted it to be crystal clear to you
“so what?”
iwaizumi: (；一ω一||)
“y/n, did you even hear me?”
“yeah, but you should know me by now to know i’m not just going to stop liking you like that.”
the truth is, as embarrassed as you are at the current event, you’re still stubborn and optimistic.
iwaizumi thought he was doing the right thing by confronting you about your crush on him but…he might’ve made it worse from there on out.
“y/n stop staring at me.”
“but you’re cute.”
oikawa: (¬_¬)
“tooru, y/n, your friend is here!” one of your parents call from the front door when he’d show up later in the day or on a weekend.
it’s a race between you and your brother to greet iwaizumi at the bottom of the steps.
“he’s MY friend!”
“well, he’s MY future husband!”
yeah, your crush only got bigger after he confronted you…
you were able to crush on him freely since he already knew.
did you feel bad since he had to deal with you? maybe a little bit.
but the heart wants what it mf wants >:(
AT FOURTEEN YEARS OLD …
finally!
you made it to high school.
which is most fortunate for you because~
“iwa~ !!!”
you run in the halls to reach the boy you called out for. after those few years without him while you were in middle school, damn you missed him.
great, he thinks to himself, here we go.
“'iwa?’“ matsukawa snickers, repeating the nickname, “who would call you that besides oikawa?”
“the other oikawa,” iwaizumi mutters, closing his eyes.
“oikawa has a sister? 'didn’t know that,” hanamaki muses, rubbing his chin in thought and squinting his eyes as he sees you coming closer to the three guys.
“what’s her deal with you?”
before mattsun could get an answer, you appear in front of them with a bright grin. had you been any other girl, you might’ve been intimidated by the three towers standing before you but you were used to it by now.
“did you eat?” you don’t even greet iwaizumi, holding out a paper bag for him to take. you’d be more bold if you didn’t have an audience but feeling three pairs of eyes on you, you turned your head and puffed out your flushed cheeks.
“no,” iwaizumi starts, ready to politely decline your offering but you plop it into his hands.
“eat up then~ gotta head to class!” you start to walk away from him and when you feel your confidence return, you shoot him fingers guns and a wink, “we need those muscles to stay big and strong right?”
and then you’re gone.
leaving iwaizumi flustered as hell next to the other now grinning seniors.
“ah, so she’s your girlfriend,” makki muses, nudging iwaizumi’s shoulder.
“is not. she just likes me, that’s all…”
“and you don’t return her feelings?” mattsun asks, tilting his head to the side in wonder. “you haven’t rejected her either?”
“of course i rejected her. she’s three years younger than us, it’d be weird…she’s just stubborn.”
“respect,” makki nods his head in approval looking in the direction you’d gone in. “i respect a girl who doesn’t give up.”
“yeah? then you date her,” iwaizumi rolls his eyes before looking down at the paper bag in his hand.
“hey, it’s obvious she got eyes for you, man. that’d just be unfair,” makki responds with a low laugh.
“three years isn’t even that much,” mattsun says with a shrug.
“it is when you’ve known her since she was five.”
“so you still think she’s five or something?” makki asks, raising his eyebrows. “she’s in high school, dude.”
“whatever. i’ll never see her like that.”
“give it a few years, bud,” mattsun pats his back knowingly, “when y’all get married at twenty five, i better hear my name during your speech.”
iwaizumi grumbles something under his breath while makki claps his hands and laughs loudly, agreeing with his friend.
during the year, you found yourself sitting at the same lunch table as your brother and his fellow teammates. obviously you played the ‘i’m your sister’ card on him but everyone can see it was just an excuse to be around iwaizumi
at the beginning, plenty of girls were confused by your presence at the table (they didn’t know you were oikawa’s sister until they knew your last name. after then, they didn’t give you much attention since you weren’t a threat to them)
during lunch, you usually spent your time talking to your brother’s teammates about iwaizumi and they always got a kick from how shameless you were. over time, after you got more comfortable with the rest of the time, you felt more at ease flirting with iwaizumi
iwaizumi was well acquainted with your one sided flirting tactics since you were younger. of course, in the beginning, they were merely innocent compliments coming from your admiration for him
but by the time you reached high school, it escalated to comments about dating…
“still too old for you y/n,” iwaizumi grumbles, picking at his lunch. “always will be.”
you lean forward, crossing his personal space, and prop your elbow on the table and rest your head against the palm of your hand
“when are you gonna forget about this little age gap and realize you’re wasting your time blocking your feelings when we could potentially be great-”
“y/n,” his voice cuts off your playful one like steel when he slams his hands on the lunch table, causing the table to look up from their food and at the two of you. “when is it gonna get through your thick skull that it’s never going to happen? just quit it. you have no chance.”
there’s a pause.
your face pales when you realize you’d gone too far but you’re too hurt to apologize.
you lean back in your seat, putting your hands in your lap, and look down.
as much as you felt like doing at moment, you refused to become the heartbroken girl and run to the nearest bathroom stall. so, you sit quietly across from him, going back to eating your lunch
you don’t say anything else for the rest of lunchtime.
your brother opens and closes his mouth a few times, unsure whether to console you or yell at his best friend but it’s the jab in his side by makki that tells him he’s better off staying silent.
the bell rings when lunch ends and you stand up, quickly striding to throw your lunch away. you walk out of the lunchroom, not bothering to check if anyone is following you or not.
no one is.
that is until… “y/n!”
oh brother.
you turn around in the hall to face your brother.
“what.” you know he must be ecstatic to see his best friend physically trying to sever whatever feelings you have for him.
“i…i’m sorry about back there. i didn’t know he could actually say that,” oikawa’s rubbing the back of his neck, feeling slightly bad from the look on your face.
your face isn’t a sad one, it’s more of a monotone one.
but oikawa knows you better than anyone.
and you were indeed masking your true feelings.
“it’s whatever. i know you hate it but i still like him,” you huff before turning around and stomping off to your next class.
throughout the rest of the school day, your face stays rested in that deadpan expression, only sending pressed smiles that don’t reach you eyes to friends you see around in classes or the halls.
sometime after lunch, iwaizumi sees you in the hall at your locker on his way to class. you don’t see him since you’re looking in another direction.
while walking by, he opens his mouth to call out for you but closes it again and continues his way to class. though, he wonders if you would’ve said hi and wave like you always did if you saw him.
it isn’t until after school, right before he has volleyball practice that he approaches you outside.
he wasn’t surprised to see you walking toward the school gates. he was especially harsh to you today and he knew no matter how much you liked him, you wouldn’t really want to face him without cooling off first
he jogs over toward your retreating figure and when he reaches within ear shot of you, he calls out to you
“y/n.” there’s a calm voice behind you and you freeze in your tracks. you were certainly ready to walk home alone without bothering to wait for your brother or iwaizumi to finish practice
you turn around and ignore the pang of hurt rising in your chest at the sight of iwaizumi
you were used to his nonchalant rejections but this one hit harder than ever before
“what i said in the lunchroom … i’m sorry but i had to say it. i’ve been telling you for years but you still don’t give up.” you can tell he feels bad from the way he’s looking down and is only able to make eye contact with you for a few seconds at a time.
“and i still won’t.”
iwaizumi shoots his head up, ready to say something but you stop him with your hand
“no, you’re going to let me speak. you think i can just control my feelings all the time? so before you say ‘just stop liking me, it’ll hurt less the sooner you do,’ think about me for a second. you think my playful flirting being shot down so strongly by you doesn’t affect me? sure, i don’t act like it does but it feels like awful. it hurts. no matter what, i’m going to be hurt by you, hajime. but i don’t care. because i still have feelings for you. now, i think you have a practice you should be getting to, yeah?”
you don’t let him answer because you’re already walking away from him.
iwaizumi could only watch you leave before he heard someone yell out for him.
it took a few days for the awkward tension from both of your confrontations to subside. but when it did, it was like nothing had happened at all.
your eyes still sparkled whenever you saw him and your stomach still did flips, and he went back to flicking your forehead when you got too close to his face.
yeah things were definitely back to normal between the two of you
except for one thing: your aggression.
maybe his words were a wake up call to you about your actions, because from that day forward, you weren’t so aggressive about your crush.
you reminded him how you felt with little things and made sure he knew your feelings never changed.
but you went about it differently.
no longer did you stick glued to his side when you were around him and his teammates.
you spent time with his other teammates and carried on your own business like homework during their practices.
besides, you couldn’t keep being so clingy when he was about to leave you when he graduated.
“what about your precious brother?” oikawa asks with a pout, noticing the care package you were making for iwaizumi since you were aware he was leaving home for school.
“what about him?” you deadpan, wrapping a bow around the top. “i’ve lived under the same roof as you for my entire life. it’s about time you leave me alone now.”
“you’re so mean.” oikawa sticks his tongue out and crosses his arms. “iwa-chan is gonna like your gift, by the way.”
“of course he is,” you smile with a knowing glint in your eye. “i know him better than he thinks.”
AT FIFTEEN YEARS OLD …
oh, your second year of high school.
even though your brother and iwaizumi had left for college and they were the closest friends you had at school, you still stayed friends with the current members of the volleyball team.
totally not because oikawa and iwaizumi bullied the underclassmen to make sure you weren’t alone.
kindaichi and kunimi became your go-to’s since you were in the same grade.
since becoming a second year, you’d also passed the awkward puberty stage and did receive love confessions on multiple occasions.
ah the life of an oikawa, am i right?
you do be pulling these people though.
“y/n, will you go out with me?” the terrified classmate in your biology class stuck out his hand to give you a small chocolate box.
you instinctively look in the direction of iwaizumi’s locker which he no longer possessed since he graduated.
“the thought is really sweet but … my heart belongs to someone else, i’m sorry,” you frown, feeling the guilt rise in your stomach.
you truly wished you could’ve said yes to those who confessed but you knew if you did, it wouldn’t sit right in your heart.
you wondered if he knew of them and if he did that it was his fault you rejected so many people.
(you do end up accepting a few confessions after your friends urge to give them a chance but those relationships don’t go very far).
unbeknownst to you, your brother tells him absolutely everything
including when you come into his room to ask for advice on how to let people down lightly since it made you feel bad.
“she asks you for love advice? man, save that girl.”
iwaizumi and oikawa split their ways and went to separate universities but still kept in contact through facetime (even if it was against iwaizumi’s will).
cue oikawa calling him randomly at 2am to talk because he was bored.
“hey, you know my way with the ladies,” oikawa grins, looking at his best friend through the screen of his phone.
“what’s the advice for? she tryna confess?”
oh, how iwaizumi hoped you’d moved on after he left for school
“pfft more like the opposite. she asks about how to reject people.”
“oh?”
“oh yeah, she acts like it’s because she doesn’t want a relationship but i think we both know that’s not true,” oikawa lilts knowingly, wiggling his eyebrows.
though he always hated the idea of you liking his friend, by now it was just something he was used to.
in fact, he was probably waiting for it to happen because with your stubbornness, he believed it was bound to happen.
even if his friend didn’t believe it.
“i’m tired now. good night, shittykawa.”
“g’night iwa-chan~”
AT EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD …
“my baby sister is all grown up,” tooru clutches you in his arms, wailing and allowing tears to freely flow down his cheeks
“ugh, get off of me, people are staring!”
just like your brother and iwaizumi did, you and your brother also split and went to separate universities.
“but still~”
“you should be used to not having me around, you’re a senior in college now!”
“can’t i just be a clingy brother for once in my life?!”
“now you wanna use the clingy brother card? you’ve had the chance to use it all my life and NOW you wanna use it? in front of all these people?!”
people passing by on your floor’s hall giggled at your bickering but you managed to win the conversation when you ended up putting your brother in a chokehold
“i’m going to embarrass the shit out of you on your wedding day when you get married, just you watch! … that is if you could even find someone to marry you.”
“thanks, y/n. i no longer feel the need to miss you.” oikawa breaks away from your grin. he brushes himself off and ruffles your hair. “have a great freshman year, baby sis, and don’t be afraid to have fun!”
“yeah, yeah.”
“now if you’ll excuse me, i have somewhere to be! see you at thanksgiving!~” oikawa wiggles his fingers in a goodbye manner, walking down the college dorm hallway until he’s out of sight
what on earth does he have to do on a campus that’s not even his own?
your roommate, mei, is a sweetheart. she’s kind, funny, and from the get-go, you knew she was someone who was going to stick by you.
on move-in day, things were kind of awkward since you were meeting someone that you were going to live with for the rest of the year for the first time. but after the first few days, the both of you opened up and became comfortable.
“so…partners. got one?” she asks on the first night while you two were sitting in front of a party size bag of chips.
“nope,” you answer, popping the 'p’ for extra emphasis. “kinda unofficially taken though.”
“huh, interesting,” she muses, leaning over and grabbing a chip.
“you?”
nodding her head, she finishes swallowing her chip before smiling softly, “i’m doing long distance with my high school boyfriend.”
“oh, wow. good luck,” you answer, feeling somewhat bad for your roommate. when iwaizumi left for school, even if you hadn’t interacted as closely with him like you used to, there was still a hollow feeling in your chest that didn’t go away for a couple of months.
you missed him.
and you made sure he knew.
[6/10/18 11:00AM] you: happy birthday!! miss you a whole lot
[6/10/19 10:00AM] you: g’morning! i hope you have a wonderful birthday! miss youuu~
each time he’d answer with a straight, “thanks.” and you’d have to be the one to continue the conversation
you texted him only sometimes. only when you were especially missing him or found something that reminded you of him
rarely did he ever text you but he made sure to when it came around to your birthday. and you’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t swell when you read the simple birthday message.
maybe you weren’t technically in a long distance relationship, but your heart definitely acted like it.
“thanks! but you got me intrigued. who’s this person who-”
a knock on your door cuts her off followed by a gruff, “RA.”
“WE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG WE SWEAR!” mei cries in frustration causing you to laugh.
“they’re probably just going to introduce themselves. i’ll get it,” you stand up from the floor and walk to the door and swing it open with a grin.
“hi…” your greet starts off chipper until you register who’s at the door. “iwaizumi? what the hell are you doing here?”
“y-y/n?” he seems dumbfounded by the way his eye bulge out of his head and his jaw drops. “what are YOU doing here?”
and why are you calling me by my full name?
“i go here, what else?” you gesture to your room and in the process, notice mei pucker her lips, obviously sensing tension.
“you go here?”
no way.
no, you were sure your university of choice wasn’t the same as iwaizumi’s.
hell, you even asked oikawa just to make sure you didn’t go there.
it’s not that you didn’t want him around.
come on, you were in love with the guy.
it was more of the fact you didn’t want to seem like you were still chasing after him to this day as embarrassingly as you did as a kid.
but here he was standing right in front of you.
“i thought you were at-”
“i transferred.”
oh, so that’s what happened.
“oh…”
“yeah, tuition got too much so i applied here and as a resident assistant for housing.”
“i see,” you mumble, shifting your wight from one leg to the other. “you look good.”
he did.
and you were underestimating it.
although by senior year of high school he was already built enough, he seemed to have buffed out even more.
“you, too,” he answers, rubbing the back of his neck. realizing your roommate behind you, he gives a friendly wave, “hey, i’m iwaizumi hajime and i’ll be your RA for the year.”
“nice to meet you,” she smiles before turning to you, “is that the one?”
glancing between your roommate and iwaizumi.
of course she figured out by now.
you nod and jab a thumb at him, “yup, this is the guy who stole my heart.”
the reaction you expected from him: (T_T)
the reaction you receive: (⁄ ⁄•⁄–⁄•⁄ ⁄)
“is that all?” you ask turning back to him, “i’m trying to get to know my roommate right now. i’ll deal with you another time.”
“uhh, no! that’s it,” he stammers, stepping out of the way, “you have a nice night.”
“you, too.”
as soon as you shut the door, mei is on her feet jumping up and down. “this is some tv show shit going on! oh my gosh, what are the odds!”
you rub your temples, registering what just happened.
there was no doubt you still had feelings for iwaizumi but after so much time away from him, you’re so unsure of how to act.
you two were grown adults for crying out loud.
sure, you always believed you were endgame.
but in your mind it was in more of an “oh my gosh, we haven’t seen each other in ten plus years and we’re in the same grocery store. let’s catch up!”
not an “oh my gosh you’re going to my university and i’ll probably see you everyday since you live on my floor and you’re my RA.”
once again, the universe is going out of its way to point out, HE’S OLDER THAN YOU. YOU HAVE NO CHANCE. HAHA LOSER.
meanwhile in iwaizumi’s single room …
he tapped his fingers aggressively on his phone screen, waiting for his friend to pick up.
“aw, i just left! what, missing me already?”
“why is y/n here?”
oikawa freezes and whispers, “how’d you find out so quickly?”
“i’m her RA!!”
“for real? hah, that’s rich,” oikawa starts to laugh, wiping fake tears from his eyes. “i should’ve came to your room then. i would’ve noticed we were in the same hall as y/n.”
“you wouldn’t have told me.”
“you’re right. i wouldn’t have.”
“why didn’t you tell me she was coming here?
“why is it so important you know? hey, she asked about your school told and i told her you were still at your other uni-”
“and why would you say that?”
“because i’m sick of seeing my sister alone ok? as soon as you told me you were transferring to her school, i just seized the opportunity! you’ll look out for her, regardless of whatever feelings you have or don’t have for her. it makes me feel better to know she’s got somebody.”
“as evil as you are, i’m letting you have that one because it’s a sweet brotherly thing to do.”
“i know right?”
“and you just ruined it. don’t expect me to just randomly check on her though.”
“but you will,” oikawa sighs, a knowing smile on his face. “even if you don’t like her like she likes you, you’ll still care about her.”
“whatever. bye.”
“bye bye~”
the first semester’s rough since you were getting accustomed to this new way of life.
but honestly, you think you did a pretty good job.
you showed up to class on time, you ate decent meals (most of the time), you studied when you had to and took breaks when needed.
yeah, you were slaying the college game.
until you were locked out of your room in only a towel.
your roommate had an early class that morning so she wasn’t there to let you back in.
which meant: you had to go to the RA office to ask for the master key.
you walked down the hall in nothing but your towel and flip flops, glancing over at iwaizumi’s door when you passed it, hoping he was in there sleeping.
you reached the RA office and lightly knocked on the door before cracking it open.
“sorry for the appearance but i got lock- not you again,” you groan by the end of your statement when you faced a half-awake iwaizumi leaning over the desk.
of course out of everyone to be on duty…it has to be him.
the sound of your voice got him to open his eyes but upon seeing you in said towel, his fatigue became long gone.
had your legs always been that long and toned?
mentally smacking himself for such a thought, he stood up.
“l-let me get the master key.” he shuffles over to a small cabinet and went through the keys. “room 220 right?”
“mhm,” you hum, crossing your arms, trying to hide as much of your body as possible.
you felt v embarrassed rn.
“got it, follow me,” iwaizumi leaves the room and you trail after him like a lost puppy.
“can’t you just give me the key and i’ll return it later?”
“‘m afraid it doesn’t work like that,” even though he’s turned away from you, you still know he’s smiling.
“sleep late?” you ask when he lets out a loud yawn.
“yeah and i’m stuck in that office until 1.”
you nod but you realize he can’t see you so you mumble an, “oh.”
stopping in front of your room, he unlocks it and opens the door for you and gestures for you to go in. “there ya go.”
“thanks,” you lightly smile, walking into your room and hold the handle, ready to close it.
“how’s your semester going?” he blurts before you could start pushing the door closed.
you tilt your head to the side in confusion at his sudden question but laugh anyway, “maybe ask me when i’m not wearing nothing but a towel.”
iwaizumi’s cheeks heat at your comment, remembering you were still in a towel and he scratches the side of his head. “right! sorry. enjoy your day.”
“see you around!” you call when he’s walking down the hall, on his way back to the RA office.
the next time you’re alone with iwaizumi is on a saturday night when your roommate is adamant on playing a game.
“c’mon, everyone’s out partying tonight so shouldn’t we have our own fun?” mei clasps her hands together in a pleading manner and juts out her lower lip.
“what game?” you sigh, standing from your desk and turning to her
“one of the games we have here! we can borrow some from the RA office and return them when we’re done!
“ok then, let’s go.”
you walk behind your skipping roommate as she hums and giggles.
you were glad you weren’t stuck with some maniac.
she stops in front of iwaizumi’s door when she notices the sticker with his name on it on the door.
“have you guys talked?”
“not really,” you shrug.
“really? it’s been two months since we’ve moved in.”
“i mean, he saw me in a towel a while ago since i got locked out of the room but since then no.”
“spicy spicy~” she grins mischievously, continuing on her way to the office. “wanna bet the universe is plotting against you and he’s on duty tonight in the office?”
“i would but i know i’ll lose because it’s what the universe would do to me.”
“have you thought about getting over him?” she asks innocently after a moment of silence, turning to look at you.
“of course. it just never works out. my mind always comes back to iwaizumi and my heart, well, it knows what it wants.”
“that’s really sad, y/n.”
“maybe. but it’s what i’m used to. i’ve never met anyone who gives me the same feeling as he does.”
“and what feeling does he give you?”
by now, you’re standing in front of the RA office on the door. there’s a small little window so residents can see if someone is in there or not. and there iwaizumi was, scrolling on his phone, looking bored as hell.
“home.”
“hi!” mei greets him after she swings the door open
“gotta go shitty-” he cuts himself off, realizing you’d know just who he was talking to.
“-are you talking to my dear brother?” your eyes light and you instinctively run over to iwaizumi and check the screen and yes, there he is.
“tooru!” you shout a greeting like you haven’t spoken in years when you in fact called him that morning. guess it’s seeing him somewhere else that gets you excited.
“y/n, my baby sister! what are you doing there?”
“goodbye shittykawa,” iwaizumi rolls his eyes when he sees the shit eating grin on oikawa’s face. he ends the call abruptly before spinning in his chair to face you. “can i help you, other oikawa?”
you smile and point over to the shelf stocked with games, “we’d like to play a game please.”
waving you off, he mumbles, “knock yourself out.”
you bounce over to your roommate, unknown to the hard stare iwaizumi is sending you.
he’s too deep in his own thoughts to notice he’s staring right at you either.
“there’s only games for three people or more here,” you turn around with a pout
iwaizumi breaks away from his thoughts and shrugs his shoulders, “someone probably took the two person games already.”
you stick your tongue out at his nonchalant and apathetic answer
“how ‘bout you play with us?” mei asks, taking out a handful of games.
“me?” iwaizumi furrows his eyebrows, glancing over at you.
you shrug as if saying, why not?
“i’m on duty right now, i can’t.”
“why not?” this time you voice it.
“if someone needs something-”
“-we’ll pause the game,” you say as if its obvious. “c’mon it’s saturday night and we’re bored! please~”
and just like your roommate did to you, you made your best pleading stance and stare at the love of your life iwaizumi.
and being that you’ve used this face on him a million times since you were five, you were wary he’d not be affected.
but:
“ok, fine, just one game.”
you can’t deny the swell you feel in your heart when you notice the small smile he tries so hard to hide.
(´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡
“plus 12, are you kidding me, y/n?” iwaizumi grumbles, starting to pick up a card from the deck one by one.
“hey, you’re the one who started it,” you shrug, grinning at his obvious frustration.
the three of you were currently in a round of UNO, your third game of the night.
(hah, “one game” my ass)
iwaizumi had only two cards left in his hand and thought he could gain an ever greater advantage if one of you received two more cards
but alas, the higher powers ruling UNO decided now was the time to push him off his high horse.
mei looks through the cards in her hand for her next move before an alarm ringtone went off from her lap.
“that’s for my laundry,” mei glances at her phone to shut off the alarm. “i’ll be back in like ten minutes to drop my clothes off back in the room.” she stands up before looking back at the two of you with an accusatory finger, “no cheating.”
she stepped out of the office and then it was just you and iwaizumi alone
letting out a yawn, (you’ve been yawning this whole time) you check your phone.
“dude, it’s 2am. shouldn’t the RA office be closed now?” you ask, resting your head on your arms as they lay crossed against the office desk
“yeah but we’re in the middle of a game, aren’t we?” iwaizumi doesn’t look up from his hand of cards, sorting them by color and number
“ya coulda’ kicked us out earlier. we were just bored and needed. something to do-”
“-ok but i wasn’t going to cut off the game if i’m winning.”
you open your eyes to send him a pointed expression, “winning, huh?”
“shut up.”
even tired and with eyes closed, you manage to send him a grin
there’s a comfortable silence between the two where your eyes are closed and iwaizumi’s attention flickers between you and his hands
you were the same oikawa he’s known for the past thirteen years.
then how come you seemed like a such a different person?
normally you’d be throwing your flirty banter and compliments his way but all he’s heard from you is what you told your roommate that first day he saw you.
you claimed he still had your heart.
but why weren’t you acting like it?
had you…matured?
iwaizumi gulped and slightly widened his eyes.
and why was he so intrigued now, wanting to know the reason…
“y/n?” he asks, feeling his throat grow dry and covers it with a cough
the only answer he receives are soft snores.
oh.
you fell asleep.
i mean, it was 2am and you’d been playing games for the past few hours. you were surprised you lasted that long.
“i’m back!” mei announces returning back the office before noticing you. glancing at iwaizumi, she pointed at you, “is she out?”
“i think so,” was his simple reply.
“we should just call it a night. y/n, let’s go,” mei walked over and snapped her fingers in front of your face.
you were out like a light.
alexa play sicko mode
“y/n,” iwaizumi speaks this time, going as far as patting your shoulder to which you instinctively nuzzle your head further into your arms
letting out a sigh, iwaizumi stands from his seat, “you go on ahead, i got her.”
mei furrows her brows, wondering what he’d meant but it becomes crystal clear when she notices him crouch down to take her into his arms.
mei was quick to start moving, afraid iwaizumi would see her wide grin and stifled giggles.
he follows her in the hallway with you in his arms, bridal style, occasionally looking down at you.
“you can just plop her on the bed. she’ll move around eventually,” mei breaks iwaizumi from his gaze toward you and he quickly looks up and clears his throat.
“right.”
he walks over to your side of the room and gently places you on the bed.
“is she enjoying herself here?” he asks, glancing over at your roommate quickly before looking back down at your sleeping state.
“i think she is,” he smiles, “i mean, she has a pretty great roommate so i count for something.”
iwaizumi chuckles lowly, careful not to wake you. “funny,” he says before leaning over and pushing a strand of hair that’d fallen over your face away.
leaning back, iwaizumi shoves his hands in his jean pockets and sways back and forth. “sorry for keeping you up. i should’ve kicked you out a while ago.”
“don’t sweat it. we had fun. sorry for interrupting your night. i’m sure y/n would never apologize but i’m sure she feels a little guilty.”
“i had fun, too. so no worries.”
“yeah?” mei grins when he’s outside the door. she was leaning against the door, ready to close it before curiosity got the best of her, “you must know how she feels about you, right?”
iwaizumi rubs a hand over his face, obviously not ready to have this conversation with your roommate at 2:30 in the morning.
“yeah i do-”
“does she have a chance?”
iwaizumi’s throat runs dry.
“i’m too old for you.”
“i’m three years older than you.”
“i’m in high school and you’re still in middle school.”
“when is it gonna get through your thick skull that it’s never going to happen? just quit it. you have no chance.”
iwaizumi’s silence is a cue mei takes to go on.
“because from what i’ve heard from her is that she’s liked you forever. forgive me for overstepping my boundaries but a loyalty that strong for someone? that’s not something you should brush off.”
iwaizumi thinks back on the times he rejected you and takes into account how each and every time you seemed to bounce right back with no shame.
“has she told you why she couldn’t take no as an answer when we were kids?”
mei smiles at his question. “she said your reasoning was dumb.”
his reasoning.
all of his rejections were revolved around your ages.
come to think of it, iwaizumi never said the words “i don’t like you,” to you once.
it was always about age.
“i think she thought that as long as you focused on your age, she’d still have a chance when it didn’t matter. like now, we’re all adults here and and an eighteen year old dating a twenty one year old is pretty common.”
“i uh, gotta get some sleep. i have an early class,” iwaizumi jabs his thumb in the direction of his room down the hall and mei sighs knowingly.
“goodnight,” and before she closes the door all the way, she calls out to him, “think about what i said!”
you awoke the next morning to the sound of your alarm (thank god you toggled the settings so it automatically repeated every day).
gotta get ready for class, you think to yourself, grabbing your toothbrush and toothpaste (and key, you never forget your key now) before slipping into some shoes and walking out into the hall.
on your way to the bathroom you see a familiar face walking in your direction.
iwaizumi is walking your way (in nothing but a towel around his waist) with a toothbrush in his mouth. he doesn’t notice you at first and to be honest, you don’t notice him either.
you’re still tired and can barely keep your eyes open.
it isn’t until he’s an inch away from slamming into your shoulder that you move to the side out of reflex.
“shoot, sorry,” iwaizumi says, mouthful of toothpaste.
“no worries, iwa,” you wave him off with a sleepy smile and continue your way to the women’s bathroom.
iwaizumi pauses for a moment, admiring the way you walked away with no second thought.
you truly were in your own little world when you were half-awake.
amidst this, a small smile tugs at his lips, turning into a grin as he walks back to his room.
from that moment forward, iwaizumi finds himself seeing you more often than before.
at first it isn’t even intentional:
you two walk into your dorm at the same time
more times when you walk past each other in the hall if one of you is on your way to class and the other is coming back from class
but your favorite was when you’d both be in the lounge room at the same time
“whatcha watching?” you’d ask, plopping beside him on the soft sofa and looking up at the t.v.
“reruns of criminal minds.”
and then you’d sit beside each other just watching whatever was playing on the t.v. neither of you spoke unless it was about a scene.
but he still enjoyed your presence.
OK WHAT’S GOING ON WITH ME, he thinks (almost everyday) to himself
never did he act this way around you nor want to be around you this much.
“haji, let’s play foosball!” you break him out of his thoughts one day, already at the game table, gesturing for him to come over
you were quite impressed with yourself with how you were handling seeing iwaizumi so often.
did your stomach flip every time you saw him? yes.
did your heart pound against your chest every time he made eye contact? of course.
and did your stomach let out out a swarm of butterflies every time you saw him smile or laugh? no doubt.
but you managed to keep your feelings at bay.
after all, it had been three years without seeing the man.
of course, you some partners in that time. but your heart was set on one man.
and sure maybe the media would call you a simp but you didn’t care.
(it’s iwaizumi. i’m shamelessly simping)
“they’re having brownies at the dining hall tonight. wanna get some chow later?” you ask, without bothering to look up from the table, too engrossed with your game.
“yeah, i’m starving. loser has to throw away all the trash when we’re done.”
“you’re on,” you smirk.
ending result of the game: you won.
iwaizumi is telling you it’s because he let you but that’s only to protect his ego.
“yeah, sure you did. anyway, let’s go!” you tug his arm out of the building and walk in the direction of the dining hall.
feeling the chilly breeze against you, you shove your hands into your sweater pockets and out of instinct, shuffle closer to iwaizumi, hoping his body heat would warm you up.
surprising you, he doesn’t mind being shoulder to shoulder with you and doesn’t move away.
the two of you walk into the dining halls and settle for a table near the back.
“i’ll watch the table, you go first,” he shoos you with his hand and takes a seat at the small booth for two. you grin and nod and he watches you skip away from him and in the direction of the food
you’re too cute, he thinks to himself as a smile threatens to grace his lips
five minutes pass you return with a plate of food.
“really?” iwaizumi raises an eyebrow at your choice of a meal. it was 40% dinner and 60% sweets and desserts.
“really.”
sighing, he knows if he tried to convince you to not take as many sweets, he wouldn’t win. he stands from his seat and walks in the direction of food (definitely less excitedly than you did).
he returns with his food soon after and you’re sitting together, exchanging words and teases back and forth. it’s a cute sight to see and if any stranger were to look at you, it definitely looks like the two of you were together.
“if you procrastinate again and you show up at my door with those puppy dog eyes, i’m only saying ‘i told you so,’“ iwaizumi chuckles and you throw a french fry out of mock anger.
“you wouldn’t. my puppy dog eyes get you ~weak~ and you know it. just like when we were kids.”
the two of you are laughing until it dies down, registering the last part of your sentence.
when you were kids.
“it’s been a while, huh?”
you nod, “mhm, we’ve known each other a long time.”
iwaizumi stays silent, fiddling with his fingers underneath the table.
should he bring up what he’s wanted to for the past few weeks?
before he can, you lean back and rest your head against the back of the booth seat. “man, i’m stuffed.”
iwaizumi raises an eyebrow and says, “well you ate like four brownies so i’m sure you are.”
you reply by sticking out your tongue and pushing your tray toward him. “throw it out please~”
iwaizumi rolls his eyes but slides out of the booth and takes both of your trays and walked in the direction of the disposal area.
“i’ll meet you in the front, ok?”
he nods and the two of you part ways. iwaizumi walks over to the disposal area and a look of defeat crosses over his features.
you couldn’t tell her…
why not?
‘cause you’re a coward.
iwaizumi shakes the thoughts out of his head and balls his now free hands into fists.
it’s not the right time.
but she’s only been waiting for thirteen years…
sighing, he shoves his hands into his pockets and masks his frustration with his normal resting face.
he’s ready to greet you and start walking back to your dorm when he notices a taller figure beside you.
stepping closer he feels his stomach drop.
“no boyfriend?” the man smiles, taking a step closer to you, “i can change that, if you’d like.”
iwaizumi is already bunching up the sleeves of his sweatshirt up his forearms, ready to start something, before he notices your bored gaze at the man in front of you.
“sorry, i’m taken.”
“i don’t see you with anybody?” the man’s grin never falters as he looks around you in search of someone.
by the time he says that, iwaizumi is somewhat close and within your eyesight.
noticing the look of relief washing over your face, iwaizumi allows you to grab hold of his arm and swings him around to face the flirting man
“this is him and he’ll punch you square in the jaw if you try me.”
the man raises an unimpressed brow before slowly looking over at the taller man beside you.
gruffly, iwaizumi responds, “i will.”
the man scoffs and walks away from you, leaving you and iwaizumi alone
you’re stunned.
what you had said was based on pure instinct but you never expected iwaizumi to play along. the two of you quietly walk out of the dining hall and you stop once you’re both outside.
“thanks,” you mumble, feeling your cheeks flush, “i didn’t mean to say that, it was just a reflex and he wouldn’t leave me alone and you were ther-”
iwaizumi cuts you off by cupping your cheeks in his hands. a beat passes with the just the two of you staring at each other before he (FINALLY) leans down and presses his lips to yours.
your eyes are wide and your body frozen but with a few seconds, you were able to register what was happening and you melt into his arms, leaning forward.
you kiss for a while, probably looking strange to people walking in and out of the dining hall but you don’t care.
ending the kiss with a few peppered pecks on your lips and your cheeks, iwaizumi lets go of you and allows you to regain your own balance
“i’m sorry it took so long for me to do that,” he mumbles, looking down in embarrassment.
“hajime, the absolute love of my life,” you coo reaching your hand up to caress his cheek. “don’t apologize. after all, i won two games today.”
leaning against your hand, iwaizumi furrowed his brows before asking, “what was the second game?”
