CONGRATS RAIN!!!!!!!!!
also heavy breathing bc before i even opened the "keep reading" i was like. i hope pride and prejudice is on the list T______T and there she is ..... #1
i will kindly ask for osamu x pride and prejudice pls & thank u 🤲
pride and prejudice
osamu miya; 2,952 words; fluff, childhood friends to lovers, volleyball player!reader, fem!reader, general cuteness
summary: osamu has known you for longer than he can remember.
a/n: @starrysamu remmyyy thank u!!! and thank u for sending this prompt omfg i actually loved writing it so much u__u i hope u enjoy and yES ofc i couldn't leave miss p&p off this list!!! though the fic has nothing to do with the actual book LOL i hope you like it regardless <3
one.
you have known each other for longer than he can remember.
longer (osamu is convinced) than the summer days. longer (he is still convinced) than the winter nights. longer than the length of a volleyball court, than the glistening white lines that separate the game from everything else beyond it.
you’ve always been small, but you’d never let that stop you. and perhaps it’s this more than anything that grates at osamu’s consciousness — the sheer stubbornness of you. and he knows a thing or two about being stubborn — have you met his twin brother?
but no — you’d insisted, at the tiny, peculiar age of four, that you’d found volleyball first. as if it were something to discovered, like electricity or the new world. even though osamu knows better, knows that volleyball has always been there, just like he knows that atsumu will always try to steal the last popsicle in the freezer and that the sky will always turn blue again after even an entire week’s worth of rain.
“shorty’s can’t play volleyball, y’know,” he drawls, watching you with his head cocked, casually kicking his feet as they dangle from the edge of a low-rise bridge, the summer having reduced the usually hearty waterway to a trickling stream. you stand on the banks, panting, bruises like badges of honor blooming across your knees as you bounce a large ball along your forearms, over and over and over again.
osamu follows the trajectory with half-lidded eyes, his heartbeat ticking inside him like a time-bomb.
“says who?!” you demand, squeaking as the ball bonks off your head, making your eyes water.
osamu hums, caught between morbid amusement and a true, burgeoning curiosity as you dash off after the worn old volleyball.
“says… everyone, duh. tall people play volleyball… shortys…” he trails off, casting his eyes up at the first flickering stars as they wink into existence along the far horizon, “i dunno… shorty’s probably make ramen or riceballs or something like that.”
“samuuuu! it’s dinner time!” the clank of their old bike alerts osamu to his twin’s appearance, even as atsumu screeches to a halt the foot of the bridge, looking between osamu and you, now cradling the ball in your arms, your eyes bright and sharp as — yes, osamu thinks, bright as the evening stars.
“c’mon,” osamu says, hoisting himself up and jerking his head towards his brother.
“don’t wanna,” you say, stomping a foot as you turn resolutely away from him even as he rolls his tiny, four-year old eyes.
“don’t be stupid. kaa-chan made taimeshi —”
“oh! my favorite!”
osamu smirks as you bound up to meet them, his previous slights apparently long forgotten as you race off down the road, shouting over your shoulder that the last person there has to do the dishes. atsumu shrieks and nearly topples the bike chasing after you, leaving osamu to sigh and jog slowly after the two of you.
he wonders how long it’ll take before you outgrow this weird new obsession with volleyball. but then again, watching you play, it did seem like fun.
maybe, he’ll even give it a try one day.
two.
you’ve got a solid 10 centimeters on him by the time he and atsumu make it to the starting lineup in their middle school team. by then, you’d already been the star for an entire season, what with your boundless energy and your painful determination.
he’s seen you at school games, but of course he has — streaking along the sides of the court, jumping high enough to convince half the stadium that gravity does indeed play favorites.
“anddd… inarizaki middle takes another stunning victory over the girls at shukugawa tech! that number 11 is really someone to watch!”
he meets you after the match with a cold pocari sweat and a bag of caramel candies.
“you’re dropping your elbows on your spikes again,” he says, even as atsumu smacks both his palms into yours in celebration.
you pause, wiping at your face with the towel dangling around your neck.
“shaddap! we won, didn’t we?”
osamu sighs, “guess you did.”
“so, when’s your first game?”
osamu sniffs as he tries to keep the blush from crawling too far up his neck as he looks away.
“tomorrow afternoon.”
atsumu jabs a thumb into his chest with a cheeky grin, “you gonna be there to watch us cream the other team?”
“course i will!” you say as you flash them a smile that has osamu wondering if, just like gravity, perhaps the sun plays favorites too.
three.
the twins grow nearly a head and a half over one summer before high school and you’re inconsolable for weeks.
“it’s not fair!”
osamu sighs, fighting the urge to roll his eyes for the twelfth time that night as you smack another ball across the net and toss another for him to set.
ba-bam! thump thump thump.
“guys and girls grow different… it’s not like it’s a secret or anything —”
ba-bam! thump thump thump.
osamu catches the next ball you toss for him, straightening to shake his sweaty bangs from his eyes.
“you’re dropping your elbows again. and you’re pulling back too hard on your swing — you’re gonna throw out your shoulder if —”
“what’s it matter anyway?!”
your voice is loud enough to echo, even in the giant gymnasium, even with all the doors thrown open to let in the autumn breeze. osamu doesn’t miss your fingers curled into fists at your sides, he doesn’t miss the tremor in your voice like the first rumble of thunder before a summer storm.
“it matters cause if you injure yourself, you’re not gonna be able to play —”
“i — i haven’t grown since i was twelve years old! w-what’s it matter if i get hurt o-or if i can’t keep playing? it’s only a matter of time before i’m too short —”
“fine then. quit.”
your head jerks up, your eyes wide and watery as you stare at him. the ball falls out of your grip and bounces, listless, once, twice, three-four-five times against the waxed wooden floor before rolling to a stop against one of the padded net poles.
osamu shrugs, feeling suddenly too cold and too hot all at once as something he thinks might be anger roils in the depths of his stomach, and then all he wants to do is scream and run laps around the building till this inexplicable fire inside him goes out.
instead, he turns away from your piercing, accusatory gaze and starts picking up volleyballs, casually tossing them up and setting them back into the big blue ball bin.
“osamu… you giant fucking asshole!”
bomph-thwack — something smacks against the back of his head so hard his vision goes blurry. but before he has the strength to whip around and look for you, you’d already gone, racing out of the gym, leaving osamu utterly bewildered as he raises a hand to touch the bump already rising at the back of his head.
“ow… what the fuck was that?!”
later that night, when he recounts the tale to atsumu, who’d spent a solid fifteen minutes laughing at the fact that he’d gotten nailed in the head by a girl, atsumu had pinned him with a flatlined look and said —
“well, ya kinda did deserve it.”
to which osamu had responded by promptly shoving atsumu’s face into a pillow and holding it there.
four.
you don’t quit volleyball, because of course you don’t. and osamu knows you well enough by now to know that you run on a combination of energy drinks and spite. but you don’t talk to him for weeks, and that sucks more than he quite has the words to explain.
so he doesn’t. and he doesn’t.
atsumu is the first one to notice, but then when kita-san finds him in the lockers one day to ask him what’s wrong, osamu thinks that it must be more serious than he’d thought.
he finds you practicing by the river, his footsteps slowing as he pauses to watch the shape of you silhouetted against the setting sun, the ball bouncing up in perfect rhythm as you bend at the knees and bop it back up, again and again and again.
he allows himself a smile as he makes his way over and plops down in the grass.
“your shoulders are getting tense again.”
you don’t answer, don’t even show any sign that you’d heard him, expect for the near imperceptible drop in your shoulders as you force them down the second before the ball makes contact with your outstretched arms.
bomph-bomph-bomph
the ball goes up and up and up again.
you don’t turn to look at him so osamu takes a deep breath and casts his eyes up at the darkening sky.
“it was a shit thing to say. i’m s —”
“we’re playing shiratorizawa this weekend.”
you both speak at the same time.
bomph-bomph-bomph
osamu jerks upright to stare at you.
“shiratorizawa? aren’t they in miyagi? what are they doing here?”
you bump the ball way up and fall a few steps back. he watches as you mark the ball with your eyes, the way your whole body goes fluid as you do your run-up, bending down, your entire being held perfectly still for a single second before you leap up into the air.
like this, he thinks, it really does look like you’re flying.
thwack.
the ball comes straight at him, but this time, he’s ready for it. he jerks the side to avoid it and catches it as it threatens to bounce off towards the open road behind him.
“dunno… some kinda training camp or something,” you say, shrugging as you climb up the short incline to join him on the grass. you drop down next to him as he cradles the ball in his lap, eyes trained on his fingers as they dig into the worn grooves around the old ball.
“hm. their boys team is a pain in the ass to play against.”
you laugh, “their girls are just as bad.”
“hm.”
you turn towards him, “not gonna wish me good luck?”
osamu tosses the ball up to balance it on the tip of a single finger.
“why would i? ‘s not like you’re gonna need it anyway.”
you bump him with your shoulder before snatching the ball from his hand and jumping up to race off towards the road.
“mom’s makin’ gyoza tonight! last one there’s gotta do the dishes!”
osamu groans as he pushes himself up, but jogs after you all the same, wondering just how long of a head start he should give you before he races after you.
he shoves your head forward as he catches up to you, chuckling as you yelp.
“how bout if you win this weekend, i’ll come over and do the dishes for you for a whole week!”
you laugh, chasing after him, “and if we lose?”
osamu turns around, grinning as you narrow your eyes at his easy gait, even as he’s running backwards, still noticeably faster than you, “mah… i haven’t thought that far yet. i mean, ‘s not like you’re gonna lose, right?”
five.
when they lose to karasuno, you’re crying way harder than anyone on their team.
atsumu huffs, scowling to keep his own tears at bay as you bawl into his chest, your other arm wrapped around osamu’s waist. osamu sighs, reaching up to pat you placidly on the back, even as something in his own chest coils tight, and then tighter.
“d-damnit — you guys p-played so well, too! th-that little number t-ten was — was such a freak!”
at this, osamu chuckles, pulling back to take you by the shoulders, “says our own tiny volleyball freak.”
you sniffle and wipe at your eyes, glaring defiantly up at him. and as he watches you hiccup, reaching up to wipe at your red, puffy cheeks, something inside him seems to snap all at once.
he tugs you forward and before he knows it, all he can feel are your rapid, uneven breaths — all he can taste is salt and the faint hint of your mint chapstick.
he hears atsumu make a half-disgusted, half-resigned sort of sound next to him but he doesn’t care. he kisses you till your breaths are no longer choppy, till he can feel your fingers digging into the sore tightness in his biceps. till someone clears their throat and he pulls back, breathless, to find aran staring at him with his arms crossed.
“team meeting in five,” aran says as he pointedly turns back around to usher the rest of the stunned team towards where their stuff is. several people from other schools are staring and whispering behind their hands but at a sharp glare from atsumu, they all scatter.
“feeling better?” osamu asks, unable to keep the lilting edge of a tease out of his voice as he pulls you with him into a deserted corner of the stadium. you blink up at him, your eyes a bit unfocused and still red from crying as you reach up to press your fingers to your lips. and then, you jolt back to life all at once and whack him on the arm.
“ow! w-what was that for?!”
“did you do that just to stop me crying?”
“wha — no! i — i did it cause — i — i don’t really know why — ow! stop hitting me!”
osamu grabs your arms and pins them to your side, pressing you up against the large pillar behind you, currently keeping the two of you hidden from view. he stares down at you, at the way your eyes are bright and sharp even in this relative, borrowed darkness, at the way your chest heaves up and down, up and down, stretching at the fabric of your very well-fitted sports top. he stares at the way your lips are still parted, and he hates the fact that he now knows exactly how they taste, knows just how soft they are, after having wondered for years and years and years.
he wonders how long he’s wanted to kiss you.
longer, he thinks, probably, than the summer days.
longer, he knows, than the winter nights.
“s-samu?”
“hm? oh. sorry…” he shakes his head and lets you go slowly, but he should’ve known you’d never let him off that easy. it’s just not who you are.
you narrow your eyes and he feels caught by your gaze.
“if you didn’t do it to stop me crying… then why’d you do it?”
osamu allows himself a deep sigh, taking half a step back, “ah… can’t a guy just kiss the girl he likes without being interrogated about it?”
you blink, and then, you reach out to whack him again.
“dumbass-samu… you’re gonna be late to your team meeting.”
osamu feels a strange mixture of pride and elation ballooning in his chest as he notices the way you’re blushing, the way you refuse to meet his eyes. he reaches down to ruffle your hair even as you yelp and try to swat him away.
“right, right — wait for me, yeah?”
you roll your eyes but you’re smiling as you say, “of course, idiot… where else would i be?”
six.
“so tell me… why’d you really kiss me that time after the karasuno match?”
it’s winter, two years later, and osamu’s arm is slung casually around your shoulders as the rest of the team chatters and drinks and makes a mess in the corner of the bought-out restaurant for their first annual high school reunion.
osamu hums, nursing a half-finished glass of sake.
“mah… i guess i just wanted to make myself feel better after getting my ass whopped, y’know?”
you laugh and try to dig your elbow into his side but he clamps his arm around you and holds you close. outside, the snow is finally starting to slow.
“have you figured it out yet, then? what you’re gonna study in college?”
at this, osamu turns to cast you a sidelong look.
“you’re not mad that i’m quitting volleyball?”
you shrug, “why would i be mad? it’s not like you’re making me quit with you.”
this time, he shrugs, “well, tsumu was mad for like… a week.”
you roll your eyes, “yeah, and i’m so similar to your brother.”
osamu makes a noncommittal noise that once again prompts you to try and elbow him in the side.
“then you tell me… what do you think a former volleyball star should do after quitting, hm?”
you swirl your own drink around your glass, your cheeks dusted in pink as you consider for a moment. then, you smirk as you look back up at him with a wistful gaze.
“make ramen or riceballs or… something like that, right?”
osamu smiles, leaning down to gaze his lips along your cheek before reaching out to tip your head back to press you lips to his.
“y’know, that actually doesn’t sound like such a terrible idea.”
2k celebration reqs still open! :)
