#nurse!atsumu
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“Make Me Lose Control” (doctor!Kiyoomi Sakusa x nurse!Atsumu Miya) +18 MDNI
A/N: Based on a fanart, I decided to write something for it❤️
Warnings: Cursing, making out, Tsumu in scrubs
Atsumu Miya arrives right on time at 6 AM to his day shift on Monday morning at the Osaka hospital.
With his coffee in one hand and his bag on his other shoulder, he arrives at the CPU, tired as hell.
When he walks into the break room, his two coworkers Tomas and Inunaki from the night shift, are sitting at the table. The latter with his head resting on his arms, appears to be sleeping.
The black-haired giant smiles at Atsumu as he rounds the table to put his food from the bag into the fridge.
“Hey Miya, how was your vacation?” Tomas asks friendly.
“Short. Way too short.” The blonde yawns as he sits down across from his coworkers.
Inunaki is snoring slightly but neither of the men dare wake him up. Inunaki is a sunshine on day shifts but he is a nightmare to work with on night shifts, his mood worse than a pregnant woman with mood swings. The poor nursing student Hinata, once made the mistake of waking Inunaki up to ask a question and just two minutes later, Hinata was crying to Atsumu about him.
Shuddering at the memory, Atsumu sips his coffee in silence, not really waking up from the caffeine in it.
Crossing his leg sideways over his knee, the tired blonde is scanning over the newly printed papers from the station, which shows that they have 5 patients in total.
Still drinking his coffee, he notices the sleeping beauty beginning to wake up.
Groaning and rubbing his face, Inunaki stretches through his wrinkly Mickey Mouse printed scrubs.
Hearing a few joints pop, he sighs out in satisfaction.
Finally opening his eyes, he notices Atsumu sitting across from him.
“Hey Miya, long time no see. How was your vacation?” Inunaki asks in a groggy voice.
Drinking some water from his bottle Atsumu brought with him as well, he answers the same way like he did with Tomas.
“Ah well, we can be lucky to get any vacation at all.” Tomas nods in affirmation.
“Before I forget, Hinata called and said he overslept, he should be here shortly though.” Tomas says.
Speak of the devil, the orange-haired nursing student has arrived.
Panting he apologizes frantically, saying his boyfriend had a Volleyball game the prior night and they celebrated their win.
Waving him off, Atsumu states it’s alright because a certain white-black-haired nurse hasn’t shown up yet.
The clock strikes 6:15 am and still no sign of the hyperactive guy.
“Can we just please do reports? I want to go home!” Inunaki grumbles.
They all agree and grab their pens to start reports.
Tomas grabs his paper and begins to read out.
“In room 506, a 58 year old male, came in two days ago with acute chest pain and syncope, got an angiogram, where they found a thrombosis that burst and clogged everything up. He got surgery and is doing fine now. In room 510, 19 year old female, got a pacemaker, diabetic. She threw up twice last night and Inunaki gave her some Metoclopramide and fluids, she’s doing okay now. Gave her some tea as well to calm down her stomach. Uhhh in room 511, we have a 40 year old guy, dude has had a burst aneurysm, had surgery and is currently in the ICU, they want to transfer him here after he stabilizes.”
“Yeah sure why not. Give me more problems.” Atsumu mumbles under his breath.
“Atsumu, can I take care of him if he comes over today?” Hinata asks with excitement.
“Sure, knock yerself out kiddo.”
As Inunaki is about to start with his patients, Bokuto struts in, not a care in the world for being 20 minutes late.
Whistling a happy tune, he sits down and takes a small sip of his Starbucks coffee.
Noticing the glances from his coworkers, he looks confused at their irritated faces.
“What?“ He asks cluelessly.
“You’re 20 minutes late Bo. We already started reports.“ Tomas scolds him.
Rubbing his hand behind his neck, Bokuto grins nervously.
“Sorry about that hehe. I saw Akaashi at the entrance. He just came out of his night shift from the lab.“
“Did you ask him out yet?“ Inunaki leans forward to watch Bokuto.
Pouting, his hair begins to deflate a little bit.
“No, I always chicken out when he stares at me with his gorgeous smile and his mesmerizing blue eyes. Makes me forget everything at that moment.“ Bokuto sighs dreamily.
“Yeah I know what you mean, every time I look into Oliver’s eyes, I could get lost into them. Aw man, now that I think about it, I haven’t had a good fuck in forever, he’s always in surgery and way too tired when he comes home.” Inunaki whines.
“Speaking of a good fuck, you guys never guess who got Syphilis from sleeping with the chief of neurosurgery! I heard that Hoshiumi from the Stroke Unit is the victim. Serves him right though.” Tomas gossips .
“I haven’t been intimate with Kageyama for a while now, is that bad? Does that mean he wants to break up?” Hinata worriedly asks into the round.
“Okay, can we focus back on the reports please? I don’t need ta know about y’all’s relationship problems.” Atsumu complains.
“Alright. Moving on then.” Inunaki accepts his request.
“So in room 505, a 89 year old guy, annoying as fuck as always, his wife is even worse. Weighs 300 pounds and had a heart attack. Doesn’t surprise me to be honest. Got an implantable cardioverter-defibrillator 4 days ago and rings the call light like every 6 minutes. Did I mention that he is incontinent?” The light-haired nurse smiles in pain.
“Bokuto you can have him. I’m not in the mood for this shit today.” Atsumu says without looking at Bokuto.
“Got it Tsum-Tsum.” Bokuto salutes in his cartoon owl scrubs.
“Why did they give him an implant anyway? He’s probably staying alive for like a year max and then dies anyway.” Atsumu scratches his head in frustration.
“Because everyone deserves a chance to live Miya, regardless of their personality, age, sex or culture.” The station doctor Meian Shūgo arrives.
Making himself a coffee at the espresso machine, he turns to the nurses, as he crosses his arms over his chest.
“We’re getting a new resident today. He transferred here after he graduated from Itachiyama. Please welcome him warmly when he arrives. We haven’t had a graduate from a private university in forever. And he was the top medical student in his class.” Meian orders.
“Great. A snobby bastard is just what we need.” Atsumu has a sick-sweet smile on his face.
“Maybe he won’t be so bad Tsum-Tsum.” The black and white haired man encourages.
“Well tough luck Miya, he’s going to work here, whether you like it or not.” Meian blandly states while walking out with his freshly brewed coffee to his office.
“Uhhh anyway, patient in room 509 died last night from cardiac arrest, so yeah that’s it. Bye.” Inunaki crumbles his report papers into the data trash and rushes to grab his bag to leave.
“See ya losers tonight. Have a great shift.” Inunaki calls over his shoulder, as he heads out.
“Bye Inunaki!” Hinata chirps after him.
Tomas walks over to Atsumu and Bokuto and pats them encouragely on the shoulder, taking his leave as well.
Atsumu places his face into his hands and groans in frustration.
At 7:30 after Bokuto and Atsumu finish their rounds, the blonde writes his reports on the patient chart. Writing down the vitals and the skin condition from patient in room 506, he feels strange all of sudden. Like a dark cloud that is nearing towards him.
As Atsumu turns around, his fears are confirmed as he sees a young 6’3” man with pitch black curly hair and a medical mask partially covering his scowling face. His coat fits his figure perfectly.
Upon further glance, Atsumu notices that the stranger’s sparkling white coat and black scrubs are completely free of wrinkles, hair perfectly done, like he comes fresh out of a model magazine.
His stature is proud and Atsumu can already tell, he is a very arrogant guy.
Just what Atsumu needs on the station.
He turns back to the papers and the stranger is stopping right next to him, staring at Atsumu without a word.
“What?” Atsumu asks him with an arched eyebrow.
“I need the charts for room 510 and 506.” The hot doctor demands.
“And yer are …?”
“The new medical resident. Dr. Kiyoomi Sakusa.” He introduces himself.
“Well I ain’t done charting yet, so ya hafta wait ‘til I am finished.” Atsumu continues to write.
Sakusa peaks over Atsumu’s shoulder.
“I can’t read your handwriting. It’s chaotic and messy.” Sakusa bluntly states.
“Tough shit buddy, not my problem.” Atsumu replies back without looking at him.
Just by that comment, Sakusa feels a vein bursting from that comment.
“Why aren’t you wearing a mask on the floor? Do you know how many viruses, bacteria and whatnot are in the air?”
“Is the word nagger yer middle name? Sheesh. I can’t breathe right if I wear a mask the whole 12 damn hours. Also, cannot hide this beautiful face from the world.”
Sakusa doesn’t say anything, just stares angrily at the blonde.
Hinata comes out of room 509, noticing the new worker giving Atsumu glares that could have him burst into flames.
Deciding to save his ass from a possible intervention, he moves to room 505, where Bokuto currently is.
“Bokuto! I think the new resident is here! Looks like him and Atsumu don’t get along.”
The buff golden-eyed man finishes putting a new plaster on the surgery wound on the patient’s chest, before taking off his gloves and throwing them into the nearby trash.
Disinfecting his hands, he grabs the new IV bottle and hooks it up to the patient.
“What do you mean? Are they already fighting? Is it as bad as when Dr. Oikawa was here for his residency?” Bokuto asks intrigued.
Hinata thinks for a few moments and follows Bokuto out of the room.
Stopping right in front of the patient’s door, Bokuto and Hinata can see Atsumu and the stranger giving each other deadly glares while talking to each other.
Before the fight can escalate into something physical, Bokuto steps in.
“Hey hey hey! Are you the new resident that Meian told us about?” The over friendly man asks.
The dark-haired doctor glances at Bokuto with a scowl so deep, it sends shivers down his spine.
“Yes. And your awful excuse of a station boss is being very unprofessional.” He growls while looking back at Atsumu.
Atsumu glares right back at him, puffing his chest up a bit.
“It ain’t my fault this fucking idiot doesn’t speak manners. I told him that I wasn’t done writin’ the charts and he keeps demandin’ them like the spoiled brat he is.”
“Do you want me to report you Miya? Give me the damn charts.” Sakusa warns him.
“No.” He stubbornly replies.
Bokuto observes the banter with curious eyes, Hinata watching the scene while hiding behind his coworker’s broad back.
“Haha okay, I think we should all calm down. It’s Monday and it’s…”- Bokuto squints his eyes at Sakusa’s ID - “Sakusa’s first day here. Tsum just give him the charts, I am sure he’ll bring them right back.”
It’s an uncomfortable silence for a while.
Suddenly, the door to Meian’s office opens.
“Sakusa, I really need the charts now. What’s taking so lo-“ Meian interrupts his sentence as he watches his new resident and the nurse have a glare battle of death.
“What’s going on?” The chief asks with a deep sigh.
“He’s being a scrub-“
“He’s being a difficult -“
Both start, making Meian’s annoyance level rise rapidly.
“You’re BOTH being difficult. Atsumu just give him one chart at least, so he can learn about the patient’s diseases and medications. Just switch out after you are done. You’re both full grown adults, I expect high-skilled professionalism on my floors. Are we clear?” Meian scolds in a dark tone.
Atsumu looks away in shame, mumbles a quiet ‘yes sir’.
The other medical professional just nods, also keeping his head down.
Grabbing the file from room 510, Atsumu holds it out for Sakusa to grab, only to quickly snatch it back, as soon as Sakusa tries to grab it.
The cardiologist is about to lose his shit and is just mere seconds away from strangling the smirking good-looking nurse in his dark blue scrubs.
“Miya.” Meian warns in a threatening tone.
“Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.” Atsumu cackles.
Sakusa forcefully grabs the papers from Atsumu and walks into his own office that he‘s been assigned.
Without saying anything, the angry ravenette goes inside and closes the door for some peace and quiet.
Atsumu still can’t wipe off his smirk, kind of feeling proud for making the new resident so angry.
Meian returns to his office as well after having a quick chat with Bokuto about the patient that is currently in the ICU.
‘Well Sakusa Kiyoomi, you‘ll learn soon enough that things won’t go your way like they did in medical school‘ , Atsumu hums in his head, before preparing the patient that has passed away for inquest.
3 Months later ~
Not much has changed at the CPU in the Osaka hospital.
Well to be honest, Sakusa and Miya are on a warpath.
Whenever those two would cross each other on their path, it always ends up in a mix between spitting curses and insults at each other.
Atsumu is currently on his break while Inunaki is on watch out for call lights or questions from doctors or family members from patients.
Eating the bento box of fried egg and fried rice with steamed vegetables that his twin brother and roommate Osamu has prepared for him the other day, he scrolls through TikTok to watch some stupid shit that pops up on his feed.
Sakusa enters the break room, not saying a word to Atsumu.
Grabbing his own food out of the fridge, Sakusa puts his broccoli-beef dish into the microwave, after inspecting it for stains and remaining leftovers.
“You know, eating so many carbs is not good. And… are you washing that down with an over-sweetened beverage from an overpriced food chain?“
“I don‘ fink I ashked for yer opinion Omi.“
Sakusa twists his face in disgust, as he listens to Atsumu talk with food in his mouth.
“Your manners are atrocious, Miya. I feel sorry for your partner.“
Atsumu swallows, collecting the rest of the vegetables onto his chopsticks.
“Good thing I don’t have one then.“ The blonde replies without looking at his coworker.
To be honest, it was unexpected for Sakusa to hear that Atsumu doesn’t have a partner.
The blonde is fit, he is jaw-dropping gorgeous, his smile could cure cancer but then again, his shitty personality ruins the looks.
The distracting noise of the microwave beeping snaps Sakusa out of his shock, taking the hot bowl out of it. Starting to walk out of the break room, Atsumu asks him a question that makes him stop.
“What about you?” Atsumu asks while he stares at Sakusa with a spark of interest in his eyes.
Sakusa has his back turned to Atsumu but answers nonetheless.
“What about me?”
“Do ya have a partner?” He clarifies.
Sakusa waits a few seconds, wondering if this kind of information is okay to share with someone he doesn’t particularly like.
“No. I don’t.” Sakusa leaves after that.
Atsumu has a small smile on his face after receiving the information, packing away his bento box to get back to work.
A few months later during the night shift, Atsumu is watching a Volleyball game with Inunaki. Well more like Atsumu watching it, while Inunaki is snoring in the comfy chair in the corner of the room, while a thick warm blanket covers his body up to his face.
Rubbing his tired hazel eyes, Atsumu sips another gulp of his energy drink, trying to stay awake.
All of sudden, the annoying beeping noise of a call light startles the blonde nurse.
Inunaki jolts up at the noise but Atsumu tells him he‘ll take care of it.
Mumbling a incoherent sentence, Inunaki falls back into the chair with a huff and moves onto his side and pulls the blanket closer to his body.
Lowering the volume of the game, Atsumu stands up to see who hit the call light.
It’s room 510, an elderly man who has an infection in his pacemaker is currently hospitalized in that room.
As Atsumu enters the room, he warns the patient of turning on the light before turning off the call light.
Before the blonde nurse can even ask, he immediately sees that the bedside next to the patient‘s arm is wet, which indicates that the IV is not good anymore.
With a tired sigh, Atsumu stops the fluid from dripping any further and takes out the IV.
After changing the bedsheets and hospital gown, Atsumu disinfects his hands and makes his way to the doctor on duty tonight, which is Dr.Pain-In-My-Ass-Kiyoomi Sakusa.
Without knocking on the door, Atsumu enters Sakusa’s office.
The curly-haired ravenette is currently typing away with a concentrated look on his MacBook, not even looking up at Atsumu.
“Can you maybe bother knocking next time before you disgrace me with your presence Miya?”
Scowling at what Sakusa said, Atsumu crosses his arms and tells the cardiologist what he came for originally.
“Patient in room 510 needs a new IV.”
“Fine. I’ll get to it later when I have time.”
“Can ya maybe do it now? So the guy can get his antibiotics before he dies? And so I don’t have ta wake up the poor guy again at-“ Atsumu glances at his Apple Watch- “fucking 2 AM.”
“I said I will get to it when I get to it Miya. Get out.” Sakusa hisses behind his screen.
Scoffing at his answer, Atsumu turns around to walk out and mumbles “prick” under his breath and that was the final straw for Sakusa.
“Miya you have something to say to me?” Sakusa asks in an aggressive undertone, closing his MacBook.
Stopping in his tracks, Atsumu keeps his back facing towards Sakusa.
“Ya know what? Yeah I do have somethin‘ ta say.“ Turning on his heel, he whips around to face the pissed-off resident.
“Yer actin’ all mighty-highly like ya found a cure for cancer. I bet they kissed yer ass in med school because they think they found the eighth wonder of the world. Well I got newsflash for ya buddy! Just because ya came from an expensive as shit private medical school, doesn’t make ya better than any of us! And also, just ‘cus Meian thinks yer a special snowflake, don’t mean I think you are! Yer a rude, entitled little sea urchin!” Atsumu vents as he glances down at Sakusa.
Sakusa still has his death glare resting on his face, slowly getting up from his desk chair, around his table.
Atsumu can now see Sakusa’s dark bags under his eyes much clearer, his black curls messy and unkempt, with dark red wrinkly scrubs hanging loosely on him.
The nurse doesn’t like that his opponent is a few inches taller than him but as he stares into his dark eyes, he feels like he is being pulled into the eternal darkness of them.
"Get. Out. Of. My. Office.” Sakusa speaks slowly in a very dangerous tone as he takes a step closer to the nurse with each word. Normally Atsumu would punch a guy like Sakusa but for some strange reason, it ingnites a fierce fire inside of Atsumu’s heart. The blonde hasn’t felt like this in a very long time and it seems like Sakusa feels that wildfire spread to him because the next thing Atsumu feels, are fierce yet soft lips on his own.
The action makes Atsumu’s breath hitch in his mouth but it’s like his body is not listening to him and he automatically kisses the ravenette back with as much force.
The physician grabs a hand full of soft sandy-blond hair and pulls on it harshly. The action makes Atsumu want to moan loudly but it’s muffled by slightly chapped lips against his own.
Sakusa uses the chance to sneak his mouth into the blonde’s mouth and tastes strawberry flavor of the energy drink and skittles that Atsumu has previously consumed.
Sighing in bliss, their tongues fight for dominance, with the cardiologist easily winning it.
But all of sudden, as if Sakusa put his hands into a fire, he retracts so quickly from Atsumu in just a blink and stumbles back into his desk.
Both of them breathing heavily, the blonde is in daze whereas the ravenette looks as pale as a sheet of paper.
"Kiyoomi? Ya okay?” Atsumu takes careful steps towards him only to be stopped by Sakusa.
"S-Stop. Don’t come near me. T-This was a mistake. Please get out. I’ll put an IV in the patient, just please get out.” He manages to stutter out in like an almost panicking manner.
The words feel like a punch to the gut to the cardio nurse but he follows the request and leaves without another word or glance at him.
Walking back into the break room, Atsumu slowly sits down, still trying to process what just happened.
Inunaki wakes up at the sound of his coworker sitting down.
Seeing his flustered face while still having a shocked expression, the light-haired nurse worries for Atsumu.
“Tsumu? You okay?”
Barely registering his words, Atsumu nods without saying anything first, like he is in trance.
“Yeah, uh… yeah, I am fine.” The blonde assures him.
Shrugging it off, Inunaki immediately falls back asleep, while Atsumu is still trying to process in his brain what the fuck just happened.
Slowly raising his fingers to his lips, he can still feel Sakusa’s warm and soft lips against his own, as if they left a trace on him.
Atsumu can’t help but smile slightly at the fact that the grumpy and stiff Dr. Kiyoomi Sakusa kissed him back.
\(^-^)/ stay tuned for part 2 ❤️
@darthferbert @rukia-uchiha-98 @nerd-of-karasuno @wake-uptoreality
#haikyuu!!#haikyuu#inarizaki#atsumu miya#miya atsumu#sakusa kyoomi#sakusa x atsumu#atsumu miya x kyoomi sakusa#sakusa fanfiction#nurse!atsumu#doctor!sakusa#haikyū!!#hinata shouyou#bokuto kotaro#sakuatsu#based on a fanart#itachiyama#haikyu#haikyuu au#Hospital au#adriah thomas#inunaki shion#sakusa kiyoomi#sakusa kiyoomi x atsumu miya#kissing#highly suggestive#bickering between sakusa and atsumu
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I miss bestfriend Osamuuuuu 😫
he has gone into witness protection
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haikyuu boys when protective of you
most likely gets into a fight, does throw the first punch, and dramatically whines afterwards, forcing you to be his personal nurse ATSUMU, TANAKA, nishinoya, terushima, IWAIZUMI, hoshiumi
so insulting and almost degrading to whoever is threatening you that the offender ends up leaving out of embarrassment TSUKISHIMA, shirabu, KUROO, kenma, sugawara, daishou, akira, SUNA, kageyama, ushijima, futakuchi, hanamaki
YOU'RE the one who is protecting them SAKUSA, hachi, bokuto, YAMAGUCHI, GOSHIKI, asahi, tendo, AONE, oikawa (somehow), koganegawa, LEV
does his best to diffuse the situation, but ultimately leaves angry and mentally hexes them KIYOKO, akaashi, KITA, DAICHI, hinata, yaku, hirugami
spends the night in jail KENTARO, semi, yamamoto, mattsun, OSAMU
#haikyuu angst#haikyuu breeding#haikyuu smut#haikyuu texts#haikyuu#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu yandere#haikyuu pregnant#haikyuu headcanons#haikyu x reader#haikyū!!#haikyuu fluff#oikawa tooru#iwaizumi hajime#kageyama tobio#hinata shouyou#tsukishima kei#daichi sawamura#sugawara koushi#asahi azumane#yamaguchi tadashi#bokuto kōtarō#akaashi keiji#tanaka ryuunosuke#nishinoya yuu#kiyoko shimizu#kyoutani kentarou#kuroo tetsurō#kenma kuzome#sakusa kiyoomi
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he doesn't mean to make you sad, you know that. it's just that, when atsumu's upset it becomes everyone's problem—yours especially.
you don't know how it starts. atsumu had been bouncing off the walls just a moment ago, drunk off of booze and the afterglow of victory. you don't know which one of his teammates had invited her to the after-party, just that right now, you can't help but hate them.
it's just for a second, but you catch it. the way his eyes immediately dim, how his hand falters around yours. you don't want to jump to conclusions, but it's obvious—atsumu's in love with her. painfully so.
he drops your hand as if burnt and turns away, letting himself be carried off into another conversation. atsumu laughs loud enough to be heard over the music, a deafening house mix that thuds through your chest like a second heartbeat. anyone else might not spare him a second glance, but you know that when atsumu laughs that loud there's something he's trying to hide. then, as if remembering that you're still there, atsumu turns over his shoulder. you answer before he can ask the question.
"no no, go ahead. go have fun!"
atsumu tilts his head, though you know he's only asking to be polite. "are you sure?"
you smile. "no worries."
it's a bold-faced lie, but atsumu's never been that good at paying attention. he returns your smile with an excited nod, letting himself be led away by the shoulders. "don't go anywhere!" he shouts, though you know later on he'll forget to come find you. that's the way it always is. always has been.
you nurse your drink against your chest—water, you don't have the stomach tonight—and try to look on the bright side, if there is one. atsumu had been the one to invite you, hadn't he? and though you're still "just friends", he'd held your hand earlier, so that has to count for something, right?
it's useless. you down your water in one go, figuring that if you treat it like alcohol it might work like it is. it doesn't, and now you're alone at this party with an empty cup and an even emptier hand.
you sigh and snake your way out of the kitchen, making your way up the stairs to the first door that opens. the upstairs is off-limits, but you hope that whoever owns this room is drunk enough to be forgiving. you don't even bother to turn on the lights, and instead flop backwards onto the bed. you feel the music downstairs rather than hearing it, a steady thump-thump-thump that shakes through you from head to toe.
you close your eyes, trying very hard not to think about atsumu and the girl he's still in love with downstairs. it's not your place to be bothered, that you know, but something in your chest still aches at the thought. you've loved atsumu since before he met her, after all. it's a shame he hasn't noticed. or maybe he's not noticing on purpose, which is considerably worse.
"woe is me," you say to no one, your voice biting with sarcasm. you're not shocked at how things are turning out, moreso that you thought it'd turn out any differently. with a sigh, you close your eyes. atsumu will find you eventually. and if he doesn't, then someone else will. you'd rather be cursed at for trespassing than anywhere downstairs, faking a smile as you wait for atsumu like a well-trained dog. at least here you can lick your wounds in private.
you don't know how much time has passed when you feel something press into your side, warm and solid. arms wrap around you: one slung over your waist, the other snaking its way under your head. you turn in confusion, seeing nothing in the dark.
whoever's holding you down reeks heavily of liquor, and their arm feels like a dead weight around you. when you try to pull it off they hold onto you tighter, mumbling something incoherent under their breath. "um, hey," you say loudly, voice hoarse with sleep. "get off of me."
the person beside you stirs, and the bed dips slightly as they prop themselves up. they mumble your name under their breath, and in the dark you can make out the vague outline of a face.
with a start, you realize you recognize that voice. "...osamu?"
he lies back down, bringing you along with him. "h-hey," you start to protest, but osamu's grip grows stronger in response.
"don't leave," he mumbles, as you try to sit up.
"but—"
"m'head hurts. shhh." osamu shushes you, curling up against your side. his hair tickles the side of your reddening cheek.
"hey, osamu." you try to move out from under his arm again, to no avail. "you're really drunk."
"and?" he counters, pulling you closer, almost possessively. "just pretend for a little while."
that catches you off guard. "pretend?"
"it's dark, so it's easier," osamu refuses to elaborate. "c'mon. it's my birthday."
"osamu, your birthday's in october."
"is it?" there's an uncharacteristic cheekiness to osamu's voice, one that makes you turn your head towards him in surprise. you can't see him, but you can tell from the warmth that his face is only inches away. "well it's somebody's birthday, somewhere."
something touches your cheek—osamu's hand? no, his face. somewhere near his chin, guessing by the stubble that scratches your skin. "just do me a favor and pretend i'm him," osamu says, and in that moment he sounds scarily sober.
"wh-what?" you can't help the way your mouth hangs open at the request, your stomach feeling like it's about to drop out of you.
"you heard me," osamu mumbles, back to being drunk again. "pretend i'm him. you know what i mean."
"you—what—that's not—"
"am i wrong?" osamu presses, raising his voice like he's imitating his brother. it works. osamu's fingers trace across your face, reading the shock on your face like braille. you turn your head and press your nose to his neck—no cologne, only the soft smell of skin. it can't be atsumu, but for a moment, you're fooled.
osamu tilts his head and sighs, slow and sweet. and when his lips brush your forehead, it's like everything you've ever dreamed. "i'm right," he breathes, nestling his head against your shoulder. it's not a question anymore, but a fact. "i'm right," he sing-songs, still painfully drunk.
"osamu—"
a hand covers your mouth, warm and firm. softer than atsumu's, and just a bit bigger. "don't say my name like that," he whispers, his voice hot against the shell of your ear, "say it the way you say his."
you swallow an audible gulp. "osa—osamu?" you try again.
osamu shakes his head. needy hands pull you in by the waist. you feel osamu's lips kiss up the side of your neck. "not like that," he murmurs.
"o-osa...mu..." you're breathless and dizzy. you feel osamu's smile against the underside of your jaw.
"better," he grins, and this time, his lips find yours.
it ends before you can even react. osamu pulls away with a shaky exhale, as if he's slowly waking from a dream. his eyes shine back at you in the dark, wide and unblinking.
he opens his mouth to speak. "i—"
"you're drunk," you say immediately, and push him away by the chest.
osamu doesn't let you. he brings his hands over yours and keeps them there, and under the thin cotton of his shirt you feel his heart beating rabbit-fast. "so? i'll still want you when i'm sober."
his words choke your own out of your throat. "osamu...i can't—"
"so don't. don't do anything. just stay the night." there's a desperation in his words that makes your stomach flip. osamu holds onto you like he's afraid to let go. "please."
it's late, and you're tired. atsumu's in love with someone that isn't you, but osamu's arms are warm enough to make you forget. you think to yourself: is it selfish if he's willing? are you cruel for wanting to pretend?
you wrap your arms around his neck and osamu relaxes, melting into you the same way butter does on toast. he's soft, comforting. familiar, but not the same. osamu's lips brush on your neck again and the impact shudders through your spine like electricity. he takes his hands and rubs them over your arms, thinking that you're cold. you don't want to tell him that in reality you're burning up, feeling hot everywhere he touches.
"thank you," osamu murmurs into your hair.
"for what?"
"stayin'."
and when osamu kisses you a second time, you don't have the heart to push him away.
#spwrites#haikyuu#haikyuu x reader#miya osamu#miya osamu x reader#miya osamu x you#osamu x reader#osamu x you#drabble#light angst#unrequited#x reader#i have lots of thoughts about miya osamu#he is very gorgeous to me
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Hey if you’re ever not busy can you do a Suna fic where he just got his wisdom teeth removed😭I’ve seen it done on so many haikyuu characters but Suna and I think it’s so cute. You also write him the best😓
THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR THE KIND WORDS AND THE ADORABLE PROMPT 😭💖💖💖
—-
The nurse told you that they’d used a strong anesthetic because of how impacted his teeth were, but when it took them quite a few times to finally wake him up, you knew you were in for a ride.
Rintaro always hated the dentist. Always. He blames it on childhood trauma (he didn’t have any. He never brushed his teeth and that was his problem) but up until last night, months after his dentist told him he’d need an extraction as soon as possible, he’d been trying to get out of it.
Deep down, seeing him so relaxed in the chair was a relief. The teeth were out, now he has to heal. Easy enough.
You smile as you make your way over to his slowly waking body, taking his hand gently in yours to be the first thing when he woke up. Kissing the knuckles finally had him stirring, and he blinked those bleary green eyes open at you, you practically saw the hearts forming in them.
“Morning, sunshine,” you coo, moving your free hand over to card the messy locks of hair from his face. “How do you feel?”
He tries to speak, but it comes out as a croaky ‘guhhh’ and from a few feet away, the nurse chuckles.
“He’ll have some nasty cotton mouth- literally- for the next few days, but communication should be normal as he starts to wake up,” she says, snapping the gloves off her hands. Then, she passes you the care directions, “no rush. If you need anything, just press the buzzer.” At this point, Rintaro has taken the liberty of grabbing all the gauze he can to put in his mouth. You assume it’s to absorb all the spittle.
“No, no honey,” you chuckle, gently grabbing his hands and pulling the damp cloth out easily. “Be careful. We can change your gauze when we get home.”
“I ‘ont wonna shange my gods,” he mumbles, resting his hands on yours. “‘Ike my gods.”
“Gauze, baby,” you titter. You lean over to plant some kissed onto his forehead, hoping your affections will ease him back more. “The nurse said you might be woozy when you stand, so let’s take it slow okay?”
“Yesh, bosh,” he slurs out. He blinks his foggy eyes before letting them wander around the room, over the sharp objects and wooden cupboards, all before wandering back to you. They widen before a brow quirks in confusion, "who're you 'gain?"
"Me?" You snicker. "I'm the one who's gonna keep you alive for the next few days. Your parents are away, so you're stuck with me." You turn your head slightly, "though that may be the other way around."
"Keep me 'live?" Now, he gives you a small, messy smirk. "'re too schexy to keep me 'live."
"Are you hitting on me?"
He doesn't answer you. Instead, he lets out a small string of laughter, head rolling around his neck in haze. You snort before opting to move him up and out of the room, "come on Romeo. Before you pass out on me."
"nuh-uh," he argues. You, however, choose to ignore him.
It's hard to pay attention when there's a pile of 185 centimeter man on your right shoulder, saying goodbye to every hygienist, dentist, secretary, patron, and flower on the sidewalk on the way to the car. There's a slurp from the spittle in his mouth that rings in your ear and makes you want to gag, but you chose to count some of your blessings.
He's at least mobile- unlike the horror stories you've heard about Osamu falling asleep in the seat while Atsumu wailed about the bandaid on his arm.
Finally, you and your oaf are able to make it to the car, his eyes closed in an attempt to sleep, and you jostle him awake slightly.
"I need you to work with me just a bit longer, okay?"
"When'd we get ousside?" He slurs.
"Not long after you said goodbye to the flowers," you say, rolling your eyes. "Watch your head, babe."
He ducks under your guiding palm, but you're not fast enough before he bumps the crown of his head against the door frame, mumbling a soft "ow" before moving on. It takes everything in your power to not laugh at his poor expense.
"It's because you've got such a big melon head, booger," you tease, and he smiles softly.
"'Ike mewons."
"I know baby."
You buckle him in before closing the door. You give yourself a stretch before heading to the driver's side.
You hadn't had him out of your sight for 25 seconds before you open the door and see him with your chapstick, completely rolled up and making a move towards his mouth.
He's either eating it, or trying to apply it.
Neither sounds like a good idea.
“Rintaro!” You scold, reaching for the chapstick. “You can’t eat that! You’ll get sick!”
“You’re th'ick,” he grumbles, but he does release his hold on your chapstick. His head thunks back against the headrest, letting you buckle while he says one more round of goodbyes to the flowers.
"Gonna nap," he murmurs, and you chose not to fight him on it. "Don't pick mah nothe."
"Why the hell would I do that?" You ask, laughing as you start the car.
He doesn't answer you. He's too busy letting his jaw slack open and let out the wheeziest of snores. You put your hand on his thigh and squeeze lovingly, allowing the hum of the engine and warmth from the sun lull him to sleep.
He's out, he's comfortable, and you can't wait to tell him about how, even drugged out of his mind, he still tried to put the moves on you.
You'll have to leave out the head smacking, though. Let him blame himself for that bruising.
#im not proud at how long this took me to post#but leave me alone#suna rintaro#suna rintaro fluff#suna rintaro x reader#suna rintaro x gn!reader#suna rintaro x reader fluff#suna rintaro imagine#suna rintaro haikyuu#suna#suna fluff#suna x reader#suna x reader fluff#suna x gn!reader#suna imagine#suna haikyuu#haikyuu#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu imagine#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu x gn!reader#haikyuu x gender neutral reader#haikyuu x yn#haikyuu x you#haikyuu x y/n
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i wonder what will bully! miya twins and bully! suna react when they find out manager! chubby reader is sick? or maybe in their period with the most painful cramps known to mankind? hahaha been thinking this for a while now😓
they get a little worried. yeah, worried.
it was annoying at first why you didn't show up at practice and it was boring as hell. the drills they were doing was little less entertaining without you. they don't see your body jiggling, chasing the stray balls to be put away and you're belly being squished from how many water bottles you are carrying or see yourself trip.
so when one late afternoon practice, they don't see you prepping up for the practice they just shrugged it first. maybe you're running late or you're putting up for the paperwork. when you didn't show up something is definitely wrong.
as bad you don't want to join the practice, you didn't want to ditch your duty as the manager even it costs being made fun of those trio whom you always made their days complete when they get a good laugh out of you. you just have to make this cramps go away or whatever call the saints or something just to get through with your monthly problems.
they find out you were curled up in the nurse's office. a heating pad in your stomach while you passed the time in your own little area until atsumu's voice rang to the small office and finding you resting on the bed.
“awww, poor baby.” atsumu feigns concern. plopping beside you and the two following suit. you remained motionless not wanting to move in order to avoid putting pressure on your abdomen. “does this hurt so much?” suna asks. you nodded and his cold hands creeps under your shirt to rub your round belly. squirming, you found yourself to be in more relief, you wouldn't say that.
“i heard sex helps with cramps.” atsumu commented. looking at his twin with a mischievous smirk in his face. “oh, really.” osamu's replies in a monotonous voice but his hands are in your thighs pawing at your skin.
“then, maybe let's put it to test.” and they all nodded in agreement.
#꩜ ⋮ shai's thirst/drabbles⸝⸝#chubby reader#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu#suna x reader#miya twins#miya osamu#miya atsumu#haikyuu x chubby reader#anime x reader#miya osamu x reader#miya osamu x y/n#miya atsumu x reader
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That Time I Made My Brother Hide In The Bathroom To Talk To A Girl
word count: 876 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.
pairing: post-time skip Atsumu x chubby!Reader
genre: fluff
warnings: spoilers
a/n: this is a continuation of How You Met but can be read as a standalone
____________________________________________
Atsumu was pouting.
Not only had he played one of the best games of his life when he spotted that cute chubby girl from the bus stop in the ranks but during a timeout he had snuck over to your stand and called over the cheering crowd if you‘d wanna grab dinner with him. And you got all bushy again and told him you‘d love to! (Actually, you had only nodded and mouthed “Okay“ but that was a technicality.)
And now this! During the fifth set Bokuto had stumbled when he landed after a spike and crashed into him. Long story short, Atsumu‘s arm was now in a sling and he was stuck in a stupid hospital on this stupid Saturday when he was supposed to wow you with his infinite charm tonight.
Wallowing in self-pity, he threw his head back on the pillow and groaned loudly.
A nurse opened the door, professional concern in her tone.
“Are you in pain, sir?“
“Physically or mentally?“, he asked, eyes still closed.
“Uhm… I see. Well, call if you need anything.“
And she left again.
He wanted to grab his phone to reread your (rather short) chat for the 6th time that day but was interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Well, ya look like crap.“
“Samu! What‘re ya doin‘ here?“
“I saw yer incredibly subtle Instagram story. How yer feelin‘?“
“Fine.“, Atsumu mumbled but pointed at his right arm, “Just sucks, ya know.“
Then he sniffed the air and his face brightened a little.
“Did ya bring me food?“
Osamu grinned and took off his backpack to produce mountains of Atsumu‘s favorites.
“Yer the best, thanks.“
But just as Osamu was setting up the little food tray next to his bed, Atsumu perked up.
Through the window of the door he spotted a cute chubby figure currently talking with the head nurse at the reception desk, a bundle in her hands that looked suspiciously like food.
“Ya gotta hide.“
Osamu frowned.
“What?“
“Quick, quick! Come on, hide!“
“Why, what‘s goin’ on?“
“Come on, I‘ll explain later. Hide in the bathroom or somethin’.“, Atsumu urged.
Osamu was way too used to his twin‘s antics to question it much further and so headed towards the ensuite but Atsumu hissed, “Take the food with ya, quickly!“
“Ya gotta be kiddin‘…“
But he picked up the tray and as instructed made his way to the bathroom. Not a second too soon.
Atsumu had just put on his best “beaten hero“ face, filled with sorrow and pain, when the door opened a third time and you stepped in. In the reflection of the window he saw how flushed your cheeks were and how awkwardly you held the bundle. You were just too cute. But he closed his eyes and took a deep theatrical breath before turning to face you.
“Oh, y/n. What are ya doing here?“
“I thought you must be disappointed that you couldn‘t finish the game yesterday and… yeah. Plus, we were supposed to see each other today. I‘m sorry if this is too forward, but I brought some food to help you recover.“
Beaten heroes didn‘t squeak. They didn‘t giggle, nor kick their feet.
Atsumu took a deep breath to compose himself. “No no, yer cute. - I mean, this is very sweet of ya, thanks. Have a seat.“
He nodded to the side of his bed.
“Do you have a tray somewhere?“, you asked, looking around.
“Uhm, no, I think the nurses took it after breakfast. A-and“, he added quickly because it looked like you were about to get up to ask for a new one, “I‘m sure I‘ll be fine without one.“
“Alright then.“, you opened the bundle to produce a large square lunch box. When you opened it, steam rose from the fluffy rice, packed neatly next to the eggroll with sausage, grilled meats, pickled vegetables and fruit.
“Looks delicious.“, he said excitedly and tried to pick up the chopsticks with his left hand. When that didn‘t quite work out he swapped to the spoon but even that he could tell must have looked very awkward.
“Could… ya help me out?“, he asked with a small smile and you nodded, taking the spoon from him and scooping up some rice, then adding some meat on top.
When you lifted it to his lips, your hand was shaking so much that it was difficult for him to catch, so he brought up his left and closed it around yours, to keep it steady. Making eye contact for absolutely no reason but his own personal entertainment of seeing you blush, he held your gaze as he closed his mouth around the bite.
“Oh wow.“, he said while chewing, cheeks puffed and eyes widened in surprise, “This is really good!“
You smiled brightly and relaxed, loading up the next spoon.
____________
Meanwhile
Osamu sat on the bathroom floor, working his way through the lavish meal he had prepared for his brother, trying not to gag when he heard Atsumu flirting up a storm in the next room.
At some point he got so bored that he swapped the contents of his brother‘s shampoo and shower gel, making a mental list of all the ways Atsumu owed him for this.
____________________________________________
✨ @coffeesncats ✨
#atsumu x chubby reader#haikyuu x chubby reader#chubby reader#haikyuu fluff#msby atsumu#atsumu x you#atsumu x reader#atsumu fluff#hq atsumu#haikyuu atsumu#miya atsumu#hq fluff
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The Burden of Being
Summary: There was an Osamu who loved you once. Who loved Onigiri Miya so much he spent most of his waking hours there, supported loyally by the members of Hyogo Ward. A fire changes that and he and his twin brother adopt their old high school motto: we don’t need the memories. Now they’re gone and memories are all you have. So as an homage to the man you love, you reopen his restaurant back up for him.
Pairings: miya osamu x reader (romantic); miya atsumu x reader (familial); akaashi keiji x reader (platonic)
Content: angst; fluff; inaccurate portrayal of how amnesia works; there is a hospital scene; fem reader; reader eats meat; reader has depressive symptoms that are, for the most part, amateurly addressed; reader attends therapy; alcohol as a coping method; undiagnosed alcoholism; unhealthy coping mechanisms; cigarette smoker Akaashi; cigarette smoker Osamu; amnesiac Osamu; pro volleyball player Osamu; the characters are all in their mid to late twenties bc this fic covers the time span of 2+ years; long passages written within parentheses are memories; there is a mentionable size difference between Osamu and reader where reader can wear his clothes and it be too big for them
Word count: 22k+
A/n: the premise for this fic was born after binging The Bear; she's gone through 4 drafts, 2 of which were completely scrapped and rewritten, and strayed much further from the initial plot than I imagined, but she's here! Thank you The 1975 for writing About You which I binged just as hard and would rec listening to it while you read! Sets the vibe, you know? Anyways, I've talked too much (obviously) but if you read, know that I love you!
The day was Tuesday, the most unforgettably forgettable Tuesday to exist.
Your downstairs neighbor was doing laundry. Or upstairs. Someone was doing laundry that day because you remember the scent of down. It lifted into your bedroom, pressed into your sheets, and made it harder for you to wake up despite your phone’s incessant vibration.
A shounen ending song, the season finale. A matcha roll. A nurse who spoke with her fingers and head tilts. A walker with tennis balls at the bottom, an annoyed cab driver, and a tourist who smelled too strong of American deodorant.
They were all there. You remember.
The hospital was the same as ever. It had ample seating, not too busy, which you recall eased the burden on your heart (only slightly) if it weren’t for the reason you were in the hospital to begin with.
An elderly woman sat at the end in one of the chairs pushed against the wall, sucking on a candy that smelled like guava when you passed. Her walker was parked right next to the seat and someone, probably her daughter because she was younger but they looked alike –they shared the same nose– sat beside her on her phone.
There was a man in an obscenely large overcoat sitting in one of the middle aisle seats. You remember because you couldn’t help but be quietly jealous of his wear considering how cold it was in the lobby. And finally, a teenager who was crying on her phone, holding her stomach as she did. Her tears gave you courage, allowed you to slip them quietly down your cheeks and soaked them up with your sleeves when you got your moment alone, away from the rest of the family.
You weren’t there when Osamu got hurt. He was by himself in the restaurant, opening it up and getting it ready before everyone else arrived just like how he always insisted.
You weren’t there. But you do remember.
Ma held you in her arms the moment you turned the hallways. She was on her way to the cafeteria, grabbing something for Atsumu to eat. Her head was downturned, a doleful cadence in her steps, and it was obvious that she’d spent ample time shedding tears, but there was a quiet peacefulness to her. Acceptance.
Her phone call had been quick like a debrief. She mentioned an accident. A fire, a gas leak, and despite your gasp, quickly told you not to worry because the doctors said Osamu would be fine. She said to come when you could, because she was there and Atsumu was on his way and he was going to be okay.
Then when you arrived, she immediately started crying. She had pulled you into a hug, devoured your body into hers as she pressed her head into your chest to weep.
She cried before she even got to say hello. And you didn’t know then, but there was a hierarchy for the pain.
Atsumu bore Osamu’s, Mama Miya, her sons’. And with you on the outside, with you being the last arrival, you held all of theirs.
And gods, do you remember the pain.
Ma had warned you that Atsumu was attached to his brother’s bedside. He was hunched over in a chair pushed back so he could burrow his head into the crooks of his elbows. The steady rise of his back meant he was asleep, probably cried himself to it. It had been a long journey from Osaka to Hyogo, and just the news of his brother’s incident, the weeping he must have done in public and bedside, you didn’t even question his exhaustion.
With your eyes on Osamu’s still figure, you moved to rub your hand soothingly along the length of Atsumu’s back. Comfort him was your thought process. Comfort your brother because Osamu would have wanted you to.
Was it bad to say that, inside, burrowed deep in your selfishness, you felt relief? There was a certain calmness that Osamu had been lacking lately, like a Tuesday morning where he finally, begrudgingly, gave himself an extra day off.
It wasn’t until you felt liquid dip down your neck that you realized you were crying.
Dark hair sweetly tussled to the side, one hand held in Atsumu’s and the other loosely laid over his chest. The scene was a rewind to the past, a replica of a childhood stored in the photo albums you’ve perused more than once in the Miya family home, when sharing beds and staying up until dawn led them to sleeping in until noon. When was the last time you’d seen him so… calm?
If only there weren’t any bandages on his head. If only it didn’t take these kinds of circumstances to finally close his eyes, to allow himself an unlabored breath.
You pulled up a chair and situated yourself amongst them. Atsumu at Osamu’s right, and you at Atsumu’s. Rolling a hand over Osamu’s thigh, you tucked the blankets in, pressed it into the crevices, his soft body heavy under your ministrations. Neither of them noticed you. Osamu only shuffled slightly, tilted his knee to the side and then clenched Atsumu harder. Atsumu responded immediately and scooted in. You stayed beside them, observed from the side.
There was no bitterness to your actions. What they have is something different and sincerely, for them to even love you so much that their bond bent, that they made themselves flexible to fit you in, it had always been enough.
Atsumu was who you called when you couldn’t talk sense into Osamu. And Osamu was who you turned to when Atsumu’s pride refused to allow him to fully run to his brother.
Ma came later. She brought a matcha swiss roll for the both of you to share and Atsumu a complete bento. It roused both of her boys up. Atsumu woke up first.
He rubbed his eyes with the back of his left hand, the one still joined with Osamu’s and though he woke with his nose in the air, his freehand started reaching for you the moment he recognized you were there.
Your tears brought on his. His yours. Yours Ma’s. You held each other close and you whispered, because Atsumu could not bring himself to speak, words of consolation.
“He looks okay,” you muttered, eyes closed because you couldn’t chance a glance to look at him, to really, really look at him. “He’s going to be fine. He’s so stubborn. He’s going to be okay.”
Whether the words were salt or sugar on wounds, it was hard to tell because all that emptied from anyone’s eyes were tears.
No one expected to be here. Who did? Even when you watched Osamu sign the insurance policy and signed your name next to his just in case something happened. Something could never happen to you or Atsumu or Ma or Osamu. These were precautions to ease the heart, not the premise of a tragedy.
But even then, it would be dishonest for you to admit that Osamu’s accident was the most devastating part. You’re only being truthful because true pain began when Osamu woke up.
Atsumu noticed first. Even with his back to his brother, it was instinct that forced him to turn around. His groggy eyes were barely open. You could only see a slit of gray, drowsy and clouded like an overcast morning as his hand patted the edges of his bed as if in search of something. Of Atsumu.
The dutiful brother forewent everything. You, his ma, his bento, and immediately bent down to reach for his brother with both hands. He was at his side immediately, a cup of water brought to Osamu’s parched lips without a word before you could even recognize that Osamu was awake and against all disbelief, that he looked okay.
You took the napkin that was neatly folded atop of Atsumu’s bento, the one that had somehow been passed onto you and quickly made your way to Osamu’s side. To Atsumu’s side. And when Atsumu’s hand pulled back and Osamu resigned himself to a weary groan, eyes shut to take a physical break from all the hurt you were sure he was feeling, you handed Atsumu the napkin. He wiped the corner of his brother’s mouth with a gentleness you had never seen him bear.
An eerie silence persisted in the room as everyone held their breath. Osamu did so because of the aches and everyone else as a life vest because one wrong exhale felt like this reality could slip away.
It did. Frighteningly quick. Relief dissolved from your chest like cotton candy in water and all was left was this cloying and overbearing feeling of inconsolable despondence and disbelief because how? How did you end up here?
Osamu flinched when you pressed your hand against his thigh, a quick jerk that you surmised had to do with the fact that he had his eyes closed. You twisted your palm and stroked up, a move that you had done many, many times before, a premise to sex, a plea for comfort, and instead of him falling prey to your touch, he jerked out of your reach. There wasn’t even enough time for you to react because Atsumu had gripped your hand away between clammy fingers.
You looked between the two boys with a heart going brittle.
“What’s wrong, Samu?”
Said man took one quick glance at you before settling his gaze on his brother and a foreign expression passed him. Insecurity. He pressed himself deeper into his pillows and it forced Atsumu forward and you back as Osamu passed a glance to his mother.
He looked like a boy. And between exchanging glances at his mother and brother, Osamu couldn’t seem to find it in himself to return his gaze back to you.
Atsumu gripped his brother’s shoulder, “Samu, Samu. It’s okay. I’m here. We’re here.”
Osamu responded silently with a glazed stare that made Atsumu sputter. “Samu? Ya feel okay? Can ya tell me how ya feeling right now?”
The question seemed far too much to handle because all that was received was silence. Atsumu was hardly holding himself together with the tears that spilled from his eyes onto blotted, pink cheeks but you couldn’t bring yourself to move forward. You wanted to help carry this burden, hold Osamu like you’d done many times before, but the world felt skewed. Instead of being at his bedside, you felt like you were standing outside a window, watching the scene from a distance.
“Do ya… do ya know who I am?”
Ma broke first. You remember reaching backwards and gripping a wet hand full of used tissues, the fibers sticking to your skin.
“Samu. Samu.” Atsumu repeated his name over and over again like prayer, an incantation meant for miracles. “Samu. Say my name.”
“Tsumu.” The small croak was accompanied by the mildest glare, a small fire of insult always and specifically reserved for his brother and Atsumu choked.
“Fuck. Yeah, yeah, yeah. That’s me. Ya remember our birthday?”
“October.”
“What day?”
His face pinched momentarily.
“What day, Samu?”
“What happened?”
“Nothing, nothing.” Atsumu tried to deflect, “just try to think about it. What day is our birthday, Samu?”
“Atsumu…” Ma finally gained the strength to speak, a tiny chide that she was too exhausted to actually give any weight.
“Fifth,” Osamu pushed himself to sound out, like the word was a foreign tongue.
“Yeah, that’s right.” Atsumu brushed his brother’s hair with his fingers and the sight was disconcerting because despite how close they were, how they were one part of a whole, they had never been so careful. A childhood of roughhousing and testing limits proved invincibility.
Bruises and beatings and cuts that they wrought on eachother and yet there Atsumu was, tending to his brother as if he’d been his caretaker all his life.
“Ya recognize anyone else in the room?”
“Course I recognize Ma, ya idiot.” He coughed in between, stutters forming one worded sentences, but the attitude brought on the brightest smile on Atsumu’s face.
“Yeah, and who else?”
You remember moving to lift your hand, the one pressed against your lips to keep them from trembling, the one that wasn’t holding Ma’s, to provide a shy wave but thank the gods it stayed. Because when Osamu finally urged himself to look at you, instead of the ardor and the sweet groggy expression right before early morning kisses, he winced in pain. You muffled the sound of shock, but no one noticed with Atsumu’s screeching chair as he rushed to hover over Osamu’s anguished figure.
He writhed for an achingly long moment, though it must have been just seconds. You would have ran off if Ma didn’t force her grip on you tighter but once Osamu could melt back into his hospital bed, Atsumu turned his head.
His expression was tight and so desperately trying to be controlled despite himself. But you weren’t an idiot because beyond the glassy edge of hurt and worry and fear, if you dove deeper beneath the well of tears that pooled in his eyes, was blame.
Atsumu turned his back to you and pressed his brother’s head into his chest as he rubbed large strikes across his back. “It’s okay, Samu. Sorry I pushed ya. Ya did well. Ya did good. Ya gonna be okay.”
And before Ma could stop you, you ran out the door with the excuse that you were going to find a doctor. You turned down the hallways, heedless of direction, where you were able to find what you thought was a secluded cove. The torment was gushing, a pain that you’d never felt or could even begin to understand. No matter how you expelled the misery, in tears or heaves or wracked out sobs, the hurt never abated. It was limitless.
Because for some ridiculous reason, this felt like all your fault.
You were only able to spend minutes crouched in the privacy of your corner until a nurse found you. It must have been a usual sight because she hovered over you, a quiet calm in her voice, as she led you away with a bottle of juice in one hand and into a room where no one else was. She said nothing, only passed napkins your way and didn’t blame you when you couldn’t find it in yourself to express gratitude. Afterward, she pointed down a long hallway and told you that when you were ready, that’s where the waiting room was.
Ma came by maybe an hour later. The pain at that point had swelled into your marrow, aching at every movement you made, but the bubbling river of tears had turned shallow. Now they were silent streams. You had spent the last half hour in solidarity with the teen who cried to her mom over the phone, catching glances every time a sniffle turned wet, and seated in the spot with a lingering guava and menthol scent.
Ma sat where the grandmother had, you beside her. Without glancing up, she placed the matcha roll in your hands, half eaten but notably uneven because you had the larger half.
Her touch lingered. It stayed. When it prompted more crying, the reality that you were a pitiable sight, that this wasn’t just shared between you and the girl with her arm around her stomach and the wordless nurse, the swollen bones in your body bursted.
Ma’s cold hands easily maneuvered you into her bosom. She held like you’d seen her hold Osamu in pictures when he was sick, like how she held Aran when he cried after coming back home after being away for so long.
“We’ll get through this.”
It sounded like an empty sentiment but if anyone were able to make the impossibles come true, it was Ma and Ma alone. You barely believed her, but maybe. Most likely not, but maybe, she was right.
So you nodded into her chest but she only clicked her tongue behind her teeth.
“Together,” she told you sternly, “as a family. I don’t want to hear none of that.” Ma held you tighter when she felt you pull away. “Ya’ve been my daughter for a long time now. Even if the two of ya never got married.”
You’d been trying to be so strong. For Osamu because it was obvious. He was your partner for life, and though the vows were never spoken, you had lived them. For all the good, the bad, the happy, and the sick.
But Atsumu, his pain was tenfold and you had to do something, even if it was to tread the thorny footpath to be by his side, even if it was just your hands cupped open so you could help carry his misery.
Then Ma held you like she was strong enough to piece you together again and you trusted her. Your wails were muffled into her cardigan and she rocked you back and forth despite the arms of the uncomfortable chairs in the way.
“It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t–” your breath ceased, words lingering in the air because living it is already unbearable enough.
“He does.”
“He doesn’t.”
“Ya think a love like the two of ya had is that easy to forget?”
It wasn’t. Or at least, it wasn’t supposed to. But the way Osamu had winced in pain at the sight of you, and Atsumu’s imperceptible glare, maybe it was best to be forgotten.
Ma took your silence as agreement because the circle of her arms loosened. She pulled back so that she could wipe your tears with a bent index finger.
It was jarring seeing the puffy rise below her eyes. She had always been beautiful in your opinion. A simple charm for life and the zest derived from raising two wildly vivacious boys kept her young. In a single day, she aged a decade and you wondered how you compared.
“The doctor is on their way. Come on,” she tapped you the same way she did whenever Atsumu started an unnecessary argument, “let’s go see what they have to say.”
Atsumu’s expression flashed in your mind, hesitation clenched her cardigan tighter, “but Atsumu…”
“Don’t be mad at Atsumu,” your throat had lurched when she looked away from you, head tilted to the side as if you had just slapped her across the face. “He’s going through a lot. He doesn’t know what to do.”
And you remember how your grip relaxed, how your arms had fallen into your lap, diminutive and so, very exhausted. Never did it cross your mind to be angry at the way any of them ached. Not Ma, not Atsumu, and especially not Osamu. If there was anyone you hated, it was yourself for even being there.
Ma said you were family. But Atsumu and Osamu, of course, they would always be her boys.
Osamu was asleep when you reentered the room and Atsumu held your hand as if nothing had ever happened. He stood up immediately when the doctor stopped by, eyes forward. Something had changed that day. Atsumu was a different man.
He’d have neverending stories of when he was captain at Inarizaki, and he liked to pass time by retelling another instance where he had to wrangle control of Bokuto, or Sakusa, or Hinata. Atsumu’s passion and sense of righteousness were great qualities for a leader, but his clumsy delivery always made him the butt of Osamu’s (among others) jokes.
That day had changed him. His footfall was sure despite his blemished expression as he listened faithfully to the doctor, only ascertaining everything you had already deduced.
It all made sense, logically, scientifically, situationally.
The fire was still being investigated but from the report, it had loosened the foundation of Onigiri Miya and it caused a beam from the ceiling to strike him flat against the head. He’d been knocked unconscious before the flames could even consume the restaurant and if it hadn’t been for the regulars and the community that had memorized their favorite restauranteur’s habits, no one would have even known he was inside.
As you all waited for Osamu to come to again, you’d rationalized the incident repeatedly in your mind. Reality though, was never as kind.
Because even in the tepid fluorescent light, you couldn't convince yourself. This could not be real.
It’s not. You knew this, but Osamu spoke with such vindication, honesty in every breath that even he had you fooled.
“Ya traded out Kageyama when we were six points down in the second set.” Osamu recited to his brother at his bedside, in the same spot, in the same clothes, in the same battered expression. “And I remember cheering ya on from the bench when ya set the winning point to Aran against Russia.”
The silence that followed was cold. A shiver started at the dip of your shoulder blades, and wrung you out like a towel squeezed dry.
The doctors had said something like this would happen. Memories could return a little misplaced, as if you had just moved everything two inches to the left because it exactly was as Osamu said.
In the 2020 Olympics, Japan faced Russia in the first round. They won the first set, but struggled hard in the second. To prevent risking their lead, Kageyama was subbed out for Atsumu. The tides had turned and they won with Aran scoring the last point.
Yes, Osamu was there. But rather than on the bench, he was outside the arena. You were manning the register and he’d stepped outside the final moments of the match, standing there with his arms crossed like a dad, cap in one hand, and head tilted at the enormous screen that streamed the ongoing match inside.
Atsumu was the one who made the first sound. It was strangled and faded when his brother gave him a peculiar look. Then he glanced at his mother, urging answers out with his eyes, staring at everything before landing at you. His face contorted in pain, but Atsumu saved him. He grabbed his brother’s cheeks, hair glued to his skin, and he pressed his forehead against his brothers, and nodded.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what happened.”
That was the extent of what you could take and you ran out of the room, droplets of your tears mingling with the tile’s speckled pattern, and when the door clicked again, you didn't have to look up to know who it was.
“I’m sorry.”
Through your blurry vision, the world graying, darkness descending right before your eyes, it was like you were speaking to Osamu himself.
“He looks happy for the first time and I’m so sorry.” The Atsumu-Osamu amalgamation held your hands desperately.
Their individualism had always been easy to parse, especially with you being devotedly in love with one and having developed a brotherly affection for the other, but you allowed yourself this. If your heart must break, let Osamu herald this pain. No one else.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He pulled you in by the shoulders and hugged you. He sniveled wet breaths into your neck just as you darkened the cloth on his back. “It’s the first time I feel whole.”
The sting reappeared between your nose and you found it harder to breathe so you clutched him tighter in a feeble attempt to expel all the excess tension that had ballooned in your chest.
“I know.”
Though the fact did little to ease you, you'd never been able to compare. What is Osamu’s had always been Atsumu’s and vice versa, too. Joint custody in all things: pride, success, pain.
Memory.
“And I don’t want to break that yet. Not for him.” Not for me he said silently. “And I love ya and I know ya love him. Ya love him so much and he loves ya too but–”
But I love him more. I love him in a way you could never.
“I know.”
Osamu would pinch your lips shut if he were really here. He’d never stand for your way of thinking because comparing yourself to his brother was a thought he never entertained.
That’s like apples to oranges or whatever that saying is. I chose ya. I choose ya for the rest of my life and I just happen to be stuck with that guy for life.
You took Atsumu’s face in your hands. Wet cheeks stuck to your fingers as you collected tears along your lash line until the world blurred just enough that blonde turned dark brown and golden rays faded to gray.
“- but I don’t want to take this away from him yet. Ya heard the doctor. He said we could try some exposure therapy so that his memory can unwonk itself out again, but ya saw that didn’t ya?”
Tears burned down your chin when you gave a somber nod, “I did.”
“When he was talking about being in the Olympics, I… I just–” he bit his lip, the memory painful, “ –and he got all those details correct, I just couldn’t tell him no.”
“I know.”
You couldn’t either.
“We’ll start the therapy when everything settles down. Maybe he’ll start remembering things on his own but it’s been a lot for him to deal with. The injuries, his memory, the shop–”
You shook your head and the man before you paused. He looked surprised with his mouth open for breath, but the foremost expression did not hide how he felt yesterday.
Your thumb started at the plump of his face and swiped up to the ridges of his cheekbones. A clean slate.
“It’s okay. Osamu will be okay.”
Your love was Osamu’s choice. Atsumu’s will always be shared.
After that day, you kept your presence minimal. Only occasionally stopping by, slowly relinquishing the things that the old Osamu, the one that knew you, valued. Each time, he’d hold the item like it was foreign. You watched from the corner of the room, like a diminutive decoration, maybe even a broom, and spectated as Atsumu helped him pull item after item.
The black hoodie, stained at the cuffs, and chewed strings at the ends, the one he had first shared with you.
(The night descended softly, like the flutter of silk sheets, and before you knew it, you’d been in Osamu’s front seat talking nonsense and sharing an assortment of leftovers he’d brought from Onigiri Miya. You’d only been talking for a couple of weeks, slowly getting to know each other outside of customer and cook, but it’s been months of patronage. When Osamu texted you after his shift and found you still awake despite your early start the next morning, he invited you out for a drive.
You’d heard him before he arrived, the worn out truck of his announcing his presence. He had the audacity to apologize for the poor state his vehicle was in, as if it wasn’t endearing, as if he didn’t make you feel like a princess when he held his hand across the console for leverage.
And here you are now, at a hilltop overlooking a beautiful city you’d moved to in a drowsy silence. His presence is calming, a knitted blanket that softens the bite of the night air. It doesn’t stop you from shivering though.
Osamu notices immediately, head snapping to you when you do.
“Ya cold?” he asks, but regardless of your answer, he’s taking action. The man braces a hand around your bare thigh since you’d only come out in sleep shorts and shirt (though you still made sure to check yourself in the mirror before heading out) and just the warmth beneath his touch makes you ache. You lean closer, just a slight movement over the console for any residual heat he has to offer, the seats of his vehicle a sharp contrast.
“Still working on fixing her,” Osamu explains, “she’s a little off in some spots. Her heater don’t work and she leaks some fluid every hundred kilometers but she’s still a beaut.”
Your smile makes Osamu pause. His body is turned as he tries to reach for something in the back, but just the sight of your expression makes him stop and fully face you so he can take it in.
You think it’s cute how he talks about his car, how despite all her flaws, he can see her value. The world has been hard on you, but he gives you hope. From the moment you met eyes on him at your office and when you walked into his shop months later, greeting you with a fond welcome because he remembered you, he makes you think that he can see your true value too.
And with the way he leans in, his eyes glancing between yours and your lips, his hand unknowingly dragging up and down for the feel of more skin, you think he does.
The kiss is chaste, so innocent like the first drop of sunlight in the winter. It warms you from the inside out with a crisp feeling that makes you feel renewed.
Barely a second, but Osamu has you wishing for more. You’ve noticed he has a tendency to do that, to have you eager and hungry for all that he has to offer. How from just one bite of his catered food to your office, you couldn’t help but visit his shop as well.
Though your lips have parted, your faces have not. Osamu’s lashes are long from this point of view, and his skin looks lovely in the moonlight. You’re so close that you can see the small veins, blue and greens below his eyes. The colors are so distracting, his breath so warm across your cheeks, you can’t help but stare, memorize everything before the chance to do so again is taken from you.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
His husky words create a vortex of desire, consuming you wholly. You can’t help but squirm in your seat.
“Like what?” You’re doing your best to keep it cool, but you can hear the fray in your voice, reedy and needy and wanting. It’s scary to even think of the power he has over you.
“Like,” his pause forces you to glance at him and you see it too, a mirrored expression of yearning. It’s so intense the way your barriers break. It’s scary. You want to pull away, escape the emotions that are hardly within your control but he tilts your chin with an index finger and thumb. The motion is so gentle, the slightest touch with the heaviest of meanings, and he continues to stare. Maybe even admire. “Yeah, like that. Ya gonna make me go insane.”
“Me too,” you whine. It’s unfair, so unfair what he can do just with his eyes.
His expression hardens. The corners of his eyes crinkles as he glares his sight down on you, “don’t. If I kiss ya again, I don’t know if I can control myself. Ya don’t know how bad I want ya.”
“I’m right here.”
Your reply induces a vexed response. He has to breathe heavily through his nose as he fully moves his fingers to cup your cheeks. You watch as his chest rises, the breadth of it expanding as the tendons in his neck protrude at the action. Then he looks down on you from a head that’s tilted back and you see it, the subdued hunger that you’re sure he’s trying to persuade back inside. It’s frighteningly beautiful. The attraction beckons you forward despite his grip on your face keeping you still in your spot.
“Why?” You have to ask. What is all this discipline for when clearly, it’s reciprocated.
“Because,” Osamu grits. His hand travels to the back of your head and you can feel the strength of his grip, the promise of more beneath his fingertips. “If I’m gonna wreck ya, I’m gonna wreck ya right. So quit being the devil’s little thing, and let me take ya out on a real date so I can have ya properly.”
You pout but his thumb moves to push the plump of your lips back in, “no, ya hear me? Ya keep those pretty lips in. Be good and I’ll promise I’ll treat ya even better. Ya okay with that?”
His dominance, the assuredness in his words but the ragged pitch in his voice, as if he’s hardly holding himself together, as if he wants this just as bad, or maybe even more than you do has you finally agreeing despite the fact that you’d give it all. Forget the shame or the ladylike propriety of saving yourself for when you’re sure. Lust is a persuasive speaker, but Osamu, he is a promise you want to ensure you’ll have.
“Good,” Osamu is pleased with your ascent.
His attention returns to his back seat and he pulls out a black hoodie for you to put on. When you pop your head through the collar, you don’t expect the confident man to suddenly be so bewildered, mouth agape and wrist hanging dumbly from the 12 o’clock position of his steering wheel.
“What?” you ask though you know the answer. It’s a giddy feeling to know there is a power balance between the two of you.
“Ya, uhm, ya,” Osamu coughs into his hand, turning his head away before looking back at you. “That shit’s old. All stained up and ragged but. Ya make it look good.”
You look down, sleeves well past your hands where you notice blots littering the cuffs. You can’t help but bring the strings up to eye level. There are teeth marks indenting the aglet and you give Osamu a dubious stare.
He shuffles, a nervous chuckle, “like to chew on them sometimes. Keeps my mouth busy.”
Then without a second thought, you bring it to your mouth to chew it on your own. If he won’t kiss you, an indirect kiss has to suffice. His agonized groan is worth it.
Osamu takes you out on an official date the very next day.)
Osamu spared one second for the article of clothing and tossed it to his night stand. You pretended that he didn’t just break your heart.
The next item was Vabo-chan, but not the same one Osamu had brought into your shared apartment. That one faced its demise after a neighbor’s dog ran inside when you accidentally left the door open and used it as a chew toy.
(“What are ya doing on the floor like that?” you hear the door to your bedroom creak but petulantly refuse to acknowledge him. His steps thud, hollow over the cheap wood of your home.
“Hey,” he nudges you with his foot, “ya asleep? Ya gonna hurt ya back if ya stay like that.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Are ya crying?”
“No!” Denying but not hiding, you curl into yourself even further.
Osamu bothers this time to actually hold you with his hands, gentler, more patient. He softens his tone too, “hey, hey. What are we doing?”
He waits for you to react, doesn’t continue pressing further and refuses to leave you alone.
“I’m so fucking stupid,” you lift your head up, fresh tears as you admit your failure. You expect Osamu to comfort you, abate the sting of your own proclamation. He stares at you for a moment before he starts laughing in your face.
“You hate me!”
“Hey, now that’s going too far. I don’t hate ya.”
“But you think I’m stupid.”
“Just occasionally. Like when ya make impulse decisions.”
Hearing him makes you scream into your palms. Osamu laughs and urges you into his lap.
“What’d ya do?”
He’s so mean to know you so well, all the good and the bad.
“Tell me. So we can cry together.”
You press your face into his shirt, using it as a napkin to wipe away your tears, ignoring his mild grunt of disgust when you do. “Remember when Vabo-chan got eaten? Well I bought you a new one to replace him because you were sad.”
“Did ya?” His voice sounds so surprised, it makes breaking the bad news feel even worse. “That’s mighty nice of ya. Doesn’t make ya stupid.”
“Okay, but—“ You scramble off him, knee digging into his thigh that he makes a noise of pain, to get a box tucked underneath the bed. Your hand runs across the frayed cardboard where it had ripped open from your excitement. Hesitation stops you but Osamu places his palm on top of yours. Careful and encouraging and though you know he’s going to laugh at you, you finally open it up but stop yourself by placing a hand on top of the item.
“I was so excited! Because they don’t sell him anymore, just the vintage ones that are super expensive.”
“I know.” He’d been talking about it with Atsumu and his Ma, conversations you’d overheard on the phone.
“But I saw it and it was super affordable so I bought it without thinking, but,” you look up at him and he smiles. It makes you hide your face in the box but he’ll eventually admit to you later on how cute you had looked then. How distraught you were on his behalf and that then, in that moment, he’d truly felt loved. “Don’t laugh!”
“I won’t.”
Your constant hesitation brings on Osamu’s impatience and he tries to pry your fingers away, “okay. Seriously. Don’t laugh or I’ll cry.”
“I told ya, I won’t.”
The plush comes out on your own accord and before he has any time to process the sight, you begin overexplaining. “It’s a counterfeit! They gave him a nose and his name is Bavo-kun. I’m so stupid!”
Osamu’s too quiet, expression unreadable as he looks at the stuffed toy. Your heart is teetering on the edge of a cliff, so close to falling off and on the verge of tears once again. Then he bellows out a solid bellow from the gut. Before you can crumble into embarrassment, Osamu pulls you back against him, squishing stupid Bavo-kun between you two and holding you tightly against his chest.
“I love him,” his voice turns wistful. “Bavo-kun.”
“I hate him. He’s so ugly.”
“That ain’t right to say about ya kid.”
“What?”
“Look at him.” His eyes fall to your chests, forcing you to take in the hideous sight of your failings. “He’s got ya nose.”
“That is not funny, Miya Osamu.”
“Oh no, Bavo-kun. She used my full name. What are we gonna do? Ma’s mad.”
You slap his chest. Bavo-kun is collateral damage, “don’t call me that!”
Osamu’s humor is all sorts of fucked up. His laughter is excessive, shaking the both of you that he loses his balance and you guys fall to the floor. A hand of his comes to cup your cheek, acting as a buffer before you thud onto the ground and with your heights at the same level, tears drying out, you can finally see his expression clearly.
He reminds you of gemstones at moonlight, the sparkle of something beautiful. Light cannot replicate it, only refract it. And though it’s close-lipped, his smile pulls you back from the edge, melts you to the ground and anchors you back with him.
“I love this life,” Osamu confesses, “This family. I love ya and our little mishap.”)
The way Osamu’s eyes had lit, you couldn’t help but clasp your mouth to hide the smile that blossomed beneath. It was devastating how despite it all, his joy elicited yours.
“Vabo-chan!” Osamu looked to his brother in an eager excitement. “Remember how we begged Ma to buy us this when we were little?”
“Yeah. Then we had a sleepover every night with the four of us. Tucked them in with their own pillow too”
Osamu lifted up the plush’s hands, fondness tight in his expression. His eyes roamed, though they were elsewhere, remembering the memories he never lost.
“Wait a second,” Osamu’s expression hardened. His hands traced over the lines on the Bavo-kun’s face, flipped him over to read the tag, and when it didn't provide the information he wanted, he turned the toy over again to face it directly. “This ain’t Vabo-chan. The hell is this fake shit?”’
Atsumu was quick to return to damage control the way he had been these past couple of days. He plucked the toy and tossed it to a chair on the side and told Osamu not to worry, that Vabo-chan was back in Osaka in Atsumu’s home because Osamu was kind enough to lend him his when Atsumu left the one he owned on an airplane.
New memories. Fake memories.
Lies.
You were out before anyone could stop you. Not that either of the boys would have since in the midst of this whole facade, all you were was a burdensome truth.
You laid in bed accompanied with misery. The emotion made for a poor cuddle partner but it kept you company as you shivered and wailed into pillows that hardly smelled like the Osamu who knew you anymore.
Ma called. The image of her worried eyes made you answer, but when she’d update you about Osamu, how she’d first tell you he was getting better and then, as if an afterthought, urged you to visit him, you didn’t have the heart to tell her that you didn’t want to hear it.
So you started ignoring her calls. She was persistent, as expected of a woman who raised a set of rowdy boys all on her own. She knocked on your door between two minute intervals, called and texted in the gaps between and you made excuses like you were busy working over time to catch up on the job you’d left behind.
All untrue because you’d emailed your supervisor that you’d be on an indefinite leave of absence with no explanation. There was no part of you ready to meld back into the real world again. Your world had ended, your existence ceased and now it was your duty to find your place again.
Ma’s final message was an update that Osamu was getting discharged from the hospital. She mentioned that the family would be moving to Osaka at Atsumu’s insistence. She wanted you to come by before they left.
You didn’t.
With the money you’d gotten from selling Osamu’s food truck, a phone with a dying battery lost beneath your bed, you traveled in the opposite direction to Okinawa.
It was supposed to be healing. You were supposed to recreate a new identity here, find yourself in the beaches, among the company of strangers, smoothened into fine stone and drawn back to shore after getting caught in the riptide.
But here you are, with misery steeped so deep within your bones that it’s turned you bitter.
You leave your budget lodging only because your stomach tells you to and the measly mini fridge of your studio had nothing but flat soda. There’s no reason to look in the mirror, a quick scrub across your face is enough to remove the crust from your eyes and dried drool from the corner of your lips.
The convenience store is just around the corner from your temporary home. You’ve been trying to maintain your elusive nature, hoping you can leave the island as folklore, by limiting your patronage and entering the establishment at various times.
It’s the first time you smell fresh air, and admittedly, it does feel good against your skin. Much more palatable than your room which was already scented by mold when you entered. There’s birds singing and even the scent of smog excites your stale senses.
The world is so effortlessly beautiful.
And that’s what makes it so cruel.
You push your way into the convenience store, the aggressive movement rattling the bell above.
By your last visit, you’d memorized the aisles so you stroll on through with a single basket in hand. The thought process is careless as you pick out which shelf stable meals you’ll have for the week. It’s not until you reach the cold beverage section that this mundane visit turns into something interesting.
You squat to level yourself with the bottom shelf, debating whether or not you had the energy to carry a full twelve pack the half kilometer back. Just the thought of it hits you with a sudden feeling of fatigue that you cannot help but groan and press your forehead against the fridge door.
You’d spent the past two weeks alone so just the quiet call of your name has you jumping up defensively.
Akaashi looks down at you unimpressed.
“What are you doing here?” You look around, fearful that Atsumu or another one of Osamu’s volleyball confidants might be around. “Are you following me?”
Akaashi is an acquaintance at best, an Onigiri Miya fanatic at most. You hardly had a chance to have a conversation with the man when every time you saw him, he spent most of it with a face stuffed full of onigiri.
Your reaction flattens his expression even further.
“No, I did not take a three hour flight all the way to Okinawa only to watch you buy alcohol in your,” Akaashi pauses, “sleepwear.”
He has a point so you settle in the defeat by glaring at him.
“I am on a company retreat,” he finally explains. “You are far from home.”
“Retreat,” quick to use his verbiage, “yeah, I’m on a retreat, too.”
He eyes you then glances to the fridge door. You glance along with him and notice that the oils of your skin transferred onto the glass panel and do your best to hide your embarrassment with anger instead.
“What,” you challenge, feeling awfully prickly today and poor Akaashi is the one you get to take it out on. Who else? Certainly not Ma, or Atsumu, or Osamu or the nice landlord who handed you keys without question. Of course, you’re particularly nasty with yourself as of late, but if you can share the beating with someone like Akaashi whose deadpan nature is persevering, then so be it. Now that Osamu’s erased you from his life, it’s not like your social circles will ever collide again.
“You look…” Akaashi doesn’t spare you any grace. His eyes roam over your figure, disgust especially contorting his features when he witnesses the sight of your shoddy pants that have seen better days. In fairness, so have you. “Maudlin.”
Despite not knowing the definition of the word, you gather context from just the tone of his voice and it immediately makes you frown.
Defensive, you’re quick to retort. Because who is he, baggy eyed Akaashi, hangnail ridden Akaashi, squinty and blind Akaashi, no owning hairbrush Akaashi, to speak of your current condition?
“And you look like your retreat isn’t retreating.”
You get up, discreetly rubbing your self portrait in sebum with a pants leg, and impulsively decide that you deserve the 12 pack thanks to this new inconvenience. The pack slams against the glass door when the suspension forces it back too quickly. Akaashi moves to help but you cast a glare before he can.
“I do not need help,” you supply.
His reply is nonplussed, “you do.”
“I don’t,” and now the corner decides to catch on the gasket. Akaashi ignores your small grunts and your quiet insistence, pulling the door wide open.
You thank him begrudgingly only because it’s the socially acceptable thing to do but the man doesn’t let you stray much further.
“What if I bought another pack?” That catches your attention. More liquor, less lucidity, less opportunity to remember you’re sad. It seems to be a curse these days, the power of memory, and for once, you think it’s quite unrelenting. “And I paid for your items? Will you let me camp out wherever you’re staying?”
“There’s only one bed.”
“The floor is fine.”
“It smells like mold.”
“Let’s buy a candle before we leave.”
There’s a desperation that you recognize, a solidarity between two persons barely hanging on and the least bit put together. It shouldn’t be so exciting to find someone as miserable as you but isn’t that what they say? Misery loves company.
“Holy fuck,” you grin at him, sardonic, “I don’t remember liking you so much, Akaashi.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
It’s a stupid response, a very Akaashi response, so you giggle manically and kick a pack with the toe of your shoe.
“Grab the 24 pack. We’ve got some retreating to do.”
Akaashi is running away from his responsibilities and so are you. He locks himself in your studio without a mention of its disarray and happily sleeps on the flat futon provided by your temporary landlord with a single fitted sheet and your neck pillow. The amenities offered are quite militant, but considering the price point, you cannot complain and neither does Akaashi.
Neither of you mention what sorts of horrors plague your sleep, a respect for each other’s privacy, because despite enjoying his company, life did not bring you two together out of kindness.
There’s a reason why the underneath of his eyes have swelled to a charcoal gray the same way you cannot help but begin your mornings with a beer. The two of you watch reruns of old childhood shows and every so often, Akaashi wordlessly gets up to go outside for a smoke. You thank the heavens there’s no balcony so you wouldn’t have to face the familiar sight of a back lazily bent over a railing and the slow wisp of smoke. He comes back inside with the hint of tobacco on him and you think he’s noticed how it makes you choke because the first thing he does is wash his hands before sitting next to you again.
He chooses to abide by the code of silence until the fifth day. It’s an evening where the bed has been stripped bare, the room emptier than it already is.Your dirty clothes had been piling up but it had been a struggle to clean them when laundry felt like a hug, the firm press of a collar and a lost nape. The two of you lie on the floor and bide time while you wait for the linens and whatever paltry laundry either of you have dry.
Akaashi dons a white undershirt and sleep shorts, you in a shirt that doesn’t belong to you. It doesn’t belong to anyone actually, because its owner has abandoned it too.
He holds a half eaten Okinawa style onigiri in his hand and the sight is so familiar you don’t pay him any mind. Your thoughts are gluey from the alcohol so it takes an extra line for the jokes to settle. Laughter is muffled by your forearms where you’ve placed your chin, laying on your belly and big toe tracing a gap between tiles on the floor.
Even the sound of Osamu’s name takes longer to process.
But you still remember. You devotedly will.
“These onigiris taste different from Myaa-sam’s,” Akaashi says beside you.
You lay a cheek on your arm and look up at the cross legged man. He finally got his glasses and other belongings from his previous room yesterday. A smile is already plastered on your face because the liquor makes Akaashi funnier than usual.
The joke never comes.
“Did you ever want to talk about it?”
His question prompts self reflection. Talk about what? What was there to say when the two of you have been so busy running. Immediately, you scramble to get up onto the smooth surface of the stripped mattress to put some distance between you two.
“That’s why you’re here, right?”
Beneath glasses, Akaashi’s eyes have a pointed edge to them.
“What do you know?” It’s suddenly so cold now with the space between you and there’s nothing to cover you up. You can only pull your knees to your chest.
“Nothing.” Akaashi turns to look at the TV. He watches the scene play out until it cuts to a commercial. “Atsumu doesn’t say anything. He’s been uncharacteristically tight lipped.”
Akaashi says uncharacteristically but you’re not surprised at all. This sounds exactly like the Atsumu you know now. It fouls your mood and has you reaching for your emotional support sake from the nightstand.
“He tells everyone to entertain Osamu lest he get a traumatic episode.”
“You’ve seen him?”
“No,” Akaashi watches your face deflate so he tacks on that Bokuto has.
Tension coils the muscles along your bones. It makes you feel frigid so you gulp down the rice wine in hopes that it warms you up from the inside out. Akaashi only watches. He never mentions your drinking habits. You don’t say anything about his smoking tendencies. These were the boundaries you were supposed to respect, but the man keeps on pushing.
“I heard you sold the food truck.”
“How else could I afford all this luxury?” Your hands stretch out to broadcast the shoebox the two of you call home.
He’s used to your defensive sarcasm by now, only taking a singular bite from his onigiri. “So the branch in Tokyo?”
You laugh. “Not happening.”
Then you finish the whole bottle with an aggressive gulp. You flatten yourself against the bare mattress. You ignore him, pretend you’re alone, pretend you’re okay, and you accept the dizzying fall into slumber.
When you wake, the laundry is brought in. It smells exactly like down and a headache. The digital clock on the nightstand tells you it’s midnight so you drink a bottle of water and work on fitting the sheets to the bed. For your efforts, you reward yourself with another can of beer. Then another. It only takes two for you to fall asleep again.
The both of you don’t broach the topic. He reels you back in with a sense of normalcy, the routine of bumming it in front of the TV and the unhealthy eating habits. Even when you blurt out that onigiris are now banned from the house, he only provides a knowing blink.
Slowly, the space between you two skitters away. He coaxes you in like a stray with indifference and eventually, he’s sat cross legged in front of the TV while you lay next to him on your belly.
The duration of your lease is running out as the month dwindles away into repetition. There’s only a couple of days left but you’ve run out of alcohol and food. It’s a weekend night with prime time television over reruns and you’ve gotten particularly attached to this drama that you started halfway through so Akaashi and you head out one evening to prepare for the last couple days of indulgence.
You should have known Akaashi had something planned when he veered to the left with the excuse of wanting to try out a different store.
Once you heard the quiet roar of waves crashing, you had to pause. A rush of trepidation overcame you. Akaashi was already halfway through the crosswalk when he turned around and noticed you weren’t there. He urged you with his eyes, sharp still below the frames of his glasses. People walk around him and you cannot help but notice their peeved expressions. The sound of cars whiz past and the waves do nothing but recede and crash and it’s all so much to take in.
“No,” you shake your head.
You want to run but where do you go? Forward? Away? Where else because there is no going back.
The crosswalk sign starts blinking and there is renewed severity in Akaashi’s expression. He beckons you with an outstretched hand.
It reminds you of Atsumu, the way he had reached for you the first day at the hospital.
It reminds you of Osamu, the days he’d pull you out of bed when you slept in.
“Come with me,” Akaashi says.
That is all you need to go. The dramatics are uninhibited as you make your way to him, blind with your head bent as one wrist wipes away incessant tears and the other is extended to catch his hand. He takes it. It’s a foreign union with his spindly fingers that are long enough to twine around your wrist like a restrictive vine but you relinquish yourself to it.
Because, this whole time, all you’ve wanted is this: promised, unselfish companionship.
Akaashi leaves you on a bench and returns with meat pies bought from a nearby food truck. The smell of it saturates the area in an appetizing scent of fried deliciousness that has your stomach gurgling. You’ve not had a single healthy meal since you arrived in Okinawa but the alcohol you’ve imbibed religiously for the past few weeks welcomes the offering.
“Have you wondered yet what is going on with me?” A bus whips past you two with an uncomfortable gust of warm wind. You want to pretend that you didn’t hear Akaashi over the sound of the engine, but his silence is imploring.
“Always,” you say.
Akaashi entertains you with a small huff, “you could ask.”
“But then that would breach our secret NDA. Which you have breached by the way. You owe me another 24 pack.”
“Considering I no longer have a job, we might have to put that on hold.”
You reply only with a wide eyed surprise.
“I put in my resignation yesterday.” Akaashi admits. His hands glide up his thigh to clear the grease from his fingertips. “Do you want to ask questions now?”
There’s a lot of questions running through your mind. First of all, why? Why quit? What was the reason? Why did it take you in your pajamas buying alcohol before noon on a foreign island for him to do so?
“Yes, but I won’t.”
“You’re aberrant.”
“I’m assuming that means ridiculous.”
“Close.”
“Share whatever you want to share. I won’t…” you almost hand the crust of your meat pie to Akaashi out of habit. You press it into the napkin instead, crushing it with the pressure of your fingers. “I don’t want to force anything out of you if you’re not ready.”
Akaashi hums. It’s a sound similar to when the understanding of a concept finally dawns on someone. He kicks his long legs out. The Oxfords provide a bouncy noise and it’s only now that you see how aberrant Akaashi is. Near the ocean shore, he wears business casual dress with slacks and though unpressed, he still dons a button down with elbow pads. Freaking elbow pads. You must look ridiculous next to him in your novelty shirt and pajama shorts. It’s been difficult wearing anything that doesn’t have elastic lately and jeans leave for no room to breathe.
He pulls out his cigarettes from his breast pocket and when he remembers, he turns with a silent tilt of his head, asking permission to smoke. You only nod but turn your head away quickly. The gradual exposure to the smell is one thing, but the sight of him smoking might be another step you’re still not ready to take.
The cigarette crackles twice in two long inhales and he makes a point to blow in your opposite direction.
“I’m told that literary composition is not my forte.” You remain quiet, respecting the beginning of Akaashi’s soliloquy. “People tell me that I’m not meant to be an author. The world, actually. My short stories weren’t selling so I tried my hand at writing fanfiction for Meteo Attack, the manga I edit and hardly anyone read it. I even got hostile responses for my characterization.”
He needs another two inhales from the admittance. You don’t blame him.
“My boss and I had been working on a training plan the last two quarters so I could move to the literary department and the night before I met you, we were announced our placements for the next quarter. Mine didn’t change, still editor, still in manga. And when I asked, my boss said he’d be an idiot if he let me leave. I was too good at my job to change positions now. I went on a manic binge, slept through my alarms for the scheduled office activities, saw you, and figured you’d be the best excuse I could have to avoid my boss and coworkers for the rest of the trip.”
The sound of the lighter flicks once more. You listen to the quick initial inhale and the lengthy one that follows.
“My intention was never to quit. It was just like you said, retreat. I wanted to abscond myself of responsibilities for a moment but then I ate the onigiri I bought and I remembered. I remembered lots of late nights in Hyogo with you and Myaa-sam and Bokuto. And it made me think of you.”
“If it’s pity you’re offering, I don’t need it, Akaashi.”
“It’s not. I’m offering another contract. A business one.”
You turn to him and find that the smoker had finished his cigarette already. He gathered saliva in his mouth and discretely spit it on the floor before turning back to you.
“Let’s open Onigiri Miya up again.”
The idea sickens you because just the name of the restaurant brings back an onslaught of memories you’ve been trying to avoid. Osamu in his tight arm sleeves and black apron. His musk after a long night. His weary smile that would worry you only for a second until you realized it was satisfaction that compelled it more than anything. The sweet and salty scent of sticky rice and the starchy feeling on your hands whenever you would swirl your fingers in the buckets of dried grains that Kita would present to you. Long days, long nights, and Osamu, Osamu, Osamu.
“There’s no way. I have no clue how to even begin starting a business.”
“You say that but do you even know if your job will be there when you get back home?”
That was also another pertinent issue you were still planning to avoid.
“There is an Osamu out there right now who doesn’t even know that Onigiri Miya exists. The world is telling you you’re forgotten and there are people out there willing to accept it. But did you? Did you forget?”
His intensity brings on a delicate quality to your voice, “of course not.”
Osamu could forget you, but you? Forget him? The erasure of his existence was something so foreign of a thought that even just the mention of it strained your heart raw.
“I didn’t either. Do you want anyone else to?”
Your response is incomprehensible as you blow snot into your grease laden napkin but the point comes across. For all the weeks you and Akaashi have spent together in the apartment room, he touches you a second time ever, hand atop yours once more.
“Then let’s open Onigiri Miya back up.”
It’s minutes later until you can gather yourself up again and even longer for you to seriously entertain the idea. The night is quiet and you’re thankful there are no passersby to witness this embarrassing exchange.
You think of everyone that Osamu had brought into your life when you walked into his. All the customers and friends and neighbors that offered you joy and small gifts worth living for. Atsumu was okay with throwing it all away, abandoning it just like his high school motto had endorsed.
But they were the ones who found Osamu. They were the ones who saved him, who forced the firefighters to break down Onigiri Miya’s door when the fire began to consume. If not for the community he fostered, he would not have had the second chance he has today.
There’s an Osamu out there that does not love you, that you may never learn to love without being hurt, but there was an Osamu that was beloved by all. If you had to do it for anyone, you’d do it for him.
“Fine.” Akaashi does not move, eerily still as if to not startle you to backtrack. “We can give this a try.”
You settle in with your choice and finally, with a bit of courage, you ask “I know what I am getting out of this, but what are you?”
“A flexible schedule so I can write my novel,” the man beside you answers frankly. Then in a softer voice, he adds, “and maybe I can finally open that branch in Tokyo.”
You cannot help but crack an amused snort. Akaashi joins you with his singular chuckle.
“That seems ambitious.”
It is so grossly, overwhelmingly, exceedingly ambitious to run a restaurant and more so, to even consider a second location. Promises are easy to make on tear-stricken nights amongst the salty air of Okinawa, but back in Hyogo, the air is severely stifling.
Even with more than half a decade of partnership with Osamu, it is a steep learning curve managing all its operations. Your ex boyfriend did not make it seem easy. No, not with the long hours he’d pull or the days when he’d lash his frustrations on you. Some days, even seasons, happened to be more difficult than others but to have first hand experience all on your own is novel.
Akaashi moves in the day you guys arrive. The two week unofficial dry run makes the decision easy. He fills in the space that has been left behind, screens all the voicemails that you’d avoided when you were gone, and confirms that you are officially jobless by looking through your emails too.
What is better than one jobless, mid-twenty travesty who is one milligram of caffeine away from a breakdown? Two jobless, mid-twenty travesties who are one milligram of caffeine away from a breakdown. It’s a support system, hardly structural but functional enough.
It includes a lot of spontaneous frenzies, you and Akaashi both. He teaches you to be quite efficient with your distress. A prolonged yell helps relieve the pressure and it compels the other to join. You teach him the benefits of isolation. Sometimes, it’s simply best to take some space, to cast away the burdens for a night and relearn how to breathe.
It takes a year and a half to open the restaurant with the help of Onigiri Miya’s neighbors. Their support does not come without payment though. They ask questions you’re unprepared for and no response is ever safe. If you say you are fine, you’re scrutinized with a watchful eye, just waiting for proof of a lie. If you admit that you’re struggling, there’s pity. Some are more vocal about it than others, a patronization in their tone that never used to be there before.
The price may be steep, but it’s worth it because Hyogo ward was Osamu’s community. They carry the pieces of Osamu that you know, the ones that made the alleycats fat.
(Osamu frequently gets yelled at by the Shizuku, the florist, three doors down. She blames him for the rising cat population. Osamu laughs it off. He always did and frequently, there is a cheeky quip that follows. He says something about catnip.
Something like, “ya sure ya ain’t the one growing catnip in there?”
It taunts the woman even further, but malice never burns their interactions.
A grudge on Osamu, though easy to promise, is impossible to uphold. Not when he delivers a bouquet of onigiri right to her door the next day. Not when he accidentally tips a pot over while obnoxiously perusing through the abundance of greenery, hoping to find catnip within the collection. Not when he looks at her sheepishly, swiping his hands on his apron as if dusting away any evidence and says, “now how did that happen?”)
Shizuku’s a savior, by the way. If left to your own devices, Akaashi and you would work yourselves to the point of exhaustion but Shizuku comes in during lunch and always provides tea in plastic cups. Eventually those cups turn into a beautiful ceramic set when Kita drops off your first order of rice, a visit in disguise.
His barley eyes that were always warm to you darken at the sight of Akaashi. Their greeting is stiff which you thought just had to do with their taciturn personalities but it wasn’t until Kita pulled you into the alleyway, Akaashi left to finish painting the front, did you realize it was out of protectiveness.
“I was glad to hear from ya.” Kita leans against the waist high wall that separates two lines of shopping streets. “But I didn’t know how to feel when I found out ya were calling me about business.”
“I know,” you say, eyes cast down low. Kita has a way of making you feel guilty with so little words. He’s disappointed, you know despite his level tone, because you never called. What was there to discuss? You figured if Osamu could forget you, if Atsumu can cast you away, then there was nothing to expect out of his friends either.
“I won’t say anything because I know ya already feel bad but Gran and I were worried about ya. It’s good to know that you’re okay.”
You shrug. Okay is hardly what you’d describe yourself when you’re barely hanging on just like the threadbare sheets from the studio in Okinawa.
Kita crosses one muddy boot over the other, “and what ya got going on here, it feels like the right thing.”
It’s hard to make of what you feel, decipher the feelings that manifest inside because the days have not gotten any softer. The pain is ambiguous and persisting. Whenever you feel like you’ve made progress, another strain emerges like a new variant of the same virus. You’re doing this for Osamu. But Osamu…
“Have you talked to him lately?”
Kita’s lips line into a solemn expression. He stares you right in the eye and you hold yourself strong because you know he’s testing whether or not you can handle his answer.
“Not recently. Atsumu’s kept their distance from here. If I do see them, it’s when I stop by Osaka.”
“And…”
“And he’s good. He plans on going pro,” Kita shakes his head, “or Atsumu says, going back to pro. He tells him he took a break.”
You nod slowly. So that’s what you were. A break.
“But it ain’t him.”
The farmer’s voice is barely above a whisper and for some reason, it is gut wrenching. You have to lean against the wall with him in case you topple over. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it, the admittance that the Osamu you had was someone real. And maybe that’s why you’ll never be okay because you’re chasing after validation that has already been erased while he chases other things, of dreams unfulfilled.
“This,” Kita points to the restaurant in renovation, “this is him, but…”
He never finishes his sentence. The irony of it makes you laugh.
“Well I’ve got another delivery to drop but don’t be a stranger now. I’m serious. I ain’t letting ya. And visit Gran once in a while, will ya? She needs someone to talk to because I think she’s about had it with me.”
Kita hugs you goodbye and by the end of his visit, you think Akaashi’s gained his approval. When he leaves, he gifts the two of you the tea set. They are black with white and brown intricacies. Two of them have geometric blocking designs and the other two have one lone stalk of rice, bent gracefully by the wind.
Akaashi and you sign up for onigiri making courses where you eat them for every meal. So much so that even Akaashi of all people gets tired of it. The craft does not come easy to either of you despite your business partner’s penchant for it and Osamu’s intermittent lessons over the years. When you did help him out on the days he was short-staffed, Osamu would have you ring up customers up front, smoothly mentioning how your pretty face would help them rack up tips when you knew it was just to keep you out of the kitchen.
(He flusters you with a wink and an encouraging tap on the ass, laughing when you look back. He flings his glove into the trash can and makes his way to the handwashing station, thinking it was worth it just to see your cute pout. You know he’d wasted boxes of gloves since you’d been together just for one quick touch. Your eyes would be enraptured by the graceful jerks of his chest and the curl of his lips and later, at close, when the two of you were finally alone, he teases you about it. He asks you if you were hungry, what with the way you devoured him with your eyes. You bite his arm just to prove how hungry you were.)
“Quit drinking the mirin. That is foul and we need it.” He hides little revulsion in both tone and expression but your time with Akaashi has you immune to his harsh delivery.
You take another swig out of spite even if you didn’t plan on having another sip. It is, in fact, foul.
“This is the only thing that has alcohol in this apartment.”
Akaashi snatches the bottle with starchy hands. The residue imprints the shape of his palm onto the neck of the bottle, furthering his irritation. “Then drink something that does not have alcohol.”
“No,” you slump with your chin on the table, leveling your gaze with the practice oblongs you’ve just made. “I am sad.”
They’re lumpy and if they’re not lumpy, they are mushy. If they are not mushy, then the filling is peeking out. All in all, completely imperfect and not suited for a restaurant succeeding Onigiri Miya. Just the image of his disappointment discourages you because these were not up to his standards and certainly not to yours.
“We just need more practice,” Akaashi tries to console. “Maybe we could buy molds.”
“He didn’t use molds.”
“Unfortunate. We’re not Myaa-sam.”
“Neither is he.”
Akaashi doesn’t respond. You don’t say anything more either. If anyone is tired of your deploring, it is him and he already has to handle you enough. But it’s true, isn’t it? No one is Osamu anymore, not even the one out there who is probably doing practice sets in a gym, who wears a uniform that’s less than five years old, who has no recollection of you.
“Everyone’s going to be disappointed because it tastes nothing like the ones he used to make. They’re going to hate us for even disgracing his name.”
Akaashi’s had enough. He drops his practice roll, the heavy weight of the thud clattering the utensils on the table. You’re about to reprimand him but the man talks over you.
“Do you think that’s why people will come? Because of Osamu?”
The answer seems obvious that you can only gesticulate.
“Are you inane?”
That hasn’t been a word of the day so you haven’t learned that one yet but you can take a guess what the right answer is. “No?”
“People want to come and support you. Everyone knows Osamu’s gone off elsewhere doing whatever he is doing now. You’re the one honoring his memory. You’re the one keeping him alive. You are the reason they’d walk through our door now so get your act up.”
You glower like a child, unsure how exactly you feel. That sort of pressure seems daunting but comforting at the same time. You want to do him right. Is it really better than not even honoring him at all?
“You’re mean,” you settle on saying.
Akaashi clicks his tongue behind his teeth, “do you want to scream about it?”
You smile, “yeah.”
His mood lightens, “me too.”
“Okay, but it’s late already so we should probably scream in some pillows.”
“Yeah, that sounds right.”
The journey continues like that. Ups and downs. Ebbs and flows. Akaashi handles operations and finances. Your first job at the local government helps you complete the clerical stuff like having the proper documentation and paperworks. Your most recent job in IT helps you develop the website while Akaashi words out the marketing. You set up all the socials, design the uniforms, and the last step is to decide on the name.
The night before the opening, you have a dinner for everyone that helped as a thank you and soft launch. You and Akaashi slide in and out of service with Shizuku, Kita, Gran, and some of Akaashi’s friends like Konoha and Kuroo and Kenma as guests. It’s a small gathering of every single member of the community that never forgot about Osamu sitting around a massive table you’ve made by pushing the smaller ones together.
“Lovely what ya did with the rice, here,” Gran says beside you, a seat she had claimed.
You tilt your head to the side, “that’s all Akaashi.”
“Fine cooking, dear.”
“I followed a good recipe and had a little luck.”
“Ya better hope not,” Kita laughs and it’s comforting to hear the quiet trickle of his humor knowing fully well that Akaashi’s been accepted into the family. “Or else ya gonna have some unhappy customers.”
“Will ya tell us now what the name of the place is? Hard to advertise if I don’t know what it’s called,” Shizuku demands.
Her impatience started when she walked right through the door, but you wanted to wait for the right time when everyone was already gathered together and broken bread, heart happy and stomach satisfied. It’s how Osamu would have wanted it. It’s how you do too.
“Fine,” you say, dragging the word out with little bite in your tone.
You pull out the uniforms you’ll be wearing tomorrow. It looks not much different from what Osamu used to wear, plain black shirts with lettering on the upper left portion of the chest. Everyone lifts up from their seats to witness it.
o.mo.ide
Miya Osamu, Onigiri Miya, memories that you’ll always keep close to your heart.
There’s tears that escape, from you no different. There’s more that follows when you show them the corner right by the entrance dedicated to Onigiri Miya. You want everyone to know whose walls these actually belong to, whose essence and soul brought his dreams and yours to life, that without him, this would have never been possible.
Kita helps you kick everyone out knowing that you and Akaashi have a long day ahead. People promise to visit tomorrow just to show their support as they bid you goodbye. Gran slips an envelope of cash between your hands and quickly loops her arms around Kita’s so you can’t make a scene.
Akaashi is quick to have a foot out the alley back door after cleanup. He nods his head out, “are you ready?”
“Yes.” You run your hands through the crisp fabric once more as you shuffle your bag over your shoulder.
And the two of you leave. The black apron on the last hook closest to the back alley door waves as the door slams shut. There’s a black cap above it with the original character snaps against the wall from the wind pressure. They sway in the dark, until finally they lose momentum and settle in the dark.
They stay. They always will.
The support is so overwhelmingly kind. People show up in droves that Kita has to come in later in the day with an emergency delivery because your forecasts had been so off. Compliments come one after the other, of the design of the store, the food, and even yours and Akaashi’s service. Cheery employees were no longer in, it seemed. Everyone loved the stress-ridden ones instead. More relatable, they’d explain.
The novelty slowly wears off, but you maintain a generous rotation of regulars. Of course, Shizuku always arrives. She retains her habit of having afternoon tea with you and Akaashi. She’d bring along Hayashi, the man who owned the ice cream shop behind your store. He’s a grizzly man with a barrel chest with a right bicep so plump from years of scooping ice cream. The two are the neighborhood’s newest gossip. Flowers and ice cream. Looks like they do go together.
And you think that you have finally have this life handled. You and Akaashi settle on this pleasant routine of wake, work, and rest and the mundanity has you fooled. Still, after all this time, it takes so little to disrupt your small ecosystem of peace.
You hear someone compare o.mo.ide as a mockery of what it used to be and it sends you into a spiral. You listen with a crazed expression, hands busy scrubbing tables but ears listening like a hawk.
Osmau never needed consolation like this. He had been a master of quick glances. He was always multitasking, mind on the next task as he was still in the process of finishing the first. And his eyes never missed anything, not when you’d try and sneak into his office unnoticed to surprise him for break or how he’d always know when someone was taking their first bite. He’d watch from the corner of his eyes and he’d wait for that precious moment. It didn’t take much to make Osamu proud. Just a single hum. He’d beam from ear to ear, and as if shy from his sudden display of emotion, he’d tuck his chin into his head and pull the brim of his cap down.
But then again, this was his forte and not yours.
You start sleeping in and waking up late. You lose the habit and Akaashi has to pick up after you. In order to make it up to him, you offer to close the restaurant on your own. His response is a simple scan to check that you’re okay, but he has little energy to say a word, probably expended it screaming in the walk-in freezer when he couldn’t get you out of bed. So he goes.
You don’t even wait a full five minutes after he left to lock the doors and ignore any knocks from customers who know your regular hours.
In the silent kitchen, you situate yourself atop the recently wiped down stainless prep table, a bottle of sake in one hand and Kita’s teacup in another. A shot glass is much too small for your preferences.
“Cheers,” you raise your glass in the air. This might be your sixth one, so just the image of your hand and solo teacup is enough to make you giggle. “This one is to…”
Your gaze is glassy and there’s no one here, but the alcohol reminds you that you’re not lonely. An image of Osamu appears before you like an apparition and the sight brings on a void of yearning. You throw back the shot and quickly pour yourself another.
“To you.” This time you clink the tea cup against the bottle, already hollow in just one sitting. When the burn dies down and settles in the pit of your stomach, you begin to kick your feet.
“Hey,” you say softly. “Haven’t spoken to you in a while. Think about you every day though.”
It’s weird because you thought that with this place being saturated by Osamu’s very essence, you’d find his face everywhere you look. He’s more of an idea now, lately. A feeling you carry, memories that you play before you go to sleep. It’s difficult to accept because it feels like you’re losing him. The old Osamu, the one you knew, the one you loved. The other one in Osaka, Kita’s accidentally slipped that he likes to read as a pastime and that they’d recently visited Panama. Osamu never bought books unless they were cookbooks and that was more for aesthetic than anything. And the one you knew had never been to Panama, more so even mentioned it at all.
What you have left is the remains of his legacy and the bare bones of a former flame. You crack open another bottle. Here’s another shot to that.
“Life sucks by the way. I don’t blame you for it. I just wanted you to know. This wasn’t my dream. Yeah, I can hear you. You know, you know. But I haven’t told you in a while so you’re going to hear me say it again. I just wanted a cushy, IT job. I’d be your sugar mommy and force you on vacations, pay you for any lost wages. Any reason to have you all to myself. That’s what was supposed to happen.”
Another shot to missed opportunities. That one has you feeling woozy that you have to lay on your side but your drunken mind fails to realize how cold the stainless steel would be against your cheeks. It makes you squeal and then you can’t help but giggle, laughing at your own stupidity. That’s what’s nice about inebriation. Instead of being so serious about yourself, you can just laugh.
“And in the middle of it all, I knew that one day, I’d get absorbed into it. That’s just what you do. You say Atsumu is charismatic, but I don’t think you ever realized the power you had in just being. People get caught up in it and that includes me. And I imagined myself working hard so I could leave early from work just so I could help you in the kitchen. And then working part time until eventually, we woke up together and ran it together and did it all. Together. As a family. Ma would help when she has the time but you know her. She’s got clubs and activities and neighborhood responsibilities. And Atsumu would try and hang out but not do any work so we’d just ignore him until he ended up whining his way into the kitchen. I didn’t imagine…”
You look around the backroom. It’s nothing like how Onigiri Miya used to look. There are some items you’ve inherited like the pots and pans with their grease-stricken bellies and the three step ladder with The Little Giant (Akaashi actually wanted to throw this one away but ladders are surprisingly expensive) labeled on the top step. Everything is paltry pickings compared to the care Osamu had when working with his suppliers. It was hard enough with Kita’s endorsement to find something within your budget so you’re left with limp greens and off brand soy. And no Osamu.
Time for another shot. Should you make a game of it? Every time you thought you felt sorry for yourself, should you?
“No,” you giggle as you get up, answering your own question, “then I’d get really drunk and you’d get mad at me for that. Anyways,” you shoot it, neck craning back so swift it makes you dizzy. Your body bends wilted just like the spring onions you were talking about and you have to close your eyes, groaning and giggling, unable to discern discomfort from pleasure.
“Mmmm, what was I saying? I don’t know.” Suddenly, you’re crying. There’s a mess on the prep table that you have no idea how to clean. Over a year now and you’re still not over Osamu and you’re missing the rest of the Miyas especially too.
“This is so hard and fuck, I feel so alone.” It’s heartbreaking to hear how much you pity yourself when there have been so many people in your life that have supported you. Like Akaashi who has dealt with your disaster tendencies and Shizuku and the neighbors and everyone that has made this possible.
But they can’t fill what you’ve secretly been trying to reclaim. Of a family that had loved you, had accepted you with open arms. The ones who held you when you needed them most but… Fuck. You just weren’t enough. You lacked the strength to hold their pain, so much so just by being, by existing, you burdened them.
And maybe this had been a ploy to simply gain approval and find some self-worth again, to show them that the love you have has value. It had been distracting enough while you and Akaashi prepared for the grand opening but only for so long until you fell into this sort of misery again. How long would the next pocket of happiness last? Could you find a stable source of bliss ever again?
Sometimes, as difficult as it is to think, you wish you never…
No, you shake your head adamantly. For all this anguish, for all the ache you’ve accidentally caused the Miyas, you want to selfishly keep all the memories, even if Osamu has to forget, even if you know how it ends. You don’t want to change a thing.
You grab the extra aprons in the back except for the black apron on the last hook closest to the back alley door and slump into the office chair in the back nook. It was a simple office with just a desk and a file folder cabinet. You cover yourself with the aprons, your impromptu blankets as you wait for the inebriation to tide over. The open sake bottle stays on the prep table with the finished one and your used tea cup and you make a mental note to hide your drinking from Akaashi who’s been passively limiting your intake lately.
You fall into a light sleep when a meowing out the alley door rouses you. The office chair snaps as you ungracefully rise. There’s remnants of your misery in the form of crusts at the corner of your eyes that you blearily wipe away.
He stares up at you with a single meow as a greeting when you open the door. The cat sits on his paws like a well mannered customer waiting to be let in. A gray puffball like a ball of lint straight from the dryer, his gold eyes blink up at you and maybe it’s the hour or your halfway sober state or just life in general because you think it’s a sign.
Many of the cats had left when Osamu did too, venturing into more fruitful alleyways that can get them the fixings that they. You’re quick to pick him up but you do it a little aggressively that his limber body bends to evade your hands. Instead, he enters o.mo.ide and you’re able to lure him in with a few slices of fish.
Akaashi is not amused when you get home, especially considering the late hour and cat in your hands.
“No,” Akaashi greets, eyes hardened, aimed at the feline creature who has taken to resting his chin into the crook of your elbow.
“But, Akaashi, look at him!” You turn your body to the side so he can witness his complete cuteness.
The man is not impressed, only closing his book, an index finger marking the pages he left off, and crossing his arms. “No. You can hardly take care of yourself.”
“But they’re low maintenance,” you mention the fact you had quickly googled before unlocking the front door, “and he was crying outside our door because he was so hungry.”
Your roommate weighs the cat with his eyes and before he can complete his calculations, you add, “if I wasn’t there, he would have starved. He needed me.”
Akaashi finds something in your expression and you think it’s this new energy, this purpose outside of yourself or Osamu and after a drawn out glare, he finally sighs. It’s a world weary sigh, the kinds only parents of rowdy and impossible children should only make and you take note that you’ll make it up to him somehow.
“Okay, fine,” he extends his hand for your new friend to sniff, “what’s his name?”
You smile, “Mumu.”
An homage to your boys, your favorite twins, and Akaashi cannot help but sigh again.
But Mumu quickly becomes your new best friend, much to his benefit. Even though Mumu never quite opens up to him, he has to worry about you less and you spend more of your time laboring efficiently at work so you can go home and play with silly things like lasers and a little rattle ball he likes to roll around. There’s energy to do your share of household chores now, and despite the slow trickle of business lately, you’re unbothered.
At the end of the day, the success of the business does not define you or your love for Osamu.
The stability lasts only for a few months because you arrive home unannounced, closing the shop early when the pelting monsoon keeps people locked in their homes.
You opted to take responsibility for the day, allowing Akaashi a break. His trust in you has slowly renewed considering it’d been a while since you dipped into the restaurant’s liquor stash. You knew he’d understand the shortened hours considering the weather but he hadn’t been prepared because when he got home, he was watching a livestream MSBY volleyball match. There was this understanding that had been established when he moved in because the both of you knew that you’d be powerless to the demise.
When you see Osamu on TV, that split second the camera had panned to him, you felt gravity warp. Your heart constricted and condensed while it felt like that floor beneath you had slipped away and you were just as helpless as any other leaf victim to the storm.
Akaashi tries to turn off the TV, but you manically topple over him, not wanting to miss what little camera time he might have.
“I don’t think this is good for you,” Akaashi’s eyes doesn’t leave you as you continue to watch the game. You agree, but you can’t strip your eyes away from the stream. You can’t believe what you’re seeing and you have to continuously wipe away your tears just to be sure, to ascertain that what you’re viewing is really true. It’s him. It’s him and this is the closest you’ve seen him, the closest he’s been to this home in basically two years and he looks so different.
“He grew out his hair,” you observe.
All you can do right now is play spot the difference. What parts of him do you still know? What is gone forever? Osamu’s hair is near shoulder length and you think he might have gained Atsumu’s salon habit because it’s curlier and fluffier than you knew. The color in his eyes have lost their luster, making them appear darker like a smoky quartz and he’s bigger. He’d always had a stronger upper body but you can tell he’s far more defined than you’d last seen him. He looks. Good.
You feel so small knowing how well he’s moved on without you. There’s always this small spark of hope that can’t help yourself from holding onto but seeing him on the screen, living a dream that he had once left behind, you figure it must be your turn to be abandoned for something else.
“He looks good,” you nod, trying to be strong. Because that’s all you’ve wanted. You’ve wanted him to be ok, to live out the life he desired, whatever that may be and regardless of how it involved you. “He looks good. I’m so–”
“You don’t–”
“–proud of him.”
The admittance makes you burst, diving head first onto the floor and crying into the rug. Mumu comes to rest between your legs, wary of Akaashi as he does his best to console you which alternates between a hand down your back and simply hovering over your figure.
But then you hear the announcer and how the music stops, and immediately your head lifts up because you know what the sound of those footsteps mean.
Miya Atsumu is on court, serving the ball with just as much assured confidence as you had left him. He passes to his brother where they easily make a point and you watch the two boys celebrate. The camera eats it up, their facial expressions, the way they hold each other in a solidified joy, and you see it. You see the true reason he’s left this all behind. This was the life he was meant to share.
And you were never meant to be a part of it.
It was delusional of you to think that their bond had enough space for you to fit in.
Of course, as much as you tell yourself Osamu’s happiness is the most important thing to witness, it still sends you on a spiral that neither Akaashi or Mumu can bring you out of. Business slows down when you can’t provide proper service and Akaashi struggles to pick up the labor you can’t complete. Days pass in a haze where you burn things by accident and your mindlessness has you putting in two servings of soy instead.
You wallow in your sheets, so worn that the Osamu’s essence has filtered through the gaps and all that’s saturated it is your misery. Mumu leisurely snoozes beside you, happy to keep you company.
Akaashi tries to persuade you out of bed with ice cream.
You shuffle to the side of the bed pressed against the wall and tuck yourself into the crevice, “no thank you.”
He ignores you and opens the door and you whine, noisy and petulant. “This one is from Shizuku and Hayashi. They’ve missed you.”
You instantly sit up, interested because Hayashi’s ice cream had been a favorite of Osamu’s. Whenever he’d have a bad day and their schedules lined up, the two men with their solid stature would gossip in the alleyway, the brick wall separating them. One would be devouring an onigiri while the other relished the fox shaped ice cream he’d always be given as payment.
You’d peek your head out the alley door whenever you could never find Osamu in the kitchen or in his office. The alley was the only other place he’d be and Hayashi would prompt you to come out, sit and gossip with them. He’d leave so he could serve you an ice cream of your own, but you suspect he’d take longer on purpose so that you two could spend some time alone.
(“Have you heard about Shizuku and Hayashi?” Osamu asks once the confectioner steps back into his building. Your response comes for the back of your throat, a soft hum while busy licking the dessert your boyfriend offered. He laughs when he sees you nibble off the candy eye of the animal, leaving him a little lopsided but far more endearing. “Damn, I said ya could give it a try, not eat all of it.”
“I was hungry and you weren’t inside.”
“Ya could have made yaself some food. I’ve taught you enough to be self-sufficient.”
You shake your head immediately, “doesn’t taste the same. Stop changing the subject. What’s going on with Hayashi and Shizuku?”
Despite all the time you’ve spent with him, all the different faces and expressions you’ve been gifted to witness, his smile still disarms you. It’s the right combination of conniving and whimsy that has your heart traipsing the edge of a cliff.
“I was talking to the Grandma that’s got the okonomiyaki shop right there, ya know?” He points with his ice cream whose lifespan is slowly disappearing, “and she told me how she went into Hayashi’s shop and he had a full bouquet of flowers.”
“Oh, that’s nice. I wonder who got it for him.”
Osamu snorts, “Shizuku obviously. Who else would have?”
“Osamu,” you give him a discriminatory look, “are you starting rumors.”
“No, hear me out. Shizuku came by yesterday and was asking me for some cooking tips.”
“You?”
“Yeah, we have a truce right now. The onigiri won her over.” You giggle, snatching another bite from Osamu’s hand. He’s too busy telling his story to even admonish you. “And she was telling me she planned on making grilled mackerel and guess what Hayashi had for dinner last night apparently.”
You hum forcibly, drawing it out and giggle when Osamu gets irritated with you. “Mackerel?” He nods and the image of those two makes you laugh.
Hayashi’s just like the ice cream he serves, a man who longs for the richer things in life. He has women swooning out of his restaurant with his velvet words and Shizuku is a woman who knows what she wants, spritely and tough. She’d be perfect to keep him in line.
“Now that I think about it, they’re surprisingly good for each other.”
Osamu agrees, “Grandma says Hayashi needs to lock it in and get married.”
“Shizuku’s a catch! He’d be wrong not to.”
Your statement dulls the mood because Osamu turns quiet. He hands you his ice cream for you to finish, Hayashi forgotten, and his hands clasp together, right pad of his thumb running over the back of his left. His side profile is soft, round cheeks over a strong jaw.
“Ya know that I–”
“We don’t have to get married for me to know that you love me,” you say quickly. You don’t want him to finish the thought because he gets caught up in the guilt a lot. You’re not certain what it exactly is aside from the fact that he doesn’t want your future to be tied down to one as unstable as his, as if marriage would be the only thing that could permanently hold the two of you together. As far as you know, he’s all you want for the rest of your life and Osamu makes you feel like he thinks the same.
Your admittance relieves the weight on his back. He straightens up, a thankful expression on his gaze when he rolls an arm out to wrap around you. You fit right into the crook of his body, pleasantly warm with your ice cream.
“I love ya, I really do.” You nod. “One day, when I get my shit together, I promise I’ll make ya mine for real.”
He says it like you’re not his already. He says it like this relationship is less than the ones acknowledged by law or the gods or whoever presides over the validity of unity.
He says it like he really does love you.)
Thinking about it makes you cry despite Hayashi’s ice cream. He artfully crafted the gift in a pint that he must have bought from the store because you’ve never seen him sell take-home products. A frog decorates the surface complete with blush, large, round eyes, and the brightest of smiles. Usually the confectionery is an immediate remedy but it looks like your sorrows have fallen so deep that its effects are hardly uplifting. Akaashi hands you a letter made of cardstock in a saturated red and shaped like a heart.
“What’s this?”
“Open it,” is all he replies.
You do as he says and find a poorly drawn replication of what you assume is you, serving a triangular item to a smaller stick figure human.
“That’s from Asako. She missed you when you left early today.”
Asako is the little girl who orders a plain onigiri with extra sesame seeds. Exxxxtrraaaa she likes to say and you entertain her, seeing who can lengthen the word the longest. It’s an effortless game that comes with a high reward of giggles. She comes in on Fridays when her grandparents pick her up from school. They didn’t know of Onigiri Miya then so you never thought much of them, but clearly, she had thought of you.
“I understand that we opened up o.mo.ide in order to commemorate Myaa-sam and everything he’d done for this community, but have you ever stopped and thought that in the process, you’ve integrated into it yourself?”
You hadn’t. You’d been so deeply absorbed by your own troubles that you had never bothered to even look outside of yourself or Osamu.
“We’re operating at a loss right now, but there are people like Asako that rely on us to stay open. And so help me, I need you too. We promised to do this together and I refuse to let you abandon me.”
“Oh… oh, Akaashi, I’m so–” you’re forced speechless by your own guilt.
“Don’t apologize. Just.” Akaashi searches through his vocabulary, “just get better. Have you ever thought about therapy?”
Akaashi introduces you to his therapist but after two sessions, you find that the way he gels his hair back and the nasal hums he provides every time you confide in him is unsettling. The journey through therapy is not so much a journey but more like an illegal obstacle course formed with bottomless pits and thorny vines and a portable bed.
It’s physically draining and mentally exhausting that you need a nap most days. Akaashi hardly yells at you anymore when you fall asleep in the office chair while on break as long as he knows you have an appointment scheduled at the end of the week.
You go through three more therapists. This fourth one, she’s on thin ice, but you’re five months in and she’s managed to get you to stay. She encourages you to reach out to the people you love on your own and to make time for them every week.
Now you spend time teaching Mumu new tricks. He’s mastered the command ‘sit’ and is also very good at laying down. You’ve yet to teach him much else though. Monday mornings are for mahjong with Granny. Sweet as she is, that woman is a good liar and to this day, you still haven’t won a game. According to Kita, no one has yet to beat her. You’ve extended tea dates with Shizuku into dinners after you and Akaashi close. Most of the time Hayashi is there and despite Akaashi’s indifference to their relationship, every night you gossip about the way his hands would linger around her waist or how he’d whisper something in her ear while they washed dishes. When Asako visits, you untie your apron and give her grandparents a break. Only when she is done with her meal, you walk her into the back where you tell her to mind her step and you and lift her over the wall so she can knock on Hayashi’s back door for an ice cream.
People gradually enter your lives, ones that you didn’t have courage to see. With a warning text sent like an afterthought, it’s a welcome surprise to find Bokuto seated on top of your kitchen table, towering height even more pronounced, while Akaashi showcased his skill in a new apron.
“Oh?” you say and at the sight of Akaashi’s expression, all you do is smile and wish them a good time. If there is a time that Akaashi shouldn’t be burdened by you, it would be now. You are in the process of healing after all.
Suna and Aran eventually visit, dragged along by Kita. His small build compared to the two athletes make an awkward remeet amusing.
Suna scruffles your head and cups the fat of your cheeks as a greeting, “hey, Bug. Nothing kills you, huh?”
You’re grateful when Aran saves you, pulling you into a deep hug that soothes your soul. He lifts you up once just to hold you closer, and when he’s done, they all apologize for not visiting you sooner. It was shame, they admitted. Because for Osamu, they were willing to do anything to make him feel better, even if it was to perpetuate lies.
You’re at a space now where you understand because for Osamu, you know you would and will do anything for him too. No one talks about him though. No one dares mention any Miya first, and finally, you’re not compelled to bring them up either.
Of course, it’s just as tumultuous of a ride, even more so now that you’re more aware of your issues. Some days, the social vigor of running a restaurant is so draining that all you can do is keep your head down in the back. Count inventory and roll orders whenever Akaashi places them in. Sometimes it’s even harder than that, where you end up at the convenience store with one bottle of sake. Usually the guilt hits you half a bottle in and you end up pouring the rest over the nearest drain. This time, halfway isn’t nearly enough to ease the pain.
With the amount of volleyball players that have re-entered your life, an old interview of Osamu’s is in your recommended videos to watch. You can’t not click it when the thumbnail is a closeup top angle of his face, long hair pulled into a messy bun.
He stands the same with hands on his hips and in a wide stance but even the way he speaks sounds different. Same voice, different person. Different words.
The comments prove that he has a lot of fans from all over the world. They shout words of affection, recount the best games they’ve witnessed him in and no one mentions a single word about Onigiri Miya.
You’re at a point in your life now that any sort of Osamu brings on a general longing. You miss him so much you’re willing to take whatever you can have.
The realization makes you feel like you’ve lost him again because this place, the venue where you labor yourself until your back is broken despite your lack of knowledge had been a huge part of him. Now it is all lost to his pro volleyball glamor.
Onigiri Miya Osamu will eventually fade from existence. Once more, you begin grieving.
Despite your coping methods, it takes a long time to build yourself out of your rut. The gloom lasts for days and life has a predilection for stacking up your misery.
“Miya–”
Akaashi doesn’t have to finish his sentence. The impact already hits your stomach at the surname. It doesn’t matter which Miya it is. A Miya has stepped foot into this building, the first time since the fire. Suspense boils in your gut and its noxious fumes cut the breath from your lungs.
You’ve thought about this moment in great lengths, anxiously in bed or idle thoughts as you wait for the train. Preparation has never been your strong suit though. The fact is clear with the condition of your restaurant that struggles to even get by.
Blonde hair glistens against the backdrop of an afternoon sun and distracts you from the bells that ring when he opens the door. He glances around the walls with his mouth agape, focusing mostly on the origin story next to the host stand. It’s just a few old newspaper clippings of articles and one image of Osamu’s face. It was one of your few stipulations. He must always be there to greet the customers.
When Atsumu’s gaze finally finds yours, you can’t help but grip the towel tighter in your hands. Misplaced anger simmers right behind your tightly pursed lips. His face is so similar. It’s the closest anyone could get to a clone, and the distinct features you’ve been searching for, the ones that belong to the Osamu you once knew, are not there.
It’s a lot. It’s been a bad couple of weeks.
But Atsumu doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know that you’ve worked yourself raw and instead of building calluses, all you've done is made yourself tender.
He passes the backline and you find yourself taking a step back towards the display case as he crosses your first line of defense. He acts like nothing’s changed, that he’s still got free reign of the place and maybe it hasn’t. When he pulls you in, when he mutters ‘I love ya’ and ‘I’m so sorry’ over and over again, you fall apart in his arms.
You fist his shirt at the chest and sob in a way you haven’t allowed yourself since the hospital, since you’d seen any of the Miyas last. You cry into his chest, condense the past years you’ve had to make do with just your hands or sleeves or pillows. There’s rage and pity, but most of all, there is relief. Because as much as Akaashi has sat beside you while you mourned, and how everyone had gathered to remind you of your worth, they could never fill the space that any Miya left behind. None of them understood what it was like to lose Osamu. Not Myaa-sam, or Chef, or Oji-Samu. Youhad borne that misery alone.
You can’t fault Osamu for not choosing you. And Mama Miya has tried reaching out despite your lack of response.
But Atsumu, he could have stayed. You thought there was kinship there, a shared love for his brother. You thought you could have shared the sorrow too. Instead, he’d whisked away his family to Osaka to escape any reminder of the previous life he lived. He took everything and he left you behind.
Atsumu follows you to the ground when you literally fall apart in his arms. He hugs you tighter and he ignores the stack of napkins shelved right next to you, knowing that his shirt is more than enough.
Atsumu is eventually able to get you to a park near the restaurant once you calmed down. You both lay next to each other on the grass and the sun’s power is too strong for your swollen eyes. You have to balance your water bottle over them as shade. Atsumu offers the sunglasses he likes to keep clipped to the collar of his shirt. You accept it cautiously, wary of taking too much.
“I’m sorry.”
His apology is overwhelming and the corners of your eyes overflow, unprepared.
“Don’t,” you sputter out when you have the breath, a sting clinging to the bridge of your nose, “don’t. I can’t take it. Say something else.”
“I–” the way he blunders means he must have prepared a speech and now you’ve thrown a wrench in his plans. “I… uh. It’s good to see ya.”
“Oh, gods. Why are you even here?”
“I wanted to see ya,” he answers lamely.
There’s still anger in your chest and for the past couple of years, you’d been aiming that ire at Akaashi unjustly. Atsumu’s expression from the day at the hospital still keeps you up sometimes and it’s taken months of therapy for you to realize that his emotions were also misplaced. You’d dealt with pieces of the guilt and there’s still a lot that you need to address, but you understand now, that the burden of being was never yours alone to bear.
“Now? When you’ve had all this time?”
“I know. I–” he stops himself from another apology. You’re grateful he’s grown the maturity to keep his mouth shut when asked. “I just wanted to prepare ya.”
“For what?”
“Samu went no contact on me.”
You rise to your elbows in shock, worry prickling prickling your heart, “and Ma?”
“Not Ma,” he shakes his head quickly. “He calls her sometimes, not enough, but more than me.”
“Why?”
Atsumu breathes deeply, worn and weary. He brings his arms back and rests his head on them, eyes up at the sky watching a kite flown by two children, probably siblings. “Why fucking not, ya know?”
“No, Atsumu, I wouldn’t know when you basically went no contact on me.”
Atsumu pinches his bottom lip between his front teeth. Through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, you can see the way they lighten from the pressure. He sighs again.
“I deserve this, I know. But Osamu didn’t. I fucked up but I had no clue what I was doing. Ya gotta understand. Ya were there and ya saw him and how beaten down he was and maybe I did put blame on everyone but myself. I hated Onigiri Miya for even getting him caught up in that sort of mess, and when his dreams lined up with mine, I figured it would be okay. We could leave it all behind. I tried to play God with my own brother’s life and he let me. Everyone did.”
“He listened to you?”
Atsumu shakes his head, “crazy, right? He was lost and unsure, but I was confident, ya know? I just felt so certain I was doing the right thing and I think that’s the only reason why he let himself be led all this way.”
“So what changed?”
“Are ya kidding?” Atsumu looks at you, and when he realizes you don’t have a clue, he turns to face you. “The answer is you.”
It’s a fucked up thing for Atsumu to say. The words erupt an ache in your chest. You curl into yourself, bring your knees up so that you flinch away from the pain but Atsumu grabs hold of both of your hands. He grips tightly in an attempt to siphon the pain.
“A love like yours ain’t something easy to forget.”
You remember the hospital, “that’s what Ma said.”
“It’s exactly what she told him when he left. I don’t know how he found out, but I saw that he looked up Onigiri Miya the day before he left and he’s been gone since. For about two weeks now, I think.”
“No,” you shake your head, closing your eyes to soften the blow of his words but even in the darkness, a stinging, buzzing pain wracks through your body. It’s everywhere all at once but Atsumu holds you through it.
“I love ya. I promise, I do. There wasn’t a day I didn’t regret what I did, but believe me when I tell ya. I do. I love ya,” He takes your hands that have been bunched up into fists and presses them onto the soft skin below his eyes where it’s sticky and wet. “And I’m so sorry I had to put ya through this and made ya go through this all alone, so if ya moved on, if ya got someone else, I understand and I’ll figure something out.”
You try to pull yourself from his grip but Atsumu holds onto you, head bent in repentance and the sincerity of it all spouts more tears.
“I’ll handle Osamu if that’s the case. I know Akaashi’s a really good guy so–”
You take your conjoined hands and jab him across the forehead. Atsumu sputters in shock, letting you go in the process while he tries to soothe the pain.
“Does it look like I’ve moved on, idiot?” You knock soft fists into his chest like a child. “Would I be crying in what I consider my own brother’s arms in a park if I moved on?”
“I just wanted–”
“And Akaashi? Fucking Akaashi? He’s a good guy,” you mock, irritated, “of course he is. Shut up. You know I’m in love with your brother.”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Stop hitting me. I said I was sorry already.”
You make sure to put some extra force in that final punch, “you’re going to say it for the rest of your life.”
Atsumu nods gratefully, “of course.”
“And,” the words hurt coming out, “and don’t run off on me again.”
What makes the tears slip this time is forgiveness. Atsumu holds your hand against his chest where you can feel his heart. You’ve missed him, longed for him just as much as you have Osamu and slowly, you feel yourself start to heal.
“He might not need a brother right now, but I do.”
Atsumu kisses you on the cheek and pulls you close. He holds you in his arms with the same exact care he had for Osamu in the hospital, with the same protectiveness of an elder brother.
Finally, you feel understood.
Atsumu spends his off season in Hyogo where you find out Ma has moved back. Akaashi doesn’t take kindly to a change in routines, but he begins helping out where he can along with Ma.
When Ma first sees you, all she can do is hold you at arm’s length, picking her vernacular apart with words that she wanted to say. You just shake your head and let yourself be swallowed by her cardigan comfort. She encourages you to come to family dinner and you have to ask if Akaashi is invited too. She pats his cheek and says of course like the question was unnecessary to begin with.
The world shifts almost exactly the way you imagined it. Life has a funny way of doing that. Atsumu helps around the restaurant and Ma stops by with some of her friends after an activity. She meets Asako who she adores and is adored just as equally. Ma takes ice cream duty from you while Atsumu, because it’s his off season, likes to overstay his welcome at your apartment. Akaashi kicks him out and the athlete tries to use Mumu as an excuse. Mumu, unfortunately, likes Atsumu even less than Akaashi.
Sometimes Atsumu will try to broach the topic of contacting Osamu, something that both you and Ma are against. Osamu has been through enough, you both reason. And he’s probably had his fill of someone telling him what to do.
The restaurant fills and though you know that yours or Akaashi’s food cannot compare, the laughter spills out the doors from friends and family and neighbors that continuously visit. They manage when you accidentally don’t order enough fish, opting for broth and rice and when you run out of beverages, someone offers to run to the convenience store to buy drinks.
It’s not a perfect venue, but it embodies Osamu’s very being, a place that has become a home.
One day, Akaashi is out of town and Atsumu helps you while he’s gone. He’s not as focused as your usual business partner, whose eyes continuously drift out onto the streets and he even leaves early when you haven’t finished clearing up for the day.
“Alright, I gotta go but I’ll lock the door,” Atsumu runs off quickly. “Ya can handle this, right?”
You look at the stack of dishes and the ready to go items that haven’t been put away yet. It’s not much, but it would certainly be easier if he stayed. Unfortunately, his question is apparently rhetorical because the man does not wait for an answer. He reiterates his farewell and with a jingle, the door is shut.
“Okay,” you say, blinking at his figure that eventually passes a corner and disappears. You scan your surroundings, running a mental image of what would be the most efficient process. Wipe down the tables, you decide. Some haven’t been bussed yet so you head over with a fresh rag and empty tray.
Atsumu likes to turn up the music the moment the o.mo.ide closes as a way to decompress. You hum along. It’s a mindless process now that you’ve done it so many times. Clear the tables. Sanitize the tables. Sanitize the chair. Bend down eye level with the table and make sure you haven’t missed any crumbs. You’re not even thinking, just lost in the routine and it’s why the sound of the bell startles you.
It’s so like Atsumu to forget to lock the door. You compose yourself with a slow inhale and prepare for an irate customer who might argue at your innocent error, but the breath expels from your mouth.
You stand there stupidly, hands holding your chest like you’re about to dive backwards into water. It’s that feeling, where two characters catch eyes on a crowded street. Despite everything that has happened and all that separates you, he holds you captive. Your feet are planted to the ground and everything, heart, mind, body, and breath is under his power.
“O – Oh…”
Even saying his name feels foreign because as much as you’ve thought of him, you can’t remember when was the last time you did. It feels foreign on your tongue and you can’t blurt anything out but the first letter, and you witness his demeanor change.
“Osamu,” you say only because you think it’ll make him smile. It does and because of it, you want to fall down on your knees.
Everything, everything that you had observed different about him, his hair that looks like he’s cut but is still longer than you remember, the cut of his jaw that’s sharper, his brows that he’d boast about being strong look trimmed, and even his choice of clothes is different, opting for a sleeveless tee over his favored oversized shirts, all of that is negligent because seeing him once more, you recognize he is still your Osamu.
“Hi,” he greets and your heart flutters. Was this really how it felt when you were falling in love because everything he does brings upon a desire that you doubt could ever be quelled. “Are ya closed?”
“Yes,” you answer honestly and the wilt of his face makes you overcompensate, “but– but it’s fine! You’re come in… I mean, oh…”
This is so fucking embarrassing. “You’re always welcome. Come in and have a seat wherever you want.”
He points at a bar seat with a head tilt. You nod and make sure to lock the door behind him. The bus tub, the rag, you forego it all and pass the swinging door that separates the register and eating area. Your hands perspire at the stress of perfection. It’s a foreign thing for him to be seated while you serve him and maybe it’s you overthinking, but it feels like he’s watching your every move.
Osamu quickly diverts his gaze when you turn around. His not so subtle glancing of the venue, head craned back as he looks at the decorations on the walls and the lighting fixtures you and Akaashi picked, amuses you but you try not to show it too hard. Osamu seems shyer than you’re used to. That’s okay. You’re nervous too.
“Did you come hungry?”
“I did.”
Ease washes over you. Thank the gods, that has stayed the same.
You apologize for the lack of options and Osamu tries to downplay the inconvenience. “It’s okay. I didn’t… Well I did, but I didn’t really come here to eat.”
“No?”
Osamu plays with a stray grain of rice between his fingers. He rolls the sticky piece into a ball, back and forth as he thinks of what he wants to say.
“No, I… To be honest, I didn’t think I was going to go inside.”
“Oh.”
“But I…” then he stops his rolling and he looks at you, like really looks at you. And whatever it is, you feel it too. “But I just had to.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“Yeah, well, it took me all up until closing to work up the courage.”
“That’s okay,” you tell him. You pull up the stool near the rear register and situate yourself across from him. The boundary that separates you two is familiar, 76 centimeters of space that you know by heart and it makes conversation flow smoother. “I’m happy you came at all. How was your day?”
“Shit.”
The answer takes you by surprise, him too by the way he stops chewing, lips puckering close together as he ruminates whether or not meant to say those words. But he owns them, and continues on.
“My smoothie spilled all over my cup holder.”
“Oh no. Did you ask for another one?”
“Pretty sure they tried to sabotage me by giving me a cracked cup.”
You break in the most unexpected way. A smile splits your lips and a giggle strikes through your chest. Everything feels so similar, so weightless. It feels like a dam has been broken with just a couple of words.
“It ain’t funny.”
You agree, “I know. It’s the worst.”
“Then why are ya laughing?”
“I don’t even know. It’s not funny at all.”
“It’s not. I had to stuff a bunch of napkins in there.”
“No, it’s going to get sticky!”
“What else was I supposed to do?”
“Cry.”
Osamu sputters, rice flying from his mouth. He’s embarrassed for only a millisecond, fearful of your reaction, but all it does is make you bend over, sincerely losing control of your body. Osamu joins you, laughing at who knows what, but you’re grateful. For as much pain misery brings, it takes so little for you to be happy.
“Fuck,” he says once he’s able to catch a breath. He says quietly with wonder and it has your giggles soften to match his energy. “I’ve imagined every way this meeting could go.”
Your heart constricts like it’s being pinched from the bottom. “Is it everything you thought it’d be?”
“No,” Osamu shakes his head genuinely. You almost apologize. “I thought I’d mess it all up but,” he looks at you and it’s the gaze you had been searching when he had first woken up all those years ago. A quiet ardor, soft around the edges but saturated in passion, “but I didn’t expect it to be so easy.”
“Stop,” you have to hide your lips.
Osamu doesn’t understand, back straightening, “what?”
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Saying those things.”
His lips pucker themselves out, “why can’t I?”
“Because,” you blink furiously, willing the tears away because you want to remember this with clarity, “you’re making me too happy.”
He grins too, but it’s still shy as he bends his head down, nodding slightly as he does, “how do ya think I feel?”
There’s a calmness that settles now that your mania has subsided. Your eyes appraise, trying to find more topics to talk about so he can stay just a little longer.
“Are those cigarettes?” you observe the square box in his breast pocket.
He nods as he pulls them out, holding them in his hands as if they were novel.
“Are you smoking a lot?”
He looks at you curiously, “did I used to?”
The past tense makes you stumble, but you do your best to answer him honestly. “Sometimes. Only the bad days. That’s how we knew you were having a bad day because we’d smell them on you.”
He’d lean his chest against the railings like his body was too heavy, curved his body like a treble clef as he smoked. And often you’d find him in the alleyway, a cigarette in one hand and food for the cats in another.
“It’s crazy how I do shit without knowing the real meaning.”
You shrug, “habits are harder to break than memory.”
Osamu nods. A beat passes before he continues the conversation on his own.
“I’ve had this same pack since I left the hospital.” He opens it and reveals only a few sticks missing, “play with it for the most part but I’ll smoke one when I get overwhelmed. I dreamt of you once and my heart wouldn’t stop beating. I had to go outside and calm myself. Nearly gave Tsumu a heart attack when he noticed my bed was empty.”
“He’s a worrywort.”
The sound Osamu makes is not kind. There’s still animosity for his brother, “even more so now.”
“He means well.”
“Sure he does.”
“I’m sorry.”
Your apology takes him by surprise. Osamu shuts the pack and places it back in his pocket. “For what?”
“For, I don’t know.” A lot of things. For burdening him with faded memories, for not being who he needed, for not being enough, “for being in your dream.”
“What are ya saying? It was a good dream. It felt… nice.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he nods earnestly while looking at you. “I can’t explain it because I really don’t know the specifics, but it felt good. Made me wish I dreamed about ya more.”
The sunset is almost complete, dark orange hues streak the tile floor. Osamu’s been done eating for minutes now. With his plate clean and the conversation running its course, it feels like a good place for this to end. But you don’t think you can part with him just yet. A culmination of yearning and grieving and mourning and aching has led to this and you’ll be damned if it’s over now.
You hop off the stool and Osamu sighs. He matches your movements, slowly getting up, too. He looks ready to leave but you won’t let him go without trying. Not this time.
“Would you like to see the back?”
“Really?” his giddiness prompts yours.
“Yeah, of course.” You lead him to the back and grab your apron. Then you point at the black one on the last hook closest to the back alley door . “Take that apron.”
He hooks his finger around the neck, “this one?”
You nod. “Yeah, that one’s yours.”
He takes it in his hand, shy and foreign in his fingers. It’s different, clumsier, but it’s familiar enough to let your heart burn.
He pulls the fabric over his head and adjusts it along his shoulder. The apron is knotted up by habit, his hands reaching there after the three usual tugs and when he looks up, your stomach swirls at the sight of his beam.
He’s everything you’ve missed in more ways than one, but finally, thank gods, finally. He’s right where he belongs.
#reina.writeshaikyuu!!#haikyuu angst#miya osamu angst#miya osamu x reader#osamu x reader#haikyuu x reader#i think i’m going to have a drink now
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Media presence, part 2
word count; 797 – gn!reader
go read part 1 first for the best experience
You didn’t spend most of your time around the volleyball players themselves. Their managers communicated with you about their events and you used all the information you had to make sure everyone looked good and everything was well-prepared in terms of their image. It’s a busy job, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t love it.
Some days you would spend all your hours in the office, either at home or at work, and some days you got to join the players to make sure everything went well. The day after your talk with Sakusa, there was a photo shoot for a sportswear advert and they wanted your problem children.
All four of them had their makeup done and were dressed up in their first outfits, which were beach-themed. They walked out of the changing rooms and stood in a line, adorned in various shirts with shorts of different lengths. You were picking at their clothes, rambling about how important it was that they tried to coordinate so all four could shine in every photo while they nodded along without even registering your words.
Meanwhile, you also made some observations. For example, you looked at Atsumu and hummed in appreciation. “They put you in the shortest shorts like I told them to, good.” You knew what the fans liked and gave the customer some pointers ahead of time. This visibly boosted his ego and you chuckled under your breath as you moved on. “Make sure you give the other guys some pointers, ninja Shoyo. I advised them to put you in the front for this theme.” Then you looked at Bokuto and tilted your head. “I thought I suggested a different hairstyle, but you look great, buddy.” All he heard was look great. Finally, you looked at Sakusa, and you would be dead before you admitted to taking in a breath from seeing him up close without a mask.
He blinked at you, hoping he looked bored even though his heart painfully begged to get a compliment from you. It took you a moment to collect yourself and he smiled just a little. You cleared your throat, looking him up and down. He was wearing a skin-tight top, making his muscles look especially good. “Yes, boss?” he said, making the others snicker like children.
“Please put some effort into this and don’t look sour. You know…” Sakusa looked annoyed again, perhaps because he didn’t get an obvious compliment so you rolled your eyes. “Don’t waste it.” you finished before walking straight off to go see the stylists about some comments you had, and both of you knew what you were talking about. Don’t waste your pretty face.
To some people’s surprise, Sakusa did very well! Not only did he look hot, but there was a charming smirk on his face as well that you only recognised from hearing it in his voice before. Sakusa knew you were watching and it was oddly motivating. Still, when Atsumu asked why he was being so cooperative, he crossed his arms and frowned, saying something about how much he wanted to get it over with.
You were looking at the photos sent to you from the client a couple of days later, smiling at how good all your guys looked. While you couldn’t send them the photos yet in fear that they didn’t understand what confidential meant, you sent them each a message saying they looked good and did a great job.
While throwing together all your stuff to go home for the day, you heard your phone buzz on the desk and picked it up only when you were ready to leave. You were humming something under your breath until you saw Sakusa’s message.
Sakusa: Is that from you or the bosses?
You smiled, cursing the way your ears felt warm.
From me:)
After that, you didn’t expect any answer from him, putting the phone in your pocket while travelling home. But as you were brushing your teeth, another message came in.
Sakusa: Bet you wrote that to all the guys.
You had to reread it 10 times, wondering if this was really Sakusa and in that case, what he meant by it. Nursing your lip between your teeth, you replied.
What if I did, does that bother you?
Sakusa: Don’t flatter yourself.
Sakusa blinked at the message he sent, cursing himself for sending something that sounded so… not nice. It did bother him, and the fact that it bothered him bothered him even more. He wished he was the only one you noticed despite this being your job. How embarrassing of him. He left his phone beside him on the bed, closing his eyes as he realised he probably wouldn’t be receiving any more messages for now.
So much for trying to flirt.
part 1 ║ part 2 ║ part 3 (final part) ║ headcanons ║ masterlist
/I feel like all his texts could be read in a flirty or teasing tone, but because they’re from Sakusa, it doesn’t work out. Also, I wrote a part 3 which will be the final part.
#haikyu#haikyuu#haikyu x reader#hq x reader#fanfiction#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu fluff#hq#haikyuu x you#haikyu fluff#msby sakusa#sakusa kiyoomi#sakusa x reader#haikyuu sakusa#hq sakusa#msby
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Soft (Osamu x reader)
Adult, business-owning boyfriend!Osamu is without a doubt the type of partner who would slowly yet firmly bring out the soft, tender-hearted childish part of you... and it would be without either of you even realising it... only when someone else pointed it out would it strike you both and even then it would hit you a lot more than it would Samu. Not because he doesn't care but because to him that is the natural order of the world. When and where else were you allowed to be soft, tender and just taken care of if not with your big beefy boyfriend...
It's a cold winter night, but you all are sitting by the riverside, a blanket spread out and a collapsible table in the back holding food and drinks. The little group consists of you, Osamu, Suna, Iwaizumi, Kageyama, and a bunch of the other MSBY boys. Everyone is either nursing a drink or munching on snacks prepared by you and your boyfriend.
Osamu is sitting in the center of the blanket between a tipsy Suna and an amused Iwaizumi. Feet flat on the ground, knees spread apart, with his body hunched over yours, which is tucked against him. You are sitting between his legs, head thrown back against his shoulder, all warm and cozy. You let Samu hold up most of your weight as you melt into his chest, your hands playing with one of his own. Outside of setting up your little picnic and grabbing the occasional drink, it's how you spend most of your night. Somewhere behind you, you can hear Sakusa's indifferent voice talking to Kageyama. In front of you, Atsumu, Kotarou, and Shoyou are bickering over the last tuna mayo onigiri.
Every few minutes, Samu pecks your temple, quietly whispering snarky comments about others or chuckling deeply in your ear. He occasionally peppers kisses along your shoulder, and each time, you smile and mumble your agreement. You watch Atsumu fail to get the last onigiri from Bokuto as the much larger man chomps onto the rice in one bite. You giggle at the blonde's dismayed expression, which immediately grabs his attention.
"Y/N, don't laugh at me… it's not fair, ya know… that onigiri was rightfully mine."
"Awww, don't pout, Tsumu. Stop by the store tomorrow, okay? I'll keep an order prepared for you."
"One, I'm not pouting; I'm brooding. And two… You're the best, sweetheart. Have I told ya that?"
You just giggle, watching Atsumu jump about in happiness before he comes to a standstill. He takes a seat opposite you and Samu, legs crossed together. His eyes are trained on you, and you can only look back at him and smile. He smiles back wide before he speaks in a voice much quieter than before,
"Ya know, Y/N, I have never seen ya look so… so soft… unguarded even… it's probably the cutest thing ever."
His words are not at all what you were expecting, and they leave you gobsmacked and shy. You feel your cheeks heat up at the attention, especially when the boys around you start to peer in. Iwaizumi bends over trying to peek at your face against Osamu's hunched-over body. When your surprised doe eyes meet his, he chuckles in agreement,
"You aren't wrong, Astumu… definitely cute."
Suna does the same on the other side, one hand coming and lightly pinching your cheek.
"Mhmm, it is adorable… you should keep her hidden, Samu, otherwise someone's going to steal her away."
"Oh yeah? Ya one of those people, Sunarin?"
Finally, your boyfriend chimes in, you can feel his chest move as you bend back to look at him. You find his eyes already trained on you despite talking to Suna. His lidded eyes and soft smirk are an expression you would remember forever. You have never felt more loved and wanted in all your life, and you are quick to shy away from all the attention,
"You guys… go away. Smack around a ball or something."
You can feel Samu's chest rumble as he chuckles at your timidness while Atsumu jumps up to grab the ball and Shoyou. Suna pinches your cheek again, making you whine while Iwaizumi musses up your hair. Chatter seems to surround you again, but your mind is stuck on those words. They stay floating through your consciousness while the boys horse around, sometimes jolting when Osamu's body moves. The thoughts stay there while everyone packs, all of you too tired now and wanting to get home. It's all you can think about, even as Osamu grabs the heavy and lighter bags from your hand in one of his own, his other hand holding onto yours tightly. When you look up at him, he is already smiling down at you.
"Are ya okay, sweetheart? You've been quiet as a mouse, ya know."
You just hum, instead of leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. Osamu makes it easier by leaning down, quirking a brow at the soft gesture, but he doesn't say anything more. Instead, you walk down to the car, Sakusa helping to carry a drunk Atsumu along.
Soft. Soft. Soft… You sit in the passenger seat, looking out the window, with Atsumu and Sakusa in the back bickering with one another as usual.
You had never been soft…
You had never been soft in the sense that you were just never for others to see… Your softness, you had decided early on, was yours, and you would not give others a chance to abuse it because there were too many times where it had been… So when did it all change? When did it go from something secret to something celebrated?
Looking back, though, it was never really a question… Being soft with Osamu just happened as if you didn't know how to exist in any other way with him. You just couldn't… Not when he always bends down and ties your laces for you, nor when he always opens the car door and buckles your seat belt in because 'precious cargo' always needs to be strapped in. You didn't have a choice in keeping your softness hidden when you woke up to flowers on the table at least once a week, and when you asked Samu why, he just shrugged his shoulders and said pretty things should always be surrounded by pretty things. You didn't have a choice in hiding your tender heart when Samu has always had a hold on it, pulling it out of you and then keeping it on a pedestal for everyone to see but for no one else to touch.
Turning to look at him right now, one of his hands on the wheel, quietly humming something with his other hand on your thigh, gripping both your leg and your hand, you were hit with the intensity of Samu's love. And although his eyes never leave the road, you know he knows you're looking at him. You see him smile as the car comes to a stop in front of Atsumu's house. He turns to look at you, and when his eyes meet yours, he chuckles before leaning in to peck your lips. You have to stop yourself from deepening it because he has to help Sakusa get Atsumu to bed.
And when he comes back outside alone, your eyes immediately find him even in the dark outside. You roll the window down, his arms coming to rest on the door, head leaning in until you were so close you could feel his breath on your own lips.
"Ya sure you're alright mhmmm? Sure ya got nothing to tell me"
His nose comes to lightly nudge yours,
"Nothing to tell you Samu, promise, just been thinking that's all"
"How about you tell me what about? might make me feel better"
"Just thinking about how happy I am being yours thats all"
Your words knock the breath right out of Samu and he lets out a sounds thats something between a chuckle and a groan before he's leaning away to open your door. Before you can question him his hands find you face, lips landing on yours. Samu kisses you like its all he can do not to stop himself every second of every day, a desperate growl of approval leaving him as he does so before he pulls away and says,
"I will never get over how soft ya make me love, never!"
#hq writing#hq x reader#miya osamu imagines#osamu fluff#miya osamu x reader#osamu x reader#miya osumu#miya twins x reader#osamu miya fluff#miya osamu#haikyuu fic#haikyuu fandom#haikyuu!!#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu x plus size reader#inarizaki x reader#haikyuu drabbles#inarizaki x y/n#haikyuu inarizaki#osamu reader insert#miya osamu x y/n#miya osamu fluff#miya atsumu x reader#suna x reader
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six — best
fuck ur instincts — suna x reader & atsumu x reader
you and suna are just fooling around—so why does he care so much when you start falling in love with someone else?
previous — masterlist — next
word count. 2k
content. swearing, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, slight dacryphilia, cum eating, use of pet names
“Pay up, fuckers!”
The boys groan as you hold your hands out for them to drop their money into. One by one, they reach into their pockets and begrudgingly hand you their bets. You’ve just bested them a beer pong again.
“Fuckin’ cheerleaders, man,” Aran murmurs. “Yukie fucked us up at the last party too.”
You walk over to Atsumu with a shit-eating grin on your face. “You still owe me.”
He rolls his eyes at you then takes your face with one hand, planting a kiss on your lips. When he pulls away to find you looking stunned, he smirks. “That’s worth at least a thousand yen.”
Your grin is back. “Cocky,” you say. “I kinda dig it.”
So wrapped up being the center of attention, you don’t seem to feel Suna’s unrelenting gaze on you. He just can’t look away. It’s like his eyes are glued to your figure, taking it all in. The way you charm everyone until they’re eating out of your hand. The way you always have a witty little quip to say when they try to get under your skin. The way you light up when you’re near Atsumu and the way you close your eyes when he kisses you.
He sees it all from the corner of the room, nursing his beer. And the whole time, there’s only one thing on his mind: He really needs to fuck you right now.
You pull away from the rest of the group and head to the kitchen to get another drink.
“Hey, Suna,” you greet when you pass by him. “Haven’t seen much of you tonight. You find a girl you like?”
He follows you out of the room, the two of you walking into an empty corridor. Well, it’s more or less empty. The only people there are passed out on the floor.
Before you know it, your back is pressed against the wall and Suna’s lips are on yours. It’s messy and harsh, all teeth and force. There’s no method to how he touches you, his hands are just everywhere, grabbing any part of you that he can.
You withdraw your lips from his, lightly pushing him away. “Wait, wait, wait,” you say, trying to get a good look at him in the dimly-lit corridor. You can’t see much, but you can see his eyes. The way they stare at you, hungry. “What’s going on, Suna?”
His voice is low and rough. “Don’t call me that.”
“What?”
“Suna,” he says. “It’s Rin to you.”
You crack a smile at the request. “Rin,” you say quietly, obliging, “what’s going on?”
“I need to fuck you.”
His hands are on your shoulders, face just inches away from yours. You can smell the alcohol on his breath, but you know he’s sober. Just really horny, you guess.
“Like… right now?” You give him a bemused look. “Your friends are right there,” you try to remind him, nodding your head at the door to the living room. “They aren’t exactly supposed to know about this, right?”
He answers you with another searing kiss. “I don’t care,” he says against your lips. “I want you.”
At that, you kiss him back, melting into his frantic touch. “I want you too.”
Your words shoot straight to his cock and he lets out a groan. Careful not to step over the people on the floor around you, you both stumble into the closest bathroom, mouths still linked and hands still searching one another.
“Get on the counter,” he commands, locking the door behind him.
You do as he says and reach your hands out for him. The heat between your legs grows. “Rin, I need you.”
He’s back on you, hands running up and down your back as he lets you slip your tongue into his mouth. He moves his fingers between your legs, pushing your panties aside to touch your dripping core. “Fuck, baby.” He pulls his soaked hand up for you to see. “Would you look at that?”
You nod mindlessly, trying to pull him as close to you as you can. When he starts pressing his fingers against your clit, you grab his wrist. “No,” you say desperately. “I want you in me now.”
“You sure you can take me?” His voice is teasing. “Might break you.”
Your hands go up to his hair, yanking him forward to crash your lips into his. “I don’t care. Please, Rin.”
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me.”
You don’t have to tell him twice. In a second, he pulls you off the counter, turns you around, and bends you over. He lifts your skirt up and rips your panties away like they’re nothing.
“Rin,” you whine. “Why’d you do that?”
He places the piece of fabric in his pocket. “It’s fine,” he tells you, landing a harsh blow to your ass. “I won’t let anyone see you.”
You moan at the sting of his touch. Your eyes land on the mirror in front of you, catching a glimpse of your fucked out state. It’s filthy, the way Suna has you bent over, your tits threatening to spill out of your top, legs spread to the side for him. Behind you, you can see him unbuckling his belt and pulling his pants down, eyes focused on your pussy.
Then, you feel it. The head of his cock pressed against your folds, moving up and down as he gathers your slick.
“Don’t tease.”
He chuckles. “Just making sure you’re ready to take me.”
Without warning, he slides all the way inside of you. You scream at the mix of pain and pleasure overtaking your senses as Suna’s hand comes to cover your mouth.
“Gotta keep it down, babe,” he tells you as he starts to thrust. He goes faster every time he moves, impatiently fucking into you, your walls clenching around him. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”
You grip the edge of the counter as the knot in your stomach tightens. Suna moves in and out of you at a brutal pace, your entire body being tossed back and forth by the sheer force of it. Muffled moans spill out of your lips and your eyes roll so far back into your head you swear you can see your skull.
“Taking me so well,” he hisses. One hand moves away from your mouth and goes to grip your hips while the other comes up to grab your hair and yank your head up. “Open your eyes, baby. Look at yourself. All fucked out on my cock.”
You try your best to look at the sight in front of you, the way Suna uses your body like it’s nothing, the way he pounds into you from behind. Tears slip out the corners of your eyes as your pleasure reaches immeasurable heights.
He snickers. “Is my pretty baby crying?” he asks. “Am I fucking you too good?”
No words come out of you, just endless whimpers. You try to keep yourself quiet knowing that, even if the music outside is blaring, you’re being loud enough for anyone passing by to hear. Then, a sharp thrust sends your entire body lurching forward and a borderline pornographic moan slips out of your mouth. There’s no way you can keep quiet, not when Suna’s fucking you like this.
“Can’t even speak now, can you? Too drunk on my cock.” He knows you’re close, he can feel you clenching around him, so tight it’s making it harder for him to move. His hand pulls away from your head and goes down to rub your swollen clit. “Such a pretty fucking girl,” he says. “So pretty when I fuck you.”
Without his support, your head drops, mind too focused on your impending orgasm. You rock back and forth with each relentless thrust, your chest heaving with effort and adrenaline. “Rin,” you moan. “I’m so close.”
“I know, baby, I know,” he murmurs, leaning over your back until his lips are right beside your ear. “I’m right there with you. Come for me.”
And, just like that, a wave hits you, riding your high as Suna continues to fuck you through it. You swear the counter should be crumbling from just how hard your grip is, clinging onto it for dear life. The sounds falling out of your mouth are sinful, downright sacrilege.
With a few more thrusts, Suna stills, cum spurting deep inside you. He grabs your hips so tight that you already know they’ll bruise in the morning. His body slumps over yours, just as spent as you are. He wraps his arms around you as the two of you try to get your bearings, slouched over the counter for a moment, Suna’s dick softening inside of you.
After a beat, you start giggling. “Where did that come from?”
You can feel him smile against your shoulder. “I told you. Your skirt’s cute,” he says, peeling himself off you as you both pull apart. You wobble a little and he catches you just in time, holding you against his chest. “That’s got to be at least in the top 5.”
Your hand slaps his chest at the comment. “Oh definitely,” you tell him with a smile. “Maybe even in the top 3.”
He pumps his fist. “I still got it.”
You laugh.
Suna pulls his pants back up and fixes his belt while you retouch your makeup in the mirror. You’re focused on applying your lipstick when he notices his cum sliding down the insides of your thigh. He turns to look for some toilet paper and pales a little when he sees the empty dispenser.
“Shit.”
You look at him with concern. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, no, it’s just…” He motions at your legs. “There’s no toilet paper here. I can go out and find something.”
You glance down, see what he’s talking about, then look back at him and shake your head. “It’s fine.”
“What? Y/N—”
What you do next has him stunned, gaping at you. You slide two fingers up your thigh, gathering the cum spilling out of you, and pop your fingers in your mouth, sucking on them as your eyes stare right into his.
After rendering him speechless, you come closer, chest pressed against his. Then, you cup a hand to his ear and whisper with a smirk, “I know I’m the best you’ve ever had.”
“Ya good?” Atsumu asks when you come back to join the group. “I was just ‘bout to go lookin’ for ya.”
You coo at him. “Aw, aren’t you sweet?” you say, grabbing his hand. “I’m fine. I just had to make a call.”
“Everythin’ okay?”
“Yeah. Just forgot to tell my roommate I was going out tonight.”
Suna walks into the room a little while after you. It wasn’t really like you were trying to hide it. Besides, you highly doubted anyone would even suspect that there was something going on between the two of you, but you tried to stagger your entrances anyway. Just in case.
He finds you on the couch, huddled over a game of Uno with some of the other guys. You’re sitting on Atsumu’s lap with your brows furrowed in concentration. When you look up to see him, you beam.
“Suna, come join us!” you say like you weren’t just fucking him in the bathroom ten minutes ago. “There’s room over there beside Hinata.”
The bright-haired boy waves at him and pats the spot to his right, on the floor beside the coffee table. “Come on,” he says. “We’re trying to beat Y/N.”
As he takes a seat, you pull a reverse on Aran’s “Draw 4.” He curses loudly. “How the hell?”
Atsumu laughs as you lean back into his chest. He kisses the crown of your head and places a hand on top of your thigh (your legs are crossed… for obvious reasons), rubbing tiny circles into your skin. “Fuckin’ told ya, man,” he says. “Y/N’s just the best.”
Suna clenches his fists on his lap. It shouldn’t bother him, but it does. It’s not like he didn’t see it coming.
He always knew you were the best. He should’ve known that didn’t just apply to him.
notes. this one is for the suna girlies 🫡 and also totally not bc the angst is real!1!!1! i also realize now that i made the reader in this series too hot for her own good like i would fall in love with her too yk?? i’m not choosing a side i’m team reader all the way🧎♀️
#hqbaby.fyi#hqbaby#haikyuu#suna rintarou#suna#suna rintarou x reader#suna x reader#miya atsumu#atsumu#miya atsumu x reader#atsumu x reader#haikyuu x reader#suna rintarou fic#suna fic#miya atsumu fic#atsumu fic#suna smut#haikyuu fic
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atsumu x reader
minors dni
warnings: smut, small pen astumu, shower sex, semi description of cuts/bruises/blood, fem! reader, revenge on Osamu, lovey dovey
whiny! atsumu agenda
thinking about pouty atsumu coming home after a long, terrible day. Kita kept yelling at him and then he got into a fight with osamu and worst of all...he needs help with his bandages and his mom is at work. He sends you a quick message asking you to come over, but doesn't explain why because he doesn't want you to mad at him too.
opening the doors to the Miya household you callout your boyfriend's name while you wonder where everyone else was at. You knew his mom was at work, but where was osamu? going on the wooden steps you turn the corner to see the bathroom door open and a small pout on your boyfriend's face while he sat on the lid of the toilet.
your poor baby.
walking in you gently pick up his face accidentally squishing his bruised cheeks in the process.
"ah baby that hurts," he whined to you, gently pulling your hands down so they rested on his neck. There were several bruises already littering his pretty face, a small gash on the left of his mouth, and what you assume was dirt. you need to clean him up before anything gets infected.
Thank god, momma Miya was a nurse because soon enough you found everything you needed in the boy's bathroom closet.
"do you have any other scratches?" you questioned. He moved his arm around and that's when you noticed how much pain your baby really was in. His arm shook as he tried to lift it up and turn it. On the back was a large scrape that your sure he got on the sidewalk. Blood had gotten on the back of his shirt and his shorts. While you inspected his arm, downstairs the front door clicked open and then shut signaling osamu was home. Something about that door clicking caused the best idea to appear in your head. Leading you to quickly slamming the bathroom door shut as Osamu's heavy foot steps made their way upstairs.
Quietly, you whispered to Atsumu, "baby, you should probably get a shower before we do anything else." If Atsumu had any talent besides Volleyball is was pulling on your heart strings because somehow he managed to make his puppy dog eyes bigger and jut his bottom lip out more. Damn, Osamu just had to kick your brother while he was down. Straddling Atsumu lap you leaned in till your noses were touching and told him, "don't worry. we can get back at Osamu as we clean you up,"
Quickly you hopped off his lap and ran to crack the door open a little bit. You knew Osamu was just a door over playing video games on the twin's bunkbed, so you knew he would be able to hear everything loud and clear. It was a routine for him, and on good days Atsumu would be playing with him. You knew that the gray haired twin's head was resting right on the wall that separated their bedroom to the bathroom. Perfect. Maybe Osamu should take some notes before bullying his brother. I mean one has a girlfriend and the other doesn't. Someone is doing something right.
Turning around you take note of Atsumu's confusion and slickly take off your top, dropping it on the floor. You swore you could see the light bulb light up as Atsumu hopped up and quickly attempted to take off his shirt. Knowing that he would have trouble you slowly helped him out of his clothes making sure not to touch any of his bruises of cuts. The small winces of pain hurt you to hear as Atsumu stepped in the shower. No one should make you boyfriend sad. He's the sweetest boy ever. Yes, he did call some girls pigs, but he knows better now. The only thing on your mind is to cheer up the lanky boy.
You yank off the rest of your clothes and joined him in the shower, circling your hands around his strong, lanky body and moving your hands up and down chest before lowering them to the building muscle under his pecs. He tried smirking a bit before ultimately failing because of the cut on the side of his lip.
"baby turn around. I know how to make you feel better," as if he already knew what was going to happen the piss haired boy turned around and his already erect cock hit you in your thighs. You giggled at the fact he was already turned on while his face began to heat up not only from the hot water hitting his back but from his very forward girlfriend. You left a small kiss on his lips before lowering yourself to your knees in the slippery shower. You left a small kiss on his cock and smiled up at him knowing how self conscious he was of it. His penis wasn't small, but it definitely wasn't big either. The first time the two of you had sex he attempted to try and keep his pants on worried that you would make fun of his length.
Everyone did when they found out, and he was convinced he'd never get a girlfriend because of it. Also, because Suna and Samu would tell him he wouldn't get a girlfriend because of it. You left another small kiss on the head of his cock where some precum began leaking out. You loved his cock. It was perfect and he knew exactly how to use it. Licking the precum off you lips and then smiling back up at your boyfriend to see his tomato red, bruised face watching you. Atsumu swore he was getting light headed and you haven't even wrapped your pretty lips around his cock. He attempted to reach back and switch the water to cool worried he'd pass out from the temperature.
Sensing that he felt a little bit better you finally wrapped your lips around the tanned mushroom tip after pulling his foreskin back. Taking your lips off with a popping sound you smirked up at your lovely boyfriend determined to hear his loud whines. From what you can tell Atsumu didn't know his brother was in the room over meaning those pretty whines will definitely come out. You closed your eyes and started to gently smack his dick on your face feeling small droplets of precum fall onto your wet body.
"mmuh, baby hurry up," he whined from above, bucking his knees like a child about to throw a tantrum. Leaving a slight smack on his thigh you took one of his balls into your mouth and flashed your teeth. Reminding him that you're the one with his cock in your hand.
You're the one in control.
You started to suck on one of his balls while you used the water to jerk his shaft. Above you 'tsumu became a stuttering mess. "f-fu-fuck baby," quickly you shifted balls hearing his deep groans and whines. You loved your whiny boy so much. Trailing back up his cock you looped your mouth around the tip and started swallowing around the shaft as it when further and further down your throat. Number one reason why you love his small cock; you can deepthroat him without causing so much pain for yourself thus allowing yourself to give better head. You swirled your tongue around his penis while he threw his head back in ecstacy. He was just so so pretty like this.
By now you're sure osamu can hear his brother's moans and maybe even the suction sound of him thrusting into your sloppy mouth. Atsumu's fingers began tangling into your hair trying to get his cock deeper into your throat. You could tell he was close by this his pants got faster, and he seemingly couldn't feel any of the pain from the scratches or cuts. Soon enough while Atsumu was giving his finally thrusts Osamu began banging on the wall telling the two of you to quiet down.
But you won't. He knows this, Atsumu knows this even if his only thought was to come down your throat, everyone definitely knew the two of you wouldn't quiet down , but it's funny that he tried. The Miya twins are just two menaces, and Atsumu just happen to find the perfect girl who will be one with him.
At the base of your boyfriend's cock you closed your mouth and took a big glup right as Atsumu hit his peak. Warm, sticky cum shot out and hit the back of your throat. You brought your head off his cock a bit to help swallow, but Atsumu quickly shoved your head right back on to keep him warm while the last few spurts came out.
He loved you like this. Spit trailing out of you mouth, falling down to land on your perfect tits. Your face flushed and eyes red from the slight sting of deepthroating him. He slowly took your head off of his cock with his good arm, and suddenly all the pain he felt was back. Trying to ingore the pain he brought you back up and held you close to him. Leaving a small kiss on your nose and then your perfect lips. He doesn't deserve you.
Noticing the change in behavior you left another kiss on his lips instead of explicitly saying 'yes you do'. The two of you washed up, and before you know it he's back sitting on the toilet seat with a towel wrapped around his waist, and you with the same colored towel looking through the first aid kit. You cleaned his cuts and placed the proper bandaids on each one before walking out of the bathroom to his room.
However before you would walk in Atsumu through his towel at his brothers face sitting on the lower bunk and grabbed both of you a change of clothes. It's crazy how much confidence he gains just being around you.
#haikyuu#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu!!#atsumu x reader#hq headcanons#hq imagines#hq fanfic#hq smut#hq#atsumu miya#atsumu imagine#haikyuu atsumu#atsumu#atsumu smut#atsumu fic#miya atsumu#osamu miya#miya atsumu x reader#atsumu miya x reader#hq atsumu#haikyū!!#haikyuu smut#haikyuu fluff
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GUARD DOWN
cw: atsumu gets his wisdom teeth out and is annoying, brief mentions of pain medication, surgery, mouth wounds, etc
Atsumu is far heavier than he looks, which—given the fact that he’s built to be a 6 foot olympic athlete—is already decently heavy.
After anxiously entertaining yourself in the waiting room for an entire forty-two dreadful minutes, one of the assistants had alerted you that your boyfriend had finally come to and that his wisdom teeth removal went as smoothly as it possibly could’ve gone.
The news has your body swelling with relief, though you can’t help but bite your tongue at the irony of it all. Nothing about Atsumu is smooth—from his boisterous tongue to his calloused palms, your boyfriend is not typically seamless.
From the second was escorted out of the dental chair and reunited with you, he was all exhausted cries and senseless babbles.
The nurses were kind enough to help you wheel his loopy self out to the parking lot, after debriefing you on his healing process and the steps needed to care for his tender wounds.
Reaching the side of your passenger door, you assured them you were capable of putting him in the car yourself, not wanting to inconvenience them with his dazed antics any longer. Good at their job, they kept reassuring you that it was their pleasure, that it’s normal for people to be a bit out of it after their wisdom teeth removal, but Atsumu’s whiny behavior was—for lack of a better word—embarrassing.
With his dead weight slumped on your side and fifteen minutes of complaining down the drain, you somehow managed to wrangle him into the passenger seat of your car.
You secure his seatbelt, before racing to the driver’s side and locking the doors, unsure if he’d try to escape within the few seconds you weren’t by his side.
Which is where he sits now, slumped against the glass of the window with a mouth full of pink gauze. He watches the outlet malls and fast food restaurants you pass on your drive home with intense concentration. You barely hear him through his stuffed mouth, his words are sluggish and mumbled.
“M’hungry,” he carries the last syllable with a whine, “can we get McDonald’s?”
Giving a tight-lipped smile, you softly deny his request, “No.”
He groans like a child being denied a sweet—and for a second, you think he can read your mind as he’s perking up with the sudden inquiry of, “Wait, can we make those cookies later?”
Again, you have to play bad cop and turn down his giddy offer.
“We can’t, no.”
“Lame,” he groans before prodding at the pillowy cotton with his finger. Before you can swat his hand away from the gauze, he continues his accidental interrogation. “I feel drunk, can we get drunk tonight?”
“No—”
“Oh my godddddd,” the complaint growls from the back of his throat, but it’s hard to find it intimidating when it’s muffled and dazed.
He shakes his head with a stubborn attitude, “Do you know any words other than no?”
Your eyes shift momentarily from the red light before you and to the pouting man beside you.
“Atsumu,” you warningly scold.
“See, there you go,” he points a finger. “That’s a good word to know, Atsumu,” his name dances foreign on his tongue, as if it isn't his own. As if he doesn’t hear you say it a thousand different ways every single day. When he’s annoying and sweet and raunchy and tired and everything in between.
Though irritating as ever, his mumblings remind you that he’s still a bit loopy. You take a deep breath, “You can’t drink alcohol, or eat anything solid right now,” you softly remind him.
His face scrunches in genuine confusion, “Why?”
You gesture to his already swelling cheeks, “Because your mouth needs to heal.”
“My mouth?”
“Yeah,” your voice is delicate, grounding, as you try your best to jog his memory, “you got your wisdom teeth out, remember?”
Atsumu’s face instantly drops from confusion to disappointment at your words. A pout pulls at his lips—as much as it can with his numbed tongue and sore jaw.
“Fuck,” he slouches further into the window.
You bite back a grin, “What’s wrong?”
His voice resembles a kicked puppy as he sulks in his own misery. A muffled confession comes out tiny from his chapped lips, “All my wisdom’s gone.”
The streetlight turns green once more and your attention is redirected to the road. You’re about five minutes away from home, maybe eight with the given traffic. Though the ride is minute, there’s no way of knowing how many more waves of emotions Atsumu is willing to sail through.
“Well lucky for you, I have plenty to spare,” you attempt to cheer him up. “And you’ll be back to eating regular stuff in no time, just gotta be patient these next few days.”
“Well, what can I eat?” he slurs his syllables.
“I picked up some soft foods from the store. Pudding, applesauce, mashed potatoes—”
“Ice cream?” he interrupts you, head snapping from the window to your side profile with bright, expecting eyes.
You bite your lip to hide your grin. “Maybe,” you tease, “if you’re nice to me.”
Another groan falls from his lips before his head presses against the cool window for the umpteenth time.
He groans, “M’always nice to ya.”
He’s silent the rest of the way home, saying nothing when you stop at a few more red lights and pass his favorite lake—the one he jogs around on weekend mornings.
You almost think he’s fallen asleep, that is until you’re parked in your driveway and opening his door.
His doe-eyes stare back at you, not tired in the slightest but still foggy with an uncertain aloofness. Through tiny encouraged whispers of arms up and excuse me’s, you work your way around his torso and to his buckle.
He watches you intently through heavy lids as you unlock his seatbelt. He looks like something sits heavy on his tongue, but you know he’s still half exhausted and half high on pain medication, so you decide to let him initiate any small talk, if he pleases.
It slightly surprises you when his hand lands on your shoulder. Looking up from where his thigh keeps his seatbelt strapped in place, you find his eyes suddenly misty.
“Hey,” he softly demands your attention. “Do y’like me?”
His voice is small, uncharacteristically tiny as his lip wobbles with emotion.
Your body moves before your mind can catch up. You cradle his jaw in your hands tenderly, careful not to put too much pressure on the still sensitive area before cooing into his worry.
“Yes, baby. I love you,” you sweetly press a kiss to his nose, then forehead, not wanting to hurt his swollen mouth.
Atsumu’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head, “Love?!” he squawks, “Holy shit.”
Your eyebrows raise as you shoot him an amused grin, “Why? Does that surprise you?”
His lips are still slightly pouted as he nods his head. “A little, yeah,” he trails off in embarrassment.
“Why?” you encourage.
He’s quieter now, fiddling with his hands like a small child, “M’annoying sometimes.”
Your heart is filled with an odd combination of heartbreak and admiration all at once. Your lover, still as sensitive as ever, never fails to express his true emotions. He’s always been great at communicating his feelings to you—though it’s rare for said feelings to be one’s of insecurity. He still trusts you with this side of him, even when confused out of his mind.
You find yourself getting teary-eyed as well as you tease him through a sniffle.
“Sometimes,” you nod in agreement. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you,” you remind him, “and I’m sorry if I don’t tell you that enough, baby.”
Atsumu’s skin instantly brightens with a blush while he tilts his head in pride as if he wasn't just sulking in your hold.
“No, ya do,” he dismisses your tender words with a sleepy grin, “I jus’ like hearing it extra.”
With your hand for support, he slowly swings his body around the passenger seat so his legs dangle out of the car door, shoes scraping against your gravel driveway.
Before you can begin to stand him up, he’s circling back to a prior thought.
“So can we get McDonald’s, now?”
#atsumu x reader#miya atsumu x reader#atsumu x you#miya atsumu x you#atsumu fic#miya atsumu fic#atsumu fluff#miya atsumu fluff#atsumu drabble#miya atsumu drabble#atsumu haikyuu#miya atsumu haikyuu
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💫 anon asked me what the jobs of the dear future husband fiancées were and tumblr deleted it before i finished answering </3 so sorry i cant reply to ur ask!
but here is the list of all the dfh fiancée’s occupations! some have been foreshadowed / implied already if you squint really closely to some dialogue in the past two parts:)
a lot more has yet to come of this series so i’m excited to share all i can!
iwaizumi: women’s volleyball jnt athletic trainer
kuroo: supervisor and head at the JVA, sports promotion division
suna: interior designer
atsumu: clothing model
sakusa: skincare company founder / owner
bokuto: accountant
hoshiumi: journalist
kageyama: personal stylist
shoyo: PhD researcher & uni professor
ushijima: event organizer / planner
aran: social media manager
kenma: nursing student
yaku: corporate lawyer
komori: private & professional chef
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a part of touch starved osamu mess i just want to get out of my head
cw touch starved soft osamu, talk of boners, penetrative sex, dirty talk
osamu miya has few simple but sure set of obsession.
food, his restaurant, his family and every single fucking time he sees you play volleyball. you, a perfectionist, who likes to try and think you are able to hide your ‘workouts’ at home masking as self care didn’t realise that it was just feeding his kink.
if he could ever call it that.
it started monday morning, so simple and innocent as you stretching off your sleep by the bed side. his lazy eyes shot opened as it fell on your back. the defined muscles barely hidden by his old high school sleeveless jersey as you tried to shake off last night’s sleep. nuzzling into the pillow that smelled just like you, he watched as you tied your hair, yawned and leaned forward to stretch further. the bed hadn’t been the kindest on your back and that muffled crack of your joints had you moaning in relief. you turned around, half smile with a flush on your cheeks, “mornin’ baby,” your raspy sleepy voice greeted him like a cup of coffee on a rush hour. his heartbeat were a mess. you leaned to kiss his nose and left for the bathroom. it was baffling how oblivious his wife was to the nuisance she had imposed on him. he knew you were saying something but nothing registered in his head. it has to be a dud because boys’ scout could’ve camp in his short.
on wednesday, osame got the privilege to drop off some food for lunch. he didn’t planned to sponsor the entire’s team lunch, but you’ll always come home with a pout saying one of your teammates had gobbled half of it. happy wife is a happy life, so on this rare occasion, he had hauled his ass, drove an hour away with a trunk full of onigiri and some special bento for you. which also means, he got to see you train. he missed volleyball, maybe for the memories or the people he had play with, but an entire career of it was too handful. his face flushed, feet glued to the floor.
had the uniform always been this short?
the short hugged your ass so well that every time you lowered down to receive a serve, he wondered how the fuck is the material holding up. women’s volleyball had always had the sleeveless jersey but every time you jumped, it turned into a crop top. his mouth dried up as beads of sweat roll off your toned belly. he didn’t realised how long he had been standing there, trays of food in hand until somebody blew a whistle. your eyes finally met. it was pretty how easy you shook off all the ache in your muscle, glowing in happiness as your eyes set on him. you didn’t realised that he knew you too well like the back of his hand, the overwhelmed eyes you made was the same fucking look he craved every time he trapped you with his body down on the bed. samu, t’much, it echoed in his head. you licked your lips, a small smile on your face. osamu blushed. he knew it was for the food, but boy, the walk of shame he had to do down the hall with the food tray low to his waist down the cafeteria was hellish to bear.
saturday came like a breeze. it was your rest day because sunday is game day. osamu, like a perfect partner he is would always took the day off. what’s the point of paying his competent working extra on his day off if he is unable to spend some time with you. “y’kno, they call it a rest day because yer supposed ta rest,” he muttered, watching in annoyance as you unrolled the yoga mat in the living room. with the coffee table pushed aside and some old 90s sitcom rolling on the tv that you both had watched on repeat for the umpteenth time, you stick your tongue out, ignoring your whiny husband’s stare as he nursed his morning coffee.
“i’m just restless. so yoga helps.”
if it was years ago, he would’ve blamed it on atsumu for introducing it to you. but as he brought the cup up to his lips, his body tensed and the coffee started to taste a little bitter than it was supposed to be. because now atsumu is an annoyance for instigating the growing feeling he had as his wife pulled an upward dog. was it upward dog, whatever the fuck the position called but all he knew was his view was no longer the clean house he slaved his years to buy but his wife’s fleshy ass up in the air. his eyes followed like a hawk, from one position to another position. every time your eyes met, you flashed a smile, talking about something that he was sure wasn’t that significant. he promised, when he isn’t throbbing hard behind the kitchen counter, staining his boxer with his pre cum, osamu is a great listener.
he didn’t realise he had moved until you called his name. he was standing behind you, his hands were on your waist as he sort of pinned you down from moving. you were stuck in the position, bending forward palms flat on the floor, unable to lift your legs to complete the downward facing dog split.
“samu?”
his mouth dried up again. “y-your back wasn’t straight enough when you lift your leg. i’ll help.” you shrugged at his words, pleased that your husband wasn’t annoyed but keen to help. you raised your leg and it went up until you were able to support it by his shoulder. it was perfect until something clicked. you cursed.
“samu, you’re an asshole.”
his fingers reached for the elastic of your shorts. “straighten up, ya not holding yer posture correctly,” he muttered nonchalantly, a small spark of naughtiness glinted in his eyes as he pushed your back side lower until it was brushing against his growing bulge. “i would, if you’ll stop brushing your cock against me,” you hissed, watching as his short pooled along his ankles.
he hushed you, spitting lightly along his shaft, tugging lightly before running gently against your slit. you cursed again, bracing your palm against the floor as your arms trembled. the sound he was making wasn’t helping you as it went straight down to your aching cunt. osamu took his sweet time, with you trapped in the position, his other hand kneaded your ass, slowly rutting against your cunt. the friction from the thong and pooling wetness were driving him insane.
“tsumu said that the pose can build yer core strength,” he watched excitedly as your legs trembled every time his tip brushed against your clit, “just focus on ya hands and i’ll take care of the rest, ‘kay?”
the weak sigh and soft okay out of your lips were reassuring that osamu alone wasn’t the one having fun here. he loves it when you submit to his needs, even when it was ridiculous to bear. you always thought you married the sane one. the tv were now on the black screen, prompt of ‘are you still watching?’ appeared as his cock finally slipped in. he could see your twisted face on the reflective screen.
osamu is a sick person in mind.
he was sick for you and the way your cunt kept sucking him in drove him wild. this was his kind of yoga. his thrusts were erratic, your back flushed against his back. abandoned was whatever pose you had earlier, your back were straighter against his chest anyway. he held one of your legs up, spreading it enough to see the reflection of his cock jackhammering into your dripping cunt. another kept your head aside as his teeth marked your neck as his. “match t’morrow, hngh samu,” you gasped, hand up tugging on the hair on the back of his nape but it did nothing but tightened his lips against your skin that were bound to bruise. he released it with a pop, happy as he eyed the stained skin.
“so?”
“fuck you, samu.”
“right,” thrust, “back,” thrust, “at,” thrust, “ya.”
the sound of your skin slapping echoed the space, you could only whimper weakly as you surrendered to the pleasure, his pleasure. he couldn’t care less if you were trembling from high, gushing all over his cock as he powered through your orgasm. your tightened wall massaging his aching cock meant that he just had to fuck you faster and harder.
you cried in pleasure were louder, the neighbour should know his name by now.
he kissed you feverishly, lapping the marks and sweat agains your skin. nibbling on your lobe, licking beads of sweat and tears down your flushed cheeks. he knocking air out of your lung, you swore you could feel his thrusts up to your throat.
“s’good baby, fuck i could stay in yer cunt forever. why ya gotta be so fuckin’ perfect all the time. ya cunt is driving me crazy. fuck fuck, baby i wanna cum so badly. i wanna cum in you. baby ya think i can fuck ya t’morrow and ya do ya thing with cunny full of my cum. fuck baby, i wanna see my cum dripping down your legs.”
his lewd remarks kept on coming and all you could do is nod and beg because who doesn’t want a cunt full of osamu miya. every body does and here you are being the chosen one. osamu miya has few simple but sure set of obsession.
food, his restaurant, his family and every single fucking time he sees you play volleyball and your aching cunt begging for his release.
you heard the fabric of your bra ripped as he yanked it down, releasing the aching breast for his hand to grab a handful. his warm breath echoed against your cold skin, you listened to his pants, deep throaty moan as he chased his release. it was getting rougher, tip brushing against your cervix, beads of his own sweat rolling off onto your shoulder.
he whined, drool dripped over the corner of his lips, “baby.”
“fuck samu, inside please please,” you gasped, head thrown back. there were no reasoning when your husband had set his mind on one thing. he was close. his grip were tighter as if you were about to slip away, his whines were louder and his thrust weren’t easing. you couldn’t help the scream your throat let out as he cum, he was pressed down and tight against your cervix. his thrust were slower, yet sheathed deep longer. he wanted all of him in you. you were going to keep his cum inside.
his praises didn’t fall short. he showered you with kisses, telling you how much a good girl you were and how well you were taking him in. you could feel him in the shape of the bulge against your stomach. once he was down from the high, he set you down slowly on the floor, you rested your chest against his as you both tried to catch a breather.
he finally kiss you on the mouth, gently this time, caressing your cheeks and hair away from your face. in the heat of moment, saturday morning became your favourite day of the week as his lips moved to tell you how much he loved you between the kiss. you reciprocated happily, watching his soft eyes glistened in excitement and content.
the sun’s now up, warming the room, bouncing against his skin so majestically. somehow the tv had resume the show and the miya household were buzzing again. time always stop when you’re with him. you brushed his hair off his sweaty forehead. his eyes were full of love yet he always like to ruin the moment with being an ass.
“fuck, we should do yoga more,” he grinned, planting a kiss on your own forehead as you struggled to catch your breath. your mat were a soaking mess, sticking down against your bare skin as you watched the happy man wobbled happily to the kitchen with his dick swinging, staring into the fridge for some snacks.
in sickness and health, you vowed, smile on your lips grew as you laid down.
that’s your beloved husband.
sunday came like a breeze. it took a lot of running around the house and screaming as osamu chased you down bare naked, threatening to keep his promise. but you countered his threat, holding his phone with finger on speed dial he knew were gonna bring a bigger wrath down to the mankind; mama miya.
you got him out of the house, unscathed with your lover boy pouting all the way to your match.
“ya promise,” he huffed, locking the door every time you tried to escape.
your giggles echoed the car as you nodded. you leaned against him, planting a small innocent kiss against his lobe. the boy froze. “yes, samu. i’ll promise if you keep it,” your hand went down to grab the surprisingly half hard cock through his jeans, “in ya pants, i promise you, i’m all yours this week.”
his brows shot up, “anywhere?”
“anywhere, everywhere.”
“even if in at the shop?”
you tugged his ears playfully, “geez samu, as if we haven’t violated the health code of conduct the first month we got the shop set up.” you walked out together, your bag slung over his shoulder as you laced your fingers together. “on my defense, ya just started the pills and i was popping my raw dogging virginity and ya kept wearing that stupid legging that was so sheer i could see ya panties. no, half of the time ya weren’t even wearing one. you seduced me. case closed.”
you stopped right by the entrance for players only. echoes of shoes and balls bouncing, crowd cheering were getting louder and louder. this is where you had to part ways. osamu looked down on you longingly. “i’m not complaining by the way,” he pulled you closer, “don’t stop seducing me, ‘kay?” he whispered, brushing your nose against his own. you pushed his cap off, nodding happily as you shared a kiss. his onigiri miya cap sat against your head backward. the bag exchanged hands. he fixed your collar, your body ached every time his fingers brushed the bruise he left between the neck and your shoulder.
that’s the setter he fallen head over heels for.
“okay, samu. don’t let omi knows that we fucked on his favourite chair at the shop, i don’t think tsumu could hold him down. i’m too pretty to be a widow.” he mouthed a silent okay before leaning down for one more kiss, for good luck, he would said but no more words needed to be said. he flicked your forehead playfully before pulling away, heading to the entrance to meet up with your family and his brother.
“fuck them up, y/n.”
“i always do.”
© all content belongs to noritoshiikamo. do not modify or repost
#writing: thirsts#writing: hq#osamu miya drabbles#osamu miya x y/n smut#osamu miya smut#osamu miya x y/n#osamu miya x you#osamu miya x reader#haikyuu smut#haikyuu x y/n#haikyuu x y/n smut#haikyuu drabble#haikyu smut#haikyu x y/n smut#hq imagines#hq x reader#hq x y/n
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[And After?]
(kind of a part II but could be read as a stand alone)
You broke up with Atsumu your final year of high school.
Was it because you both would be in separate areas of Japan and you didn’t want to go long-distance? Partially.
But when you uttered those words, you both knew that wasn’t the real reason.
You stood in front of him, eyes downcast and refusing to meet his.
“I’m leaving for Yokohama. I got accepted to university there.”
His eyes widened and you smiled wryly.
“No congratulations?”
“Congratulations.” Atsumu couldn’t help but say flatly.
“I’m guessing you’re going to continue volleyball.” You felt a tinge of regret. You hadn’t bothered to ask him about scouts or recruitment.
He nodded. “I’ve already gotten offer...None close to Yokohama though.”
You gave him a small smile and shrugged in what you hoped looked like a nonchalant way. “I want to focus on my studies and I don’t think I’ll be able to do that if I’m trying to make a long-distance relationship work.”
His hand clenched and his eyes took on a stubborn look that usually signalled the beginning of an argument. “I’ll make it work. I can come visit and I’ll make time when I’m not practising to call and -”
“Atsumu.” He ached at the resignation in your voice.
“‘Tsumu, I need to get away from here. Just start again y’know.”
His eyes flitted toward the boot on your ankle and you unconsciously shifted in discomfort, at the real reason why you were making the decision. He cursed - at it and the entire situation and you couldn’t help but blink back the tears forming at the corners of your eyes. It wasn’t his fault - it was entirely yours.
There was a thud and a ‘oh my god’ rang out from the women’s volleyball captain.
Atsumu was beside you in an instant. He had watched, wide-eyed in horror, as your leg had crumpled, taking you down with it.
“Give her space,” the captain’s voice rang out as you clutched at your ankle, face twisted in pain. “What even happened?”
“I tripped -,” you spit out through clenched teeth. Atsumu saw how your foot had been wrenched in a position it should never be in and felt a rising panic he tried to stifle. Years of experience on the court told him that this was not a minor injury.
You looked up at him with pleading eyes, and he scooped you up, speeding away to the nurse’s office and away from the pitying looks of your teammates.
You groaned in pain and looked at him with panicked eyes. “Atsumu, this-”
“You’ll be fine. It’s okay, it’s going to be fine.” He chanted as if it would make it true.
Your skin had already turned purple and the area surrounding your ankle had swollen up bigger than an egg. You whimpered, both at the pain shooting up your leg and fear of the consequences of what just happened to you.
A trip to the hospital later and you found yourself hobbling back to school in a few days, ankle held tightly in a brace and leaning against crutches. You knew your ankles were weak from a few sprains over the years and they finally gave up and the muscle had torn.
Atsumu had held you while you sobbed as the doctor told you that you couldn’t play for the rest of your final year and most likely needed rehab for longer than that. He was there, waiting outside the classroom to carry your bag between classes and helped you around school. He was there when he found you, squatting with your back against the outside of the gym doors, crying about how unfair it was and he was there to shush you when you beat yourself up for being so clumsy.
It took a while, but eventually you came around and accepted the situation - well you made your peace with it as best you could. You focused on steadily on doing rehab exercises, gritting your teeth and sweating through the pain. You began to joke around again, bickered with Atsumu as you held hands in the school corridors when you graduated to just wearing a boot, and went back to chatting animatedly with your friends.
Atsumu had tried to be positive and not treat you any differently to maintain some sort of normalcy. But when he realised you no longer came to watch the teams practice, he found it hard to swallow the lump in his throat and felt his chest tighten. He stopped looking towards the stands at games, knowing you weren’t there, and forced a fake smile that reflected yours when you politely congratulated him on his wins. He’d never felt such helplessness whenever he caught you staring absent-mindedly out of the window during class, your eyes dull and shoulders slumped.
“The change will be good for me and I don’t - I don’t really want anything to do with volleyball anymore," you said, confessing what he’d known all year.
“It might seem dramatic because I know I can do PT and get better again but I’ll never be back to how I used to play.” You shrugged again casually and he hated it.
“And honestly? I was tired of it anyway. I can’t remember a time I haven’t had bruises or walked without stressing about getting hurt. I like waking up at a normal time and not at the ungodly hours of the morning and not having to force myself to exercise or eat a certain diet. I want to go somewhere completely new and live life free without remembering how difficult all that was.”
Atsumu felt hollow. “But you loved volleyball so much you never minded that before?” He wanted to yell. But he knew it was hopeless - you were determined to throw volleyball away and he was always going to be a part of that.
And so, you were throwing him away too.
“Don’t worry, I’ll still be cheering you on, even if I’m not there,” you gave him another smile that he wanted to scream at.
He couldn’t bear to see how hard you were forcing yourself to be normal and he pulled you into his arms and squeezed tightly, as if you’d disappear right then and there.
“We can keep in touch okay?”
He nodded into your shoulder, not trusting himself to say anything that could drive you any further away than you were already were. He knew you well after dating you these past couple of years. He knew how stubborn you could be about certain things and while he was equally as stubborn, he didn’t want to end things with the two of you screaming and arguing. He needed to accept that you needed to heal and that you didn’t want his help in doing so.
Your hand stroked the back of his hair affectionately, untangling the knots and failing to soothe him.
“I’ll see you around, Atsumu.”
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
A few years passed. You survived university and you managed to get a job back in Osaka at an arts museum and were grateful that your hard work had paid off. You got a new apartment, dated here and there, and went out with friends. All in all, you were content with your life.
And some nights after work, you’d make a cup of tea,
snuggle into some blankets on your couch,
grab the remote,
and watch the MSBY game.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You loved being at the museum. Everything was neat, orderly, and most importantly, quiet. The silence, save for soft murmurs, was comforting. You didn’t have to speak much and spent most of your day hanging out with paintings. It was a stark change from the sounds of balls smashing against wooden floors, sneakers squeaking, and the constant cheers of teammates. Playing such a team-oriented sport had forced you to be around people all the time and you savoured being able to introspect and have alone time now.
You were in a particularly good mood that day. The cute barista had drawn a flower on your cup, you managed to get on the bus on time, and a new exhibit with one of your favourite artists had just begun.
You weaved in and out of different rooms, occasionally writing down information on your ipad regarding the works to present at a meeting later. The muffled atmosphere was music to your ears until you heard a loud laugh accompanied by not-so-silent whispers.
Ugh who is being so disruptful? Do they not know basic etiquette for places like this?
The voices grew louder as you walked in that direction and you shook your head. Probably some youths who didn’t know respect.
You strode into the room ready to scold some rambunctious teen boy when you locked eyes with a very familiar blonde-haired guy.
He had put his hand by his face in an attempt to whisper to a girl beside him and had frozen with his mouth open when he saw you. You kept a straight face as you walked forward, catching yourself nearly snorting at the “caught-with-his-hand-in-the-cookie-jar” expression he had.
“Excuse me sir,” you said sternly, “I’m not sure if you read the sign outside, but you are supposed to keep your voice down here.” He straightened stiffly at your tone and the girl he was whispering to looked at you with alarmed eyes.
“I-I’m sorry ma’am.” She stuttered out.
Atsumu tried to stifle a laugh, saving himself by coughing as your eye twitched. Ma’am? I’m not a grandma.
You whipped your attention to him. “And I’ll have you know that we don’t have any exceptions - even for superstar volleyball players.” Your voice was cold but your eyes held a familiar shine, and he relaxed. He made a note that you still sucked at having a poker face and he could tell you weren’t actually mad.
“What about the handsome ones?” He said grinning but faltered when you didn’t crack. Perhaps he didn’t know you as well as he used to.
You finally sighed and Atsumu mentally danced in victory as you finally gave up your act. “Especially the handsome ones. We hold those to an even higher standard.”
“What are you doing here?” he demanded and you shushed him, dragging him out of the room.
“What are you doing here?” he said whispering this time.
“I work here. What are you doing here?” you shot back, “Since when do you go to places like this?”
“Actually he’s been into art for a few years now,” you turned to see Osamu walking towards you grinning. “Hi y/n.”
“'Samuuu,” you greeted and gave him a hug while Atsumu twitched at the exchange.
“Yeah well I -,” the setter said, scratching the back of his kneck and looking uncomfortable, “It’s an important part of society and culture and stuff.” It's not like he used Osamu to mildly stalk you over the years or anything weird like that.
You looked at him incredulously. "And you chose to come here?”
“No, my fiance wanted to go,” Osamu cut in. “Apparently it has one of the best collections.”
The blonde girl who Atsumu had been whispering to peeked from behind his figure waving. “Hi!”
You blinked, surprised. You had assumed the beautiful girl was Atsumu’s girlfriend. Not that you cared of course.
The three of you exchanged pleasantries, Osamu mainly driving the conversation. His restaurant was doing well apparently and he and the girl were due to be married in a month or so.
“Congratulations!” you squealed, beaming at the both of them.
“Yer welcome to come,” Osamu said winking and you giggled. Osamu was always easy to talk to and you were glad that hadn’t changed.
“I’ll have to see if I’m free,” you replied with a smile and internally pushed the thought of seeing Atsumu looking radiant in a suit and standing at the end of an aisle out of your mind.
Speaking of the man, he had been uncharacteristically quiet during the conversation - a fact that did not escape his twin.
“Well,” Osamu said, “Kaori wanted to check out the special exhibit so we’ll head there first.”
The now dark-haired brother dragged his fiance off and with that the two of you were left alone.
“I should head back-”
“How are you-”
Both of you stopped and he scratched the back of his kneck again. “Right yeah you have to work.”
You nodded. “I should go.”
He bit his lip and looked at the floor. You couldn’t help a small smile looking at such a large man looking so timid.
“Atsumu.” He glanced up, your eyes locked for the first time. It registered how he was a man now, the softer curves of his face had become more angular and he was even taller than before with a broader build as well.
“It was really nice to see you again.” A glimmer sparked in his eyes your statement.
“And we have some cool new exhibits coming up you know since you’re so interested in art and all now…” You trailed off as he shot you a breathtaking grin and you desperately tried to ignore the fact that you were still weak for it even after all these years.
“Yeah I saw some of the posters. I’ll drop by if I see something I like.” He winked and you almost rolled your eyes as you turned to swiftly walk away, heart pounding in your chest faster than it had in years.
Why did I have to blurt that out??? You groaned internally before speeding off to your meeting. You remembered the warm brown of his eyes. Yep. Definitely still weak. Damn it.
After that, Atsumu started showing up to the museum. Every Saturday in fact.
You did a double-take the first time you saw the setter standing in front of a painting with headphones on. You walked over to stand beside him and peeked at him, catching his attention.
“What are you doing here?” you found yourself parroting when he lowered his headphones.
“It’s a museum,” he said confused, “I’m looking at the artwork. You said to come by?”
“I-” you tilted your head to the side, a bit flustered at his re-appearance. Ah that was a stupid question why y/n why??
You bit your lip. You didn’t think he’d actually come. Wasn’t he busy??
“Okay, please enjoy our collections.” You said in a formal voice before walking away, cringing at your awkwardness.
But after a while, you began looking forward to Saturdays and would make an excuse to wander the halls to see where he was. He’d shoot you a toothy smile when he saw you before turning back to the works with a pensive face. Hasn’t he memorised the works by now? You shook your head as you headed back to your office. He did have poor memory from what you remembered.
As you sat down at your desk, you thought back to what happened years ago, remembering how overwhelming everything felt. It took all this time for you to become yourself again and it had taken nearly repressing most of high school to succeed in forgetting all the trauma.
But after seeing Atsumu, you remembered all the good that came with those times too. How you’d hit Atsumu with the volleyball the first time you met, the fighting and bickering that came after, and how surprising it was that the two of you ended up dating. How he used to walk you home after both your practices ended and helped you with your serves. How after your injury, he spent his time not practising nodding off beside you in the library to keep you company and his goofy smile when he saw you supporting him at games . He’d even show up at the part time job you took your final year in a desperate attempt to find something to occupy you during all the free time you suddenly had by pretending he was a customer. You fought back a smile.
Kind of like he was doing now.
You swung your feet as you sat on the edge of the fountain, the both of you sipping on iced coffees. He’d taken to accompanying you on your break and you’d often go to a nearby cafe together.
“Are you even allowed to be out in public like this? I mean Sakusa-san’s always in a cap and glasses whenever I see him in the news photos.”
“Omi hates being social to begin with so he’s extra paranoid when he goes out.” Atsumu shrugged before grinning cockily. That cockiness made you bristle in annoyance - a reflex of yours that hadn’t changed. “What, scared you’ll get caught in a scandal with me?”
“I just don’t want your fangirls coming after me,” you said flatly.
He scoffed in response. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of them?”
“I don’t want to be harassed about it. I’ll end up getting pushed around,” you frowned.
“As if,” he snorted, “You aren’t the type to be bullied so easily.” He felt the ghost of a volleyball slamming into his back and chuckled.
Your frown deepened in disagreement and Atsumu glanced at you before continuing. He never liked to see you doubt yourself. You used to be so confident, standing on the court steadfastly with your eyes alight with mischief. Even when you told him you got into university, there had been a prideful look on your face that he had been relieved to see.
“Though it might be a good idea to have a few photos snapped of us. Our PR team says I need to shake off this playboy image.”
“Image?”
An indignant noise erupted from the man beside you. “Contrary to popular belief, I am NOT a fuckboy. When do I have the time to sleep around? I’m either at practice, matches, or here with you!” He pouted and crossed his arms.
“I’m honoured that the great Atsumu Miya chooses to grace me with his presence during my busy work day,” you said dryly.
“Exactly, you’d be lucky to be caught with me,” he said, winking.
“Still a celebrity I see,” you said shaking your head and opted to look away to focus on the bustle of people around the plaza.
“I’m not bothering ya, right?” You looked at him, confused, as he kept his gaze on the passersby as well. “Ya know, from yer busy work day.”
“Since when do you care about things like that?” Miya Atsumu was not the type to ask permission to intrude on someone’s life.
“I didn’t know if it would be okay,” he said softly and in a tone much more serious than you expected. “To see you again. I know we tried to leave on good terms but…”
You knew what he was talking about. It was good terms - well the best you could do at the time but there was a sense of uneasiness. As if you lost something and you had been so eager to get away that you didn’t realise just what you lost. Seeing him again brought memories back, memories of a time that meant a great deal to you.
“Why do you come back then?”
“I can’t seem to stay away,” he said, chuckling weakly.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t gotten over me yet or something,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. When Atsumu didn’t respond you felt your breath hitch as your throat felt suddenly tighten. You snuck a peek at him and when your gazes locked, both of you cleared your throats looking away quickly.
“Osamu’s wedding is next week,” he suddenly said, pulling you out of your thoughts.
“Oh right. He must be excited,” you smiled. It was nice that your friend had gotten such a happy ending.
“Want to be my plus one?”
“I believe I was invited.” You raised an eyebrow at him.
He mirrored your raised eyebrow and said, “What, so you’re bringing a plus one?” You laughed at his audacity in automatically thinking you didn’t.
“Maybe I am? You never asked me if I had a boyfriend ‘Tsumu.”
He frowned. “Well do ya? It’s hard to do better than me, you know.”
“Wow, you’re still a dick.”
“And you still dated me. So do you?”
You wanted to press your palms to your eyes in exasperation. How was he still the same?
“No I do not have a boyfriend, Atsumu.”
“What a coincidence,” he said, shooting you the toothy smile. “I don’t have one either so we can go together.”
“You don’t have a boyfriend?”
This time it was Atsumu that felt a surge of exasperation. “A date smartass. So it’s perfect if we go together.”
He cut off your noise of protest at his sudden declaration by waving his hand, “I think your break is almost over. I’ll text you more about it later okay?” he said and walked off, turning around once to frantically wave goodbye at you.
You gave a half-hearted wave before making a shoo-ing motion at him. As you watched him finally turn and leave, you felt your smile slowly fading. You wanted to keep Atsumu at a distance and you had a strong instinct to flee - to go back to ignoring that part of your life. But how could you? You stupidly still found him charming after all these years. Miya Atsumu was slowly managing to worm his way back into your life and you found you were reluctant to kick him out.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
At the insistence of his fiance, Osamu had decided to hold his wedding near the beach. You had been stunned at how pretty the venue was and admittedly a bit jealous at how gorgeous Kaori looked when she was showing you her wedding gown. You were also a bit nervous at spending a whole weekend with Atsumu around and knowing his personality, he would make sure he’d be harassing you the entire time.
Your suspicions were indeed correct. After you arrived at the hotel, you slid your key card into your room lock and found the red light blinking, preventing your access to a hot shower you desperately needed. You grunted in annoyance, dumping your heavy suitcase on the ground and aggressively slid the card in and out. The red light continued to greet you and you swore in response.
“Why is this not working??”
You heard a click and the door opened to reveal a damp Atsumu, towel slung around his neck and wearing nothing but boxer shorts.
“I thought I heard a sailor with a potty mouth,” he grinned, rubbing the end of the towel against his hair to dry it.
“Atsumu?? What are you doing in my room??”
“y/n I think you mean my room?”
“What? I’m in room 261?”
“You’re in 262,” he said simply and pointed down the hall.
You blinked at him and he snatched the card from your limp hand, lifting your discarded bag from the floor.
You spluttered uselessly as you trailed after him. He slid the card in and green light betrayed you. He easily opened the door and looked at you pointedly, “See this is what it looks like when you use the key for the right door.”
“Whatever,” you grumbled and just as you were about to thank him, he strolled through the door.
“What are you doing? I never said you could go in!”
“Nice,” he said looking around. “It’s the same as mine.”
“No shit,” you were about to say but yelped again when he dumped both your suitcase and himself on the bed.
“I swear your bed is softer,” he remarked as he laid sprawled out on his back.
“You’re getting it wettt,” you whined and he propped himself up on his elbows, his eyebrow lifting.
“You have a hot, shirtless pro-athlete on your bed and you’re complaining about the bed getting wet?”
“I think I’m more questioning why you have boxers with ducks on them,” you mocked trying to ignore that you did, in fact, have a hot, shirtless pro-athlete on your bed.
His lips stretched into a familiar shit-eating grin. “Maybe you’re just grouchy that YOU aren’t wet on the-.”
“MIYA ATSUMU,” you screamed, horrified as you rushed over to clamp a hand over his mouth. Of course, you being you, you nearly tripped as you reached the bed and you yelped as strong arms pulled you forward.
Your palms landed on a VERY solid chest and you looked up to see Atsumu’s face dangerously close to yours. Your eyes widened and you pushed yourself up only to have warm hands grip your thighs, stopping your attempt to get off of the offensive boy.
His eyebrows shot up as you sat, straddled on top of him. “Now we can change that if you-”
“UGH,” you threw your body weight to the side and tumbled off the bed.
“Nice to see you’re still clumsy.” He peered down at your dishevelled figure sitting on the floor glaring at him. “How you managed to play a sport, I’ll never know.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Atsumu regretted it. He internally cursed as you refused to meet his eyes, lips twisting unhappily. His mouth was dry as he tried to smooth over his mistake.
“I mean I didn’t-” He stammered.
“I don’t know if you recall Miya,” You nearly spit and you saw him flinch as you stood up putting your hands on your hips. “But I was an EXCELLENT volleyball player.”
Yours eyes flashed at him in a defiant way and he nearly fell for you all over again.
“Ehh but your serves kinda sucked.”
“Oh I don’t think you’re in a position to call my serves shit Mr. ‘Don't make me lose my focus or I’ll throw a temper tantrum’.”
“Though,” you pondered for a moment. “You don’t seem to mind people cheering nowadays.”
He sat up, a triumphant smile slowly spreading across his face this time. “Oho and how would you know that? Has someone been stalking my games?”
Your eye twitched and your mouth opened and closed. You wracked your brain desperately for a way to deny this without sounding stupid before settling for a lame, “Get out Miya.”
“You know if you wanna come watch all you have to do is ask, princess,” he said half-jokingly, half-hopeful that you would make the request.
“Leave Miya,” you repeated, refusing to acknowledge that you did want to see him play. “I’m going to take a shower and I don’t wanna see you when I get out,” you warned as you moved towards the bathroom.
“I can help you if you feel lonely~” he chuckled as he heard the door slam. Not wanting to push your wrath any further, he got up stretching before leaving the room.
He was greeted with a face identical to his standing outside the door.
“Ah so this is why you asked for the room next door to y/n.”
“You were listening? Creep.” He said, striding past Osamu towards his own room.
“I’m glad the two of you seem to be getting along,” he heard the amusement laced in his brother’s voice.
“Yeah,” Atsumu said softly with his hand paused on the handle of his door. “I hope we are.”
There was a silence between the two brothers and they distantly heard the sound of kids running down the hallways of the hotel somewhere.
“What? Too reluctant to leave her already?”
Atsumu grimaced and Osamu nearly threw his hands up. “I know you’re whipped but she’s next door ‘Tsumu.”
“Osamu,” Atsumu said in a serious manner that made his twin scrunch his face in concern. “I forgot my key card.”
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The sun was setting as Atsumu blearily opened his eyes. He hadn’t had a nap in years and it felt weird to actually get some rest. He rolled over to grab his phone and saw a message from his brother.
If you plan on waking up anytime soon, we’ll be down at the beach.
He groaned and opted to scroll through instagram when he got another message.
[y/n] is here too.
He remained unmoving on his back for a moment before groaning again and rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling at the bait his twin set. Pulling on a pair of red basketball shorts and throwing on an old Stussy shirt, he made his way down to the beach.
The sound of seagulls and crashing waves greeted him as his feet hit the sand. There were yells, the sounds of laughter, and he was surprised to see a volleyball net set up nearby. His eyes flitted towards Kaori blowing Osamu a kiss from across the net and froze as he saw a familiar figure yell at her about fraternising with the enemy.
There you were, face glowing with excitement, standing at the service line and spinning a volleyball in your hands. His feet took off towards the net before he could think and his gaze was glued to you as your palm made contact with the ball.
He could practically hear your ‘tsk’ sound as Osamu dug it up and he couldn’t help but worriedly look at your ankle as you crouched low. Kaori jumped to block and his heart pounded in anticipation.
You darted out and dove, sending the ball high into the air. You scrambled to quickly get up and jogged back, your eyes following the set arching back towards you.
Atsumu unconsciously held his breath as he watched you jump, feet kicked back behind you and arm drawn back - the orange sunset behind you highlighting your form.
A malicious smile spread across your face as you found Osamu jumping up to reach over the net and you spiked against his arms.
“OUT,” his fiance screamed as the ball ricocheted off the block and outside the court.
“C’mon ‘Samu,” Atsumu heard your teasing voice. “You must be getting old if you let me score off of you like that.” You finally noticed his figure by the makeshift court and perked up. “Oh, 'Tsumu’s awake!”
He finally let out a breath when he saw you and Kaori waving excitedly at him. “Atsumu! Come join us!”
“Aw, how is that fair,” Osamu’s teammates groaned. “You guys can’t have a professional player on your team!”
“Suck it up,” you stuck a tongue out at him. “Atsumu is mine so you can’t have him.” You laughed gleefully at the protest that came from the opposing side and you playfully nudged him as he came to stand beside you at the net.
He smiled down at you for a second and as you stared into his eyes, momentarily mesmerised. He looked at you with such familiarity and warmth and you couldn’t help but shyly smile in return.
Your gaze was interrupted by a low growl.
Atsumu’s eyes flitted up to meet his twin's through the net. “Pro or not, 'Tsumu you’re going down.”
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The games continued until the stars were coming out and you all settled around a fire, snacking on fruit as a reward for all the exercise. You felt the sand shift and Atsumu plopped down beside you.
“I didn’t know you played.”
You grimaced at the slight hint of betrayal in his voice.
“I can’t seem to stay away,” you laughed, repeating his words from the fountain. “I play some pickup games here and there.”
“...and you’re all healed now?”
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I go to PT but the muscle has been healed for a while. I have to wear a brace when I play but it’s more out of caution.”
“It still creaks sometimes though,” you made a face.
“Still. It’s good to see you stand on a court again.”
You looked over and winced at the expression on his face. He had a wry smile that didn't suit his face and a distant look to his eyes.
“I’m sorry Atsumu.” His gaze remained trained towards the darkness of the ocean. “I realised I never apologised for treating you badly back then. I know it’s not an excuse, but I was angry and hurt and all I could think was to get away to protect myself. I couldn’t think about anything else - anyone else.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw. “I know. I know better than anyone but god y/n, I was there for you wasn’t I?” He couldn’t help the reproach in his voice. “And you,” he bit his lip. “You just threw me away.”
With those words, Atsumu realised what he’d been feeling since your breakup all those years ago - resentment. He felt guilty for doing so and he’d pushed it deep down but it was threatening to spill out from him now.
“‘'Samu quit playing and then you left,” he said hoarsely. “You both left me alone.”
“You had your team,” you tried to argue weakly.
“Wasn’t the same.” He shook his head, broad shoulders slumping and he tucked his knees up, resting his head on them. “And you said that you would always be there for me," he said in a small voice.
This boy - no this man - had done so much for you. Back in high school and now, he remained insistent on being by your side, even when you pushed him away.
“I’m sorry,” you repeated lamely. “I can’t thank you enough for supporting me and loving me then.”
“And I’m thankful that you’re in my life again.” You reached out a hand to cover his. His palm turned and he wrapped his fingers around yours. “I know I’m late,” you hesitated, gathering your courage before taking the plunge. “I’d like to be a part of yours again, if you’d let me.”
The blonde setter finally looked at you and his eyes crinkled in a joyful manner that suddenly made you see the image of a younger, teen Miya Atsumu - the one you had loved so much. You both felt something - as if you found a missing puzzle piece fallen on the floor - placed back into its rightful place.
“I’d like that."
Epilogue
“Relax, she said she’s running late right?” A sullen boy with raven curly hair pushed Atsumu towards the court. The stadium was already loud as people waited in anticipation for the MSBY match to start.
He nodded, repeating to himself that you indeed sent him a text earlier saying you would be late. Besides, they were just warming up. The match hadn’t started yet and there was plenty of time left.
The empty seat beside Osamu seemed to mock him as he recalled the time when he ached upon seeing it empty yet again. He shook his head as if to clear it as the whistle blew to signal the teams should start warming up their serves.
“WHOO let’s go ‘'Tsumu!”
His eyes couldn’t leave your figure, clad in his jersey, lifting both your arms in the air and shaking pom poms. He let out a smile, one goofy enough that Sakusa rolled his eyes as he mouthed an ‘i love you,’ towards the stands.
He looked away triumphantly at your stunned figure as the whistle blew, this time to signal the beginning of the match. He focused his mind toward the game giddily and cemented his resolve that they would win today.
Because the seat was finally filled. You were there.
Right where you were supposed to be.
#dear lord this was long#but i kinda like it#couldn't stop writing#atsumu miya#atsumu angst#atsumu fluff#astumu x reader#atsumu miya x reader#hq atsumu#haikyuu fic#haikyuu x reader#atsumu x y/n#atsumu imagines
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