#akaashi long fic

[boyfhees]

🗗 LOVE AND OTHER CHALLENGES | k. akaashi

precis. a tale of you and akaashi intertwined in strings of marriage and yet experiencing love for the very first time. or maybe, it's second.

genre. arranged marriage, friends to lovers, fluff, minor like very minor angst, humour ( wc. ≃ 5.37k )

warnings. fem ! reader ( sry bffies ) characters are aged up, some smooching at the end so slightly suggestive, mentions of food, lmk if you find anything else !

note. very impulsive, very self indulgent, very much word vomit, i dont know what this is please i was half asleep when i wrote eighty percent of this so bear with me. i'd still tell you to read this, though. missed my sleep for this so you better reblog :‹ also this whole thing would make a tad bit more sense if you know the meaning behind all the flowers mentioned here :›

it’s been a while since you last saw akaashi.

well, that is if you ignore the fact that he’s sitting right in front of you, next to his parents while your parents are sitting next to you, the fragrance of strawberries and vanilla spinning in the air along with soft giggles and fluttering gazes.

there’s a bouquet of irises, daffodils and certain other flowers you couldn’t seem to identify resting in one corner of the table. the clinking of glasses and spoons is distinguishable above the faint melodies of tchaikovsky’s playing in the background. but above all raises a question, one that pulls both you and akaashi out of your trail of thoughts.

“do you want to talk among yourselves?”

oh yes, please.

and with one nod at his mother, you both excuse yourselves to a table resting in the last corner of the restaurant, away from everyone’s eye. well, away from your parents’, at least.

“so how have you been?” is the first thing akaashi says, after thirty minutes of marriage discussion between both the families.

you smile. “good, i suppose.”

silence.

you can swear you and akaashi were better than this in high school. well, to sum it up, your conversations never ended with an awkward silence back then; and that would’ve been the case if you were sitting in front of him right now, meeting him like, five years later, thanks to an arranged marriage proposal brought up by your parents.

“are you—”

“so—”

you both speak in unison, a series of laughter following soon after as you feel the atmosphere lighten.

“you can go first.” he offers, and you gladly take the proposition.

“are you okay with this?” the question catches him by surprise. honestly, you too think it’s a little awkward to bring it up abruptly. however, your parents are sitting a few tables across, probably guessing the names of their grandchildren, and you were never the type to beat around the bush. “i mean marriage, keiji. i know you didn’t expect to see me years later just to get married, none of us did.”

another set of silence follows, but this time it’s not awkward. probably because you’re expecting the rejection. and honestly, who wouldn’t? even if it were you in his place, you would refute the proposal, despite the fact that you two have known each other for years or whatever. however, his next words leave you wondering if your ears are working perfectly or not.

“i am perfectly fine with it,” he says shooting you a sweet smile, one that stirs a familiarly unfamiliar feeling in your stomach.

“you don’t have a girlfriend?” now, this is when you lose your composure, coming out as an idiot to him but being your friend for years at least made him realize that ages ago.

he chuckles. “what makes you think i do?”

“only fools reject that face,” where’s the lie? anyone who has seen akaashi ends up with two conclusions. one, he already is in a relationship and second, he’s not interested in one. anything apart from those two seems out of character and overall, just doesn’t make sense.

your brows furrow as he lets out a playful laugh, averting his eyes to the window next to your table. and you notice the way his eyes crinkle up into a crescent shape, his blue irises peeping through the gaps.

“it’s not funny, keiji.” you deadpan. “as much as i’d like to marry someone i know, i also want you to be comfortable with this relationship. i know this can be hard for you so please, be honest.”

he nods at your words and it seems so sarcastic, as if he finds humor in your concerns about a relationship that isn’t even official yet.

“what about you?” you look at him with a curious gaze. “is it not hard for you to marry someone you don’t love?” and oh boy, where do you even start from?

“i had a crush on you back in highschool.” that is everything that takes him to look at you with eyes wide open, his heart accelerating a little for an unknown reason.

and talk about timing. before he could utter a single word, you see both of your parents approaching the two of you. you feel your cheeks heating up a little because of the recent confession and if you’re not wrong, if your eyes aren’t deceiving you, then there’s a faint tint of rose dancing on akaashi’s cheeks too.

“did you talk?” your mom asks

“we did,” you reply with a smile, taking a look at akaashi before setting your eyes upon your parents again. “however, we need a little time to decide.” you could hear the dads whispering, an unnoticeable frown resting upon your mom’s face which you manage to notice easily.

“that’s fine! we’re not running out of time, are we?” and that’s a blatant lie. time might not be a problem, but akaashi is. and knowing him, he has several contradicting thoughts about marriage. you’re not trying to be a ‘know it all’ about him, but as someone who has witnessed him paying no attention to romantic aspects of life, you can at least guess that the major reason behind this proposal is not your mother, but his mother who probably complained about her son’s lack of interest in love.

you shoot her a thankful smile, finally bidding your goodbyes before akaashi interjects the departures.

“wait,” he interrupts a little too loudly, having a few stray gazes floating at him. “i’d like to marry y/n.”

and there’s only one way to describe your amusement — the woman was too stunned to speak.

.

.

.

“oh god, this sounds like one mov—”

“kaori.” you cut in through his rambles about how much of a love ridden movie your life sounds like. “this is not a movie, it’s my life. i’m having a crisis over here!”

“what’s the issue, yn?” the atmosphere gets heavier for a second. “didn’t you want to date akaashi?”

“i wanted to date him, not marry him, especially after years of no contact!” you whine in a hushed manner, afraid that your mother will hear you. “besides, i have a feeling this won’t work.”

“you can start by dating, though.” she suggests. “look, it’s not like you both are complete strangers. plus, akaashi seems to like you— platonically i mean— and that’s better than marrying someone you’ve never heard of in your entire life.”

well, that’s true.

“yeah, i know—” and then you hear your mom calling you downstairs, an exhausted sigh escaping your lips. “mom’s calling, let’s talk later.”

you rush downstairs, only to see akaashi sitting in the living room with a bouquet of pink camellias and a saccharine smile dancing on his lips. and you remember asking ‘didn’t we meet just two days ago’ to yourself before greeting him with an soft ‘hello’ and taking a seat next to your mother.

“i was wondering if we could catch up a bit,” you look at him with pure amusement. a part of you is panicking because your parents are right here, hovering their gazes over you and akaashi as if he’s asking you out on a date.

unless, it actually is one.

“of course, she can!” and you hate it when your mother answers the questions meant for you. “she has nothing better to do except reading that weird manga the whole day.” too much information, mom, too much.

however, you’re glad she doesn’t remember the name of the manga. because imagine calling a manga weird when the writer is sitting right in front of you, and is about to marry your daughter in a few weeks.

anyway, you excuse yourself to your room, shuffling through the closet for a decent dress, applying light makeup for the sake of looking presentable. you almost call kaori again before realizing that you certainly have better fashion sense than her.

you rush downstairs once again, this time with a slightly flustered face because what if you don’t look good? however, the look on akaashi’s face says otherwise.

“you look gorgeous.” filter, keiji, where’s the filter. your mom giggles under her breath, eyes your dad about something you fail to figure out. your parents are more excited about your marriage than you, and it makes you wonder if marriage is just a plan and they just want akaashi in their household. ( let’s be honest, they always liked akaashi a tad bit more, only because he doesn’t read manga all day, but who’s gonna tell them? )

not a word is shared after that. both you and akaashi walk out as he offers you the flowers he bought, you assumed they were for your parents.

“so, how have you been?” this time, you break the ice, striking up a conversation which doesn’t feel as awkward as the one held two days ago.

“i’ve been working on a new manga so things are a little hectic,” he replies, leading you inside the bakery down street, pulling a chair for you to sit on. “but besides that, everything is good.”

and it’s the manga once again. you chuckle, scanning through the menu. “i wonder how my mom would react if she knew that her favorite boy writes manga.”

“let’s not tell her that,”

and then what follows are the beads of laughter and tales about all the years you’ve lost. you learn that bokuto plans to ask his partner out, which is some kind of ‘big boy decision’ if phrased in bokuto’s words. akaashi tells you about a certain yellow haired setter— and he’s not the point of the conversation anymore. it’s his brother, all because akaashi loves the onigiris at his restaurant. and that’s the only lovesick expression you’ve ever seen on his face.

akaashi being a love sick fool for miya onigiri. yeah, sounds about right.

“we should go there someday,” he offers, more like he’s saying you must go because he loves that place and you would too. “you know, after getting married.” now that, you didn’t expect that.

“i still don’t get why you want to marry me.” and it’s an honest question. people may call you a fool for trying to sabotage your seemingly perfect future married life, but you aren’t taking risks. well, that’s what we learnt from all the mangas we’ve read, right?

he sends you a blank expression, trying to hide his smile. “because you like me?”

“don’t bring that up!”

“are you embarrassed?”

“stop!” you cover your face with your hands, trying to calm your heart down. you’re regretting confessing to him that day. and thinking about it now, it was another one of your impulsive decisions that you regret. “besides, i liked you.”

a dramatic gasp escapes his lips. “so you don’t like me anymore? what’s the point of getting married then?”

oh, and you’re sure he’s teasing you, so you decide to give into his little games. “let’s say it’s because of the mangas.”

another trail of laughter follows, another series of both of your hearts skipping a few beats, another piece of memory floats into your mind. you recall how you and akaashi met in a comic store, wanting to buy the recent edition of a manga that had only one copy left. so just like any other smart person, you both divide the price, proceeding to read it together at the nearby park.

that day, you arrived home late— very late. so late that you received an earful from your mother. but you could care less. that was the best manga reading session you’ve ever had, and even better than best meet cute or whatever they call it in the stories.

and just like that, the morning passes by in usual conversations. suddenly, akaashi doesn’t feel like a stranger anymore. well, he never was, but meeting him two days ago made you feel like you aren’t meeting the keiji you once knew. there was an unfamiliar haze in his eyes, and even though you knew the person sitting in front of you, you didn’t feel like knowing him at all.

however now, there’s a familiar smile on his lips, one that made you fall for him, a knowing glint in his eyes, one that made you drown in his eyes every time you looked into them. the fuzzy feeling in your stomach returns, and you thought it was easy to bury someone’s feelings.

“do you really not have a girlfriend?” you tease the question again as you both walk out of the bakery.

“i don’t, yn!” he whines. “how many times should i repeat that for you?”

“oh c’mon, a crush, maybe? there’s no way you don’t have someone you like.”

“you’re right, i do have a crush.” a pause. you didn’t expect that. or maybe you did, that’s what you’ve been wanting to hear, because there’s no way the akaashi keiji doesn’t have a crush. so why is your heart aching so much? “but i’m marrying you, so it doesn’t matter anymore.”

and there it is again, the butterflies and all, and an eye roll initiated by you. you don’t know what to do, but one thing is for sure— akaashi has a crush, he’s marrying you, so in short : your relationship won’t work out.

that’s how you muster up the courage to speak your next words. “let’s call off the engagement.” you look at him with dull eyes, still managing to pull a pleasant smile. “don’t give up on the one you love for me.”

it hurts so much, you’re sure saying that took ten years from your life span.

“hm, is that so?” and then you see him inching closer, one hand resting on your shoulder while the other reaches out for your hair, making your heart pick up a higher pace. on the cue, he pulls out a leaf stuck from your hair, taking a look at it before setting his eyes on your again. “i don’t think i’m giving up on the one i love by marrying you.”

and then you zone out for a good ten minutes.

.

.

.

“i hate him, kaori! i hate him so much!” you yell into your pillow— her pillow, actually, while she’s sitting on the other side of the bed, watching you exhibit animal behavior ( her words, literally )

she sighs for the tenth time. “do you, though?”

“gosh, i’m in love with him!” you exclaim into the pillow again, squealing and giggling like a five year old kid who got her favorite figurine in her happy meal. you’re sure you hear her saying ‘pick a struggle’ but honestly, you’re busy thinking about akaashi to even respond to her.

you were such a fool to think it was impossible for old feelings to return. well, it’s just a family gathering. what could go wrong? you remember concluding this the day you were getting ready to meet his family. and much to your surprise ( or maybe not ) everything that could possibly go wrong, went wrong.

it took you everything to not call akaashi hot. wait, actually, akaashi has always been hot. the girls in high school didn’t fawn over him for nothing. but akaashi keiji, 22, shonen manga editor who has been publishing mangas under a pen name is hot.

in those five years, akaashi had the glow up ( again, not like he ever needed. more like glow ups need akaashi, really ) and that’s when you knew that ‘it’s impossible for your feelings to return’ was bullshit, because the moment he stepped in, your heart started having a field day with those damned butterflies.

“i don’t know what he means by that, though.” you sit up, looking at your friend who’s painting her nails, tired of the mess that your life is. “he says he loves someone, but he’s also not giving up on them by marrying me. what do you think that means?”

kaori sighs. “you’re so dumb, it baffles me.”

“hey!” you slap her arm, pouting at her response as you slide under the covers. “whatever, i’m going to sleep.” another lie, because bold of you to assume you could sleep when you have akaashi keiji hovering all over your mind.

kaori’s right, maybe you’re stupid. it’s really stupid of you to marry someone who clearly has a crush, someone who clearly harbours feelings for someone and oh god, you feel so selfish. but maybe that’s what love does to you. for once, you think, being selfish isn’t as bad as people make it to be. after all, with love comes several other challenges, and one of them was making him fall in love with you too.

oh, well, everything side, you need to sleep. that’s the most difficult challenge right now, considering your brain won't stop playing the previous events with akaashi.

.

.

.

nothing helps, you need to be brainwashed.

how does one even fall so deep in love that it’s hard to sleep?

anyway, you make your way to the balcony, careful to not wake your friend up as you slip into your cardigan. you wonder if it’s actually colder than usual, or if it’s just your mind. maybe it’s just your mind. because you look at the sky, the moon looks prettier, the sound of wind hustling through dry leaves feels like music to your ears. you pull the cardigan closer to your body, a smile dancing on your lips. however, a notification from your phone interrupts your sweet moment.

akaashi :

you should sleep — 3 : 37 am

you :

how do you know i’m not sleeping? — 3 : 37 am

akaashi :

look to your right :) — 3 : 38 am

and then you see him waving from a distance, standing next to a lamp post as a faint gasp escapes your lips. you run downstairs, cursing as you almost drop one of the antiques resting on a table in the living room.

“what are you—” you’re cut off by akaashi wrapping his scarf around you, a wisp of air emerging from his lips.

“you should stay warm.” he whispers, cheeks adorned by dust of red tints because of the cold winds engulfing the two of you. “and you should sleep, too.”

you chuckle at his words. “you’re one to talk.” chortles back, offering you to put your hand in his as you both begin on your little stroll.

it’s cold, it really is. you feel the cold breeze penetrating through your silk trousers, and you curse yourself for thinking it would protect you from the temperature outside. march has never been this cold, but no one can predict weather, can they? all you can say is that you’re glad akaashi’s holding your hand inside the pocket of his jacket, a faint blush waltzing on your cheeks as you smile against the soft scarf.

it smells of calendulas, a fragrance almost similar to how you’d describe home. akaashi always had a sublime taste when it comes to fragrances.

“what are you doing here, though?” you ask when you finally recall the reason why you hurried downstairs anxiously.

“is it wrong for me to see my fiancée?” he responds with a smirk, eye you through his peripheral gaze.

you take it back when you said akaashi feels familiar. he does not. seventeen year old akaashi didn’t have the confidence to tease you about everything you do. to be honest, it was the other way around. and you can imagine him saying, ‘oh how the tables have changed’ with a smug grimace. you wonder if he has been spending time with kuroo or one of the miyas.

“is your mom aware that her son is out here with his fiancée instead of sleeping?”

“she wouldn’t mind,” well, he’s right. “she really wanted us to get together ever since high school.” and you feel your cheeks heat up at his words again. actually, scratch that, it’s not the words. it’s the cold.

yeah, it’s definitely the cold. because nothing else seems plausible.

“you’re flustered,” his words pull you out of your thoughts, your eyes wide open at his statement. “do i fluster you, yn?”

such a tease, you curse in your head. “you? fluster me? the delusion is high.” and you’re such a liar for speaking those words as if they’re nothing but the truth.

you both stop in front of your house— again, it’s kaori’s house. he looks at you, you look at him, and the time freezes. there’s a comforting sensation in between you two. while everything around is shivering in cold, the calloused moon watches your heart melt at his sight. you wonder if it’s obvious that you’re still in love with him, even after all these years.

“and when i do this?” he steps towards you, inching closer as his head dips down towards your lips, halting a few centimeters away. your heart is pacing infinitely, as if it’ll jump out of your chest. if that wasn’t enough, his hands find refuge on your waist, pulling you closer than you already are.

and you’re only thinking about kissing him when he chuckles, stepping back, leaving you perplexed with a flushed face. “i think you should go back.” and that’s all he says before bidding you a good night as you watch him walk away through the dimly illuminated streets.

you smile.

maybe sleeping isn’t on tonight’s list.

.

.

.

the next week almost feels monochromatic.

you haven’t even heard from akaashi. no calls, no texts, let alone hanging out together. while he has quite a tight schedule considering the busy person he is, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he’s spending time with the so-called person he has a crush on.

the calls from his parents don’t stop, though. his mother hits you up every one to two days, asking if her son is treating you well, and you couldn’t help but just smile and say that yes, he is. well, you certainly can’t tell that you haven’t heard from her son in three days now, and everything makes you feel a little anxious about the marriage proposal.

so, even when reading manga doesn’t seem to calm you down, you decide to seek comfort in an old friend.

“just so you know, yn,” he says after much consideration, taking a sip from his hot chocolate. “akaashi isn’t the type to play anyone, especially you.”

“i know,” you sigh, resting your arms on the table in front of you. “but i’m scared.” he puts his hand above you, rubbing soft circles on the back of your palm in an attempt to provide you solace.

tanaka would know something about love, considering he spent a major part of his life pinning over kiyoko. and if there’s something you learnt from his story, it’s persistence. a major part of why you are still willing to have your shots at akaashi is tanaka and his forever inspiring story regarding his love life. ( honestly, it’s something he’s very proud of )

“hey now c’mon, this isn’t the yn i knew in university. cheer up!” you smile at his words, receiving one back in response too. the universe may have deprived you of a potential love interest but it definitely gave you the best friends you could ever ask for. “shit— i have to go. but call me if you need anything, okay?”

and with that, you both walk out of the little shop, him bidding you a soft goodbye with a kiss on your temple before hugging you, something that you appreciate a lot.

they say that if things are set to go wrong, they will go wrong. there’s no stopping. just like now, when you turn around, your eyes rest upon akaashi as he stares at you from across the street. only ten seconds are left before the signal turns green again, and it makes you feel like you’re hanging on the edge of a cliff; only ten seconds to pull up, ten seconds to save yourself, and after that is just an empty void.

but you’re smarter than the girl running across the road in front of you. you’ve always been the smarter one. so you pull out your phone, dialing the number on top of your contact list.

a few rings pass, the signal turns green. akaashi picks up.

“keiji i can ex—”

he cuts you off. “let’s talk later.”

a bus passes by, and akaashi is no longer in front of you.

.

.

.

day five without akaashi.

both the families are busy with the preparations and now that the engagement date has been finalized, tons of responsibilities have been bestowed upon you.

however, everything feels like it has been built upon a pillar of lies. you’ve been tiptoeing around your friends and family, making sure you don’t make it obvious that there’s a huge misunderstanding between you and akaashi. something that can ruin everything.

so, you keep feeding everyone with lies, a little too afraid that you'll make one mistake and you’d shatter everything into pieces.

.

.

.

you’re not sure when the later comes for him. but every second ever since that incident feels suffocating. the thought about calling off the engagement slides into your mind. a part of you agrees. you can maybe postpone the engagement, at least. while another part of you keeps telling you to text akaashi.

maybe you should, maybe you shouldn’t.

what if he’s busy with work? what if he’s busy with someone? well, what happened that day gives him a perfect reason to not marry you and instead, spend his life with the person he truly loves.

and you keep staring at the ceiling, sighing occasionally before your mother comes in.

“yn, are you busy?” you roll your eyes. if staring at the ceiling is considered working then sure, you’re busy; very busy. “keiji’s here.”

suddenly, you aren’t busy anymore. hundreds of questions flood into your mind as you send your mom out of your room, proceeding to fix your look before following her ghosted steps.

“um, my mom sent some takoyaki for you,” you’ve never had a more awkward conversation with akaashi before. you smile, the takoyakis are appreciated, but the flowers in the bouquet are not. you wonder if he actually picked a bunch of yellow carnations with a few daffodils because of their meaning or if he randomly chose them because they’re pretty.

you wish it’s the latter one.

there’s nothing left to say. so you mutter a soft thankyou before leading him out of the door, the atmosphere beckoning that there’s something that has to be addressed before it’s too late. and so, you take the initiative.

“he’s just a friend,” you break the ice, making him look up at you. “tanaka, i mean. we’re close friends. he’s married.”

akaashi doesn’t say a word. all he does is nod before taking his leave and driving away from your place. you wonder if you said something wrong. but there’s something you don’t know, and it’s the smile on his face that accompanies him through his drive back home.

.

.

.

time feels slower when he’s not around.

it’s hard to not panic about the situation when you told him everything, and all he did was nod and leave as if nothing really matters anymore. you can hear kaori calling you dumb for thinking this, but what if he’s in fact disappointed that you weren’t in a relationship, all because he couldn’t be with his crush?

maybe you are dumb, especially for making akaashi sound like worst of the antagonists in those romance mangas.

i need to see him. you whine again and your eyes settle on the scarf he left you almost a week ago. a pause in your inner monologue. yeah, you need to see him.

.

.

.

“it’s 10 pm.” is the first thing he says after opening the door, offering to come inside. you raise your brows looking at his apartment, which is a little too spacious for someone who has been living alone.

“i just wanted to return this scarf,” he takes the bag from your hand, mumbling something along the lines of ‘you could’ve returned this tomorrow.’ but honestly, a scarf is just an excuse. “by the way, thank your mom for the takoyakis,”

“for sure,” he doesn’t even look at you because his eyes are too busy typing something on his phone. you wonder if it’s the love of his life.

“so how are things between you and your crush?” he looks at you with eyes wide open as if he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. and you feel so stupid for asking that.

“we didn’t talk for a few days but i met her today so we’re good,” he responds with a sweet smile and you can swear, it sounds a little too familiar for some reason.

a trail of silence fills in the room along with the fragrance of hot chocolate that’s emerging from the kitchen. you’re left wondering if you should still agree to this whole proposal. he seems happy with her, you think. and despite all the years you’ve spent pining over him, you have no right to ruin their relationship.

your heart aches, but it’s fine as long as he’s happy.

“you know,” you speak, taking the cup from his hand. “i’d love to meet her some day.” you notice him trying to hide his smile as he takes a sip. and you wonder if there’s something funny about this situation.

“she’s here, as we speak.”

your brows raise in astonishment. “really? where?”

a chuckle escapes his lips— one that you fail to notice— as you whip your head around, looking for her. akaashi thinks you’re cute, especially for being impossibly clueless.

he places his cup aside as he leans against the counter, pulling you closer by your wrist before resting his hands on the corner of your waist. “right in front of me.”

“oh,” and then you look at him with a stunned expression. “wait, what?”

and then cue him laughing at your face as you look at him in disbelief. you step away from him, still processing the situation, because akaashi did not just watch you make a fool of yourself for over a week straight, not only in front of him but also two of your friends. ( your friends don’t even count, honestly. they’ve seen worse )

“i hate you, keiji!” you exclaim, smiling uncontrollably at the relief that sets upon your heart, because no matter how much of a prank it was, the ‘crush’ really did have you on your toes.

he laughs. “do you, though?”

“shut up!” yes, and you still regret telling him about your crush on him that day. to be honest, you regret it even more. “and what if i tell you i cried myself to sleep everyday because of your silly prank?”

he shrugs. “i’ll make it up to you,”

“how?”

and all he does is pull you closer once again, capturing your lips with his as his hands rest on your hips, smirking as you kiss back right away. you’re mad, you really are, but you can never be mad enough to not kiss him back, and snake your arms around his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss.

it feels euphoric the way his lips move in synchrony with yours, fitting like puzzle pieces. akaashi tugs you closer by your waist, a faint gasp escaping your mouth that dissolves immediately into your breaths mingling together.

he pulls back, much to your disappointment, looking at you with love sick eyes and dust of pink sprinkled on his cheeks. “is that enough?”

you press your lips into a thin line, pretending to think before planting a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. “hm, not sure. let’s do it again and then i’ll see if i can forgive you.”

akaashi smiles, kissing you again, this time with a much slower pace as the moonlight graces you both with it’s magic. he tickles your neck, a series of giggles spinning around as you pull back, playfully slapping his arm. he stares at you for a brief second before reaching for your lips once again, mumbling a gentle ‘i love you’ against them as you give dwell into the kiss once again.

and you remember thinking, maybe you shouldn’t forgive him at all.

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[salsakiyoomi]

Hiiii‼️i remember reading your little fashion designer!akaashi thing and, i was wondering if you could make headcanons about him

pretty please

(☝️🤮; anw can you or can you not? this is a business deal ma'am, i ask, you answer 🫲🤨/j )

a/n : hello 😭😭 im so sorry for the late reply but yes ma'am business deal shall be made 🤝, also i am aware that you asked for headcanons and this is a drabble but it's an idea i had for a while but i will be making a headcanons post! so lmk if you want me to tag you in it <33

you knew akaashi.

well, you didn't exactly know him, you just knew of him.

he was the boy you saw almost every monday and friday when you went to the library for some of your reading time — you didn't see him the first few times you went there but one day, as if heaven dropped one of if its angels, he was just there — and you fell into him.

you didn't see him, truly, as you entered through the door of the library and you unknowingly tripped over your own feet, immediately colliding with someone else as a pair of hands gripped your arms firmly.

"oh my god, i'm so sorry—" you began your blabbering but as soon as you saw the face of your saviour (you may call him that) you were immediately awe-strucked.

he had blue eyes and he stared down at you through thick eyelashes — his hair was jet black and nicely tamed.

he was so beautiful.

you gasped, "i'm so sorry, sir—" you began again but you were cut off by his laughing, "hey, it's okay, just watch your step." he said softly — fuck, even his voice was beautiful, he sounded so angelic.

you could feel your face heat up — from embarrassment or intimacy? you weren't really sure.

he let go you, and took a couple of steps back, smiling at you, and you could swear that you saw a hint of red tainting his cheeks, but you thought it might have been from the cold outside.

"i'm y/n," you blurted out, "nice to meet you."

"akaashi," he said — holy shit, he sounded so charming, "akaashi keiji, nice to meet you too."

you could only smile at him, unable to say anything because you weren't sure what to say — but then akaashi took it upon himself to wave goodbye to you and head deeper into the library.

you stood at the entrance for a few more moments, contemplating what the fuck just happened and whether it was a dream or not.

he was literally so pretty, you didn't that you've ever seen someone so pretty like that before.

after that, you didn't really see akaashi again.

well you saw him, but you didn't really talk to him.

he'd sit a couple of tables away from you, you wondered if he was even aware that you were there — regardless, you couldn't really focus on your book with you glancing at him every few minutes.

he wore glasses, cat eye frames that defined his face, and he'd come in with a coffee or a hot chocolate in hand — sometimes he would read, and sometimes he would pull out a small sketchbook and a pencil and he'd draw.

you didn't really talk to him up until the book you were trying to reach was placed two shelves too high for you.

standing on your tippy toes didn't help you reach the book, you contemplated maybe standing on the shelves to reach it but decided against it after remembering every movie scene where all the bookcases would fall on to eachother thanks to that same decision you were about to make.

you huffed in annoyance, as you took a few steps back away from the shelves and crossed your arms — you thought maybe you could bring a chair and — "hey, do you need help?"

that voice, you knew it.

you turned around to face akaashi standing a few feet away from you, his voice was quiet and almost shy with a timid smile on his lips.

"oh, uhm, yes, that would be great actually." you stammered, as you pointed to the book you wanted.

this was when you realized how tall he was as he easily reached for the book and handed it to you.

you stares at him with an almost awe-like expression as you took the book into your hands, "thank you."

his smile was so warm as he replied, "no problem."

akaashi left the library that day with you hugging the book close to your chest.

he didn't come back for a few days — you wondered what had happened of him, was he too busy to come? or did he catch a cold thanks to the weather of the past few days? — ugh this was ridiculous, it's like highschool all over again with a hallway crush that made your heart pound everytime you saw them at school and wondered what happened to them everytime you didn't see them between classes.

you rest your head on the palm of your hand, subconsciously eyeing the entrance in hopes he would come in — you know you didn't really talk to him, but his presence brought an unknown enjoyment to you — you were happy with him just sitting there and looking pretty, and the even better thing was that he'd acknowledge you with a nod of his head and smile whenever he entered before making it towards his table.

you tap your finger on the table, eyes wandering away from the door to your book, scanning the paragraphs absently without really comprehending what you're reading as your mind wandered back to the thought of him.

he's pretty, and sweet and polite and well mannered and shit, you might have a crush on him, because even now just the thought of him made your heart flutter.

the click of the entrance door makes your gaze immediately switch over to it and as if on cue, akaashi walks in.

he walks in holding two cups of coffee.

your gaze is fixed on him as he acknowledges you with a nod of his head and gives you a smile, one that you mirror — he walks in, and instead of walking over to his usual table he walks over to yours.

your heart races as he stands at in front of the chair parallel to you, "is this seat taken?"

you immediately shake your head, "no no, you can sit — if you want to."

he sets the two cups of coffee on the table as he pulls out the chair and takes his seat. he nudges one of the cups towards you, "i hope you like coffee." he says, his voice tranquil with a sheepish smile on his lips and a faint red blooming on his cheeks.

"as long as it isn't poisoned," you laugh quietly as you take the cup of coffee into your hands.

"oh well, who knows?" he jokes and you grin at him, "well, thanks anyway." — it isn't evident in your behaviour but your heart is leaping out of your chest like in those cartoons and oh how hard are you trying to calm yourself down.

you bring the cup to your lips, ready to take a sip before he faintly places his hand on yours, stopping you, "careful, it's hot." he says before drawing his hand back.

oh my god, did he just touch your hand? — holy shit, he actually did, you weren't imagining it.

you set the cup back on the table as you try to control your pounding heart, and oh, you can recognize the heat in your face.

"so," you clear your throat, "where have you been the past few days?" you ask timidly.

"work gets a bit too much sometimes," he replies, and you notice him fidgeting with his fingers — so you aren't the only shy one here.

silence settles like a cloak over the two of you, its neither uncomfortable nor comfortable. a few moments pass before you reach out for your coffee, deciding that it probably wasn't as hot as before and you take a sip.

"oh my god, that tastes so good," you exclaim after your swallow, it was the perfect balance of sweet and bitter, "where'd you get it from?"

akaashi takes a sip of his own coffee, "it's from a coffeehouse just down the street," he says, "i could take you there, if you'd like."

he mumbles the last part almost inaudibly as his gaze averted away from you, akaashi fiddles with the hem of his sleeve nervously.

your mouth forms into an 'o' shape as you exclaim quietly — for a moment, you thought you might have imagined him saying it, given how quiet he said it, but the deep red on his face made you think otherwise.

"are you...asking me out?" you ask quietly, your tone a bit teasing and you try to fight a smile that's making it's way to your lips but eventually give in to it as you eye him curiously.

his gaze moves over to you again, and he mirrors your smile, "only if you say yes." he says, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

oh my god.

you cover your face as you quietly giggle and try to hide the blush on your cheeks, you feel shy yet enthusiastic as your heart hammers in your chest and you wonder I'd he feels the same way too.

you say, "i'd love that, akaashi."

akaashi blinks at you, almost as if he couldn't believe you'd just agreed to that — his heart clenches in his chest and his stomach drops to his knees, he could feel the warmth on his face and his foot began to tap on the floor.

holy shit, you actually said yes.

"you can call me keiji." akaashi says, "akaashi is my last name."

you gawk at him before you nod, "okay, keiji." you smile as you say his name softly with a bit of emphasize on it.

akaashi feels his heart flutter when he hears his name on the tip of youe tongue, and so he clears his throat as he leans over on the table, "so, say tomorrow, maybe five pm? i'll pick you up from here." he offers.

you can only grin at him as you nod your head enthusiastically, "that would be great."

the truth is, you actually fell for keiji the moment you met him, but what you didn't know was that keiji fell for you too the moment he laid eyes on you — although his fall might have not been as obvious as yours.

#i havent written for akaashi in so long omg #this is so bad #this as an idea similar to one me and my friend had bur it was ft. sakusa insteas #thought it might fit akaashi as well #also bold move akaashi >>> #haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu fics #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagine #akaashi keiji #akaashi fluff #akaashi headcanons #akaashi scenarios #akaashi imagine #akaashi x reader

[dinosuccessor]

I firmly stand on my views that despite Akaashi being cool netflix teenager he's a veryyyy jealous person. The bar is so fucking high Fukurodani team members respectfully stay away Bokuto's personal space (that same doesn't apply vice versa). I'm willing to throw hands that Akaashi has indeed shut down many bullies (only Bokuto's cause he's babygirl). If you thought of 'shut down' as physical means and borderline psychotic ones, welcome mate you're not alone.

On the same note, Bokuto loves him regardless.

#akaashi keiji #bokuaka #haikyuu #bokuaka love language; a series #haikyu #yes i think about bokuaka all day long #babygirl bokuto #akaashi has better handiwork than kungfu panda #appreciation post for BokuAka jealous fics (there are not enough)

[haikyuu-library]

hey have you read the bokuaka fic Devotion from Two Angles by ao3 user mirykirigum? its about them trying to maintain a long distance relationship after bokuto went pro :)

i just read it and it was really good!! tysm for the rec :)

Devotion from Two Angles by Mirykirigum

Completed | G | 8.0k

The Earth was made for them, for those who loved on purpose. It just took two halves of a whole to see it. Or: Navigating your early twenties is hard. Navigating your early twenties when another piece of you is miles away is even worse. They make it work. Somehow.

#submission #anon #bokuaka #bokuto koutarou #akaashi keiji #post timeskip #pro volleyball player bokuto koutarou #long distance relationship #manga editor akaashi keiji #established relationship #fluff #angst with a happy ending #haikyuu #haikyuu!! #hq #hq!! #haikyuu fic recs #haikyuu fic rec #hq fic recs #hq fic rec #fic recs #fic rec #ao3 #completed #5k to 10k

[sashimiyas]

drops a bunch of limes then picks up a couple of limes but ends up dropping more "Sorry, I suck at pick-up limes. Could you help me out?" 😂😂😂

bop: Meian Shugo

flop: Akaashi Keiji

#reina.receives #hi mimi! it’s been so long! how have you been? i hope well! #this goes along my old fic for meian love (pun)ched or something like that #where i hc that man loves a pun and all the dad jokes #you drop the lines a second time and before you even get to speak #akaashi just puts his hand on top of yours and shakes his head #‘stop. here. let me get this for you.’

[itadorey]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝

pairing: gojo satoru x gn!reader summary: you make out with gojo genre: suggestive, short and sweet fluff notes: this was originally an akaashi fic but i rewrote it, petnames, gojo calls reader sweetheart and pretty, wc: ~1.8k

the day that gojo satoru asked you out was the day that you were sure your heart would give out. if you were to ask anyone else, it had been a long time coming, and everyone had sighed in relief when he had finally approached you with a confident smile and his pretty, blue eyes.

of course, you were wrong. sitting on the couch, tucked into gojo's side with his arm slung around your shoulders, you realize that this might actually be the moment where your heart gives out. you glance up at him sneakily, your eyes tracing every feature of his face as he remains engrossed in whatever movie the two of you had put on.

you don't even notice the small sigh that escapes your lips as you gaze at him, the soft sound drawing his attention to you. your cheeks flood with heat as he turns his head to face you, his lips raising at the corners as he smiles at you.

"see something you like?" he asks, his smile growing when you nod. he tightens his arm around your shoulders, effectively pulling you closer to him as he presses a kiss to your forehead. you breathe in deeply at the contact, and you can't help the way your eyes wander towards his lips. a breathy laughs leaves him as he notices, and he ducks his head down slightly, his lips mere centimeters from yours when he pauses.

"can i kiss you?" he whispers, watching you closely as he waits for your response. you nod softly, your eyes never straying from his lips as you lean forwards the slightest bit. he pulls back when he feels your lips brush his, shaking his head lightly when you give him a frustrated look. "i need to hear you say it, sweetheart."

"just kiss me already, satoru," you whisper, your eyes fluttering shut when he finally leans down all the way to press his lips against yours. his lips are soft against yours, and you lean up slightly in an attempt to deepen the kiss. your hands find purchase in his jacket, balling up the fabric in your grip as his lips begin to move against yours slowly, parting them with every move. you respond enthusiastically, your neck craning upwards as you melt into his touch.

seconds pass as the two of you remain exchange lazy kisses, a muffled squeak leaving your lips when you feel gojo's large hands travel to your waist. it doesn't take much effort for him to pull you onto his lap, hands slipping down to the curve of your ass in an attempt to steady you as you straddle him.

you break the kiss first, pulling back slightly and chuckling when he chases your lips with his. you indulge him with a quick peck before pushing him back, releasing his jacket to let your hands trail up towards his face. gojo tenses underneath your touch as your fingers reach around his head, softly tugging at his blindfold before slipping it off.

his eyelashes flutter as he tilts his head to meet your eyes, his gaze burning into you as he smiles. you toss the blindfold to the side, placing your hands on his shoulders as he squeezes your butt.

"getting bold now, aren't we?" you tease, a pretty smile on your face as he stares at you with bright eyes.

"maybe just a little," he says, giving you a crooked grin. you laugh breathlessly before leaning forward and capturing his lips with yours once again. a soft gasp escapes your mouth when you feel one of his hands slide up your back, resting in between your shoulder blades as he presses you closer against him.

he takes the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth, the hand on your ass sliding up to grab your hip when you let out a soft whimper. one of your hands remains on his shoulder, the other sliding up to tangle in his soft hair as you arch into him. your skin feels hot underneath his touch, and you feel yourself jolt when the hand that had been resting on your hip slips underneath your shirt, his thumb rubbing soft circles into your skin.

"is this okay?" gojo asks, his voice nothing but a husky whisper against you. his eyes remain closed as he waits for you to speak, peppering feathery kisses along your chin and cheeks but choosing to avoid your lips.

"yes," you murmur quickly, tilting your head to capture his lips. gojo chuckles at your eagerness, and you find yourself pulling back when your fingers brush against the collar of his jacket. you waste no time before bringing your hands back to his chest, your fingers working swiftly as you make quick work of the buttons. gojo makes no complaint as he watches, letting go of you when you begin to slide the fabric off of his shoulders.

he quickly slips his arms out of the sleeves, tossing his jacket to the side before quickly wrapping his arms around you once more. your position somehow feels more intimate now that there's less layers between the two of you, and you feel your head spin as he pulls you into another dizzying kiss. you throw your arms around his neck, tangling both hands in his hair and tugging lightly as he moans into your mouth.

gojo's eyes fly open when you move away from his mouth, pressing fleeting kisses to the corner of his mouth, cheek, and jawline before peppering kisses all along the column of his throat. his lets his eyes flutter shut as your lips ghost over his skin, his breath stuttering when they brush over the sensitive spot below his ear.

"fuck!" he hisses, tilting his head further back as chuckle breathily against his skin. you can feel him shiver underneath your touch, his fingers slipping underneath your shirt and digging into your skin. "that feels good."

you suck on his skin lightly, drawing a low moan from gojo's lips before you soothe the spot with your tongue. you repeat the process a few more times, basking in the soft sounds coming from gojo's mouth as you make sure his neck is littered with small, pretty, red marks.

you only stop when gojo tucks two fingers under your chin, turning your face towards him to kiss you. his tongue slips easily into your mouth, and you whimper lightly when you feel it slide against yours. the hand underneath your chin come down to wrap around your waist, the other sliding down to grip your thigh tightly as he shifts in his spot.

you feel the world around you tilt, and your eyes widen when you feel your back hit the couch. you're pliant underneath gojo as he presses himself down against you, moving your legs so that they're wrapped tightly around his waist. he holds himself up on his elbows, pulling away to admire the shocked expression on your face.

"look at you," gojo murmurs, sharp eyes taking in your disheveled appearance. "looking so pretty underneath me."

you can feel yourself squirm at his words, and you tilt your head back when he leans in to press a kiss to the side of your jaw. he laughs lowly at how easily you give in to him, and the thought of you trusting him so wholeheartedly makes him feel like he has butterflies fluttering about in his stomach.

"all mine, aren't you?" he whispers against your neck, desperate to hear your answer. he freezes momentarily when you giggle, his heart dropping the moment you push him away and brush his hair back from his forehead. it doesn't last long, and gojo feels his heart swell when you look up at him with a goofy smile, your nose scrunched and eyes crinkled half-shut as you hold his hair back in a haphazard ponytail.

"of course i am," you finally say, your voice low but sure as you mutter the words gojo never knew he wanted to hear. he can't help the pout that forms on his lips, and he gives you a hurt look before looking away.

"then why'd you laugh?"

another giggle slips out from your lips, and you lightly tug at his hair in order to draw his attention back to you. "because your hair was tickling my neck, dummy."

gojo's face flushes in embarrassment, and he quickly schools his expression into a smug smile as he lifts a hand to trace your jawline. "i knew that."

"sure you did," you snort. gojo chooses to shut you up with a kiss, this one hungrier than the previous ones as he rolls his hips against yours. your soft moans are music to his ears, and he can't help but bite down on your bottom lip, causing you to gasp before you pull him in even more to kiss him harder.

a whine escapes from his lips as you pull back, your hands cradling his face as you study him from below. his cheeks are flushed a brilliant pink, lips swollen and shiny with spit as he looks at you in confusion. you admire the way he looks at you, eyes half-lidded and darkened with want as his eyelashes cast light shadows against his cheeks.

"you're so beautiful, satoru" you murmur, causing the pink on his cheeks to darken. your thumbs run along his cheekbones absentmindedly, and gojo almost feels tempted to hide from your piercing gaze. "i can't believe i get to be with you and kiss you whenever i want."

you punctuate your sentence with a kiss, pausing briefly when gojo hums in delight.

"you're so fucking pretty," he mumbles, pulling back slightly. "i've been thinking about kissing you all night and i just love having you in my arms and fuck—,"

he trails off as your fingers get caught in his hair, tugging at the silky strands as he buries his face into your neck. your fingers skim along the back of his neck, making him shiver as he breathes softly against you.

"you're all i need," he murmurs. "i'm sure of it."

he rolls over onto his back, pulling you onto his chest before intertwining his legs with yours. you cuddle into him eagerly, resting your hands on his chest before he grabs one and pulls it up to his lips. you melt when he presses a chaste kiss to your knuckles, keeping your hand in his as he smiles down at you.

"that was cheesy," you say teasingly, ignoring the half-hearted glare he shoots you. "but i hope you know you're all i need too, satoru. i love you."

he lights up at your words, feeling lighter than he has in years as you stare up at him.

"I love you too."

the two of you stay in that position for the rest of the night, the movie long forgotten as you lay in each other's arms.

rbs are appreciated <3 ty for reading!!

#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojou x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk imagine #gojo imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagine #gojou imagine #satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagine #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #gojo imagines

[zzxya]

.

#i have nth wips and my long fic rn but i cannot stop thinking about a bkak atlantis au #like its perfect #bokuto=kida #akaashi=milo #that scene when they go underwater with the crystal and the mural and aaaaaaAAAA #i shouldnt #i really shouldnt bc idk if ill even finish it #but the brainrot is so strong rn #zzxya speaks #--.-

[saigethearies]

enter, if you dare, to

TERRORTOBER

hi, guys! so this is my first attempt at an event :)

i absolutely love halloween and have always enjoyed kinktober pieces so i wanted to take a stab at it (ha get it)

just a heads up, all of these pieces will contain smut and some of them will have dark content as well. since i’m still in the process of writing the fics, appropriate warnings will be placed at the top of all the finished works once they’re posted

for the reasons stated above, and this should already go without saying, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT with any of the works that will be linked to this post

pieces will be posted at approximately 9 pm est on each date specified below and each contain an afab!reader

now, without further ado

october 1st: vampire!kei tsukishima

after revealing his long-kept secret, kei finally allows himself an indulgence he’s craved for ages.

october 4th: alien!osamu miya

while on an expedition into space, your budding romance with osamu came as a pleasant surprise- the murderer hiding amongst your crew, not so much.

october 7th: boyfriend!megumi fushiguro

when one of the actors at a haunted house attraction gets a little too handsy, megumi doesn’t hesitate to come to your aid.

october 10th: serial killer!keiji akaashi

a heartbreaking betrayal leads you to seek comfort from the very person that plunged you into this nightmare.

october 13th: cultist!eren jaeger

unbeknownst to you, zeke has chosen you to be his cult’s next virgin sacrifice. a pining eren knows exactly what he needs to do to save you.

october 16th: demon hunter!tobio kageyama

your unlikely partnership with tobio was just that- a partnership. that is, until the vacant room at the motel had only one bed.

october 19th: stalker!kento nanami

you think the handsome man you always see at the bakery has zero interest in you, but you couldn’t be further from the truth.

october 22nd: camp counselor!tetsuro kuroo

seeing how good tetsuro is with kids has you wanting him to put one in you.

october 25th: veteran!jean kirstein

jean’s wish for a normal life after returning from overseas gets derailed from the onslaught of an undead virus. he ends up finding solace in the form of you.

october 28th: werewolf!hajime iwaizumi

when hajime starts to experience odd changes in himself, his worst fear threatens to become reality. hopefully you can outrun him.

october 31st: ghostface!kiba inuzuka

your anxiety amidst a string of hometown murders takes a turn for even worse when the face behind the mask ends up being the one you trusted the most.

#saige’s terrortober #terrortober masterlist #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima x reader #osamu miya x reader #akaashi x reader #kageyama x reader #kuroo x reader #iwaizumi x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #nanami x reader #aot smut #aot x reader #eren jaeger x reader #jean kirstein x reader #naruto smut #naruto x reader #kiba x reader

[bonniepop]

character: akaashi keiji words: 700+ warnings: parenthood & special children. drama & comfort. notes: when i did a quick recap of all the fics i wanted to repost, this came at me out of nowhere, mostly because i forgot i wrote it, but also holy hell i wrote this? (i also rewrote it.)

-

your eyes are wet and swollen, your back pressed against the side of the bathtub as you sit on the floor. once upon a time, you looked at this place with dreamy eyes and excitement—this bathroom is so beautiful, this house is gorgeous, it’s perfect for us—but lately, you’ve been seeing the inside of it through a teary, pained gaze. it’s ruined for you.

i guess all this really was too good to be true, you tell yourself miserably, heat pricking the back of your eyes once again. you curl further into yourself and press your forehead over your knees, tears dripping down your thighs and soaking your shorts.

you don't know how long you sit there, but eventually, the bathroom door opens, and your husband steps in. “hi,” you hear akaashi say softly, “she’s asleep now.”

you don't move. the door shuts and you feel his warmth settle next to you.

you're both quiet for a time.

“you’re so good with her,” you say, voice wet and sticky, heavy in your mouth. “you're so... i’m so fucking terrible compared to you.”

akaashi doesn’t say anything.

“maybe…” you gasp against your knees, “maybe if i carried her to term—”

“hey, no,” he says softly, lifting one of his hands to tug at your elbow. “don’t say things like that.”

you press your lips shut and turn your head to meet his eyes, and you find him looking at you with so much compassion, so much patience, that you feel your heart fall to your stomach.

"say things like what?" you ask him sadly, voice cracking. “that i'm a bad mother? that i can't do it? that i can’t even carry a normal baby?”

the moment the words leave your mouth, you regret them. your eyes widen and your lip trembles. “keiji, i—i'm sorry, i didn’t mean—”

“it’s not your fault,” he says, voice louder, a little rougher, but never angry. he tugs a little more firmly on your elbow, and you let him take it. “it’s not your fault. we—we’re doing what we can, we’re not—you’re not a bad mother, and she’s not a bad child. she’s just… different.”

she’s just different, the phrase repeats in your head, hollowly bouncing around as keiji pulls you into his arms. you’ve heard it many times before. it’s not her fault she screams the way she does; it’s not her fault she can’t stand anything that has the color blue; it’s not her fault she needs to eat at exactly 4:30pm when she comes home from school everyday. it’s the way she is. she can’t help it.

“what if i’m not good enough to handle different?” you tell him, heart breaking, head leaning on his chest. you start to hiccup through your tears. “i love her, i love her so much, but… keiji, what if i… what if i’m not a bad mom, but i’m a bad mom to her?”

he shakes his head, gently stroking your hair. “you’re not, because you’re thinking about how to be a good one,” he tells you softly, other arm coming around your shoulders.

after a long moment of silence, you speak again. it's a little laborous, pulling your lips apart to speak because you've been crying so much. “you’re so good with her. how… you have so much patience, and i…” you cut yourself off with a sniffle. "i don't know how you do it."

akaashi sighs. “it's... i don't know. i wish i had an answer."

you pull away and meet his gaze. the hand in your hair drifts to your other hand and he takes it in a gentle squeeze.

“i’m not perfect, either,” he murmurs gently, letting go of your hand to tuck your hair behind your ear.. “no one’s perfect at this. there’s no manual to handling a child with autism, love. we just have to be patient, and love them, and remember what they like and don’t like.” he kisses your forehead. “you love her, don’t you?”

“of course,” you answer truthfully, and sniffle. he takes your hand again, his thumb brushing your skin so delicately, so lovingly. “i love her so, so much, but i’m so… i’m so scared i’m doing her a disservice.”

“you’re not. you’re not, my love. please believe me.” he presses the back of your hand to his mouth. “what matters is that we try.”

you let go of his hand and wrap your arms around his waist, the side of your thigh falling on top of his legs. “i love you, keiji,” you tell him earnestly, desperately. “i’m sorry i’m being so difficult.”

“you aren’t,” he answers, but you know it’s automatic, because your husband is the kindest of souls and you are the most selfish of people.

you press yourself closer to him. “still, i was acting like a child. we're supposed to be partners, but instead i made things harder on you. i'm sorry.”

he presses a kiss to your forehead, and the hand that was on your shoulder now strokes your hair. “i forgive you,” he says against your skin. “i love our little family, imperfect as it is. i’d hate to see it fall apart.”

your eyes water and your mouth trembles and your heart squeezes with love. if there’s anything you’d go to the ends of the earth for, it’s keiji’s happiness.

fortunately, you don’t have to go that far. you can start in your daughter’s room.

#hq fic #hq fanfic #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fanfiction #akaashi x reader #akaashi fluff #akaashi x you #haikyuu comfort #haikyuu writing #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #hq fluff #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader fluff #akaashi keiji #akaashi #📝 — my writing

[reverie-starlight]

{lovesick - kuroo t.}

“I pictured you with other girls in love… then threw up on the street.”

gn!reader

warnings: fluff!!! minor angst but don’t worry it’s resolved very quick!!! also, despite the lyric I’m using, there’s no throwing up in this fic, just mentions of it/feeling nauseous. I think I debated scrapping this this like 3 times. tried a new writing style (intentional tense changes) lmk what you think!!

...I might actually write for this specific lyric for other characters too, I have a lot of pent up feelings about it clearly...

there comes a point in your relationship with kuroo tetsurou that makes you question everything.

that point, unfortunately, came in your last year of high school when he stared at you a little too intently while you were laughing at one of his stupid jokes. one he’s told many times over the years, but still always managed to get you.

he grinned at you as you calmed down and you hated the way your heart thumped at the lingering amusement and fondness in his eyes.

you hated the way you were both silent after, eyes locked and no words spoken.

you hated the way his expression turned soft as if he had just had come to a satisfying realization. you knew what that meant because you were sure yours was identical.

in that moment, you hated that you had both finally accepted that maybe, just maybe, there was more to your friendship.

because it meant you had even more to lose.

cut to your second year of university. your relationship hadn't really progressed any further than the in between of friends and more.

but that in itself was a step forward because it meant your interactions were had with the unspoken agreement that you would end up together.

you didn't go to the same school anymore- you stayed in tokyo for university and he moved away for his program.

you still saw each other often enough, though, when he would visit home either during free weekends or for holidays.

kenma also stayed in tokyo, at a different university, but he was closer than his best friend that’s for sure. most friday nights were spent with him, either on call with kuroo or physically with him when he visited as kenma played video games.

everything was the same but everything was different.

kenma commented on how gross kuroo’s obvious displays of affection for you were, something he never had to do over the years.

and you'd just ignore him, obviously, but get a little giddy inside that kuroo was being so open with his fond stares and hands that were always touching you somehow.

with that confirmation that maybe you wouldn't lose him, you grew to love how his expressions turned soft for you.

you loved how your heart would beat just a bit faster (often in time with his, as you found out when he would grab your hand and place it over his chest so you could feel his) when you saw each other after a while.

you loved that you were falling in love with him, and accepted the fact that maybe you always were.

along with your excitement that one day kuroo would be yours, there was an underlying fear that you were taking too long with this game you were playing. dancing around each other, teasing, flirting- only with each other, it never extended to other people. but still...

what if he gets bored and finds someone else? what if while he’s away for school, you drift apart? the higher you go with your education, the busier you’re bound to be… what if he stops coming to visit and the dynamic you have now falls apart?

all these thoughts bubble over and make themselves known on a night out a few weeks later.

kuroo’s home again, for a week this time, and you decide to get a group of people together at a club. included are bokuto and akaashi, kenma opting to pass for his games, and one of your friends from high school.

you’re slightly drunk, giggling with her about one thing or another when the topic of conversation turns to him. she looks over at him, dancing with bokuto, as akaashi watches them from the sidelines, exasperated.

“you’re pretty good friends with kuroo, right?” she asks.

a dopey grin makes its way onto your face at the mention of his name (against your will) and you nod.

“well get this- my friend goes to the same university as him, they have a class together, and she’s thinking of asking him out after the break.”

your face falls and you’re sucked into a state of panic.

realistically, you have nothing to worry about. if earlier that day was any indication of how kuroo still felt about you, he would turn this girl down. his warm hands on your cheeks as he pressed kisses to your forehead in greeting at the train station. his hand in yours when you walked from the car to your apartment where he’s staying for the week.

(the logical thing to do here would be to tell her that you and kuroo are unofficially a thing, so he's kind of off limits, but you're too tipsy for logic at this point.)

"do you think he's looking for anything right now?"

your friend tries to get your attention, but you can't hear her. you stare at him from across the room and pictures of him cuddled up with this stranger flash through your mind, kissing her how you've always wished he'd kiss you, being pushed to the sidelines in his life as he moves on-

before she can call out to you again, you’re already dashing to the washroom, nausea settling into your stomach at the thought of him possibly falling in love with someone else. you haven’t had enough alcohol to make you sick, which makes it all worse. this feeling is here because you're in love. and want him to be yours. and he might be ripped away from you.

some might call it a newly developed strain of lovesickness.

you’re unaware that he follows you after seeing you dash in between him and bokuto.

you lock yourself in the large stall and crouch to the ground, head in your hands. making an attempt to steady your breathing, you inhale deeply and exhale slowly.

a knock on your stall can be heard. "y/n? are you in here?"

"yeah." your voice is quiet, but thankfully the music has faded to a dull thumping so he's able to hear it.

"can I come in?"

you don't know how to answer that, but you ponder on it for a second too long, apparently, because now he's stepping onto the toilet seat of the next stall over and climbing over into yours.

you look up at him pitifully and he sighs. "what's up, buttercup?"

there's no use waiting any longer. you tug on his sleeve and he moves closer, wrapping an arm around you. "my friend's friend wants to ask you out after the break and I felt sick just thinking about it."

you don't look at him when you say it, but you can hear the barely contained joy in his voice at your confession. "yeah? you don't want me to date anyone else? you finally staking your claim on me?"

he pulls you closer to him when you nod. "good. I was getting worried I'd have to be the one to give in first."

you slap his arm and he laughs. "tetsurou," you say.

"hmm?"

"I'm not going to be the one to ask you officially, that's on you."

"that's fine, I was going to anyway. I've been waiting a long time for this, baby."

you finally look up at him. "yeah?"

he grins down at you and the look in his eyes has once again gone completely soft, just for you. "oh yeah."

he shifts a bit until you're both facing each other on the (probably dirty) bathroom floor of a tiny club in tokyo and asks the question you've been yearning to hear since that day in your last year of high school.

"y/n, will you do me the honour of officially being mine?"

"well obviously," you say and finally kiss him.

BONUS:

kuroo's last day at your apartment came far too quickly.

but the days after your confession were the best days you've ever spent with him. neither of you wanted to say goodbye, conversations were had about doing semi-long distance and you were both more than willing.

that didn't stop you from trying to get him to stay in your bed a bit longer.

"y/n, come on, I have to get ready to go to the train station," he laughed as you clung to him.

"no." was your only response, and you wrapped around him even tighter. he was sitting on the edge of your bed, trying to put a shirt on, but your arms were locked around his torso.

"baby, please, I promise if you let me get up and dressed at the very least I'll come back and we can cuddle a bit longer.

he felt you smile a bit into his skin at the use of the pet name. he had been experimenting with them throughout the week and he had concluded based on your reactions to them that baby always made you smile and look away, sweetheart made you nuzzle into him and whine, and the one time he called you gorgeous you shivered and almost dropped a glass of water out of excitement. of course there were others that had good reactions, so he had a full arsenal of names to call you now.

"hmmm, but tetsurou, we both know that you could have easily gotten me off of you by now if that's what you really wanted,"

however nothing compared to how he absolutely melted into you whenever you said his name like that, in that tone.

he turned and pounced on you, reveling in your giggly shrieks as he nibbled on your neck. your arms wrapped around his bare shoulders.

"if I'm late it's going to be your fault, sweetheart, and I will make you regret it."

"so menacing, I'm terrified- NO!" you were cut off by a new string of laughter and pleading for him to stop as his hands attacked your sides.

if being late meant more time to hear your laugh and feel your skin, maybe kuroo would just give in and catch the 5 o'clock train instead.

#kuroo x reader #kuroo x reader fluff #kuroo fluff #kuroo x reader angst #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu x reader fluff #hq fluff #hq x reader #kuroo angst

[boyfhees]

⌕ INSOUCIANCE | k. bokuto

n. ❝ casual lack of concern; indifference ❞

PRECIS. four times you chose him, one time you didn't ( 3.22k )

GENRE. angst, unrequited love, childhood friends to ( ? )

WARNINGS. angst yay, idk if there's anything else but lmk if u spot any ! ps. i used an editor but if there r mistakes kindly ignore <3

NOTE. for @okkatsudon's somebody new collab ! amy hihi i swear i would've posted this yesterday but power suddenly went out and i couldn't use my laptop since it wasn't charged either aND IM GLAD IT'S JUST 3K I WAS AFRAID IT MIGHT TAKE 5K WORDS TO FINISH THIS GN :( hope u like this help idk what is this tho ????? happy reading lmao

when you chose bokuto as your project partner in middle school, his world flipped over. no, you weren’t someone with bad grades, and neither was he. middle school bokuto, if anything, didn’t expect you to pick him, out of all the remaining thirty-four students in the class. and when he asked you about it later that day, your response was rather astounding. 

“i want to get to know you.” that’s what you had said to him in front of his house before proceeding on the way back yours. your worlds left him dazed for days. he wondered if you meant it— of course, because usually, people don’t really want him as their project partners, for he’s too ‘child-like.’ bokuto simply couldn’t bring himself to believe your words. ‘i want to get to know you,’— okay, you can. he doesn’t mind. in fact, he’d love to be friends with you, but choosing him as your project partner was what surprised him the most.

“why do did you choose me?” he asked again, on the day before submission, and you shot him a didn’t-we-go-through-this look. “i mean, people usually don’t—” 

“because you’re like a kid.” you blurted out, catching him with surprise yet again; and you went on about how he’s so loud— which made him frown a bit as a chuckle rolled off your lips— but, he’s loud in a good way; in a way where a single smile from his lightens up the room. you tell him about how you admire him for his positivity, and bokuto opens up to you about his ‘dejected’ phase, which you thought was an exaggeration until you actually found him under the blues outside the volleyball gym three days later. 

days transitioned into weeks and weeks into months, bokuto found himself spending every minute by your side. he had never met someone like you before. you didn’t tell him to shut up whenever he got loud, but instead, you’d scream with him in the middle of the streets, laughing obnoxiously in convenience stores, hoarding candies to spend your nights watching volleyball recaps and fuel his obsession. you’d spent hours listening to the one serve he saw his idol do that made him want to become a professional player. you indulged yourself into conversations you knew nothing about. you talked about his interests as if they were your own, bokuto never had someone like you. 

the second time you chose bokuto was at a middle school graduation party, when your friends forced you to bring someone along and the first name to cross your mind was his’. you spent three days wondering how to ask him— it’s not a date. you’re not my date. we’re going there because my friends forced me. bokuto, are you listening? this is not a date, don’t get me wrong— that was the most nervous he had seen you in seven months. he had a blast, watching you struggle with words for thirty-minutes; and you occasionally slapped his arms for laughing but he simply couldn’t stop, especially with the adorable pout resting on your face. 

you thought asking him to be your plus one would ruin things, for one’s plus one is supposed to be their date, and bokuto was simply your best friend. you considered cancelling your plans until the last moment, worried that something unfortunate would happen, but bokuto didn’t seem to care. on the night of the day before the party, you found him standing at your doorstep, asking your mom if you could help him pick an outfit for the graduation party. it was late, almost eight in the evening, and bokuto said something along the lines of, ‘i promise to walk her back home by nine-thirty,’ before your parents finally gave in, letting you spend time with him. 

that night, all your worries and baseless concerns flew away with the autumn winds. you and bokuto did everything except picking an outfit for him. the moment you stepped into the bokuto household, his sisters stole you from him for fifteen minutes sharp, wanting to see the person their brother had been talking about restlessly; and if bokuto hadn’t barged into their room, dragging you away, they wouldn’t have let you talk to him that evening. ( he also got hit with a pillow on his face for storming into the room but that’s for another day. )

the goal was to pick an outfit for him, but as soon as you entered his room, your mind remembered everything, but the reason why you were at his house in the first place. you spent the next few minutes fawning upon his figurine and manga collection, talking about all the volleyball posters in his room while enjoying the snacks his mother offered along the visit. bokuto showed you his stamp and hello kitty sticker collections before you both got down to watch the repeat telecast of your favourite show together. 

you reached home that day, around ten. bokuto came to drop you, of course, and your parents literally had to stop him from kneeling and apologising because he thought they wouldn’t let the two of you meet again. it was a sight to see as he blabbered about how he was so scared when his mother reminded him that it’s ten pm and he needs to go to bed in twenty minutes. you sneaked into your living room at two in the night to talk to him over telephone, as the two of you had planned before, and didn’t get a single ounce of sleep that night. 

long story short— you didn’t attend the party, and neither did bokuto. you both were found passed out in the living rooms of your respective homes, finally going to bed at around seven in the morning, only to sleep until three in the noon. your blood ran cold when you woke up, realising that you overslept. afraid that bokuto must be waiting, you ran to the celebration venue, only to see the texts he sent you about oversleeping and forgetting about the party. the two of you surely did miss the graduation party, but spent the whole day together, visiting almost every arcade store just to kill time. 

the third time you chose bokuto was in highschool, as your seatmate. he didn’t see you for months after that day at the arcades. you caught a really bad fever, one that had you admitted in the hospital for two weeks after it turned out to be anaemia. when you were in the hospital, Bokuto was busy writing finals and highschool entrances, and by the time exam season was over for most of the students in the country, you were busy giving the tests you missed because of your illness.  

bokuto never thought you’d attend fukurodani with him. you had always talked about attending nekoma, or shiratorizawa, if you could get in. you even talked about going to other countries to pursue better education. bokuto was convinced that he would possibly never see you again, until you showed up on the first day of highschool as his classmate, catching him by surprise just the way you did for the very first time in middle school. 

“what? don’t tell me you forgot me already.” you scoffed, and bokuto didn’t leave your side that day, not even for a brief second. he stuck to you, saying he would take you around the school and help you get familiarised, as if it wasn’t the first day of his school. you both were almost lost before a senior escorted the two of you back to your class.

you both got detention on the first day of school for fooling around the campus, spending two hours cleaning your classroom ( most of which was just a waste of time) his parents blew up his phone with texts and calls, and you were waiting for yours to do the same. when you informed your mother that you'd be late, it didn't take her a second to ask if you had met bokuto. 

it was obvious, really. you never were the type to stay out late with friends, but bokuto has always been an exception to your rules. you dislike overly talkative people but you listened to him as if he was a synchrony of a melody and a melancholy. you looked at him as if you saw the whole universe in his eyes. you didn't think twice before violating your own boundaries for him, offering bokuto an open invitation into your life. 

and just like that, the first half of your junior year passes by in a blink. they say distances bring people close, maybe it's true because you and bokuto seem inseparable. you had started spending nights at each other's place, watching movies and speed writing your incomplete assignments a few hours before school started. the day bokuto was selected into the school's volleyball team, he saw you cry for the first time. 

he had seen you cry several times actually, but that one time was different. it was just teary eyes with soft sniffles, not just a few drops of tears rolling down your cheeks. bokuto has seen you cry, but it was the first time he saw you break into a heavy sob with tears streaming down your cheeks as you pulled him in your arms, telling him how proud you are. it was his first time seeing you cry for someone else.

you talk about his interests as if they are your own, so watching him make it to the school team as their captain felt like being an ace. you started attending his games and bokuto always reserved the front seat for you. watching bokuto never felt boring because he played for both of you. every score, every save, every serve, it was for both of you. the moves were his, the score was yours, for bokuto believes he wouldn't have pursued volleyball if you didn't support him back in middle school. 

things were amazing, and the second year rolled in with an unexplainable feeling blossoming inside bokuto's heart. your touches started leaving him breathless. every hug made his heart skip a beat or two. everytime you cuddled, bokuto wondered if you could hear his heart beating crazily, and whether your heart did the same. to take his mind off these things, bokuto introduced you to the team's new setter— akaashi keiji. 

despite being a year older than keiji, the three of you clicked well. well, tried to, for akaashi seemed stoic most of the time, making you wonder if he hated loud people. after all, you and bokuto had always been a little handful together. 

but akaashi was a nice guy, you knew it. your eyes never missed the way his lips curled into a smile whenever bokuto laughed, or the way he always offered to help bokuto with the tiniest of things, and especially the way he gave into the captain's eccentric behaviour. akaashi keiji was like a spark, and you saw bokuto's whole world on fire. 

you pulled the setter into the pit of detentions as well. bokuto called it a tradition, that every person joining the two of you would have to suffer a detention to be an official member of bokuyn circus— his words, not yours. you thought akaashi would be mad, for he isn't the type to get into troubles, but instead, you saw him at his highest, laughing as if he had never been happier. as though, if happiness was a thing, it would be that moment, and he's waiting for the word to catch up to the feeling. 

when akaashi asked if you wanted to be his partner for the inter-prefectural debate and represent your school, your world flipped over. 

it was at that moment when memories from middle school slipped inside your head. a look at bokuto, and you thought— so this is how he felt. 

the fourth time you chose bokuto was on the day of the debate. he'd be lying if he said the idea of you and akaashi travelling together didn't bother him, so bokuto offered to drive you to the venue himself, since you both lived closer and he had a sister with a driving licence. when he saw you present your argument on the stage with the same passion he had for the sport, he felt as if he fell for you all over again. in fact, he unknowingly fell a little deeper for you ever since he met you and when he realised, bokuto was already at the rock bottom, ready to fall even deeper. 

that was the first time bokuto chose to accept his feelings, wanting to make you first and hopefully, his last as well; because once upon a time, there was you and that's it. that was his story, because anything less than you wasn't true and anything more didn't make sense. 

when you didn't win the first prize, bokuto cried his heart out. there were tissues all over your hotel room as he reassured you that no matter who won the contest, you had always been the winner in his eyes. his hands slid in yours as he told you to not cry, while the tears were streaming down his face like a waterfall. he held you in his arms and recited words about how you did your best and despite the result, the whole was proud of you for getting second position in the prefecture. 

you nodded, thanking him for his words, and then you disappeared— completely— never returning to your room for the next forty minutes. you said you’d be back soon, but it had been forty minutes, the sun’s setting down, and you hadn’t returned. akaashi’s name didn’t even cross his mind. on this way to the lift, bokuto didn’t expect to hear soft strings of your voice from akaashi’s room. eavesdropping wasn’t something he condoned but he found himself standing against the setter’s room, hands hesitating to unlock the door and when he finally did, the sight of you cradling akaashi in your arms reached his eyes. 

it was understandable, of course, akaashi was hurting more. you looked at bokuto and told him to shush because you didn’t want to disturb akaashi, who possibly dozed off in your arms, his head on your shoulders. bokuto didn’t mind, taking a mental note to apologise to akaashi later for crying like a child when he should’ve been there for both his friends. he left without saying a word, leaving you and akaashi alone since bokuto understood the need, though a part of him ached at the sight of you having letting akaashi sleep in your arms when you didn’t even hug bokuto when tears brimmed his eyes. 

maybe this is what it feels like to share, bokuto thought, because his life, he had you all to himself, and the same applied to you. he wondered if you felt the same after letting someone, who was not him, in your arms. bokuto was convinced that the ‘two of us’ is no longer valid, for he’d have to include akaashi. he didn’t mind, akaashi was his best buddy, and he almost slept with the newly established thought until you showed up outside his place, asking if the two of you could have a run down to seven-eleven. 

all this thought vanished at the sight of you, and the only thing flooding his mind was the way your hand occasionally brushed past his’ as you both strolled down the neighbourhood. you talked about people’s interests as if they’re your own, but that night, you talked about akaashi as if he was a part of you. your words flowed along the lines of how similar the two of you were, and the way you both have identical approaches to various issues. he had seen you compliments akaashi a thousand times but bokuto didn’t understand why a part of him wanted the night to be over quickly. 

events followed along, first term examinations arrived and after that, time seemed to fly even faster. bokuto would rush to the library for study sessions and he’d see you with akaashi, talking about a book he recommended to you and how much you enjoyed it. during group outings, you’d share theories with akaashi and he’d expand them beyond the canon plot. all with bokuto walking one step behind because he didn’t know anything about your conversations with him; or rather, you never told him. 

you’d spend nights texting bokuto about everything you and akaashi talked about as if he wasn’t there to listen. and no matter how much it pained him, bokuto loved to see you happy, so he played along right into your games. you’d ask and he’d tell you all about akaashi antics during volleyball practice. bokuto would tell you everything he knew about akaashi and hope that one day, you’d go back to how you both used to be. because even with having you by his side, he missed the days and nights you spent talking about him. 

when the third year arrived, bokuto thought it’d all be over soon. no, he didn’t hate akaashi— he couldn’t— but he envied him. he envied him when akaashi walked between the two of you on your ways back home. he envied the way you smiled at akaashi even at the silliest actions and treat him as the centre of your world. he envied how akaashi started being the person you’d look for during hard times, or way you started cancelling plans with bokuto to visit bookstores with akaashi. he envied the way you looked at akaashi— because you looked at him as if you saw yourself inside his eyes.      

but bokuto wasn’t a coward. he never learnt how to give up. when akaashi was in hyogo for one of the literary contests, you started zoning out in broad daylight, as if you suddenly didn’t know what to do. that’s when bokuto called you over to his place. as much as he wanted to spend time with you, the offer was selfless. bokuto would rather have you crying in his arms than watch you spend the day alone in utter despair. it came to him as a surprise when you started talking about how much you were missing akaashi, even though it had only been two days since he left. he bit his inner cheeks when you said you wanted to hug him. and before you could say more, bokuto’s words cut in like a knife.

“i like you.” that’s what he said. it was purely unintentional. he didn’t want to present such a wacky confession. there was a pause as bokuto looked at you, anticipating an answer. you didn’t say a thing; and the next second, there was a text from akaashi on your phone, and you ran out of bokuto’s apartment as if you never heard his confession.   

he was proud of confessing to you but in just a few months, the pride morphed into sadness. because back then, the now nineteen year old bokuto didn't know you had other choices. he didn't know he'd have to be in love with you and leave it at that, because his first choice has always been you but, you chose akaashi over everything else. 

taglist in the rbs.

#album. — haikyuu. #prod. — caelin. #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu angst #bokuto x reader #bokuto fic #bokuto angst #haikyuu bokuto #bokuto kotaro #haikyuu long fic #bokuto long fic #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu headcanons #bokuto headcanons #hq angst #hq bokuto #akaashi keiji

[educatedsimps]

— how they comfort you when u cry (hcs)

≪ back to fics masterlist

the quiet type - he doesn't really say much (some of them are just awkward okay i'm sorry) but they're there for you 1000%. need tissues? he's got it. water? a glass in your hands in two seconds flat. cuddles? you're in his arms before you finish asking him. your wish is his command.

↳ kageyama, tsukki, kenma, suna, kita cuz he KNOWS how to take care of you, ushijima

the protective and loving type - holds your hands and sits on the floor or couch or bed with you or wherever you're crying and just HOLDS YOU while you cry and you can't help but just feel so safe with him. he tells u everything's okay and even if it's not right now, it will be and you can bet he'll personally make sure that everything does become okay. also kisses you on the forehead and gives the BEST fking hugs in the world like his hugs are seriously top tier YOU CANNOT CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE

↳ daichi, suga, ennoshita, akaashi, iwaizumi (have you seen his ARMS), osamu, semi

the emotional soundboard - probably ends up crying with you ngl. but honestly can anyone blame him? his entire universe is sad or upset about something and you expect him to not be emotional as well? of course, that doesn't mean he doesn't comfort you, he just can't help but feel his heart hurt seeing you cry. like even if you cried because of a fight with him, if he sees you crying the fight is automatically over like he will not continue fighting or arguing with you if you’re crying

↳ asahi, hinata, yamaguchi (yk how yachi was nervous and he was nervous and it was like their nervousness kept bouncing off each other before the shiratorizawa match), bokuto because it's bokuto he's adorably sweet though

idk how to title this group - thinks you're beautiful even when you cry, and he's glad you're able to be so vulnerable around him. "i have snot everywhere and i look like shit" NO YOU DON'T like he would NEVER think that. he really does find you beautiful no matter what like you’re just perfect to him. he'll hug you for as long as you want him to, and he'll cheer you up with kisses and your favourite snacks or movie or flowers or even a small date.

↳ noya, tanaka, kuroo (he tries to cheer u up with chem jokes), oikawa, atsumu, tendo

© educatedsimps 2024. do not repost, copy, translate or plagiarize any work from this blog on tumblr or any other platforms. if you do, the simps will hunt you down. likes and reblogs are appreciated!

#educated.simps #haikyuu x reader #lyssa.writes #simps.write #haikyuu!! #haikyuu fluff

[curtsycream]

Poly nope squad and can you please add suna in it 🥺🥺 x little reader where she wants tu be hugged and cuddled and she crawls to her cgs and sit on their lap and hug them 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Poly!Nope Squad (plus Suna) x Little!Reader

I hope I did this request Justice my mental state has been depleting due to grad school. But I’m sticking to my resolution of being consistent. I’ve been trying to do one request per week to adjust my schedule while I work on fics I’ve already started on.

Akaashi and Kunimi were in the kitchen working on snacks for the movie night that would take place in minutes. Days like these were rare for the couple as many of them had conflicting schedules. Turning to look into the kitchen from the living room couch Y/N pouts as she sits in Suna’s lap. The fox-like man was scrolling in his phone as his free hand gently rubs Y/N’s hip. The scene was one that reflected comfort and security, yet Y/N wasn’t satisfied with that.

Crossing her arms she looks around focusing on Tsukishima and Kenma who were discussing which marvel movie to watch. The two didn’t show it often but they had a deep love for marvel movies.

Y/N lets out a small huff as she looks up at Suna who looked back down at her. A curious look on his face as he places his phone on the armrest beside him. “What is it, doll?” he asked in a low tone.

“Hug..” she says with a pout still on her face.

It didn’t take much convincing on Suna’s part as he tugged her closer. His arms around her waist as he presses kisses to her cheeks and lips. The affection she was receiving caused her to giggle as she tried to do the same back. The attempt made Suna’s heart race as he allowed her to copy his actions.

When Y/N was finally content with the hug and the kisses she received she got out of Suna’s lap. She then walked over to the other couch crawling onto Kenma’s lap. It seemed he understood exactly what she wanted right away. His arms wrapped around her right away as he kissed her on the lips. “You finally decided to come to me huh kitten?” He says in a teasing tone.

Before she could reply Kunimi and Akaashi joined them with an assortment of movie snacks. Y/N’s face lit up as she noticed the snacks ready to grab a piece of candy before she was pulled into Tsukishima’s lap. “Not so fast, Princess..” he says with a smirk. Sitting on Tsukishima’s lap she couldn’t do anything but pout as she looks at him, “want that..” she whined out.

“The movie hasn’t even started yet, silly girl..” he says to her amused.

Y/N could only shake her head but didn’t say anything more. Even without her getting a snack just yet she still got one thing she wanted. Her fingers curl around the fabric of Tsukishima’s shirt as she lets out fussy noises. While that is going on Kunimi outs on the first movie, it was one of Y/N’s favorite Disney movies. The sound of the movie starting made Y/N perk up as she turned to look at the television as Tsukishima hugged her close to his body.

As the movie continued Y/N found herself in Akaashi’s lap after crawling to him. Her attention on the television as Akaashi held her close in his comforting embrace. She was eating a piece of candy that she was finally allowed to get. Something the five men realized would end badly for them since she was still in Littlespace.

Finishing off the price of candy in her hand she reached for Kunimi. Akaashi understood as he pressed a kiss to her cheek, “oh is my turn up, dove?” He says softly. Her head turned as she looked at him with wide eyes before nodding. The action caused Akaashi to laugh shortly before he passed her over to an eager Kunimi.

“My pretty baby..” Kunimi whispers in his monotone voice as he holds Y/N close to his chest. His hands running up and down her back as he holds her. The little was snuggled up close to him as she watched the movie. Before long she had fallen asleep satisfied with all the affection and attention she received.

This one is kind of short but I hope you liked it anon! My brain is slowly getting back into the creative side of writing since all I’ve been doing is research papers and articles lately.

#poly!reader #haikyuu x reader #poly!haikyuu #poly fanfic #akaashi keji x reader #haikyu x reader #Kunimi Akira x reader #kunimi x reader #kenma x reader #tsukishima x reader #suna x reader #sunarintaro #kenma kuzome #tsukishima kei #akaashi keiji #kunimi akira

[dira333]

Haikyuu Masterlist - Organized by Schools

Aoba Johsai (Seijoh)

The World's most (un)serious Game of Chicken - Hanamaki/Makki

We go deeper than the ink... - Hanamaki/Makki (drabble)

Latte me be your lover - Iwaizumi

Of Godzilla and the Night Sky - Iwaizumi

Roll the Dice Drabbles - Kunimi & Dango, Bus, Akaashi

Spa-Day - Kyoutani (drabble)

What's in a scarf - Matsukawa

Brother's best friend - Mattsun

A plush for a lover - Oikawa

Your heart fits like a key - Oikawa (drabble)

There's no fire without air - Oikawa

Away from home - Oikawa (FC)

Dateko (Date Tech)

Sound of Silence - Aone

A Good Man - Aone

Lap Cat - Aone

Crossing balconies - Aone (FC)

Lover’s play Aone

Roll the Dice Drabbles - Koganegawa & Hoodie

Roll the Dice Drabbles - Koganegawa & Karma

Gummy bears Koganegawa

Fukurodani

One Taro Bubble Tea, no Toppings - Akaashi

Meet Cute - Akaashi (drabble)

to be known - Akaashi Keiji (Soulmate AU) - Version 2

Spring - Bokuto

By a hair - Bokuto (FC)

Bokuto with an overweight reader

Inarizaki

Let me run from you - Atsumu

And they were Roommates - Atsumu

No Dating Allowed - Ginjima x Chubby! Reader

Strawberry Love - Kita

happy accidents - Kita

What's in a passion? - Osamu

When the Love of your Life has a twin - Osamu (Angst)

Already Gone - Osamu (FC)

Soul-Food - Osamu (FC)

The Gremlin or how to get over yourself - Suna

Itachiyama

(Not) hard to love - Komori (FC)

Senpai - Komori

Technicolour Beat - Sakusa

Imagine, Pride and Prejudice - Sakusa

Neon Kitchen - Sakusa

Fall - Sakusa

Kamomedai 

Big Dreams - Hoshiumi

love is in the small things Hoshiumi

Karasuno

Took my soul, wiped it clean - Asahi

Glass Heart, take flight - Asahi (FC)

love is in the small things Asahi

The Muse - Asahi

Where the sea meets the land - Daichi

What’s summer to you Hinata 

One door closes, another one opens - Kinoshita Hisashi

Imaginary friend - Kageyama

There is no time like Spring Kageyama

Winter Kageyama

Be yourself Nishinoya

Your heart fits like a key - Tsukishima Akiteru (drabble)

Don't tease - Tsukishima Kei

To be honest - Tsukishima Kei

Open Up - Tsukishima Kei (follows When we went from friends to this)

When we went from friends to this - Tsukishima Kei

Orange Peel Theory - Ukai Keishin

Sassy reader Tsukishima Kei

Writer and muse Yamaguchi

Nekoma

My neighbour Totoro/Taketora - Yamamoto

The way to a (wo)man's heart - Fukunaga

When I felt like I was an old cardigan - Kenma

Fragments of my long fic: who do you like ; sleepover ; to hold and to let go Kenma

Carpe Puella - Kuroo

love is in the small things Kuroo

Shiratorizawa

Roll the Dice Drabbles - Tendou & Candy Apple

Little Flame - Tendou

Blue Salvia - Ushijima

TEAM MSBY

Not an easy job - Meian

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x you #haikyuu drabbles #hq x reader #masterlist

[xobrattymoonxo]

Kenma, Akaashi, Kuroo and Bokuto x Reader

TW: Non con, fisting, anal, double penetration (Front and back), knife play, blood, carving into skin, If i missed anything please let me know!

AN: Unedited for the most part. Sorry It's been a while guys! I was writing a jjk fic but then I just thought of this and wanted to write it dhbvshdv

Word count: 3.8K

Y/n ran through the house slipping on the rug. She tripped a little but was able to gain her footing again as she ran once more. She saw the door in her vision as she picked up her pace. As she was unlocking all the locks, she was pulled back by her left shoulder. She was slammed into the ground as the man laughed. 

“You can’t outrun me.” He said with a devious smirk. 

Y/n’s first reaction was to start screaming. The man with black and blonde hair covered her mouth. Y/n instantly bit down hard on his hand drawing blood. 

“Ow you bitch!” He yelled.  

“Kenma, are you okay?

“No, that stupid bitch bit me!” He yelled at the black haired man. 

“Fuck.” The black haired man sees Y/n getting up and rushing for the front door. “Y/n, if you know what’s good for you you will stop right now.” He said in a stern voice.  

“It’s too late to give up now, Akaashi!” She yelled as she began to unlock the seven locks on the door. Akaashi rushed to her side as she turned with all her force and punched him in the nose. He fell backwards with a bloody nose/. Kenma rushed up to her other side as she used a swift kick to hit him in the balls.

“Fuck!” He yelled as he fell down holding his crotch. 

Y/n unlocked the last lock as she ripped the door open. She began to run down the long driveway of the private house on the outskirts of Tokyo. Around the house was nothing but trees, but she figured if she ran through the forest she would be safe from Kuroo and Bokuto, who were probably on their way home. 

Y/n started to run through the forest as she heard a car pull in the driveway. She turned back to see Bokuto rush to the front door. Akaashi was standing on the porch holding his nose as he pointed to the forest where Y/n was. 

She turned as fast as she could on her feet and ran for her life. She knew if she went back to the house, she’d be screwed, maybe even dead. 

It wasn’t long after Bokuto had begun his hunt, like she was a deer and he was the hungry mountain lion. He ran at full speed as she kept running. 

It wasn’t always like this, Y/n actually used to work at the 24 hour convenience store. Kenma had come into her store many times to buy energy drinks around 2 or 3 am. It was just Kenma at first, harmless soft Kenma. Until he started to bring in his friend, Kuroo. Kuroo started to stalk Y/n, figuring out she was a university student at Tokyo U. Their friend Akaashi happened to go there as well. He started off casually following her around for Kenma… and then for Kuroo. He then began to take photos, stalking her more intensely. He learned her schedule, he learned everything about her and he claimed it was all for them.

One Friday night, Kenma went into the convenience store with Kuroo. 

“Hey Y/n.” He said monotone as usual. “I am having a party this weekend at my place. Figured I’d invite you since I always see you around.” 

“When is it? I most likely will be working so I probably won’t be abe to make it.” She said upset. 

“Monday.”

“Oh, I have classes on Tuesdays, I shouldn’t.” 

“C’mon Y/n!” Kuroo said, “Have some fun! We always see you here. You must not even sleep at this point.” 

“I sleep a couple hours after I get off at 6.” She laughed. “But maybe.” 

“Say you’ll come, please?” Kenma asked. 

She couldn’t resist Kenma. 

“Okay… What time should I get there?” 

“8pm, Oak Tree Rd, 175. See you next week, beautiful.” Kuroo smiled at her.  

She smiled as the two walked out the front door. 

Timeskip to Monday…. 

Y/n grabbed her bag and checked herself in the mirror again. She smiled as she looked at her black clubbing dress. She never had a chance to wear it as she always worked.  

Y/n began to walk outside to her apartment lobby. She looked at the time and saw it was 7:24pm. She began to walk. The party was only 34 minutes away, ust on the other side of her work. 

Y/n arrived at a house, there was no noise coming from the house. She walked up to the door really slowly. She knocked on the front door.  

“Hey Beautiful! You made it!” Kuroo said as he opened the door.  

“Um… I thought it was a party.” She tried covering up her chest a bit. 

“It actually starts at 9:30pm. We just wanted you to meet our close friends first.” Kuroo said. 

“Oh makes sense I guess.” She murmured.  

“Come in.” Kuroo stepped aside for Y/n to walk inside. She looked around the mansion astonished. “Nice, huh?”

“Hey Y/n.” Kenma said. “Glad you could make it.” 

“Hi Kenma.” She looked around the large room with 3 couches in it. There was a large projector style tv on the wall. 

“Hi I am Bokuto!” A man with silver and black roots said. 

“Hey, I am Akaashi.” The black haired man said from behind Bokuto. 

“These are our best friends.” Kuroo said. 

“It’s nice to meet you guys. I’m Y/n.” She said. 

“Come have a seat.” Bokuto motions her in between him and Akaashi.  

“So tell us about yourself, Y/n.”Akaashi smiled. 

“I go to Tokyo U. I work at a convenience store. I met Kenma and Kuroo from said convenience store. That’s about it.” She said with a nervous laugh. 

“You go to Tokyo U? I do as well.” Akaashi pretended not to know. 

“Oh what do you study?” Y/n asked.

“Editing and creative writing.” Akaashi said. “And you?” 

“I’m in med school. Hoping to be a Neurologist one day.” 

“Wow you must really never sleep then.” Kuroo said. 

“I study and do homework at work.” She laughed.

“Impressive.” Kenma said. 

“How about you three?” Y/n asked the rest of the guys in the room. 

“I’m a professional Volleyball player for MSBY.” Bokuto spoke up. 

“I work for the Japan Volleyball Association in the sports promotion division.” Kuroo added.  

“I’m the CEO of my own company and a streamer.” Kenma said.

 “Oh wow.” Y/n said. 

Just then the doorbell rang.  

“Looks like the party arrived early.” Kuroo said as he walked out of the room. 

Y/n stood up and walked to the kitchen to get a drink.

“Hey sexy, did it hurt?” A man said from behind Y/n. 

“If you ask if it hurt when I fell from Heaven, I’ll scream right now.” She said,  The guy laughed. 

“I’m Atsumu. What’s yer name, Angel?” 

“Please leave our guest alone, Atsumu. She’s not looking for you to dick her down, I promise.” Kuroo said from behind Y/n. 

Y/n sighed in relief as she turned around. Kuroo passed her a red solo cup full of Vodka. She took one sip and made a face at him.  

“What is this? It’s disgusting.” She said as Kuroo laughed as he took it back and chugged down the cup's contents. 

“Let’s make you something mixed then.” Atsumu rolled his eyes as he walked away from the two. Bokuto came into the kitchen and bumped into Y/n making her turn as Kuroo slipped something into her drink. He dumped coke on top of the rum in her cup and passed it back to her. The pill vanished into nothing as she took her first sip. Kuroo looked at Bokuto with a wink as he walked away. In 15 to 20 minutes their plan would take course. 

The two talked as Akaashi came up to them. Some time passed as Kuroo checked his watch. 

“Hey guys, I am not feeling too hot. Do you know what time it is?” Y/n asked, feeling herself fade out of consciousness. 

“It’s 10:30 pm, Y/n.” 

Y/n blinked and suddenly she was on the balcony with Bokuto’s hands on her waist. 

“Wha-what time is it?” She slurred, reaching up to grab her head in hopes to calm her throbbing headache.

“1:45am baby, why?”

“What?” She felt herself grow dizzy as she fell into Bokuto’s chest. 

“Are you okay? I should take you home. Sit for a second let me get some water.” He placed her down on a chair as he walked back into the room. He texted the others “Code red.” 

He slipped two roofies from his pocket and into the bottle of water. He took one sip before doing so so it wouldn’t be suspicious. 

“Here Y/n.” He passed her the water bottle as she began to chug it back. “Let’s just wait here a few minutes so the world stops spinning for you.”

She gave him a thumbs up as she continued to drink. The more she drank the dizzier she felt.  

“Bo….I don’t- I don’t feel good at all.” She tried to stand up as she fell into his chest once again. “Help me.” She whispered as she felt her eyes grow heavy and her body go limp. 

Bokuto smiled at the limp drugged up body in his arms as he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. He placed her on the bed carefully. Kuroo busted open the door and looked at the scene before him. 

“Thank god, What was code red about?” He asked Bokuto. 

“She became conscious again. I gave her a couple more roofies and knocked her out.” 

“Well she’s going to feel like shit when she wakes up.” Akkashi said from behind Kuroo. “Kenma is clearing out the party now.” “Good, that means it will be easier for us to get her out.” 

“How are we doing that again?” Bokuto asked. 

“Kenma got me to park in the garage so we could throw her in the trunk.” Kuroo said. 

“Okay. Let me go be our eyes and ears downstairs.” Akaashi said as he left. 

Bokuto looked at the unconscious Y/n on the bed and smiled. 

“She’s almost ours, Kuroo.” Bokuto said with a smile. 

“She is, Bo.” 

A few minutes later Akaashi walked back into the room. 

“All clear.” Akaashi said to the guys. Bokuto lifted her unconscious body off the bed. He began to carry her bridal style down the stairs.  

Bokuto walked into the garage as Kuroo popped open the trunk. He lightly places Y/n’s unconscious body in the trunk. 

“Let’s head out. It’s a long drive to the cabin.” Kenma said from the door behind them.  

Bokuto and Akaashi got into the back seat. The four headed out. 

It wasn’t too long before Bokuto began to get antsy. 

“Are we almost there? I want to be there! How much longer?” Bokuto’s legs started to shake.

“Bokuto-san, we will get there soon, don’t worry.” Akaashi said as he put a hand on his knee.

“I want to hold her though.” Bokuto huffed.  

“How much longer, Kenma?” Akaashi asked.  

“About 20 minutes.” Kenma said. 

“Awww but I want to be there now!” Bokuto whined again. 

"Bo, how are you this excited for someone you haven’t met before tonight?” Kuroo asked with a laugh. 

“Kaashi has told me all about her, he shows me her pictures too. Sometimes he shows me the videos he takes for you guys. She is so pretty and beautiful and she's just so perfect for us!” 

“Seems like someones in love.” Kuroo laughed again. 

The car was full of Bokuto and Kuroo talking about their favorite things about Y/n. 

Kuroo pulled up into the parking lot of a two story house surrounded by trees. Bokuto practically jumped out of the car. He ripped open the trunk to see a still passed out Y/n laying there surrounded by pillows.  

Bokuto lifted up her unconscious body and carried her to the door where Kenma was unlocking it. 

“There's a door to the basement in the pantry.” Kenma said as he motioned for them to go inside…. 

Y/n woke up with a splitting headache. She couldn’t remember much from the party, or how she even got home. She went to move her hands to rub her eyes, but something was restricting her hands. She looked up and saw her hands tied to the above bed post. She began to feel her heart beat increase, she pulled down on her arms and began to panic. 

“She's awake!” A voice yelled from across the room. 

“Perfect.” 

“What’s going on?” Y/n asked, confused. “Where am I? Who are you?” Her voice began to shake. 

“Y/n! It’s just us!” Bokuto exclaimed. “You’re safe here, okay?” Bokuto sat on the side of the bed. He placed his hands on her bare stomach. 

“Where are my clothes?!?” Y/n was freaking out as she noticed she was only in her lingerie. 

“Your dress was so tight, we thought we’d let your body breathe baby.” Kuroo said from behind Bokuto. 

Kenma walked in the room with Akaashi as Y/n tried to pull away from Bokuto’s hands. 

Bokuto’s hands trailed up Y/n’s side. 

“Baby, don’t pull away.” Bokuto said. 

Kuroo reached around Bokuto and started to untie Y/n’s hands. 

Y/n was quick to pull away from Bokuto and pulled her knees into her as she braced herself into the Headboard against the wall. 

“Baby, don’t back away.” Bokuto sighed as his hair deflated. He reached his hand out to touch her again. 

“Don’t touch me!” She screamed. 

Bokuto was taken aback by her shouting. He looked at Akaashi. 

    “Y/n, I know you’re scared, but there's no need to shout at us.” Akaashi said calmly. He moved over to the edge of the bed and reached for her. 

Y/n slapped Akaashi’s hand away. 

“I said don’t touch me!” She screamed again. 

Akaashi looked back at Kuroo and Kenma. Kuroo pushed past the two of them and grabbed Y/n by the ankles. He pulled her down the bed. She began kicking and screaming as Kuroo raised his hand to slap her across the face. She reached up and grabbed her cheek as she cried. 

“You are going to act like a brat, I’ll treat you like one.” Kuroo said. 

He was quick to place his hand on her throat as he began to apply pressure. She reached up and tried to pry Kuroo’s big hands off her throat. 

“Kuroo, careful.” Kenma warned. 

“She’s being an ungrateful bitch.” He spat back. He ripped down her underwear as he shoved two fingers inside of her pussy. 

“Kuroo! I wanted to be the first one to fuck her.” Bokuto whined. 

“Then get over here before I change my mind.” Kuroo said. 

4 ½ months later… 

That's how they got into their current situation, y/n running for her life through the woods in nothing but Bokuto’s shirt and underwear.  

Y/n was giving everything she had into running away. She heard footsteps catching up to her. She tried her best to speed up as she felt a hand on her shoulder. She was pulled back and thrown to the ground. 

“Fuck! Let me go!” She screamed.  

“Baby, calm down! You’re just confused.” Bokuto’s voice cooed at her. He picked her up as Kuroo arrived at the scene. 

“Stupid bitch thought she could escape.” Kuroo laughed. “Here.” He passed Bokuto a pair of Handcuffs. 

“No please! No! I just want to go home!” Y/n cried. 

“You were home.” Kuroo snapped. 

Bokuto and Kuroo fought and put the handcuffs on Y/n’s wrists. She was crying and thrashing her wrists as Bokuto carried her back bridal style.  

“Bring her back down stairs. I have a surprise for her.” Kenma said manically. 

“On it.” Kuroo said as he led Bokuto through the house.  

Akaashi went behind them and began to lock up the front door again. Kenma walked past him and into the kitchen and grabbed a large knife. 

“Woah what’s that for Kenma?” Akaashi asked.  

“You’ll see.” He smiled a devilish smile.

The two walked down the stairs where Bokuto and Kuroo had tied Y/n down to the bed.  

“Kuroo.” Kenma spoke. “Do you want to go first?” He asked, holding out the knife. 

“You deserve it. She did bite you after all.” Kuroo said. Bokuto just finished tying a rag in her mouth. 

Kenma grabbed the shirt on her as he sliced it off in one quick motion. He was quick to repeat the process to her underwear too. 

“Woah Kenma, careful you don’t cut her.” Bokuto said. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Kenma smirked once again. 

Kenma pressed the tip of the knife into her soft thigh. He began to apply pressure as Y/n began to cry harder. Kuroo grabbed hold of her ankles as she tried to kick him off. 

Kenma pressed hard into her skin as he carved two letter K’s into her left thigh. He passed the knife over to Akaashi. Akaashi smiled as he pressed the knife down into her right thigh. He carved out AK before passing it to Kuroo. Akaashi and Kenma held down one leg each. Kuroo took his own sweet time to carve on the left side KT. He passed over the knife to Bokuto who looked a little uneasy. 

“Cmon Bo, you can do it.” Kuroo encouraged him. 

“It’s hurting her though.” Bokuto said all sad. 

“She hurt us Bo, she tried to leave us. We gave her everything and she repays us by leaving? This is just a reminder to her she's ours.” Kuroo said. 

Bokuto smiled as he looked down at her right thigh. He carved out a BK as he smiled. The blood was running down her leg.  Bokuto tossed the knife aside as he pulled his shirt off. 

“Seeing her like this…. Is making me feel some way…” He said with a devious smirk.  

Bokuto began to get naked in front of the other guys as Kuroo laughed. 

“Looks like Bo got turned on after all.” Kuroo said. 

Kuroo took his shirt off as Akaashi placed his hand on Kuroo’s shoulder.  

“What are you doing?” He asked him. 

“There’s enough room for all of us after all, remember?” 

Kenma smiled as he began to strip down too. Akaashi didn’t take long to follow through. 

The guys all turned to face Bokuto as they heard a loud muffled groan leave Y/n’s mouth.  Bokuto had shoved himself inside Y/n’s pussy dry. He began to frantically pump inside her. 

“Woah Bokuto, wait for us will you?” Akaashi said with a laugh. “Who’s taking what?” 

“I call dibs on her mouth.” Kenma said as he climbed onto the bed.  

“I’ll take her ass if you are okay to share with Bokuto this time Kasshi?” Kuroo asked. 

Akaashi nodded as he Approached the bed. 

“Bo, can you turn her on her side. I want to make space in her tight little asshole for me.” Kuroo smiled. 

Bokuto smiled back as he moved her on her side. Kuroo grabbed the lube from the bedside table. He opened it up and dropped a few drops on Y/n’s tiny butthole. He began to rub it in slowly as she begged for them to stop. 

“Kenma, shut her up before I do.” Akaashi said. 

Kenma laughed as he climbed to the top of the bed. Bokuto pulled her down a bit as Kenma got above her. 

“You bite me now, I’ll slice you up. Got it?” She shook her head in agreement. Kenma quickly shoved his member down her throat. He grabbed the back of her head and forced her to take all of him. It was Akaashi’s turn to join the fun. He put lube on his member as he lined it up next to Bokuto’s. Y/n was unable to do anything as her hands were still tied up. Kuroo now had 3 fingers shoved up Y/n’s asshole. 

“Bokuto, can you shift a little. I want to join you inside so we can all cum together.” Akaashi said. 

As Akaashi was forcing himself inside as Kuroo pulled his fingers out. Kuroo opened up the bottle of lube again and dumped it all over his hand. Kuroo smiled to himself as he slowly started to work his large fist into Y/n.  She cried out as Kuroo and Akaashi fully pushed in at the same time.  

“Fuck! Do that again.” Kenma moaned as she gasped and moaned out around his cock.  

Kuroo laughed as he pulled his hand almost all the way out, then quickly slammed it in at full speed once again. 

“Yeah fuck just like that.” Kenma moaned. 

“Fuck!” Bokuto and Akaashi yelled in sync. 

“Feels good huh?” He smirked. 

“Keep going,”Bokuto said. “She’s getting tighter with every thrust.”

The two in her pussy picked up the pace as Kuroo remained fisting her ass.  

“I’m close.” Akaashi moaned. 

“Fuck me too.” Kenma said. 

“Just cum inside her. I’ll buy some plan B tomorrow.” Kuroo said. 

Just like that, Akaashi and Bokuto shot hot ropes of cum inside Y/n. Kenma wasn’t too far behind as lets his hot load out down her throat. 

Kuroo pulled his fist out as he replaced it with his cock. 

“Fuck, she’s so stretched out.” He said.  

“I want to try fisting her too!” Bokuto whined. 

“Take her pussy. Her ass is mine.” Kuroo said. 

Bokuto looked down at her cum dripping pussy. He shrugged his shoulders as he began to force his massive fist inside her.  

“Stop! Please! It hurts!” She cried out.  

“You deserve this. This isn’t for your pleasure, it’s for ours.” He said as his fist slowly slipped all the way inside. 

Kuroo groaned out as he felt Bokuto’s fist through the thin wall. 

“Fuck Bo, I can feel you on the otherside.” Kuroo moaned. 

“I can see my fist in her stomach!” Bokuto exclaimed excitedly.  

Kuroo was quick to release hot strings of cum inside her ass.

“Fuck that was to good.” Kuroo breathed out.

Y/n laid there crying silently as she begged for it to be over. 

“Well that’s not fair to Kenma or Akaashi, now is it?” Kuroo smirked.  

“Please- please no.” 

“Cmon, let’s not play favorites, okay?” Bokuto said. 

Akaashi grabbed the lube as he lined up to her front entrance and Kenma at the back entrance. 

Y/n was screaming in pain as the two who had finished sat back and watched. 

It wasn’t until hours later they all stopped. Constantly fucking her between their fists and their cocks. She was laying there, completely fucked out when they finally stopped. She was covered in cum and it was dripping from all three of her holes. There was even some blood in other places then her thighs.  

“Let’s get washed up. Let her rest for a little bit.” Akaashi said. 

“We shouldn’t leave her out. I don’t trust her on her own anymore.” Kenma added. 

“Bring the dog carrier.” Kuroo said. 

#tw dark fic #tw noncon #haikyuu smut #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu dark content #haikyuu noncon #haikyuu yandere #kenma smut #kuroo smut #bokuto smut #akaashi smut

[sashimiyas]

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