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amjustagirl · 3 years

Text

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven. ~ eight.

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Being with Miya Atsumu is like chasing a storm - equal parts exhilaration and danger. After all, it’s impossible to tame a storm.

Notes: Multipart fic, slow burn. Updates to come soon (and dw, fic’s completed, so you won’t be left hanging ^^)

Masterlist here

AO3 Link here

‘You sure you want the job?’ Miya Osamu asks her when she turns up at his shop, application in hand, responding to the advertisement in Onigiri Miya’s window for part time staff - general help needed, ability to ride a scooter a plus point - it had read.

There are only fifteen seats in Onigiri Miya, and hardly any space for her to fit her backpack between her knees, but sunlight streams in invitingly from the glass shop front and there is a faint smell of grilled rice and fried fish that reminds her of weekly lunches at her grandparents’ home.

‘Yes’, she answers, gesturing with her thumb at her scooter parked outside the shop. ‘I think I’m a good fit for this job’. The corner of Miya Osamu’s mouth lifts ever so slightly, and he leans forward in his seat, hand extended to her.

‘Welcome to Onigiri Miya then’, he says before proceeding to brisk walk her through the ins and outs of the shop, the scope of her responsibilities, work schedule and (most importantly) her wage, leaving her head spinning at the end of the impromptu briefing. Miya Osamu seems passionate about his craft, his face brightening up with enthusiasm when he talks her through the various onigiris he sells, the type of rice he buys (from a boutique rice farmer in Hyogo, apparently), and he’s generous enough to offer her a decent wage, more than what she could be making working in a combini.

She stands by her bike on the roadside, tilting her face to the setting sun. There is the faintest smell of rain in the air.

She soon falls into the rhythm of Onigiri Miya.

Osamu is strangely territorial over food preparation, so her tasks in the kitchen are mainly limited to washing rice (thrice in clean water, drained thoroughly) and doling out cups of tea and bowls of soup. When he finds out that she’s studying accountancy at Osaka University, he immediately places her in charge of the cash register (and later, in charge of their books). Her scooter comes in handy when he needs her to do urgent stock runs or deliveries to customers.

She learns the name of their regular customers - Abe-san, who only ever orders salmon onigiris with a side of pork bone soup. Kawasaki-san, who spends half her meal complaining about her aches and pains to a sympathetic Osamu. Mina-san, who turns up every day for breakfast after Osamu includes spam onigiri on his menu after he overhears that she misses her hometown of Okinawa.

Osamu calls her over at the end of her shift on a busy Saturday night. ‘I’ve a large order for an old customer of mine. D’you think you could help deliver it?’

There is a gleam in his eye that she does not quite like.

‘You sound like you’re sending me out to slaughter’ she comments half-jokingly, to which he responds with an amused shrug of his shoulder. She considers whether it’s bad form to throw her shoe at her boss’s head, but decides not to waste her time. So she shoulders the large sack of food, heading off on her scooter to a neat apartment building in a quiet neighbourhood.

Well – it would have been a quiet neighbourhood but for the music blasted from the top floor of her destination. She has to cover her ears the minute the elevator opens and wonders if their neighbours are deaf or dead because there is no way otherwise the apartment wouldn’t have copped a noise complaint. Grimacing at the tape over the doorbell, she knocks politely on the door.

There is no response.

She knocks once more, less politely this time, but still the door does not open. ‘Hello, your delivery is here!’ she calls firmly, slamming her fist down on the sturdy wooden door.

There is still no response.

She’s about to turn around when the door crashes open and a blonde head pops out. Her jaw falls open because standing before her is the spitting image of her boss that just sent her out with this order, albeit blonde and ever so slightly broader.

‘You’re not ‘Samu, but you’re pretty’, he leers, leaning against the doorway.

She’s tempted to deck him but she’s pretty sure that would mean losing her job. So reminding herself that all that’s standing between her and her bed is this delivery, she bites her tongue and extends the bag of food to him. ‘Your order, sir. Payment please.’

‘Didn’t ‘Samu mention that I don’t need to pay?’ The blonde Osamu replica tugs the bag of food towards him, frowning when she refuses to let go.

‘Not that I know of - and I can’t let you have your order unless you pay for it’, she answers firmly, foot against the door.

He straightens into his height in a thinly veiled attempt to intimidate her - and while he’s at least six foot of solid muscle from what she can see, it’s thanks to years of working in her father’s shop with men at least a full head taller and broader than her that she’s not afraid to tip her chin up at him with her widest, sharpest grin until he looks away to draw out a couple of thousand yen bills from his pocket, enough to cover the bill.

‘Fine, fine - tell ‘Samu he wins’, he grumbles, slamming the door in her face.

She waits until she’s back at her scooter and a good distance away from the apartment before she dials Osamu’s number.

‘What was that?’ she asks without preamble when he picks up.

‘What was what?’ Osamu answers, sounding uncharacteristically amused.

‘Don’t play cute with me! Did you just make me deliver food to your brother?’

‘My twin actually’, and he ignores her squawk of indignation. ’Did he pay up?’

‘What do you take me for - of course! I didn’t let go of the food until he did.’

‘Huh’, Osamu responds, sounding surprised. ‘That’s the first time he actually gave in’. And with that, he laughs merrily and hangs up on her.

She shrugs it off as one of her boss’s weird quirks.

Except it doesn’t stop as being a weird quirk but turns into an annoying habit.

Atsumu quickly becomes a regular customer (she learns during one of the twins’ many bickering sessions that he’s back in Osaka after several competitions), and Osamu latches on pretty fast that she’s far better than he is at forcing Atsumu to pay for the food he eats, so he sics her on Atsumu every time the blonde setter shows up at the shop for a meal.

‘Pay up’ she orders Atsumu for the fourth time this week. Her tone gives no berth for refusal so Atsumu reaches for his pockets even as he grumbles his complaints about ‘cowardly scrubs’ and ‘ crazy bitches’ at a grinning Osamu.

‘You should give me a raise for managing your brother’, she complains to Osamu later, and though he raises an eyebrow at her, to her surprise, he does exactly that.

Osamu proceeds to take advantage of said raise to send her to man their stand at MSBY’s first match of the season, armed with a few hundred onigiris. Business is brisk, but she finds her attention diverted by the sheer speed of the plays and the way the players all seem to have wings in their feet.

Atsumu in particular catches her eye. Osamu explained to her over a slow day at work about volleyball positions and basic plays, and he boasted about Atsumu’s talent as a setter, how ‘he always takes the best care of his spikers’. Watching him now, even to her untrained eye, she can see how much thought he puts into each of his plays - the way he tricks the blockers to let his spikers fly high above them, the quick side stepping of increasingly frustrated attackers, the dump shots at the most unexpected of times.

She’s impressed, though she doesn’t want to admit it - because Atsumu has the personality of a puddle of muddy rainwater, and she's fairly sure he'd never let her hear the end of it if he ever finds out.

So it isn’t surprising when she spots him being hassled by a large gaggle of his fan girls outside the sports hall. They’re hanging off his arms begging him for autographs - and probably something much less innocent from the way his eyes are bugging out of his head. It’s tempting to walk away from him – it’s not as if he’s been particularly nice to her after all, but a few of the more rabid fan girls seem to get a little too close for comfort and she figures even he doesn’t deserve that . Plus he probably can’t just shove them off because that might cause yet another PR debacle that she and Osamu have become accustomed seeing in the news, so she breathes a sigh through her nose, cursing her conscience.

‘Oi asshat, your ride’s here’, she shouts as loudly as she can, shouldering her way to the center of the crowd. His fan girls stare in stunned silence, but Atsumu catches on after she shoves her spare helmet into his chest, and grabbing her wrist for dear life, they sprint all the way to her scooter.

‘Don’t tell me you’ve never ridden before’, she snaps as he fiddles helplessly at his helmet.

‘Of course, I have, what d’you take me for, some scrub?’ he retorts when he manages to strap his it on to his head. Her scooter groans under his weight.

Yes - she itches to retort, because he’s clearly lying. He fights to keep upright as she loops her way through bends on the road and maintains a white knuckled grip on the back of his seat until she comes to a stop two streets away where his fan girls are unlikely to see him.

‘So, where to?’ she asks him as he wheezes, trying to catch his breath. ‘I could let you off here, or we could grab some food - your choice.’

‘Eh… Could we drop by 7-11?’ he chuckles sheepishly.

‘Really? You want me to take you to a combini when your brother literally owns a restaurant?’

‘I’m cravin’ an egg mayo sandwich, what’s wrong with that?!’ he yells as she revs off, and she laughs when he squeaks and clings on to her waist.

They end up at a combini anyway. Atsumu buys his egg mayo sandwich. And a bucket load of oden. And a bagful of karaage. And two pudding cups (singly packed, none of the triple cup kind for him thank you very much). At least he steers clear of the onigiri section, because Osamu might explode otherwise if he ever finds out.

‘You’re paying the fine if my bike gets impounded’ she tells him sourly.

‘Relax - it’ll be fine’, he waves his hand airily at her. ‘’Sides, what’s a girl like you doing with a bike?’

‘A girl like me?’ she echoes, tilting her head in confusion.

‘Y’know - kinda square and all? I assumed so, since ‘Samu mentioned you’re studying to be an accountant’, he clarifies through a mouthful of food.

‘Square?! ’ she mouths at him, outraged, and he grins unrepentantly back at her, crunching on karaage. She abandons her annoyance to scoot back to avoid the ensuing spray of crumbs.

‘Do you want me to answer seriously, or was that a rhetorical question, gross pig?’

‘Please, I’m always serious, darlin’, he drawls.

She steals a fishcake from him in retaliation and he tries to rap her knuckles with his sandwich. They only settle down when the combini staff glare at them mildly in reproof.

‘I’ve always wanted to ride a bike ‘cos it seemed like it allowed its rider to be free’, she says, shooting a fond look through the window at her own scooter, rusty and old it may be.

‘I mean it allows you to get from one place to another, what’s so special about that?’ he asks, cocking his head in confusion.

‘Mm…well, not just that. You see, when I was younger, I used to be so jealous of my older brothers getting to ride their motorbikes. They refused to let me borrow it, so I stole it one day when they weren’t looking and took off - but because I was so excited, I hit the thrusters so hard on the way up a hill that I ended up crashing on the way down. But right before I crashed, there was a moment when I was on the top of the world with the wind in my face - it was the first time I truly felt alive .’

She closes her eyes at the memory, her mouth lifting into a smile. ‘And that’s what I become addicted to - chasing that feeling of being completely unfettered from the world, like a bird in the sky.

He stares at her meditatively, as though she’s a puzzle he can’t quite solve.

‘What!’ she exclaims, the tips of her ears flushing pink, suddenly self-conscious.

‘Nothin’, darlin’. Just thought that you’re more interesting than I thought’. Ignoring her indignant ‘ what?!’ , he stands up, brushing the crumbs off his lap. ‘Shall we get goin’? It’s about to rain.’

The ride back to his apartment passes in a blur of streetlights and gathering rain clouds, but thankfully it’s not as unpleasant as it was before as Atsumu eases into his seat, moving with her when she drops into a bend, loosening his hands on her waist. Still, she suspects it’s all bravado, as he stumbles stiff legged off the bike when they reach his apartment.

But as to be expected from a seasoned athlete used to the spotlight, he manages to plaster on a grin, cocky and charming enough to make her blush.

‘Thanks for the ride’, he says. ‘I wouldn’t mind coming out again with you for a ride sometime’.

Then he smiles at her, and it’s soft, shorn of the sharp edges she’s used to seeing. It plants an unfamiliar seed of warmth in her core that survives her race home against the storm.

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quack-and-yellow · 6 years

Note

Hey could you like describe Julian brandt from what you know? I personally feel like he’s a sweetheart who always has the biggest smile but you clearly have been a fan for a long time so can you maybe tell me how do you think he is? I don’t know if I can explain what I mean but lol that would be great! I wanna hear about him from someone else’s perspective other than what I believe :) thank you

I took my time to think about my response, and this is really long. 😅 Thanks for including a disclaimer, and I will reiterate it: This is the Julian Brandt that I know, from what I see in interviews and social media. This is just my honest opinion, as unbiased as can be. 😅 I included interview links as reference.

DW - Kick off! (My most favorite interview to date)

youtube

The more you reveal, the more targets people have to aim at.

I think Julian’s got great character. While I personally think there’s nothing wrong with talking about your strengths, I still admire it that he recognizes his weaknesses, knowing that he has more to give on the pitch, more room for improvement and not letting the praises get to his head. I like that he lets his skills do the talking for him, not a flashy lifestyle or a social media account full of selfies to please anyone. I know he took lots of selfies when he was younger, and I think it’s a phase that he has outgrown now. 😂

One of the things I like about Julian is that he’s private about his personal life. Honestly I kind of felt bad when he opened a Facebook and Twitter page, because he mentioned in this interview that it isn’t his thing. But I recognize that it has something to do with building his image as a professional football player, maybe trying to get himself out there even more now that he’s playing in the World Cup. I guess the important thing for me is he still carefully considers what he posts and he doesn’t spam his followers. I kind of worried about him because he received a lot of hate on his Instagram when he was chosen over Sané. It’s the first time I’ve read such comments about him. But I think he took it all in stride. He didn’t brag about getting chosen, and his next post was a pic of Müller and somehow (thankfully), the negative comments died down.

He seems down-to-earth and honest when doing interviews. He’s close to his family, especially his brother Jannis. They have the same circle of friends, but I’m pretty sure they have separate sets of friends too. He’s funny and playful (goal celebrations with his teammates) + adventurous (jumping off cliffs in Ibiza and somersaulting on the pool) + listens to French rappers and considers one as the coolest person + he seems to be currently addicted to console games (would have wanted to see him reading books tho)