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#osamu is a god amongst men
ivlenyxx · 13 days
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Beyond What the Lights Could Offer - Chapter 1
Soukoku Kowloon Walled City 1980s Filmmakers AU. Prepare thyself for agonisingly slow updates, a lot of references towards Hong Kong and me screaming into the void.
original fic link on AO3 (by yours truly): Beyond What the Lights Could Offer by Lemon(ivlenyxx)
May 14th 2023, 29 years, 10 months since the release of Stray Dogs.
“Nakahara-san, Dazai-dan, nearly 30 years have passed since the release of the hit movie ‘Stray Dogs’,” the interviewer says with a smile. “It has grossed over 800 million USD at the box office and many consider it a classic. Many fans have wondered ‘Just what is the story behind the film?’. Now that’s a question that’s been asked for nearly thirty years now, so we beg of you,” she claps her hands together to form a prayer gesture and bows her head. “What exactly is the story behind Stray Dogs?”
The pair sitting opposite her both chuckle, amused. 
“Alright, alright. Since it’s nearly the 30th anniversary, we’ll tell you.” the man in the fedora answers.
Nakahara Chuuya, age 52, executive producer of “Stray Dogs”, sits up straighter as he ponders the question, combing through his faded copper hair with his hand; his partner, Dazai Osamu, age 51, director of “Stray Dogs”, smirks slightly, wrinkles spreading across his face. “Come on, Chibi, can’t keep our fans waiting,” he nods towards the interviewer and the TV crew across from them. “Unless the Great Nakahara Chuuya is getting slow in his old age.” he teases, leaning over Chuuya’s neck.
Nakahara noticeably bristles under his partner’s breath, that discomfort quickly morphs into annoyance and reaches its stunning conclusion as Chuuya grabs Dazai’s collar. “I swear to God, you shitty mackerel-” he snaps as the other man whines and wallows dramatically under his grip. “We’re the same age! I can’t take a moment to think?!-”
“No! Oh no! Chuuya is attacking me!” Dazai exclaims and yaps, notes of fake panic and amusement dripping from his voice. (The interviewer sits awkwardly in silence while the rest of the crew whisper amongst themselves) “My God, this is marital violence!” He throws up his arms (making sure to flash a gold wedding band at the camera) and easily overpowers his dear Chibi, shoving him onto the far end of the couch before redirecting his attention to the interviewer, the poor unfortunate soul bearing witness to Nakahara making grabby hands at Dazai while the latter holds him off with a hand in his face. “It goes a little something like this…” 
April 29th 1986, 8 years before the release of Stray Dogs.
Chuuya’s not exactly sure how he ended up here, but okay.
The red light floods the crowded, 40 square foot room, Chuuya’s eyes hurt from the strobing lights;Chuuya’s ears are bleeding from the music blasting through the crackling radio.
Oh second thought, not okay. Chuuya wants to leave. 
He puts down the half finished glass of cheap whiskey before manoeuvring his way through mountains and seas of people dancing to the beat of something that just came on. (something American, he doesn’t want to know) The red lights continue to pull assassination attempts on his eyes, which is only made worse by the pixelated screens displaying images of half naked men and women “available” in this cursed brothel-nightclub hybrid. The two dozen people making out in every direction doesn’t help either. 
If there was such a thing as unsee juice in this world, Chuuya would like 10 litres of it, please. 
Finally, Chuuya makes it out of the brothel-nightclub, (thankfully in one piece) he looks back at the bouncer, who doesn’t even spare him a glance. Hell, he didn’t even ask him for any form of ID, despite him obviously being underaged. His short stature speaks for itself.
Guess that’s Kowloon Walled City for ya. 
Chuuya makes his way through the interconnected hallways, counting and reading the posters plastered all over the place. 1, 2, 3, 4… 28. He thinks half of them are advertising stuff for the Port Mafia Gang. Interesting. He’d heard of them, of course. The most powerful underground organisation of the Walled City, operating in the dark (well, as dark as the City of Darkness could get) or even beyond. He’d heard rumours of them stretching all the way to Lantau Island and the Shatin District. Hell, even Cheung Chau’s underworld carries traces of their interference! 
Not that he’s ever personally been down there, of course. The underworld, he means.
Chuuya kicks at his feet as he makes his way up to the rooftop of the building, the gate creaks agreeably every time he pushes it and it returns to its original position with a pleasant clang! He squeezes his way through the drying sheets, careful not to bump into them in his dirty clothes, and legs it across a huge pile of scrap. At last, he reaches the edge of the rooftop and leans on the railing, taking in the sight of the City in the middle of the night. There are still a few lights on at this hour, not counting the establishments of the night, aka the opium traders, nightclubs, gambling dens, makeshift casinos etc etc. He spies one on the far left, the light of the balcony flickers in a way that reminds him of moths flapping their wings, and under the light is a boy his age with black hair and a bandage over his right eye, teetering back and forth on his feet, fingers gripping tight on the handrail. His eyes are downturned, expression blank.
What a weirdo. Chuuya thinks. He turns away to light a cigarette and takes a long drag. The next time he looks, the light is off, the boy is gone. 
He can’t help but feel disappointed, somehow. 
Chuuya shrugs off the feeling and takes another drag of the cigarette, looking straight ahead, beyond the Walled City, at the Kai Tak Airport. Planes take off and land dangerously close to the buildings nearby, another few soar mere metres above Chuuya’s head, their loud, rumbling engines sing a comforting tune to accompany the city’s orchestra of dripping air-cons and creaky pipes down below.
It’s as beautiful as ever.
One of these days, I’m getting outta here. He vows, before putting out the cigarette and flicking it off the roof. 
He doesn’t know how many hours have passed, only that this is the perfect way to celebrate his fifteenth birthday.  
Chuuya continues to admire the view of the Kowloon Bay, occasionally glancing over to Victoria Harbour for a glimpse of its colourful and lively skyline. The best part about this corner of Kowloon Walled City? It contains the tallest building. One can pretty much see everything within a 20 km radius, and if one’s lucky, the clouds’ll part for the stars, and even the shortest, most 150-centimetre-ed of people could enjoy their glory.
He reaches for the radio beside him, switching between channels until he finds one that plays something that suits his favour. 
It ends up being an English channel, playing something from a new writer from America. 
“Now playing: The Tell-Tale Heart, by Edgar Allan Poe,” the presenter states calmly, before a low and unsettling voice takes its place, narrating the tale of an insane man who murdered his elderly housemate. 
Chuuya listens absent-mindedly as he lights another cigarette and continues to watch over the Walled City, his position giving him a handy bird’s-eye view over everything else. More lights have switched on, the opium dens are starting to close, the bars and brothels are chasing people out like a restaurant owner at animals like you see in movies or it’s 20-something A.D. and they have leprosy. Must be nearly morning. 
Oh shit it’s nearly morning. 
His eyes widen as he catches the faint blue ring of the sun rising over the horizon and slowly but surely evolve into a blinding orange light that pours over the Sai Kung District to the east, then to the Uni of Sci and Tech, to Tseung Kwan O- Chuuya throws his cigarette over the railing for the second time before shutting off the radio and making a mad dash for the gate, legging it over the scrap, nimbly contorting his body to avoid touching the sheets, before finally bolting down the stairs and out of the building. He passes the town square - a relic from the Walled City’s past as a Song Dynasty military outpost - and nearly slams straight into a bunch of bakbaks and popos doing taichi. A couple of them yell at him for his insolence. He zips his way through alleyways full of drunkards and shakes off a madman trying to gut him with a knife, (it’s the Walled City, he’s seen worse) he looks up for a split second and stops in his tracks.
He can see the sky from here.
The small slit of bright, warm blue peeks out amongst the mess of pipes and haphazardly built roofs, the clouds dance across it in pinks, soft oranges and light yellows. Chuuya stares up at that beautiful sight through the gap, the City has never been this generous before, the most daylight he ever got to see was approximately none, except for when he headed out of the Walled City every few months to run for supplies that the Triads couldn’t access. 
Chuuya looks around for a landmark that he can bookmark into his memory, and spots another one of the Port Mafia Gang’s posters on the wall to his left. 
He sighs. That oughta do. And so the poster enters his mind. 
He allows himself several more minutes of staring at the sky before booking it back home, he just hopes that Shirase and Yuan won’t be too pissed.
Unbeknownst to him, a boy with jet black hair and bandages all over has been looking at him through a window for a while now. 
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soranihimawari · 6 months
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Cover me in Diamonds
Based on @iinoruu ‘s art of the Miya Twins from the new Cartier campaign.
Pairing: model!miya twins x photographer!reader
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“The Miya twins were first discovered straight out of their high school graduation. Apparently an agent was a family friend of another student attending the ceremony who absolutely terrified their mother at first meeting her: she was taking photos of her son and asking classmates to take some of her with her boys when he had approached her. Despite scaring her, he backed up his claim of being a talent scout via handing her a business card. Her sons were debating—more like arguing—whether or not they should give the agency the stranger represented.
Well, that was close to six years ago and the rest, as they say in the west, is history. The fresh twinning faces graced indie brand companies as well as being breakout new models for high end designers. Everyone in the business wanted to work with either Miya Atsumu or his brother, Miya Osamu. If you could book them together? You’d be the diamond gem of your haus. It’s even rumored that Miya Atsumu, in his spare time still teaches kids volleyball, and though he doesn’t play as often, his friends still made him an honorary jersey for the division club: MSBY. Alas, if you liked the gentle, yet firm side of men, you’d probably be describing Miya Osamu. Since being a model, this Miya has been seen endorsing local food spots all around Hyogo. Until he had announced a year and a half ago he would be taking a break to pursue the culinary arts and boy did he excel. Sure, modeling career is what the twins were known for, however, they never forgot their passions before they were famous.
As for their mom? She enjoys living in the countryside nowadays, teasing her boys about the latest dating rumor of all the Billy Jeans that stop by their home town claiming their child was sired by either of her boys. Yet, she thanks them for adding to their family house by remodeling it from the base up. The old tiles and their height charts are still right outside the boys—young men now— rooms. Mama Miya is said to prefer her original jeans and white shirt looks, but of course she doesn’t mind wearing the earrings from Tiffany’s Osamu got her for Christmas two seasons ago and the Burberry sunglasses with matching ascot from the vintage rebranding line shipped first class from Atsumu either.
To their core, the Miya family has done an excellent job of restoring and retelling the dream of the cult classic rags to riches,”— the editor reads the most updated and popular take of the article which your desk had written.
The editor smiles, humming their approval before asking you, your opinion.
“You went to the same high school as them, did you not?”
With as loud as the bullpen is at a high end and we’ll respected magazine, the utter silence astounds you. No one, and you made sure absolutely no one, knew of this. You went so far as to beg your roommate to change your home city to match a different one than your ID card. The ears around you were quietly demanding you to answer and alas you tilt your head to the side about to confirm or deny.
“I did,” you say this clear as a bell.
The bullpen erupts with shouts and questions so obnoxiously personal you thought they were paparazzi! These were your colleagues for almost five years (one of those years being a break from university art school) post collegiate graduation and now they treat you like a god amongst the people because you actually knew the Miya twins prior to their ticket to fame. You refrain from telling anyone else that you are related to the now deceased agent, your uncle, who discovered them.
The five o’clock chimes were going off when the office finally thins out with you promising, more like ‘voluntold’ to finish more stories about high school with the famous models. You’re always one of the last ones out of the building because you head to the photographer labs. Your craft, your signature pieces, your one of a kind print portfolio is there. Turning on the lights, you place your personal belongings down and pinch the bridge of your nose after you take a deep breath and scream into a pillow from your photographer neighbor on the exhale to muffle it.
“I wasn’t popular, not by a long shot,” you mutter closing your eyes. You move to straighten your back lest you want to be permanently C-shaped and you are greeted by a photo the last photographer editor did for a Cartier campaign. It was a test shot no one thought would do well, but you remember being on set that day…
It was the first day of summer. The warehouse aircon was busted, the ring lights were overheating, the foiled umbrellas weren’t cooperating and you just had to see your old lab partner and the guy who tutored you in American Modern English walk in.
You claim you’d never forgive your uncle for signing them, however you changed your tune when you noticed two very distinct kanji writings of your name. Miya Atsumu would always round out the last line with a little bird (sometimes a butterfly) where as his brother, Miya Osamu, would make little onigiris living under the dash line of your hyphenated name. You thought nothing of it until much recently: did they-could they-have remembered you? All shy and temperamental. Kind of weirded out the other interns, but to your surprise one day during a lunch break later on during this particular shoot, you heard Atsumu and Osamu talking.
“YN-chan got really cute,” the blonde says, stuffing his face with a half a ham sandwich. “Hey, remember when she was my lab partner and she scolded me for ruining her notes?”
“Because you were an asshole and left the Bunsen burner turned on way too high,” Osamu said, a chortle trying to not come out.
Atsumu sticks his tongue out. “At least I wasn’t the one who kept feeding her half my lunch because she burned her rolled eggs that morning before your tutoring session in the library!”
“At least I wasn’t t’one who couldn’t ask her to take a photo with us on graduation!”
“We didn’t even thank her for her uncle’s business card,” Osamu’s voice was serious. “Remember when mom said she didn’t have to worry anymore about making payments for our house after we got our offer letters? She was really struggling then and between jobs…”
Atsumu laughs. “We’d never seen so many 0s after a number! Even with scholarship money…”
You stand a few feet away taking test shots of what seemed to be the brick wall behind them, and you purposefully took it with them out of focus. You took four shots on your Canon DSL using 35mm film: two out of focus, and two off-center of the boys in focus. Without telling anyone, you later submitted those to a contest for the fashion magazine editorial hence why you work where you do now. The photo is widely spread online as one of the first sneak peaks into Cartier’s line for men.
Presently, while you are still agitated at the bullpen scene, you put away the developers and head home. You’re not close to the two twin stars, yet when the photographer for the next campaign shoot calls your editor’s office saying the model refuse to work with him, the photographer tells your boss the Miyas demand you take their photos:
“No buts,” your editor air quotes this to you when you’re pulled into their office. The bullpen, rather the other fashion journalists press their ears to the thick glass as you get your things together, and in a voice of finality, you choose no one else to go with you.
You pack your camera, an overnight bag when you get home, and the company car is there within an hour of seven thirty. The ride to Narita Airport, you replay everything from the last four hours of your life because my god was it a whirlwind and whiplash all at once:
Editor in Chief & Photographer Editor in Chief Office
“Congratulations YN, you’re heading to New York on a red eye flight,” is all your editor tells you with this smug look.
“I’m sorry, what?!”
The photographer editor in chief replays the message for you to hear. Atsumu and Osamu are heard arguing about how they’d only do the shoot if they get to work with you. The photographer’s assistant is on the line asking if you’re still working at the Tokyo branch of the same magazine the Cartier campaign would debut in Asia. Behind there assistant you hear Atsumu’s thunderous voice say, “without yn’s 35mm shots of us no one would take us seriously!”
The call drops and the editor in chief spreads out the various versions of your brick wall campaign test shots. The most famous one? It’s odd Atsumu and Osamu laughing nonchalantly showing of the earrings and pendant necklaces in the sunlight.
“This image, it literally launched their career and you took it anonymously! Why didn’t you say anything then?” The editor asks you.
You brush as few bangs behind your ear, “because no one would think to ask a ‘crappy intern’ to sign off on using the image, so I published it independently…” you pick up one of the blurred images.
“I landed the job here a few months after fashion week a year ago after submitting my portfolio of exclusive 35mm prints to your mailboxes…so when do I leave for NYC?”
Fourteen and a half hours later, exhausted and packing lightly for a two week trip to the United States was not easy, but when JFK shuts down half a gate so you can bypass the paparazzi, you wonder just what else the wealthy can do. You entertain the idea until you roll your photopgrahy carry on luggage and look up to see two very eager friends from your adolescence run toward you with open arms.
It’s been a year since that New York Trip. You’re in Seoul now, a solo trip that was much warranted by a certain mischievous silver haired twin’s immediate threat of, “if you won’t ask yn, I will” scenario one pre-breakfast photoshoot with his brother.
“And what about ya, huh?” Atsumu asked before taking his phone out about to text you if you had wanted to go try to visit Seoul in the spring. “Ya liked yn first…”
Osamu flicks his brother’s forehead first, “Yeah, Tsumu. That may be true, but yer the one who loved yn more.”
The blonde makes a face at his brother scowling muttering why he had to be born a twin and why couldn’t Osamu tease him later about his personal life.
“We got yn to come to New York, what’s stopping ya from sending that text? Lemme see yer phone.”
And in the midst of the brotherly struggle, Atsumu accidentally had his thumb press and slide to send, much to his horror, you reply two seconds later (ok, you replied a few minutes later)…
“Yn w-wants to go,” he said snatching his phone from his brother’s hand.
Atsumu plops down on the couch in the latest studio they are in for Calvin Klein Jeans. Osamu, mirthfully laughs, saying something or other about maybe hiring you to be the mystery woman covered in Cartier diamonds in a retro bathtub for the jeweler’s summer line as they offer you champagne on a silver tray. Atsumu excuses himself from the couch, conveniently hiding both his reddening cheeks and the one bodily reaction he’s sure no one can edit properly…
Oh, and as for you, you finally come forward as the photographer behind the amazing shot that helped boost your old classmates’ careers. You did let your employer interview you via podcast format and the transcription copies flew off the shelves. Your photographs were displayed as the editorial for the winter line the year the newer Cartier line was announced to the public. Finally, in the midst of the chaos of your name being synonymous with helping the Miya twins rise to fame, the most classiest photo of you with the boys (decked head to toe in sleek Alexender McQueen suits and Louis Vuitton shoes) is framed and hung up next to the altar for your late uncle in your house.
So, yes, you find yourself in Seoul, walking side by side with a now ash blonde Atsumu, who waits for you to stop updating his brother about the cool sights you saw via text because when you do hit ‘send,’ Atsumu is just about ready to confess a lifetime’s worth of love with a simple kiss—one he’s discovered is worth its weight in diamonds.
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mooshys · 3 years
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hq + what they’d be like as lab partners
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the good, the bad, and the ugly when it comes to lab partners. honestly, your partner will either make or break the lab experience for you... so choose wisely! based off my time wasted away in a well ventilated lab.
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atsumu ➝ a walking nightmare in the lab. always goes “the lab doesn’t seem that bad” to his friends and then gets stuck on the first five steps. is the one that gets a 348% error after decanting and drying underneath the hood and then makes up a random number for the results just to get out on time. for the remainder of the semester, YOU’RE the one doing the lab and atsumu’s just an errand boy gathering the necessary supplies. always forgets to label his beakers and will mix up the water and the acid because of this... the TA despises him and will rip the glassware out of his hands and label it for him before going back to the bench. since you’re his lab partner, you get your lab graded harder by association
kita ➝ the lab saint. he actually knows what he’s doing because he read the lab the day before, made multiple notes and diagrams, and will ask questions during initial procedure breakdown. the professors love him and ask if he would be willing to share his lab notes as a sample for the next semester. keeps his bench incredibly clean and does a 50/50 split of the work to keep things fair (also tells you that it’s the best way to learn). if you’re confused with the process, he takes over and shows you how to properly do it, making sure to go slowly and asks you if you understand. never gets frustrated when things don’t work out, instead traces back his steps to see where he went wrong. his percent yield is always in the 90′s (a walking god amongst men). people are constantly telling you how lucky you are to have him as a lab partner as if you don’t already know
akaashi ➝ the smart lab partner who doesn’t care what you do as long as you two get the right data. he’s a pretty chill guy, but if you tend to be on the clumsier side, he’ll take note and be like “...maybe I should do this part” to be nice. kind of burnt out and it shows in lab when he puts on his lab coat backwards or when he grips his micropipette a little too tight. sighs a lot when heating up or cooling solvents (he despises how most of lab is just a waiting game). funniest in the driest way possible, and if you reciprocate his sense of humor, then he’ll hold you to a higher regard. you two meet up every week to finish writing up the lab reports because it’s easier to check calculations and create your reasonings together this way (won’t admit that he enjoys your company aloud)
osamu ➝ didn’t show up to the first lab because he switched majors right beforehand. said he gave up on pre-med. it’s only the second week of classes, osamu...
suna ➝ has his lab partner do all the work and goes “Ooooh neat” when recording the reactions (straight up writes “turned yellow” as an answer... like okay? at what temperature? did it bubble? was a visible gas released? how long did it take? he does the bare minimum). kind of never knows what’s going on in lab because he reads the procedure right before class, so he’s heavily reliant on his partner. if YOU don’t know what’s going on... then you’re both screwed. always forgets his lab coat and you have to text him 30 minutes before class to go get it. has a nice circle of friends who share their data with him, so he’ll copy it and show it to you when you’re stuck. honestly, the only reason why you guys are passing lab is because of the sheer generosity of others
futakuchi ➝ the smart asshole in lab. gets the job done, but he’s horrible to work with. makes sure he does everything as fast as possible because he wants to get out within the next hour... if the directions call for medium heat, he has the hot plate dialed to the highest setting; will shake up the test tubes himself if the centrifuge is busy; doesn’t care about cross contamination and uses the same wooden stirring stick throughout the lab (just leaves it lying on the bench... the bench he never sterilizes). always pressuring you to hurry the hell up when grabbing solvents from the TA. bosses you around all the time and will straight up do the lab by himself when he’s in a rush (says “I have plans after this” as if you dont?!). you two get a nice grade... but was it worth it?
kuroo ➝ great partner, the only flaw he has is that he cares way too much about every little detail. follows lab instructions to the T. handbook says to stir for ten minutes? you’re standing there with that stirring rod for exactly ten minutes. doing titrations and the professor says the color should be a pale pink? he’s watching every single drip and is questioning if the pink should be more vibrant or not. need 7mL of water? he’s checking the meniscus of the graduated cylinder, dumping and refilling until it’s a perfect 7mL. sweats whenever he uses the pastor pipettes. makes you nervous sometimes because his lab anxiety rubs off you. by the time you two are halfway done, the rest of the class already left. you guys are always the last to leave lab, but he makes up for this by buying you lunch
matsukawa ➝ poured water into sulfuric acid. did it in front of the TA, was automatically failed for the lab that week, and kicked out for the day. now you have to do the lab by yourself
hanamaki ➝ was the one who told matsukawa to pour water into sulfuric acid as a joke. felt so bad about it that he went after him. you end up doing the lab by yourself and you don’t share the data with him out of pettiness. he failed the lab that week
sugawara ➝ he’s a fun lab partner, but he plays too much. like no, stop, please keep that petri dish away from your mouth; that agar may look like jelly, but we just streaked it with e. coli... will act like a model student whenever the TA walks by, but as soon as they’re out of sight... he’s treating the lab like it’s a cooking mama mini game. pretends that the inoculating loop put over the bunsen burner is a stick with a marshmallow at the end. even though he messes around a lot, he still gets his work done. texts you cheesy lab jokes. at the end of the semester, he stole a couple pH strips as a souvenir for surviving lab together and will occasionally use them to test on the water from the school fountains (spoiler: he no longer drinks from the water fountains on campus) 
shirabu ➝ the TA. he was incredibly standoffish when he first introduced himself to the class, but really he’s just kind of awkward. knows when students copy data off of other people, but at this point he’s too tired to even care (he’s an undergrad TA, so he doesn’t get paid for being in the lab). can be kind of terrifying at points; he’ll be walking around to monitor students and will straight up ask “why are your hands shaking?” and “did you not read the lab before coming today?” when he sees you do something wrong, he’ll instantly correct you (you need to trash the micropipette tip RIGHT after you use it) in a stern manner. don’t cross him or else he’ll start grading your papers extra hard. someone wrote their phone number for him in their lab report once and he took points off for it
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softomi · 3 years
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The Little Things
If there was one phrase that could describe Miya Atsumu, it would be “all talk, no action.”. Of course the only person who ever said this about Atsumu was his brother Osamu. In the way Osamu put it, “He’ll say that he has the biggest dick but won’t participate in the dick showing contest.”. When you heard this, you couldn’t contain the laughter from spilling out of your mouth. Atsumu, banging his fist on the table, stood to his feet with a scowl; hollering in his brother’s restaurant that he’d gladly do the dick showing contest with him right then and there. But Osamu’s description of his brother was spot on when the male sat back down, crossing his arms to grumble about the fact that his dick was indeed bigger.
All in all, when you look at your boyfriend. The phrase definitely suited him well.
“I’m not coming to the party.” Atsumu states blatantly in the middle of dinner.
Your news of a promotion at work brought initial excitement in the both of you, but as soon as you mentioned the celebration party your coworkers were throwing for you, distaste sat on his tongue. Many people painted Atsumu as a party goer, but unlike his teammate Bokuto who joined any party regardless of the occasion, Atsumu only loved parties centered around him. That’s just how he preferred it.
“Okay.” You lifted the spoon to your lips.
Atsumu lays his utensils down on the table, “I’m serious.” He crosses his arms, “I’m not going, so don’t expect me there.”
Your lips curl, sending him a reassuring smile, “Babe, it’s okay. You don’t have to come, I brought it up in case you wanted to. But if you don’t, then that’s fine.”
He narrows his eyes as if he’d detect some sort of lying in you, “Okay.”. It’s all he says before he continues to eat.
But you knew him all too well.
Ten minutes after the celebration of your promotion started, you spotted him. Awkwardly standing at the entrance of the restaurant, looking out of place and lost, a big bouquet of roses in his hands, Atsumu can’t hide the way the tips of his ears turn red when you notice him. You stood from your seat, skipping towards him, your hands tucked behind you as you land on both of your feet in front of him. Your cheeky smile as you grab the roses from his hands makes him flustered.
“I thought you said you weren’t coming.” You send him a look, one that he knows too well as you teasing him.
Atsumu clears his throat, checking the nonexistent watch on his wrist, he attempts to look suave, “Well, I had some time and thought I’d just pop by for a bit.” He sees the way your eyes sparkle, “and well, Osamu wanted me to tell you congratulations on your promotion and that he’s very proud of you.”
Your eyes fall onto the roses before looking up towards him, “Well, tell Osamu thank you very much and thank you for stopping by, it means a lot to me.” Your fingers drag themselves against his cheek, softly pulling him by the ear to place a soft kiss near his lips.
Atsumu is quick, he captures your lips as you attempt to pull away. He manages to steal a kiss from you, “But, I’m proud of you more.”
“I know.” You smile, “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”
“Please stay!” Your coworkers squeal from behind you.
You turn to hiss as the sqealing females but Atsumu wraps an arm around your shoulder, “Well, if they insist, then I must.” He nearly dodges your attempt to elbow him in the abdomen.
Atsumu was the best at hiding behind his words. Osamu says that this was a trait that Atsumu grew into. This made Atsumu terrible at communication about anything he really wanted. Sure, he could voice when he was hungry or when he was trying a new move at practice. But he made a terrible communicator when it came to anything serious.
“I don’t like it.” Atsumu grumbles as you place a bandaid onto his cheek.
You frown and he hates it when you look so disappointed at him, “It’s okay.” Your voice whispers.
Atsumu doesn’t like the words come out of your mouth, “It’s not okay. Would it be okay if I flirted with some girl in front of you? You’d hit her too if you were in my position.”
You nod, your thumb rubbing against his cheek, “You know I wasn’t flirting with him.” Unlike his heated demeanor, you were calm, trying to quell your lover of the flame in his head.
“Whatever.” Atsumu pushes you off him to make way to the bedroom. The slam of the door causes you to jolt in your spot, “Don’t bother me.” He practically shouts at the closed door.
Your head falls in a tilt, letting out a sigh as you follow to the bedroom door. When you open it wide, you can see him, huffing and puffing, as if preparing himself for the worst; as if somewhere along the line, you had decided that you no longer wanted to be with him. As if, in his mind that never stops thinking, you had suddenly decided that other men were far more superior than him.
“I said don’t bother me.” He huffs, his chest rising and falling, “I want to be alone.” He puffs as a small tear falls down his cheek, “Go away.”
And yet, the moment you sink into his chest, he wraps his arms around you, nuzzling himself into the crook of your neck, “You’re such a big baby.” You whisper into his ear.
If you combine his two traits, all talk no action and his inability to communicate properly, it creates a conversation that even he doesn’t understand.
“It’s a big dinner party.” Atsumu follows you around the house, “Only for the member of the Jackals and their wives, fiance’s, long time partners and such.”
“Oh.” You say, holding the laundry basket in your hands while turning towards him, “So girlfriends aren’t allowed.”
Atsumu prompty lifts the basket from your hands, “Well Omi is bringing his girlfriend, but they’ve been dating for years now and the dinner party is supposed to be ‘bring a plus one that’s a relationship type’ thing.”
“Ah.” You nod your head, “Makes sense makes sense. We’ve been only dating for what, two years now.” You take the basket from his hands, “Yeah, we’re definitely not relationship material. In fact.” You abruptly turn at the bedroom door to look at him, “I might just find myself a new boyfriend.”
“Babe.” Atsumu calls out, “That’s not what I meant. The invitation just says serious couples only.”
It didn’t take long for the dinner party to be a drag. Maybe if he had just admitted to you that he thought a serious relationship meant more than two years together, just maybe, you’d be standing right next to him. Instead, you had sent him a series of texts, photos of you in your pajamas, showing him that you indeed were not in a relationship. And just as he’d about to relent and apologize, your call fills his cell phone screen.
“Hey.” He answers the call a little too eagerly, “Look, I wanted to say sorry.”
“For what?” You state innocently.
Atsumu looks amongst the crowd of couples in the venue, “What I meant was, do you think this is a relationship?”
He can hear chattering from your end, it causes slight confusion in him as you speak, “Well, what do you think?”
“Me?” Atsumu notices the faint outline of familiarity amongst the crowd, “I think.” Atsumu straightens up, a smug tug on his lips when you turn in the crowd to look at him, “I don’t think I could go a day without you.”
You walk amongst the crowd and he follows, “Are you proposing?”
“Are you running away from me?” He holds the phone to his ear, watching as you turn once more in the room just to stick your tongue out at him.
“I don’t think I could go a day without you.” You tease into the phone.
“Oh, you’re so going to get it.” Atsumu ends the call.
You squeal as he wiggles his way to you, barely clutching you by the wrist to pull you into him. Your arms find themselves around his neck and his around your waist.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Atsumu’s lips barely hover over yours, “I know a place.”
“Is it the onigiri place two blocks down.”
Atsumu presses a kiss to your lips, “God, you’re perfect.”
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mahoudaigakyuu · 6 years
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OOC Information
Name: Tate
Age: 25
Pronouns: they/them/she/her
Timezone: PST
IC Information
Name: Atsumu Miya
Age/Year: 2nd Year/Who really knows (he’s not gonna tell anyone)
Pronouns: He/Him
Species: Wood Nymph
House: Daimyoko
History:  
Connected to a split Eucalyptus, Atsumu is a one of kind nymph in that he was not only born a twin but both twins were born male (most nymphs usually being female). All his life he only knew three things were certain: his brother was his life, his ‘mom’ was the goddess Demeter and that there was a world beyond his tree and he wanted to see it. Unfortunately since he was tied to his split tree he had no way of getting to see the outside world. Spending his days sheltering various humans and animals, Atsumu grew bored of his lifestyle, wanting something so much more. He’d heard talk amongst the others that there was a way for a nymph to move from the tree but it required the blessing from the Goddess Demeter as well as Pan. Not one to feel dejected, Atsumu summoned the two gods to his tree and explained he wanted freedom for both himself and his twin Osamu.
Hearing the request, the gods decided to grant if the twins could pass a trial set up by the two gods. The trial was simple, find a human to take their places as guardians of the split tree. Atsumu feeling way too confident tried his best for years to get someone to take his place only to find it was harder than he thought to fool men. Starting to get frustrated, the nymph was about to give up when a little boy came to rest under the tree. Seeing a gift horse, Atsumu approached him and used his charm to get the boy to take his place, setting off before his brother.
During the decades (re;centuries) Atsumu spent wandering the outside world, he discovered many things. It wasn’t until he finally reached Japan that he heard about an academy of magic. Curious, Atsumu tried to find a way to get enrolled only to be approached to join. Set to get started, Atsumu is ready to experience more culture than he could hope for.
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