#genderneutral!reader

Your brow cocks up, "A haircut? Really?"

He shrugs, "Just a snip. I need a little change from," he runs his hands over his damp locks, "all this."

You agreed, "Yeah. Okay. You want me to take you?"

He shakes his head, "Nah, I looked up the old barbershop I used to go to. Surprisingly, it's still open. Run by Joe's grandson now. I'll go there."

"What kind of haircut are you thinking?"

"Dunno. Guess we'll see when I get there. Anyway," he bends down and presses his lips to yours, "I'm gonna dress up and head out. Let me know if you want me to get anything."

"Alrighty," you wave him off and lay back down in bed. Today would be a good day to lie around and do nothing.

____________

You hear Bucky before you see him. Your back is turned to him as you're standing before the stove, making lunch.

"Don't turn around yet, honey. I want you to close your eyes."

You hesitantly place your wooden spoon down and lower the heat on the stove. You then place your hands over your eyes, "Okay. Eyes closed."

"Not peeking?"

You shake your head, "Nope! Now c'mon, Buck! I wanna see!"

You feel the warmth of his body as soon as he moves to stand right in front of you. His voice is low and a bit apprehensive, "Before you open your eyes, I just-I hope you really like how I look."

You snort, "Babe, I'd still love you even if you were bald. Now come on! You're getting me all anxious!" You're bouncing on your feet and you're making Bucky chuckle.

"Alright, open your eyes."

As soon as your hands drop and your eyes open, they widen in an instant, "Oh my gosh!"

Bucky stands before you, nervously biting his lip. No longer was his hair in shoulder length locks. His hair is a lot shorter now and it reminds you of those pictures you saw of him in the Smithsonian.

"Do-Do you like it?"

You smile wide, reaching over and running your hand through his hair, "This is a lot more than just a snip, Buck."

He nervously laughs, "Yeah, I, uh, I really just felt like I needed get rid of that hair, that look. It reminded me too much of who I was, of what I've done. But this?" He gestures to his head, "This is different, because I'm different now. And Sam said something like this is a great step for recovery."

"Bucky," you remove your hand from his hair to cup his face, "You look amazing and I'm proud of you for doing this. You look like a brand new man. Incredibly handsome too."

He ducks his head as he blushes, "Thanks, baby. I'm really happy you like it. I like it. And I already feel a lot better about myself."

You lean in and press a gentle kiss to his lips, "I'm so happy for you, Bucky. Recovery isn't instant, but this is a wonderful step towards it." You then step back and turn to the stove again, "Now, I'm gonna finish lunch, then we're gonna spend the rest of the day out in the town. I wanna show off my man to everyone!"

“Dammit! I’ve got nothing!”

A low whistle was heard behind you, “What’s with you?”

You turned your head to the side to get a glance of your housemate. You replied with another unpleasant sound, bringing your knees up to your chest.

“Even after all these years I still don’t know what the hell you’re trying say,” Iwaizumi sighed, “Seriously. What’s bugging you all of a sudden?”

Groaning, you dramatically pointed your head at the electronic screen opposite of you. Iwaizumi scrunched his eyebrows and made his way towards your desk. He stopped just short of the edge, leaning over with his arm balancing him against the wooden frame to get a better view of what your laptop read.

His face contorted into frustration, “I don’t get it. You’re writing like you normally do. What’s wrong with it? Do you not like it?”

“It’s not that,” you sighed, letting your legs dangle off your office chair.

The male gave you a look before straightening up and walking past you. Most people would’ve taken that as a sign of disinterest and would’ve dropped the subject. But, like I said, most people would’ve. You, on the other hand…

You spun around in your swivel chair to face the brunette. He now spat on the end of your bed and started to untie his court shoes. Even though he neglected to look at you, you carried on knowing full well that he was listening whether he wanted to or not.

“I’m bored with it,” you complained. Spinning back around to your desk, you clicked the ‘Back’ button and scrolled through an endless number of documents you created but never really started, “I have no motivation whatsoever anymore. I have all these great ideas that I’m so thrilled about, but as soon as I start writing them I get bored and abandon it.”

You paused, still scrolling down until you reached the bottom of the page, and when you did, you scrolled back up to the top. This continued for a full 60 seconds–well, except for the 5 second interval where Iwaizumi tossed his sweaty gym socks into the dirty clothes hamper beside your closet, other than that it was a solid minute of silence. No words. Just silence.

“I’m not that good of a writer.”

After those words left your lips, your companion moved frantically about and in a split second a large, calloused hand engulfed your slimmer one on top of the mouse, halting your actions.

“Stop doing that. It’s driving me ballistic,” he muttered, referring to your constant page scrolling.

Your apology was muffled by more quick movement. His hands gripped the chair’s armrests and he flipped you around so your attention was no longer on your screen, but on him.

“I don’t know where that notion came from, but it’s wrong. You’re a fantastic writer. Whatever, or whoever, got that idea stuck in your head doesn’t know what they’re talking about-” you opened your mouth to say something, but was shot down immediately, “-and I’m not just saying that because I’m your boyfriend. I’m being honest.

If you’re a terrible writer then all those awards for your essays are a complete faux. You were played by some low life that gets off by falsely nominating aspiring students, having them assume they’ve achieved something worth bragging about. (Y/n), if you weren’t a good writer, you wouldn’t even have any certificates to boast about, fake or not.”

As much as you hated to admit, he was right. Your (e/c) orbs trailed over to the corner of your room where your achievements hung. Official scholastic certificates littered a section of the wall, while two shelves and a shadow box displayed a handful of medals and trophies for other activities you were involved in. Your mother had every last one of your certificates framed, growing up she took pride in them by hanging them in the main hallway for everyone to see–it really rubbed your aunt the wrong way, everything was always a competition with those two. When you graduated you inherited a few of them, only collecting the ones that made you feel the most accomplished.

You realized then, that you hadn’t taken a meaningful look at that wall in a good while. If it wasn’t for the teenage boy glowering in your face, you probably would’ve continued to disregard its existence.

A defeated sigh erupted from your esophagus, “Sorry, Hajime. I’ve just been in a prolonged state of writer’s block lately,” you finally revealed, “I haven’t finished a story that I’m fully satisfied with in over 9 months. I guess I’ve been getting antsy about it recently.”

Said wing spiker hummed in acknowledgement and took a few short minutes to contemplate a solution. After deciding on a course of action, his toned arm reached up and his forefinger poked the tip of your nose; a barely audible ‘boop’ hid beneath his breath.

“You idiot, the only thing you’re going to get from staring at a bright screen all day is terrible vision,” you pouted at his snide remark. He only chuckled, “Go change into something more publicly acceptable. It seems you need a break.”

“What do you mean a ‘break’?” You poorly attempted to imitate his deep voice; and if that wasn’t an insult in itself, you further mocked, “What would you know about taking a break?”

The nonverbal answer to your rhetorical question was a painful thump to the head.

“Ow!”

“I’m trying to be a considerate boyfriend and this is what I get in return? If 20 years of putting up with that trash bag wasn’t enough as it is, I had to go and fuck it up by dating his (sister/brother),” retorted the male, rolling his eyes at the mention of your older sibling and his childhood best friend.

You were left speechless, a gasp being your only response. A tiny, itty bitty, minuscule twitch at the corner of his lips went unnoticed as your lover absorbed the offended look painted upon your visage.

When you finally organized your thoughts and composed yourself for another snarky comment, you were suddenly attacked. It came as a shock to you when you comprehended the fact that your, rarely affectionate, boyfriend had taken the liberty to initiate any type of physical contact. It made you question if any unplanned events happened throughout his day that would make him do something out of the ordinary.

Before you could elaborate any further though, his lips parted from your own, his fading presence replaced by a chilly draft. His athletic figure was already halfway out the bedroom door as he called back, “Hurry up and change, dork.”

You leaped from the leather chair and rapidly threw on a decent set of clothes before zooming out of your room to chase after the spiky haired male, all the while screeching, “IWAIZUMI HAJIME, YOU LITTLE SHIT!”