Anon Request: Why They Call It Falling X Osamu Miya

thinking about best friend!sero who buys a vibrating tongue ring as a ‘joke’. He gets it in the mail when you’re at his house, and you’re both laughing about it because surely something so small couldn’t really feel that good. and then he’s asking to try it on you and you’re struggling to hide the hitch in your breath and the squeezing of your thighs. laughing it off until— oh. he’s not joking. and then suddenly your thighs are clamping down over his head and your fingers are yanking at the roots of his hair. his hips are rutting into the couch and he’s moaning into your heat and—

“tetsuro,” you bit out slowly, hardened glare zeroed in on the carpet that had been spotless before you left for work that morning.

“why are there red stains on our carpet?”

“please don’t be wine,” you think to yourself as you hesitantly approach the red blotch, seeing even more red blotches the closer you got. the frustration started to prick at your nerves even more.

that is until your husband’s response threw you into a state of confusion.

“because our carpet was witness to a miracle.”

you blink. “what miracle?”

“the miracle of life.”

you finally turn the corner into your living room to see your husband’s tall frame sitting on the floor, features softened as he gazed at the stray cat he often feeds on your back porch.

the stray cat that was currently tending to four tiny, newborn kittens.

“oh my,” you breathed out, your annoyance from earlier melting away as you took in the sweet scene before you.

moving to sit down next to kuroo, you felt his arm encircle your shoulders as he pulled you closer to him. the two of you sat there together, small smiles on both of your faces as a chorus of tiny mews and happy purrs filled the silence of the room.

“i left the window cracked open this morning and she must’ve climbed in. i guess she’s comfortable enough with us she wanted to have her babies here.”

“with the amount of food you give her, tetsu, i would hope she’d be comfortable with us.”

that earned you a chuckle from your husband. he then reached a hand out, letting the mother cat sniff him for a second before she affectionately nudged his fingers and began purring more. kuroo then rubbed her head once he felt he’d received permission.

“you did a great job, mama.”

standing to his full height, the nekoma grad reached a hand down to help you get to your feet.

“come on,” he said, excitement in his hazel eyes.

“let’s go make the world’s most luxurious nesting box.”

USA people! Buy NOTHING Feb 28 2025. Not anything. 24 hours. No spending. Buy the day before or after but nothing. NOTHING. February 28 2025. Not gas. Not milk. Not something on a gaming app. Not a penny spent. (Only option in a crisis is local small mom and pop. Nothing. Else.) Promise me. Commit. 1 day. 1 day to scare the shit out of them that they don't get to follow the bullshit executive orders. They don't get to be cowards. If they do, it costs. It costs.

Then, if you can join me for Phase 2. March 7 2025 thtough March 14 2025? No Amazon. None. 1 week. No orders. Not a single item. Not one ebook. Nothing. 1 week. Just 1.

If you live outside the USA boycott US products on February 28 2025 and stand in solidarity with us and also join us for the week of no Amazon.

Are you with me?

Spread the word.

the second kuroo bursts into the kitchen with your son of fourteen months in his arms, you know you’ve won.

"you cheated!" he accuses with a pointed finger, cradling your baby in his other arm.

your smile threatens to spread across your face as you place the last of your katsu in your airfryer, but you manage to school your impression into something blank. "i don’t know what you’re talking about."

“cheater!” he cries, following you to the sink as you wash your hands and place your cutlery away. your baby gurgles as he does.

“still no clue,” you say, playing dumb as you shake your hands and walk into the living room.

"you know what you did!" kuroo trails you all this while, and you can imagine all 189 cm of him irately bobbing around your house.

you try not to laugh, and wrangle your expression into a blank stare as you sit down on your couch, looking up at him. "i do not."

"you taught him to say mama."

it's the look on his face: the squinting eyes, the exaggerated scowl, and the mussed up hair that makes him look ridiculous. you can’t help it—the corner of your mouth twitches.

"you’re smiling!" he explodes, shifting your son into his other arm. "i knew it!"

your son blinks at the noise, looking from his father to you, and he smiles. extending his arms, he reaches for you. “mama!”

“see?!” your husband wails, and you stand up briefly to take your son before sitting back down. “that’s against the rules!”

“what rules?” you say with a roll of your eyes, unable to help your smile any longer, allowing your son to play with your hair. "mama is a perfectly normal thing for a child to say."

"he couldn't even form a single syllable a week ago!" kuroo snaps, "you coached him!"

you giggle, partly because he was right, but also he looked cute stomping to the armchair and sitting down, crossing his arms and pouting. 

you suppress a laugh at his touchiness, but nudge your son. "baby, where’s papa?"

his eyes blink up at you, then he points at your husband. tetsuro glares at the chubby little hand of his traitorous son.

"go give papa a hug," you say, setting him down. he takes wide steps and bends back and forth on his hips before giving up and speed crawling to his father. 

despite kuroo’s pout, he bends over to pick up his son. 

"you can always try again with baby number two," you remind him.

"yeah, yeah," he grumbles, leaning back so your son can settle on his chest. "you’re lucky you're the love of my life and i can set aside my competitiveness for you."

you chuckle. "hey, baby," you call to your son, and the boy looks back at you, his hands on the collar of your husband’s shirt. you see the affection that opens up on tetsuro's face when he looks at his child, and it makes your heart twinge. "say papa."

your son doesn’t falter, offering you a smile. "mama!"

osamu + “we’re fake dating! why did you tell them we were engaged?!” for @amarinthe thanks for requesting this! it's probably one of my favourite prompts

the moment you open your front door, you kind of regret it.

because while your totally hot neighbour is standing in your doorway in his dark jeans and fitted black t-shirt glory, you’re rocking shorts and an unreasonably large sweatshirt.

“osamu,” you blink, tugging the hem of your shirt down a little. “hey.”

“hey,” he replies with a smile that makes your knees weak, holding up a takeout bag. “i brought some onigiri home. wanna share?”

thinking about the instant ramen currently boiling on your stovetop, you couldn’t possibly refuse his offer (especially if it’s from miya osamu, whose very successful restaurant is quite literally across the street).

so you open your door wider, letting him step inside and slip his shoes off while you move into the kitchen, placing two plates on the counter.

“so, how was your day?” he asks, unpacking the setting two onigiri on each plate. “anything interesting happen?”

you slide into the stool next to him, swinging your legs lightly as you munch on happily on the food. “not particularly, you?”

“actually, yeah,” he starts, taking his cap off and running a hand through his hair (you think it’s unfair, how good it still looks, even after spending all day smushed under a baseball cap). “my ma called today.”

“your ma?” you hum through a mouthful of salmon and rice. “what’d she say?”

he picks disinterestedly at the seaweed on his onigiri. “she, uh, asked that i visit home for dinner tomorrow night.”

“that’s sounds fun,” you start, pausing when he visibly grimaces. “unless it’s...not?”

“my brother’s bringin’ his girl again,” he shrugs. “and i know that means ma’s gonna be on my ass about why i’m not datin’.”

“yeah, i’ve had that conversation with my parents before,” you shudder, patting his shoulder in understanding. “the future, grandchildren, the passive-aggressive judgement from siblings. you should just call and say you’re sick.”

“can’t,” he sighs heavily. “i already cancelled twice. she may disown me if i skip a third time, or worse, show up at my place.”

it’d probably be funny, you think, seeing mama and brother miya across the hall, bugging osamu. “then maybe you should bring someone,” you suggest off-handedly. “just to keep them off your back a little. when was the last time you went on a date?”

when he doesn’t answer, your happy chewing slows, and you glance over at him. “jeez, that long ago? i thought you had more game than that, miya.”

a slow grin spread across his face when he meets your gaze. “last time i went out with someone was...four months ago, actually.”

“four months ago? that was around when we—” your eyes widen slightly, heat spreading to your cheeks. “oh. that...was not a date. that was a slightly intoxicated but very satisfying sexual exchange between friends.”

osamu chuckles, ducking his head a little and making those eyes at you (the ones that’d lured you into fucking him on your living room floor at two in the morning). “maybe don’t bring that up when ya meet my mom.”

“excuse me?” you laugh. “you cannot bring me home to meet your family.”

“why not?” he questions, looking genuinely confused. “you’re the one who suggested it. it’s just for one night anyway.”

“i just can’t!” you insist, looking at him incredulously. “i’d be nervous even if we were dating. what if they ask questions about--”

“i’ll give you free onigiri for a month.”

_____

“so, how did the two of you meet?” osamu’s mother asks as she pours you a generous glass of wine.

you freeze, blinking a few times. when you open your mouth, nothing comes out.

(it’s funny how, on the hour-long drive to hyogo, the two of you hadn’t discussed any basic information about your relationship. instead, you’d spent your time debating the best taylor swift album and making fun of the other tenants in your building.)

you almost flinch when someone places a hand on the small of your back, but relax when osamu’s faint cologne meets your senses. “actually it was the day after she moved in next door,” he says. “i brought some onigiri over because she’d asked me that morning where the closest grocery store was so i figured…”

you smile fondly, recalling the day you’d run into him at the mailboxes, and he’d shown up a few hours later with food. he’d claimed they were just leftovers even though it was mid-afternoon.

“i can’t believe you remember that,” you murmur.

he hums quietly, gaze flicking over your face briefly. “i guess it’s just when i knew.”

you’re sure that your heart stutters in your chest. surely he’d stolen that from some cheesy romance flick?

“how long have you two been together?” his mother follows up with, glancing between the two of you expectantly, a slow smile spreading across her face.

“eight months,” you say.

“almost a year,” osamu answers at the same time.

across from you, atsumu hides a smile behind his glass of water.

“i mean, who’s counting?” you laugh, quick to recover, reaching over to your ‘boyfriend’ blindly, meaning to pat his shoulder but instead catching him on the cheek. “time flies when you’re in love.”

you turn to stare at osamu when you feel him clasp your hand, pressing a kiss to your fingers, lips curling against them.

your stomach flutters a little at the gesture.

“‘tsumu,” he continues, redirecting the conversation. he rests your clasped hands on the table, thumb brushing the back of yours gently. “i thought you were bringing your girlfriend.”

“oh, she’s at her place doin’ some packing,” he answers easily. “she’s movin’ in next week.”

“that’s great news!” their mother beams, osamu’s hand tightening around yours as he blurts,

“yeah, well, we’re engaged!”

this time, you choke on your bite of chicken, almost hacking up a lung as you whip your head towards your neighbour/friend/fake boyfriend turned fake fiancé.

he shoots you a pleading gaze as he rubs firm circles on your back, and when you finally dislodge that traitorous piece of meat, you draw a slow breath and sigh. “babe, i thought we were going to wait until you made it official.” you lift your left hand, pointing at your empty ring finger before turning back to his mother and brother. “do you mind if we step away for a second?”

they both wave you off, and you snatch osamu’s wrist, dragging him out the back door, making sure it’s shut tight before you whisper-shout,

“we are fake dating! why would you tell them that we were engaged?”

he rubs his hands down his face, groaning. “i’m sorry, i panicked! it’s just that when atsumu mentioned moving in i got weirdly competitive because we’re twins—”

“so naturally you told your mother we were getting married? what’s next, atsumu mentions a joint bank account and you tell them that i’m pregnant?”

osamu lowers his hands to peek at you. “can i actually do that?”

“no! this is so not worth the free onigiri!” you growl, smacking him on the shoulder a few times, osamu yelling in protest.

(inside, atsumu and their mother peek out the kitchen window to watch the both of you, the latter murmuring, ‘definitely engaged.’)

_____

“you cannot tell that story in your toast,” you laugh, three years later with a very real engagement ring on your finger.

“why not?” osamu whines, completely invading your side of the bed to wrap his arms around you. “it’s how we got together, isn’t it?”

“by lying to your family.”

“soon to be your family,” he reminds you happily. “and i didn’t have to tell them you were pregnant.”

slow sex thats just as dirty as fast, rough fucking

iwaizumi’s driving both of you home—

and there was a part of you that thought, just maybe, tonight would be the night that he would propose. and maybe it was all just silly, to let the thought twirl around in your little head until it fell on the floor in front of you.

maybe you would say it shattered—all over your heels and the dress you know he likes and the floor of his buick.

and maybe, because every single one of your thoughts seems to start with that right now, maybe this is all just a little bit your fault. there were so many of those nights, curled into the sheets of your bed, the taste of liquor still resting on both of your tongues, that you’d asked him if he’d ever marry you.

and back then, he said yes. he’d laugh, an arm resting above his head, the other holding your lower back—his fingers would dip beneath your clothes and leave little searing paths of what you could only call home, but it was all to hold you close. his hand kept you steady atop of him, legs twined together, your chin resting on his chest.

but you could feel the laughter bloom in his chest and tumble past his lips, an absolutely sure to follow his tongue.

but then a few weeks would pass, five years of dating, both of you just past the age of 23 now, and you’d ask again. and maybe it had started the same, the same laughter, the same reply, the same graze of fingertips against flesh. and maybe the reply had never really changed, beyond a question of didn’t you ask this last week? or why wouldn’t i want to marry you?

but maybe that did it. maybe it finally got him thinking about all the reasons he shouldn’t marry you, and those started pile up until suddenly the cost-benefit analysis of it all didn’t really seem to stack in your favor.

because tonight, when you’re both now settled in 24, you thought would be the night. and if it wasn’t tonight—well, you don’t think it’s going to happen at all. and, of course, you’re driving home. so part of you is starting to accept this as your last drive home with iwaizumi. no matter how much it hurts.

he’s been playing a bit of beach rock on the radio, those old little tunes that you’d picked up through your college years, but it’s quiet and hardly does anything to mask the silence of the car. he’s not tapping his thumb against the steering wheel—he’s hardly spoken for most of the night, and back at the restaurant and on your walk around the pier, you’d put that all down as him being nervous.

who knows what the hell to think of it now.

you take a breath and smooth out the material of your dress as you roll to a stop at a light. it’s the one that iwaizumi hates—a gross intersection with too long of a red, and no one really ever seems to understand the design of it all, so he’s always been one to avoid this light when he can—but he’s here now, and you watch him stretch his hands on the wheel and tap his fingers against it in one little rhythmic motion. it’s not to the song, and you know it’s the motion he does when he’s about to say something.

and you, desperately, want it all to stop. because you know the next words out of his mouth are going to be somewhere along the lines of maybe we shouldn’t do this anymore or i’ve been thinking about this for a while, or maybe it’ll just be your name. but you know it’s nothing good and if you let him speak, then it ruins it all. if you let iwaizumi say your name you’re sure that your soul will escape with every last breath you give to him.

if you let him say your name, you’re sure that with it, he’ll take every last memory you could muster—the air from your lungs, every whisper he’s ever laid across your skin, every murmur of affection that you savored behind those closed doors.

if you let him say your name, it’ll all be gone, and you want to stay in his stupid buick for a moment longer as his girlfriend, even if it means prolonging the inevitable.

so you scan the cars around you, you look at the crosswalk until you see someone—a middle-aged man, a neon green cap on his head and orange sneakers hitting the pavement. iwaizumi takes a breath to say something, and you know he’s always hated being interrupted but god you don’t think you can stand not doing it now.

“man, what’s that guy wearing?” you say. it sounds less half-hearted than it feels. there’s a lilt to your voice and, if you couldn’t feel the weight in your chest, you’re sure it would sound like you’re clueless. you point to the man at the crosswalk, and iwaizumi’s gaze flicks there for only a moment before settling back on you.

“babe-”

“no, really, who would’ve guessed that neon was making such a comeback,” you interrupt again, and you hate it. it sounds unnatural, like there’s a joke somewhere in there that you just can’t find yet—and you both know you won’t ever get the chance to say it.

iwaizumi tries again.

“i’ve been thinking-”

“well i guess we can really see him in the dark-”

and iwaizumi says your name.

you’ve always hated the way time catches up to you.

you stop criticizing the poor man on the crosswalk, and then look over at iwaizumi—hajime as you’ve called him for years now, as you’ve said under the quake of your breath and between lilts of ardor.

you hum in reply to him, let the embarrassment of it all melt beneath his gaze, hope that maybe this break-up won’t be as bad as you always thought it would be. that he won’t be the one that got away for the rest of your life, that you won’t say his name in moonlight, starlight, and sunlight, hoping some divine power will hear it all and bring him back to you. more deeply, you hope you won’t have to move on without him—that the life you’ve built with him, from your home, to your friends, to your damn wardrobe won’t all burn to ash.

he takes a breath, he says your name again.

“hajime, what’s wro-”

“dammit, i’m trying to ask you to marry me.”

the red of the stoplight is reflecting on his face, the car smells a little like his cologne, and iwaizumi is looking at you—hands still tapping against the wheel.

“what?”

you watch the tips of his ears turn red as they start to blend in with the light. he turns back to the road, swallows and lets his tongue poke at his cheeks as he breathes again.

“sorry, that was-” he sighs, “not how i wanted to do that.”

you want to laugh at him a little bit, to let it all shake out of you in a quick moment of relief, but there’s a stutter in your chest that you can’t quite let go. it holds you close and churns your heart and your lungs until you can’t be sure what part of you is burning the most.

so you choose to whisper.

“how did you want to do it?”

and then iwaizumi laughs.

“preferably, a year ago.” you eye him. “i didn’t want you to think i was doing it just because you kept asking.”

you look forward to the light, you beg it not to turn green with everything you have—you hope with all that it’s worth that iwaizumi can hate this intersection for just a little longer.

“and what about tonight?”

he sighs again, in his old man way that you’ve always teased him for, and then he leans back—one hand on the wheel, the other finding its way to your thigh.

“at first, when you were getting ready. and then on the way to the restaurant, and again when you picked that one piece of broccoli off my plate, and then at the end of the pier, when you pulled me to the railing.” he laughs a little bit, and then his thumb rubs into your skin. “i didn’t know what to say, i just knew i wanted to ask you to marry me.”

the light turns green, and without ever really thinking about it, you say no. 

it’s not to him, it’s to the light and the situation of all things, but as he starts to drive you watch the blood drain from his face.

“what?” he asks, and you want to crawl into something much worse than just a hole in the ground.

“no, not like- sorry it was the light- yes, yes i want to marry you.”

“the damn stoplight made you say no to my proposal?” he asks, and though there’s that bit of scolding in his tone, you can feel the laughter rising in his voice as he speaks.

“no it wasn’t like that! you dick, i-”

“yeah, yeah, whatever, i’ll just return the ring then-”

“the ring?”

you both pause, and iwaizumi keeps driving, but he takes his hand off of you and, a little awkwardly, you might add, reaches into the pocket of his slacks—desperately trying to stay the speed limit (or, a little over), the whole time. 

but he pulls out a little black box and gestures towards you, and then flips it open with his thumb.

“i wasn’t kidding,” he starts, and then glances over at you. “marry me.”

and maybe you were right before. with just your name, iwaizumi could pull your soul and everything it carries with it out of your body. and maybe, in all that he is, you give it to him if only he were to ask—memories, whispers, murmurs, you’d give it all with only the raise of his brow.

“yes,” you reply. “of course.”

iwaizumi smiles, and at the next red light (one he hates just a little less, where the wait’s a little shorter and the intersection just a little less confusing), he puts the ring on your finger. and at that red light, he kisses you until you have to tell him it’s green.

cool kids

summary: Kunimi x Reader. "reader's the one simping hard for kunimi and kunimi's just like "😑😑😑" but secretly likes them too" as requested by an anon!

word count: 2k

cw: uhhh two swear words

a/n: tysm for the request!! hope i did your boy justice

You just think Kunimi is nice to look at.

His hair is straight and natural and never greasy or obviously gelled; it looks soft and shiny. He probably rinses with cold water. You like how dreamy his eyes are— they’re deepset and often narrowed into a lazy smirk, but they have a faraway quality to them that makes the gray-brown shade reminiscent of the misty moors you’ve read about in books and seen in movies. You like the lean muscle on his thin frame, the way you can feel how deceptively strong he is whenever he decides that you’re his makeshift pillow at school.

“Is this comfortable?” He asks, slumping over you, forcing you to wilt over your desk beneath him.

“Not at all,” you answer honestly. “Your elbows are pointy, ow ow ow—” you wriggle until it no longer feels like he’s pressing directly on a pressure point— “but by all means, keep crushing me.”

“Hmm, thanks,” he hums into your back. “Class was so boring today.”

“The teacher is still in the classroom, Kunimi,” you say, voice muffled as he tries his best to become dead weight. “He can hear you, because we’re still in the classroom, missing lunch.”

“Nah,” he says, but graciously gets off, standing next to your desk while you gather your things, then holds out a hand to help you up. You take it, and it’s more the feeling of his skin on yours that makes you wobble on your feet than anything else. Your heart beats fast in your chest as you follow him, although he’s already let go.

“Where are we going?” You say into his ear, over his shoulder. He gives no indication that he heard you, so you do it again, speeding up your pace so you’re walking in stride with him.

“Gotta get a spot on the rooftop before everyone else shows up,” he says offhandedly, dodging a group of people standing still in the hallway. Obnoxious, you know he’s probably thinking.

“Ooh, the rooftop?” You tease. “Planning a confession?” There’s a saying about how all the best jokes have a grain of truth in them. In this case, you’re joking with a silo of hope.

“Too corny,” he wrinkles his face up, casting a disgusted glare towards the students who walk by in pairs, joined hands swinging between them. “PDA is gross, you know.”

You grab his hand again, his lack of protest reassuring you.

“You’re just jealous because you’re single.”

“Not for too long, I hope,” he says, eyes sliding to your face. You blink and drop his hand.

“What? Who? What?”

Your questions go unanswered, his volleyball seniors choosing that moment to swarm him. You wait on the edges of the group, mind spinning as you consider who your friend— your crush— would be interested in. You’re pretty sure that the only person he spends more time with than you is Yūtarō, and from the way Kunimi speaks about his teammate, you know it’s not him. You hope that it’s you, considering that you’ve been flirting overtly with him since the festival last summer, since you’d developed feelings for him. He’s never rejected you directly, after all, only made general comments on the futility of love and romance and relationships. You blow out a breath.

“Hi, sorry,” a face you recognize as a girl in another first-year class bows her way through the group of volley-boys. She’s biting her lip, clearly nervous, clearly clutching a letter behind her back. She has the locker next to Kunimi’s, you recall. A sick feeling rises in your stomach while all the others make a path for her straight to Oikawa. She makes a turn just before she reaches the third-year. “Um, hi, Kunimi, do you, ah, have a moment?”

You can’t look. You pay attention instead to the third years, watching Iwaizumi clamp a hand over Oikawa’s mouth before he can coo over his junior’s first confession. While they struggle, you bite your lip hard, shoving your hands in your pockets, feeling suddenly too hot and too cold all over. You’re probably allergic to watching people you like get confessed to or something, and now you have a fever.

Unwillingly, your gaze slides back to Kunimi, who, for once, looks wide-eyed and surprised. The girl appears to have finished her part, and he looks frozen as his eyes dart to the other people around, then back to her, then away again. Finally, he lands on Oikawa, who appears to have escaped his friend’s grip and has a disturbingly wide smile on his face.

“...Fine,” Kunimi says, and you watch him walk behind her to the stairs.

“Ah, so cute,” Oikawa says, leaning on the wall and sticking his nose up, an air of great wisdom and experience surrounding him. “Young love is in bloom today!”

You don’t want to wait for Kunimi to get back, so you adjust your bag and start to walk away, blinking rapidly.

“Don’t say shit like that,” you hear behind you, and then Iwaizumi is running up behind you, grabbing your shoulder. “Are you okay?” He sounds hesitant, and a little like he’s choking as he speaks.

“Yeah, of course I am,” your own voice sounds far off and too quiet for your words to be true. “Thank you for asking, Iwaizumi-san, don’t worry about me.”

“You’re crying,” he notes, and your eyes widen in alarm as your hands fly up to pat your cheeks, checking for wetness. “Well, not quite crying, but when Oikawa said that, your face, it kinda,” he gestures to his own. You look at him quizzically, unsure what he’s trying to mime. “...Crumpled?”

“Oh,” you say. “Yeah.” Both of you seem at a loss for words, then, but he walks with you all the way to the lunch stand and then he follows you to the back of the gym, where you sit with your knees curled up to your chest.

“Sorry you wasted your lunch period with me,” you mumble after twenty minutes of picking at your food.

“I didn’t want to leave you alone to wallow,” he says, mouth full of melon bun. “It’s bad for you.”

“Is that your professional medical opinion?” Your voice is watery, but you can feel the corners of your mouth lifting.

“For sure,” he tells you. “Are you feeling any better?”

“I guess,” you sigh, and look down. “I just really, really like him.”

“I get that,” Iwaizumi has a reputation for being loud and kind of rough, but his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“Thank you for staying with me, Iwaizumi-san,” you say, standing.

“No problem,” he smiles sympathetically at you. If Kunimi were here, he’d call it pity. You’d rather call it kindness.

The bell rings, and Iwaizumi bounds off around the corner.

“Sorry,” you hear him apologize to someone before his footsteps echo away. When you turn the corner yourself, you see— shiny hair, dark eyes, and a tall, narrow frame. One plus one plus one equals heartbreak.

“Y/N!” He says in greeting, then tilts his head upwards, seemingly searching for something to say.

You pause in front of him. “So?”

“So what?” He looks confused.

“The confession,” you say.

“Oh,” he says, straightening a little. “It was whatever. Look, I just wanted to tell you, uh…”

“Yes?” You say. You’re late for class. You’re not sure why you’re still standing here, face hot, waiting to hear whatever he has to say.

“Wait for me?” He asks, and you blink. You weren’t expecting that, of all things.

“Why?”

“I don’t,” he tucks his chin into his jacket collar, dark eyes resting on you warily, and despite yourself, you smile a little. “I don’t want to rush things, and I’m not— I don’t wanna mess up something I know’ll be good, okay? So just wait a little longer for me.”

“What about the, uh,” you swallow. “The girl who you were talking to earlier? I’m not waiting if you’re not.”

“Her?” He makes a grossed-out noise. “I rejected her. Why would I want anyone but you?”

The ‘12-’13 Seijoh VBC ten-year reunion is nothing short of chaotic.

You’re there because you joined (in the form of management) shortly after Iwaizumi sat with you during that fateful lunch period, and everyone else is there because playing volleyball with Oikawa apparently results in some kind of gravitational effect that keeps one circling him loosely forever. You, Kindaichi, and Kunimi huddle in a sort of commiserating bunch, even though the three of you have more than kept in touch over the years; where Oikawa is an Argentinian celebrity and Iwaizumi is well compensated for his career in athletic training, the former first years are barely out of undergrad, still working and suffering beneath the weight of recent student loans.

It’s Hanamaki who opens up the conversation, complaining about his recent bout of failed interviews, while Watari pats him on the back and Yahaba lists off places he could begin networking.

“What have you been doing?” You address Matsukawa, who is slumped on his elbows on the table, a slight smile on his features as he watches Hanamaki talk, formally.

“Me? Oh, I’m a mortician, or working towards it, anyway.”

“Of course you ask Mattsun first,” laughs Kindaichi. “You still think he’s ‘tall, dark, and handsome?’”

“No,” you groan, while the others at the table perk up considerably. “Don’t bring that up, please, I’m begging.”

“You had a crush on Mattsun?” Smirks Hanamaki, laying an arm across his shoulders.

“Not really!” You protest, waving your hands in front of you. “He was only the best looking of the third years, anyway.”

Oikawa makes a wounded noise, and Mattsun sticks his tongue out at him. Next to you, Kunimi lifts his glass and takes a long sip.

“Only the third years?” Asks Yahaba, raising his brows. Kindaichi grins. In your peripheral vision, you can see Kunimi drawing a line across his neck and mouthing shut the fuck up, shut up, shut up, shut up.

“Everyone knows that Y/N only had eyes for Kunimi, really,” Turnip-Head says anyway, and every head at the table swings toward your seatmate, who drops his hand and shuts his jaw with a click. "You were obvious!" He says in response to your embarrassed expression. He's not wrong, but you're still covering your eyes with your hands, peeking through the gaps.

“Do you have eyes? Why haven’t you changed your haircut?” Kunimi says, his voice bored. “Don’t you get tired of being called names because of it?”

Undeterred, Kindaichi takes another swig of beer and continues, nudging Kunimi hard, which only has the effect of pushing him into your side as he tries to escape his friend.

“He used to get jealous, after Y/N called Matsukawa-san hot, anyway,” Kindaichi adds. “He’d try harder in practice and everything.” There’s a chorus of oooohs around the table. Kunimi groans and drops his head onto your shoulder. You pat him reassuringly. His hair is soft.

“Kunimi has a crush,” Shido grins.

“It was a decade ago,” you feel the need to defend him.

“Yeah,” Kunimi says, sitting upright. There’s a scowl on his face, but his ears are subtly red.

“You should’ve said yes to dating back then,” Hanamaki butts in. “Then you wouldn’t be single now.”

“What do you mean I’m single now?” Kunimi arches an eyebrow. “That’s news to me.”

“Why didn’t you bring them, then?” Mattsun points at him. “That’s bad etiquette, you know.”

“Yeah, Akira,” you murmur affectionately, tucking his hair behind his ear. “You have bad etiquette.”

There’s a moment of silence as your former classmates look at you, then at Kunimi, then back at you. Then at both of you, holding hands under the table.

“You’re dating?” Yells Yahaba, standing up and swaying a little. General clamor ensues as you laugh and Kunimi brings your hands up to rest on the table, his eyes narrowly focused on Matsukawa, who seems happily oblivious as he knocks back more of his drink and attempts to rouse Makki into a thumb-wrestling match.

“He’s rubbed off on you,” Kindaichi tells you later, as you exit the restaurant. Kunimi drapes his jacket over you and rests his chin on your shoulder, putting his hands in your pants pockets.

“I hope so,” you smile softly. “Almost ten years together will do that to a person.”

On the way home, Akira asks you, almost sardonic (but you know he’s being genuine), "Was the wait worth it?"

You beam and kiss him, pulling him close by his shirt collar.

"Of course it was."

tagging: @crystal-lilac , @kohi-zeri

osamu + “we’re fake dating! why did you tell them we were engaged?!” for @amarinthe thanks for requesting this! it's probably one of my favourite prompts

the moment you open your front door, you kind of regret it.

because while your totally hot neighbour is standing in your doorway in his dark jeans and fitted black t-shirt glory, you’re rocking shorts and an unreasonably large sweatshirt.

“osamu,” you blink, tugging the hem of your shirt down a little. “hey.”

“hey,” he replies with a smile that makes your knees weak, holding up a takeout bag. “i brought some onigiri home. wanna share?”

thinking about the instant ramen currently boiling on your stovetop, you couldn’t possibly refuse his offer (especially if it’s from miya osamu, whose very successful restaurant is quite literally across the street).

so you open your door wider, letting him step inside and slip his shoes off while you move into the kitchen, placing two plates on the counter.

“so, how was your day?” he asks, unpacking the setting two onigiri on each plate. “anything interesting happen?”

you slide into the stool next to him, swinging your legs lightly as you munch on happily on the food. “not particularly, you?”

“actually, yeah,” he starts, taking his cap off and running a hand through his hair (you think it’s unfair, how good it still looks, even after spending all day smushed under a baseball cap). “my ma called today.”

“your ma?” you hum through a mouthful of salmon and rice. “what’d she say?”

he picks disinterestedly at the seaweed on his onigiri. “she, uh, asked that i visit home for dinner tomorrow night.”

“that’s sounds fun,” you start, pausing when he visibly grimaces. “unless it’s...not?”

“my brother’s bringin’ his girl again,” he shrugs. “and i know that means ma’s gonna be on my ass about why i’m not datin’.”

“yeah, i’ve had that conversation with my parents before,” you shudder, patting his shoulder in understanding. “the future, grandchildren, the passive-aggressive judgement from siblings. you should just call and say you’re sick.”

“can’t,” he sighs heavily. “i already cancelled twice. she may disown me if i skip a third time, or worse, show up at my place.”

it’d probably be funny, you think, seeing mama and brother miya across the hall, bugging osamu. “then maybe you should bring someone,” you suggest off-handedly. “just to keep them off your back a little. when was the last time you went on a date?”

when he doesn’t answer, your happy chewing slows, and you glance over at him. “jeez, that long ago? i thought you had more game than that, miya.”

a slow grin spread across his face when he meets your gaze. “last time i went out with someone was...four months ago, actually.”

“four months ago? that was around when we—” your eyes widen slightly, heat spreading to your cheeks. “oh. that...was not a date. that was a slightly intoxicated but very satisfying sexual exchange between friends.”

osamu chuckles, ducking his head a little and making those eyes at you (the ones that’d lured you into fucking him on your living room floor at two in the morning). “maybe don’t bring that up when ya meet my mom.”

“excuse me?” you laugh. “you cannot bring me home to meet your family.”

“why not?” he questions, looking genuinely confused. “you’re the one who suggested it. it’s just for one night anyway.”

“i just can’t!” you insist, looking at him incredulously. “i’d be nervous even if we were dating. what if they ask questions about--”

“i’ll give you free onigiri for a month.”

_____

“so, how did the two of you meet?” osamu’s mother asks as she pours you a generous glass of wine.

you freeze, blinking a few times. when you open your mouth, nothing comes out.

(it’s funny how, on the hour-long drive to hyogo, the two of you hadn’t discussed any basic information about your relationship. instead, you’d spent your time debating the best taylor swift album and making fun of the other tenants in your building.)

you almost flinch when someone places a hand on the small of your back, but relax when osamu’s faint cologne meets your senses. “actually it was the day after she moved in next door,” he says. “i brought some onigiri over because she’d asked me that morning where the closest grocery store was so i figured…”

you smile fondly, recalling the day you’d run into him at the mailboxes, and he’d shown up a few hours later with food. he’d claimed they were just leftovers even though it was mid-afternoon.

“i can’t believe you remember that,” you murmur.

he hums quietly, gaze flicking over your face briefly. “i guess it’s just when i knew.”

you’re sure that your heart stutters in your chest. surely he’d stolen that from some cheesy romance flick?

“how long have you two been together?” his mother follows up with, glancing between the two of you expectantly, a slow smile spreading across her face.

“eight months,” you say.

“almost a year,” osamu answers at the same time.

across from you, atsumu hides a smile behind his glass of water.

“i mean, who’s counting?” you laugh, quick to recover, reaching over to your ‘boyfriend’ blindly, meaning to pat his shoulder but instead catching him on the cheek. “time flies when you’re in love.”

you turn to stare at osamu when you feel him clasp your hand, pressing a kiss to your fingers, lips curling against them.

your stomach flutters a little at the gesture.

“‘tsumu,” he continues, redirecting the conversation. he rests your clasped hands on the table, thumb brushing the back of yours gently. “i thought you were bringing your girlfriend.”

“oh, she’s at her place doin’ some packing,” he answers easily. “she’s movin’ in next week.”

“that’s great news!” their mother beams, osamu’s hand tightening around yours as he blurts,

“yeah, well, we’re engaged!”

this time, you choke on your bite of chicken, almost hacking up a lung as you whip your head towards your neighbour/friend/fake boyfriend turned fake fiancé.

he shoots you a pleading gaze as he rubs firm circles on your back, and when you finally dislodge that traitorous piece of meat, you draw a slow breath and sigh. “babe, i thought we were going to wait until you made it official.” you lift your left hand, pointing at your empty ring finger before turning back to his mother and brother. “do you mind if we step away for a second?”

they both wave you off, and you snatch osamu’s wrist, dragging him out the back door, making sure it’s shut tight before you whisper-shout,

“we are fake dating! why would you tell them that we were engaged?”

he rubs his hands down his face, groaning. “i’m sorry, i panicked! it’s just that when atsumu mentioned moving in i got weirdly competitive because we’re twins—”

“so naturally you told your mother we were getting married? what’s next, atsumu mentions a joint bank account and you tell them that i’m pregnant?”

osamu lowers his hands to peek at you. “can i actually do that?”

“no! this is so not worth the free onigiri!” you growl, smacking him on the shoulder a few times, osamu yelling in protest.

(inside, atsumu and their mother peek out the kitchen window to watch the both of you, the latter murmuring, ‘definitely engaged.’)

_____

“you cannot tell that story in your toast,” you laugh, three years later with a very real engagement ring on your finger.

“why not?” osamu whines, completely invading your side of the bed to wrap his arms around you. “it’s how we got together, isn’t it?”

“by lying to your family.”

“soon to be your family,” he reminds you happily. “and i didn’t have to lie and tell them you were pregnant.”

i just saw the most disgusting thing … it was like hq guys who would get turned on if their girl made out w another girl MF THATS CHEATING