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sashimiyas · 1 year

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The Burden of Being

Summary: There was an Osamu who loved you once. Who loved Onigiri Miya so much he spent most of his waking hours there, supported loyally by the members of Hyogo Ward. A fire changes that and he and his twin brother adopt their old high school motto: we don’t need the memories. Now they’re gone and memories are all you have. So as an homage to the man you love, you reopen his restaurant back up for him.

Pairings: miya osamu x reader (romantic); miya atsumu x reader (familial); akaashi keiji x reader (platonic)

Content: angst; fluff; inaccurate portrayal of how amnesia works; there is a hospital scene; fem reader; reader eats meat; reader has depressive symptoms that are, for the most part, amateurly addressed; reader attends therapy; alcohol as a coping method; undiagnosed alcoholism; unhealthy coping mechanisms; cigarette smoker Akaashi; cigarette smoker Osamu; amnesiac Osamu; pro volleyball player Osamu; the characters are all in their mid to late twenties bc this fic covers the time span of 2+ years; long passages written within parentheses are memories; there is a mentionable size difference between Osamu and reader where reader can wear his clothes and it be too big for them

Word count: 22k+

A/n: the premise for this fic was born after binging The Bear; she's gone through 4 drafts, 2 of which were completely scrapped and rewritten, and strayed much further from the initial plot than I imagined, but she's here! Thank you The 1975 for writing About You which I binged just as hard and would rec listening to it while you read! Sets the vibe, you know? Anyways, I've talked too much (obviously) but if you read, know that I love you!

The day was Tuesday, the most unforgettably forgettable Tuesday to exist.

Your downstairs neighbor was doing laundry. Or upstairs. Someone was doing laundry that day because you remember the scent of down. It lifted into your bedroom, pressed into your sheets, and made it harder for you to wake up despite your phone’s incessant vibration.

A shounen ending song, the season finale. A matcha roll. A nurse who spoke with her fingers and head tilts. A walker with tennis balls at the bottom, an annoyed cab driver, and a tourist who smelled too strong of American deodorant.

They were all there. You remember.

The hospital was the same as ever. It had ample seating, not too busy, which you recall eased the burden on your heart (only slightly) if it weren’t for the reason you were in the hospital to begin with.

An elderly woman sat at the end in one of the chairs pushed against the wall, sucking on a candy that smelled like guava when you passed. Her walker was parked right next to the seat and someone, probably her daughter because she was younger but they looked alike –they shared the same nose– sat beside her on her phone.

There was a man in an obscenely large overcoat sitting in one of the middle aisle seats. You remember because you couldn’t help but be quietly jealous of his wear considering how cold it was in the lobby. And finally, a teenager who was crying on her phone, holding her stomach as she did. Her tears gave you courage, allowed you to slip them quietly down your cheeks and soaked them up with your sleeves when you got your moment alone, away from the rest of the family.

You weren’t there when Osamu got hurt. He was by himself in the restaurant, opening it up and getting it ready before everyone else arrived just like how he always insisted.

You weren’t there. But you do remember.

Ma held you in her arms the moment you turned the hallways. She was on her way to the cafeteria, grabbing something for Atsumu to eat. Her head was downturned, a doleful cadence in her steps, and it was obvious that she’d spent ample time shedding tears, but there was a quiet peacefulness to her. Acceptance.

Her phone call had been quick like a debrief. She mentioned an accident. A fire, a gas leak, and despite your gasp, quickly told you not to worry because the doctors said Osamu would be fine. She said to come when you could, because she was there and Atsumu was on his way and he was going to be okay.

Then when you arrived, she immediately started crying. She had pulled you into a hug, devoured your body into hers as she pressed her head into your chest to weep.

She cried before she even got to say hello. And you didn’t know then, but there was a hierarchy for the pain.

Atsumu bore Osamu’s, Mama Miya, her sons’. And with you on the outside, with you being the last arrival, you held all of theirs.

And gods, do you remember the pain.

Ma had warned you that Atsumu was attached to his brother’s bedside. He was hunched over in a chair pushed back so he could burrow his head into the crooks of his elbows. The steady rise of his back meant he was asleep, probably cried himself to it. It had been a long journey from Osaka to Hyogo, and just the news of his brother’s incident, the weeping he must have done in public and bedside, you didn’t even question his exhaustion.

With your eyes on Osamu’s still figure, you moved to rub your hand soothingly along the length of Atsumu’s back. Comfort him was your thought process. Comfort your brother because Osamu would have wanted you to.

Was it bad to say that, inside, burrowed deep in your selfishness, you felt relief? There was a certain calmness that Osamu had been lacking lately, like a Tuesday morning where he finally, begrudgingly, gave himself an extra day off.

It wasn’t until you felt liquid dip down your neck that you realized you were crying.

Dark hair sweetly tussled to the side, one hand held in Atsumu’s and the other loosely laid over his chest. The scene was a rewind to the past, a replica of a childhood stored in the photo albums you’ve perused more than once in the Miya family home, when sharing beds and staying up until dawn led them to sleeping in until noon. When was the last time you’d seen him so… calm?

If only there weren’t any bandages on his head. If only it didn’t take these kinds of circumstances to finally close his eyes, to allow himself an unlabored breath.

You pulled up a chair and situated yourself amongst them. Atsumu at Osamu’s right, and you at Atsumu’s. Rolling a hand over Osamu’s thigh, you tucked the blankets in, pressed it into the crevices, his soft body heavy under your ministrations. Neither of them noticed you. Osamu only shuffled slightly, tilted his knee to the side and then clenched Atsumu harder. Atsumu responded immediately and scooted in. You stayed beside them, observed from the side.

There was no bitterness to your actions. What they have is something different and sincerely, for them to even love you so much that their bond bent, that they made themselves flexible to fit you in, it had always been enough.

Atsumu was who you called when you couldn’t talk sense into Osamu. And Osamu was who you turned to when Atsumu’s pride refused to allow him to fully run to his brother.

Ma came later. She brought a matcha swiss roll for the both of you to share and Atsumu a complete bento. It roused both of her boys up. Atsumu woke up first.

He rubbed his eyes with the back of his left hand, the one still joined with Osamu’s and though he woke with his nose in the air, his freehand started reaching for you the moment he recognized you were there.

Your tears brought on his. His yours. Yours Ma’s. You held each other close and you whispered, because Atsumu could not bring himself to speak, words of consolation.

“He looks okay,” you muttered, eyes closed because you couldn’t chance a glance to look at him, to really, really look at him. “He’s going to be fine. He’s so stubborn. He’s going to be okay.”

Whether the words were salt or sugar on wounds, it was hard to tell because all that emptied from anyone’s eyes were tears.

No one expected to be here. Who did? Even when you watched Osamu sign the insurance policy and signed your name next to his just in case something happened. Something could never happen to you or Atsumu or Ma or Osamu. These were precautions to ease the heart, not the premise of a tragedy.

But even then, it would be dishonest for you to admit that Osamu’s accident was the most devastating part. You’re only being truthful because true pain began when Osamu woke up.

Atsumu noticed first. Even with his back to his brother, it was instinct that forced him to turn around. His groggy eyes were barely open. You could only see a slit of gray, drowsy and clouded like an overcast morning as his hand patted the edges of his bed as if in search of something. Of Atsumu.

The dutiful brother forewent everything. You, his ma, his bento, and immediately bent down to reach for his brother with both hands. He was at his side immediately, a cup of water brought to Osamu’s parched lips without a word before you could even recognize that Osamu was awake and against all disbelief, that he looked okay.

You took the napkin that was neatly folded atop of Atsumu’s bento, the one that had somehow been passed onto you and quickly made your way to Osamu’s side. To Atsumu’s side. And when Atsumu’s hand pulled back and Osamu resigned himself to a weary groan, eyes shut to take a physical break from all the hurt you were sure he was feeling, you handed Atsumu the napkin. He wiped the corner of his brother’s mouth with a gentleness you had never seen him bear.

An eerie silence persisted in the room as everyone held their breath. Osamu did so because of the aches and everyone else as a life vest because one wrong exhale felt like this reality could slip away.

It did. Frighteningly quick. Relief dissolved from your chest like cotton candy in water and all was left was this cloying and overbearing feeling of inconsolable despondence and disbelief because how? How did you end up here?

Osamu flinched when you pressed your hand against his thigh, a quick jerk that you surmised had to do with the fact that he had his eyes closed. You twisted your palm and stroked up, a move that you had done many, many times before, a premise to sex, a plea for comfort, and instead of him falling prey to your touch, he jerked out of your reach. There wasn’t even enough time for you to react because Atsumu had gripped your hand away between clammy fingers.

You looked between the two boys with a heart going brittle.

“What’s wrong, Samu?”

Said man took one quick glance at you before settling his gaze on his brother and a foreign expression passed him. Insecurity. He pressed himself deeper into his pillows and it forced Atsumu forward and you back as Osamu passed a glance to his mother.

He looked like a boy. And between exchanging glances at his mother and brother, Osamu couldn’t seem to find it in himself to return his gaze back to you.

Atsumu gripped his brother’s shoulder, “Samu, Samu. It’s okay. I’m here. We’re here.”

Osamu responded silently with a glazed stare that made Atsumu sputter. “Samu? Ya feel okay? Can ya tell me how ya feeling right now?”

The question seemed far too much to handle because all that was received was silence. Atsumu was hardly holding himself together with the tears that spilled from his eyes onto blotted, pink cheeks but you couldn’t bring yourself to move forward. You wanted to help carry this burden, hold Osamu like you’d done many times before, but the world felt skewed. Instead of being at his bedside, you felt like you were standing outside a window, watching the scene from a distance.

“Do ya… do ya know who I am?”

Ma broke first. You remember reaching backwards and gripping a wet hand full of used tissues, the fibers sticking to your skin.

“Samu. Samu.” Atsumu repeated his name over and over again like prayer, an incantation meant for miracles. “Samu. Say my name.”

“Tsumu.” The small croak was accompanied by the mildest glare, a small fire of insult always and specifically reserved for his brother and Atsumu choked.

“Fuck. Yeah, yeah, yeah. That’s me. Ya remember our birthday?”

“October.”

“What day?”

His face pinched momentarily.

“What day, Samu?”

“What happened?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Atsumu tried to deflect, “just try to think about it. What day is our birthday, Samu?”

“Atsumu…” Ma finally gained the strength to speak, a tiny chide that she was too exhausted to actually give any weight.

“Fifth,” Osamu pushed himself to sound out, like the word was a foreign tongue.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Atsumu brushed his brother’s hair with his fingers and the sight was disconcerting because despite how close they were, how they were one part of a whole, they had never been so careful. A childhood of roughhousing and testing limits proved invincibility.

Bruises and beatings and cuts that they wrought on eachother and yet there Atsumu was, tending to his brother as if he’d been his caretaker all his life.

“Ya recognize anyone else in the room?”

“Course I recognize Ma, ya idiot.” He coughed in between, stutters forming one worded sentences, but the attitude brought on the brightest smile on Atsumu’s face.

“Yeah, and who else?”

You remember moving to lift your hand, the one pressed against your lips to keep them from trembling, the one that wasn’t holding Ma’s, to provide a shy wave but thank the gods it stayed. Because when Osamu finally urged himself to look at you, instead of the ardor and the sweet groggy expression right before early morning kisses, he winced in pain. You muffled the sound of shock, but no one noticed with Atsumu’s screeching chair as he rushed to hover over Osamu’s anguished figure.

He writhed for an achingly long moment, though it must have been just seconds. You would have ran off if Ma didn’t force her grip on you tighter but once Osamu could melt back into his hospital bed, Atsumu turned his head.

His expression was tight and so desperately trying to be controlled despite himself. But you weren’t an idiot because beyond the glassy edge of hurt and worry and fear, if you dove deeper beneath the well of tears that pooled in his eyes, was blame.

Atsumu turned his back to you and pressed his brother’s head into his chest as he rubbed large strikes across his back. “It’s okay, Samu. Sorry I pushed ya. Ya did well. Ya did good. Ya gonna be okay.”

And before Ma could stop you, you ran out the door with the excuse that you were going to find a doctor. You turned down the hallways, heedless of direction, where you were able to find what you thought was a secluded cove. The torment was gushing, a pain that you’d never felt or could even begin to understand. No matter how you expelled the misery, in tears or heaves or wracked out sobs, the hurt never abated. It was limitless.

Because for some ridiculous reason, this felt like all your fault.

You were only able to spend minutes crouched in the privacy of your corner until a nurse found you. It must have been a usual sight because she hovered over you, a quiet calm in her voice, as she led you away with a bottle of juice in one hand and into a room where no one else was. She said nothing, only passed napkins your way and didn’t blame you when you couldn’t find it in yourself to express gratitude. Afterward, she pointed down a long hallway and told you that when you were ready, that’s where the waiting room was.

Ma came by maybe an hour later. The pain at that point had swelled into your marrow, aching at every movement you made, but the bubbling river of tears had turned shallow. Now they were silent streams. You had spent the last half hour in solidarity with the teen who cried to her mom over the phone, catching glances every time a sniffle turned wet, and seated in the spot with a lingering guava and menthol scent.

Ma sat where the grandmother had, you beside her. Without glancing up, she placed the matcha roll in your hands, half eaten but notably uneven because you had the larger half.

Her touch lingered. It stayed. When it prompted more crying, the reality that you were a pitiable sight, that this wasn’t just shared between you and the girl with her arm around her stomach and the wordless nurse, the swollen bones in your body bursted.

Ma’s cold hands easily maneuvered you into her bosom. She held like you’d seen her hold Osamu in pictures when he was sick, like how she held Aran when he cried after coming back home after being away for so long.

“We’ll get through this.”

It sounded like an empty sentiment but if anyone were able to make the impossibles come true, it was Ma and Ma alone. You barely believed her, but maybe. Most likely not, but maybe, she was right.

So you nodded into her chest but she only clicked her tongue behind her teeth.

“Together,” she told you sternly, “as a family. I don’t want to hear none of that.” Ma held you tighter when she felt you pull away. “Ya’ve been my daughter for a long time now. Even if the two of ya never got married.”

You’d been trying to be so strong. For Osamu because it was obvious. He was your partner for life, and though the vows were never spoken, you had lived them. For all the good, the bad, the happy, and the sick.

But Atsumu, his pain was tenfold and you had to do something, even if it was to tread the thorny footpath to be by his side, even if it was just your hands cupped open so you could help carry his misery.

Then Ma held you like she was strong enough to piece you together again and you trusted her. Your wails were muffled into her cardigan and she rocked you back and forth despite the arms of the uncomfortable chairs in the way.

“It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t–” your breath ceased, words lingering in the air because living it is already unbearable enough.

“He does.”

“He doesn’t.”

“Ya think a love like the two of ya had is that easy to forget?”

It wasn’t. Or at least, it wasn’t supposed to. But the way Osamu had winced in pain at the sight of you, and Atsumu’s imperceptible glare, maybe it was best to be forgotten.

Ma took your silence as agreement because the circle of her arms loosened. She pulled back so that she could wipe your tears with a bent index finger.

It was jarring seeing the puffy rise below her eyes. She had always been beautiful in your opinion. A simple charm for life and the zest derived from raising two wildly vivacious boys kept her young. In a single day, she aged a decade and you wondered how you compared.

“The doctor is on their way. Come on,” she tapped you the same way she did whenever Atsumu started an unnecessary argument, “let’s go see what they have to say.”

Atsumu’s expression flashed in your mind, hesitation clenched her cardigan tighter, “but Atsumu…”

“Don’t be mad at Atsumu,” your throat had lurched when she looked away from you, head tilted to the side as if you had just slapped her across the face. “He’s going through a lot. He doesn’t know what to do.”

And you remember how your grip relaxed, how your arms had fallen into your lap, diminutive and so, very exhausted. Never did it cross your mind to be angry at the way any of them ached. Not Ma, not Atsumu, and especially not Osamu. If there was anyone you hated, it was yourself for even being there.

Ma said you were family. But Atsumu and Osamu, of course, they would always be her boys.

Osamu was asleep when you reentered the room and Atsumu held your hand as if nothing had ever happened. He stood up immediately when the doctor stopped by, eyes forward. Something had changed that day. Atsumu was a different man.

He’d have neverending stories of when he was captain at Inarizaki, and he liked to pass time by retelling another instance where he had to wrangle control of Bokuto, or Sakusa, or Hinata. Atsumu’s passion and sense of righteousness were great qualities for a leader, but his clumsy delivery always made him the butt of Osamu’s (among others) jokes.

That day had changed him. His footfall was sure despite his blemished expression as he listened faithfully to the doctor, only ascertaining everything you had already deduced.

It all made sense, logically, scientifically, situationally.

The fire was still being investigated but from the report, it had loosened the foundation of Onigiri Miya and it caused a beam from the ceiling to strike him flat against the head. He’d been knocked unconscious before the flames could even consume the restaurant and if it hadn’t been for the regulars and the community that had memorized their favorite restauranteur’s habits, no one would have even known he was inside.

As you all waited for Osamu to come to again, you’d rationalized the incident repeatedly in your mind. Reality though, was never as kind.

Because even in the tepid fluorescent light, you couldn't convince yourself. This could not be real.

It’s not. You knew this, but Osamu spoke with such vindication, honesty in every breath that even he had you fooled.

“Ya traded out Kageyama when we were six points down in the second set.” Osamu recited to his brother at his bedside, in the same spot, in the same clothes, in the same battered expression. “And I remember cheering ya on from the bench when ya set the winning point to Aran against Russia.”

The silence that followed was cold. A shiver started at the dip of your shoulder blades, and wrung you out like a towel squeezed dry.

The doctors had said something like this would happen. Memories could return a little misplaced, as if you had just moved everything two inches to the left because it exactly was as Osamu said.

In the 2020 Olympics, Japan faced Russia in the first round. They won the first set, but struggled hard in the second. To prevent risking their lead, Kageyama was subbed out for Atsumu. The tides had turned and they won with Aran scoring the last point.

Yes, Osamu was there. But rather than on the bench, he was outside the arena. You were manning the register and he’d stepped outside the final moments of the match, standing there with his arms crossed like a dad, cap in one hand, and head tilted at the enormous screen that streamed the ongoing match inside.

Atsumu was the one who made the first sound. It was strangled and faded when his brother gave him a peculiar look. Then he glanced at his mother, urging answers out with his eyes, staring at everything before landing at you. His face contorted in pain, but Atsumu saved him. He grabbed his brother’s cheeks, hair glued to his skin, and he pressed his forehead against his brothers, and nodded.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what happened.”

That was the extent of what you could take and you ran out of the room, droplets of your tears mingling with the tile’s speckled pattern, and when the door clicked again, you didn't have to look up to know who it was.

“I’m sorry.”

Through your blurry vision, the world graying, darkness descending right before your eyes, it was like you were speaking to Osamu himself.

“He looks happy for the first time and I’m so sorry.” The Atsumu-Osamu amalgamation held your hands desperately.

Their individualism had always been easy to parse, especially with you being devotedly in love with one and having developed a brotherly affection for the other, but you allowed yourself this. If your heart must break, let Osamu herald this pain. No one else.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He pulled you in by the shoulders and hugged you. He sniveled wet breaths into your neck just as you darkened the cloth on his back. “It’s the first time I feel whole.”

The sting reappeared between your nose and you found it harder to breathe so you clutched him tighter in a feeble attempt to expel all the excess tension that had ballooned in your chest.

“I know.”

Though the fact did little to ease you, you'd never been able to compare. What is Osamu’s had always been Atsumu’s and vice versa, too. Joint custody in all things: pride, success, pain.

Memory.

“And I don’t want to break that yet. Not for him.” Not for me he said silently. “And I love ya and I know ya love him. Ya love him so much and he loves ya too but–”

But I love him more. I love him in a way you could never.

“I know.”

Osamu would pinch your lips shut if he were really here. He’d never stand for your way of thinking because comparing yourself to his brother was a thought he never entertained.

That’s like apples to oranges or whatever that saying is. I chose ya. I choose ya for the rest of my life and I just happen to be stuck with that guy for life.

You took Atsumu’s face in your hands. Wet cheeks stuck to your fingers as you collected tears along your lash line until the world blurred just enough that blonde turned dark brown and golden rays faded to gray.

“- but I don’t want to take this away from him yet. Ya heard the doctor. He said we could try some exposure therapy so that his memory can unwonk itself out again, but ya saw that didn’t ya?”

Tears burned down your chin when you gave a somber nod, “I did.”

“When he was talking about being in the Olympics, I… I just–” he bit his lip, the memory painful, “ –and he got all those details correct, I just couldn’t tell him no.”

“I know.”

You couldn’t either.

“We’ll start the therapy when everything settles down. Maybe he’ll start remembering things on his own but it’s been a lot for him to deal with. The injuries, his memory, the shop–”

You shook your head and the man before you paused. He looked surprised with his mouth open for breath, but the foremost expression did not hide how he felt yesterday.

Your thumb started at the plump of his face and swiped up to the ridges of his cheekbones. A clean slate.

“It’s okay. Osamu will be okay.”

Your love was Osamu’s choice. Atsumu’s will always be shared.

After that day, you kept your presence minimal. Only occasionally stopping by, slowly relinquishing the things that the old Osamu, the one that knew you, valued. Each time, he’d hold the item like it was foreign. You watched from the corner of the room, like a diminutive decoration, maybe even a broom, and spectated as Atsumu helped him pull item after item.

The black hoodie, stained at the cuffs, and chewed strings at the ends, the one he had first shared with you.

(The night descended softly, like the flutter of silk sheets, and before you knew it, you’d been in Osamu’s front seat talking nonsense and sharing an assortment of leftovers he’d brought from Onigiri Miya. You’d only been talking for a couple of weeks, slowly getting to know each other outside of customer and cook, but it’s been months of patronage. When Osamu texted you after his shift and found you still awake despite your early start the next morning, he invited you out for a drive.

You’d heard him before he arrived, the worn out truck of his announcing his presence. He had the audacity to apologize for the poor state his vehicle was in, as if it wasn’t endearing, as if he didn’t make you feel like a princess when he held his hand across the console for leverage.

And here you are now, at a hilltop overlooking a beautiful city you’d moved to in a drowsy silence. His presence is calming, a knitted blanket that softens the bite of the night air. It doesn’t stop you from shivering though.

Osamu notices immediately, head snapping to you when you do.

“Ya cold?” he asks, but regardless of your answer, he’s taking action. The man braces a hand around your bare thigh since you’d only come out in sleep shorts and shirt (though you still made sure to check yourself in the mirror before heading out) and just the warmth beneath his touch makes you ache. You lean closer, just a slight movement over the console for any residual heat he has to offer, the seats of his vehicle a sharp contrast.

“Still working on fixing her,” Osamu explains, “she’s a little off in some spots. Her heater don’t work and she leaks some fluid every hundred kilometers but she’s still a beaut.”

Your smile makes Osamu pause. His body is turned as he tries to reach for something in the back, but just the sight of your expression makes him stop and fully face you so he can take it in.

You think it’s cute how he talks about his car, how despite all her flaws, he can see her value. The world has been hard on you, but he gives you hope. From the moment you met eyes on him at your office and when you walked into his shop months later, greeting you with a fond welcome because he remembered you, he makes you think that he can see your true value too.

And with the way he leans in, his eyes glancing between yours and your lips, his hand unknowingly dragging up and down for the feel of more skin, you think he does.

The kiss is chaste, so innocent like the first drop of sunlight in the winter. It warms you from the inside out with a crisp feeling that makes you feel renewed.

Barely a second, but Osamu has you wishing for more. You’ve noticed he has a tendency to do that, to have you eager and hungry for all that he has to offer. How from just one bite of his catered food to your office, you couldn’t help but visit his shop as well.

Though your lips have parted, your faces have not. Osamu’s lashes are long from this point of view, and his skin looks lovely in the moonlight. You’re so close that you can see the small veins, blue and greens below his eyes. The colors are so distracting, his breath so warm across your cheeks, you can’t help but stare, memorize everything before the chance to do so again is taken from you.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

His husky words create a vortex of desire, consuming you wholly. You can’t help but squirm in your seat.

“Like what?” You’re doing your best to keep it cool, but you can hear the fray in your voice, reedy and needy and wanting. It’s scary to even think of the power he has over you.

“Like,” his pause forces you to glance at him and you see it too, a mirrored expression of yearning. It’s so intense the way your barriers break. It’s scary. You want to pull away, escape the emotions that are hardly within your control but he tilts your chin with an index finger and thumb. The motion is so gentle, the slightest touch with the heaviest of meanings, and he continues to stare. Maybe even admire. “Yeah, like that. Ya gonna make me go insane.”

“Me too,” you whine. It’s unfair, so unfair what he can do just with his eyes.

His expression hardens. The corners of his eyes crinkles as he glares his sight down on you, “don’t. If I kiss ya again, I don’t know if I can control myself. Ya don’t know how bad I want ya.”

“I’m right here.”

Your reply induces a vexed response. He has to breathe heavily through his nose as he fully moves his fingers to cup your cheeks. You watch as his chest rises, the breadth of it expanding as the tendons in his neck protrude at the action. Then he looks down on you from a head that’s tilted back and you see it, the subdued hunger that you’re sure he’s trying to persuade back inside. It’s frighteningly beautiful. The attraction beckons you forward despite his grip on your face keeping you still in your spot.

“Why?” You have to ask. What is all this discipline for when clearly, it’s reciprocated.

“Because,” Osamu grits. His hand travels to the back of your head and you can feel the strength of his grip, the promise of more beneath his fingertips. “If I’m gonna wreck ya, I’m gonna wreck ya right. So quit being the devil’s little thing, and let me take ya out on a real date so I can have ya properly.”

You pout but his thumb moves to push the plump of your lips back in, “no, ya hear me? Ya keep those pretty lips in. Be good and I’ll promise I’ll treat ya even better. Ya okay with that?”

His dominance, the assuredness in his words but the ragged pitch in his voice, as if he’s hardly holding himself together, as if he wants this just as bad, or maybe even more than you do has you finally agreeing despite the fact that you’d give it all. Forget the shame or the ladylike propriety of saving yourself for when you’re sure. Lust is a persuasive speaker, but Osamu, he is a promise you want to ensure you’ll have.

“Good,” Osamu is pleased with your ascent.

His attention returns to his back seat and he pulls out a black hoodie for you to put on. When you pop your head through the collar, you don’t expect the confident man to suddenly be so bewildered, mouth agape and wrist hanging dumbly from the 12 o’clock position of his steering wheel.

“What?” you ask though you know the answer. It’s a giddy feeling to know there is a power balance between the two of you.

“Ya, uhm, ya,” Osamu coughs into his hand, turning his head away before looking back at you. “That shit’s old. All stained up and ragged but. Ya make it look good.”

You look down, sleeves well past your hands where you notice blots littering the cuffs. You can’t help but bring the strings up to eye level. There are teeth marks indenting the aglet and you give Osamu a dubious stare.

He shuffles, a nervous chuckle, “like to chew on them sometimes. Keeps my mouth busy.”

Then without a second thought, you bring it to your mouth to chew it on your own. If he won’t kiss you, an indirect kiss has to suffice. His agonized groan is worth it.

Osamu takes you out on an official date the very next day.)

Osamu spared one second for the article of clothing and tossed it to his night stand. You pretended that he didn’t just break your heart.

The next item was Vabo-chan, but not the same one Osamu had brought into your shared apartment. That one faced its demise after a neighbor’s dog ran inside when you accidentally left the door open and used it as a chew toy.

(“What are ya doing on the floor like that?” you hear the door to your bedroom creak but petulantly refuse to acknowledge him. His steps thud, hollow over the cheap wood of your home.

“Hey,” he nudges you with his foot, “ya asleep? Ya gonna hurt ya back if ya stay like that.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Are ya crying?”

“No!” Denying but not hiding, you curl into yourself even further.

Osamu bothers this time to actually hold you with his hands, gentler, more patient. He softens his tone too, “hey, hey. What are we doing?”

He waits for you to react, doesn’t continue pressing further and refuses to leave you alone.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” you lift your head up, fresh tears as you admit your failure. You expect Osamu to comfort you, abate the sting of your own proclamation. He stares at you for a moment before he starts laughing in your face.

“You hate me!”

“Hey, now that’s going too far. I don’t hate ya.”

“But you think I’m stupid.”

“Just occasionally. Like when ya make impulse decisions.”

Hearing him makes you scream into your palms. Osamu laughs and urges you into his lap.

“What’d ya do?”

He’s so mean to know you so well, all the good and the bad.

“Tell me. So we can cry together.”

You press your face into his shirt, using it as a napkin to wipe away your tears, ignoring his mild grunt of disgust when you do. “Remember when Vabo-chan got eaten? Well I bought you a new one to replace him because you were sad.”

“Did ya?” His voice sounds so surprised, it makes breaking the bad news feel even worse. “That’s mighty nice of ya. Doesn’t make ya stupid.”

“Okay, but—“ You scramble off him, knee digging into his thigh that he makes a noise of pain, to get a box tucked underneath the bed. Your hand runs across the frayed cardboard where it had ripped open from your excitement. Hesitation stops you but Osamu places his palm on top of yours. Careful and encouraging and though you know he’s going to laugh at you, you finally open it up but stop yourself by placing a hand on top of the item.

“I was so excited! Because they don’t sell him anymore, just the vintage ones that are super expensive.”

“I know.” He’d been talking about it with Atsumu and his Ma, conversations you’d overheard on the phone.

“But I saw it and it was super affordable so I bought it without thinking, but,” you look up at him and he smiles. It makes you hide your face in the box but he’ll eventually admit to you later on how cute you had looked then. How distraught you were on his behalf and that then, in that moment, he’d truly felt loved. “Don’t laugh!”

“I won’t.”

Your constant hesitation brings on Osamu’s impatience and he tries to pry your fingers away, “okay. Seriously. Don’t laugh or I’ll cry.”

“I told ya, I won’t.”

The plush comes out on your own accord and before he has any time to process the sight, you begin overexplaining. “It’s a counterfeit! They gave him a nose and his name is Bavo-kun. I’m so stupid!”

Osamu’s too quiet, expression unreadable as he looks at the stuffed toy. Your heart is teetering on the edge of a cliff, so close to falling off and on the verge of tears once again. Then he bellows out a solid bellow from the gut. Before you can crumble into embarrassment, Osamu pulls you back against him, squishing stupid Bavo-kun between you two and holding you tightly against his chest.

“I love him,” his voice turns wistful. “Bavo-kun.”

“I hate him. He’s so ugly.”

“That ain’t right to say about ya kid.”

“What?”

“Look at him.” His eyes fall to your chests, forcing you to take in the hideous sight of your failings. “He’s got ya nose.”

“That is not funny, Miya Osamu.”

“Oh no, Bavo-kun. She used my full name. What are we gonna do? Ma’s mad.”

You slap his chest. Bavo-kun is collateral damage, “don’t call me that!”

Osamu’s humor is all sorts of fucked up. His laughter is excessive, shaking the both of you that he loses his balance and you guys fall to the floor. A hand of his comes to cup your cheek, acting as a buffer before you thud onto the ground and with your heights at the same level, tears drying out, you can finally see his expression clearly.

He reminds you of gemstones at moonlight, the sparkle of something beautiful. Light cannot replicate it, only refract it. And though it’s close-lipped, his smile pulls you back from the edge, melts you to the ground and anchors you back with him.

“I love this life,” Osamu confesses, “This family. I love ya and our little mishap.”)

The way Osamu’s eyes had lit, you couldn’t help but clasp your mouth to hide the smile that blossomed beneath. It was devastating how despite it all, his joy elicited yours.

“Vabo-chan!” Osamu looked to his brother in an eager excitement. “Remember how we begged Ma to buy us this when we were little?”

“Yeah. Then we had a sleepover every night with the four of us. Tucked them in with their own pillow too”

Osamu lifted up the plush’s hands, fondness tight in his expression. His eyes roamed, though they were elsewhere, remembering the memories he never lost.

“Wait a second,” Osamu’s expression hardened. His hands traced over the lines on the Bavo-kun’s face, flipped him over to read the tag, and when it didn't provide the information he wanted, he turned the toy over again to face it directly. “This ain’t Vabo-chan. The hell is this fake shit?”’

Atsumu was quick to return to damage control the way he had been these past couple of days. He plucked the toy and tossed it to a chair on the side and told Osamu not to worry, that Vabo-chan was back in Osaka in Atsumu’s home because Osamu was kind enough to lend him his when Atsumu left the one he owned on an airplane.

New memories. Fake memories.

Lies.

You were out before anyone could stop you. Not that either of the boys would have since in the midst of this whole facade, all you were was a burdensome truth.

You laid in bed accompanied with misery. The emotion made for a poor cuddle partner but it kept you company as you shivered and wailed into pillows that hardly smelled like the Osamu who knew you anymore.

Ma called. The image of her worried eyes made you answer, but when she’d update you about Osamu, how she’d first tell you he was getting better and then, as if an afterthought, urged you to visit him, you didn’t have the heart to tell her that you didn’t want to hear it.

So you started ignoring her calls. She was persistent, as expected of a woman who raised a set of rowdy boys all on her own. She knocked on your door between two minute intervals, called and texted in the gaps between and you made excuses like you were busy working over time to catch up on the job you’d left behind.

All untrue because you’d emailed your supervisor that you’d be on an indefinite leave of absence with no explanation. There was no part of you ready to meld back into the real world again. Your world had ended, your existence ceased and now it was your duty to find your place again.

Ma’s final message was an update that Osamu was getting discharged from the hospital. She mentioned that the family would be moving to Osaka at Atsumu’s insistence. She wanted you to come by before they left.

You didn’t.

With the money you’d gotten from selling Osamu’s food truck, a phone with a dying battery lost beneath your bed, you traveled in the opposite direction to Okinawa.

It was supposed to be healing. You were supposed to recreate a new identity here, find yourself in the beaches, among the company of strangers, smoothened into fine stone and drawn back to shore after getting caught in the riptide.

But here you are, with misery steeped so deep within your bones that it’s turned you bitter.

You leave your budget lodging only because your stomach tells you to and the measly mini fridge of your studio had nothing but flat soda. There’s no reason to look in the mirror, a quick scrub across your face is enough to remove the crust from your eyes and dried drool from the corner of your lips.

The convenience store is just around the corner from your temporary home. You’ve been trying to maintain your elusive nature, hoping you can leave the island as folklore, by limiting your patronage and entering the establishment at various times.

It’s the first time you smell fresh air, and admittedly, it does feel good against your skin. Much more palatable than your room which was already scented by mold when you entered. There’s birds singing and even the scent of smog excites your stale senses.

The world is so effortlessly beautiful.

And that’s what makes it so cruel.

You push your way into the convenience store, the aggressive movement rattling the bell above.

By your last visit, you’d memorized the aisles so you stroll on through with a single basket in hand. The thought process is careless as you pick out which shelf stable meals you’ll have for the week. It’s not until you reach the cold beverage section that this mundane visit turns into something interesting.

You squat to level yourself with the bottom shelf, debating whether or not you had the energy to carry a full twelve pack the half kilometer back. Just the thought of it hits you with a sudden feeling of fatigue that you cannot help but groan and press your forehead against the fridge door.

You’d spent the past two weeks alone so just the quiet call of your name has you jumping up defensively.

Akaashi looks down at you unimpressed.

“What are you doing here?” You look around, fearful that Atsumu or another one of Osamu’s volleyball confidants might be around. “Are you following me?”

Akaashi is an acquaintance at best, an Onigiri Miya fanatic at most. You hardly had a chance to have a conversation with the man when every time you saw him, he spent most of it with a face stuffed full of onigiri.

Your reaction flattens his expression even further.

“No, I did not take a three hour flight all the way to Okinawa only to watch you buy alcohol in your,” Akaashi pauses, “sleepwear.”

He has a point so you settle in the defeat by glaring at him.

“I am on a company retreat,” he finally explains. “You are far from home.”

“Retreat,” quick to use his verbiage, “yeah, I’m on a retreat, too.”

He eyes you then glances to the fridge door. You glance along with him and notice that the oils of your skin transferred onto the glass panel and do your best to hide your embarrassment with anger instead.

“What,” you challenge, feeling awfully prickly today and poor Akaashi is the one you get to take it out on. Who else? Certainly not Ma, or Atsumu, or Osamu or the nice landlord who handed you keys without question. Of course, you’re particularly nasty with yourself as of late, but if you can share the beating with someone like Akaashi whose deadpan nature is persevering, then so be it. Now that Osamu’s erased you from his life, it’s not like your social circles will ever collide again.

“You look…” Akaashi doesn’t spare you any grace. His eyes roam over your figure, disgust especially contorting his features when he witnesses the sight of your shoddy pants that have seen better days. In fairness, so have you. “Maudlin.”

Despite not knowing the definition of the word, you gather context from just the tone of his voice and it immediately makes you frown.

Defensive, you’re quick to retort. Because who is he, baggy eyed Akaashi, hangnail ridden Akaashi, squinty and blind Akaashi, no owning hairbrush Akaashi, to speak of your current condition?

“And you look like your retreat isn’t retreating.”

You get up, discreetly rubbing your self portrait in sebum with a pants leg, and impulsively decide that you deserve the 12 pack thanks to this new inconvenience. The pack slams against the glass door when the suspension forces it back too quickly. Akaashi moves to help but you cast a glare before he can.

“I do not need help,” you supply.

His reply is nonplussed, “you do.”

“I don’t,” and now the corner decides to catch on the gasket. Akaashi ignores your small grunts and your quiet insistence, pulling the door wide open.

You thank him begrudgingly only because it’s the socially acceptable thing to do but the man doesn’t let you stray much further.

“What if I bought another pack?” That catches your attention. More liquor, less lucidity, less opportunity to remember you’re sad. It seems to be a curse these days, the power of memory, and for once, you think it’s quite unrelenting. “And I paid for your items? Will you let me camp out wherever you’re staying?”

“There’s only one bed.”

“The floor is fine.”

“It smells like mold.”

“Let’s buy a candle before we leave.”

There’s a desperation that you recognize, a solidarity between two persons barely hanging on and the least bit put together. It shouldn’t be so exciting to find someone as miserable as you but isn’t that what they say? Misery loves company.

“Holy fuck,” you grin at him, sardonic, “I don’t remember liking you so much, Akaashi.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

It’s a stupid response, a very Akaashi response, so you giggle manically and kick a pack with the toe of your shoe.

“Grab the 24 pack. We’ve got some retreating to do.”

Akaashi is running away from his responsibilities and so are you. He locks himself in your studio without a mention of its disarray and happily sleeps on the flat futon provided by your temporary landlord with a single fitted sheet and your neck pillow. The amenities offered are quite militant, but considering the price point, you cannot complain and neither does Akaashi.

Neither of you mention what sorts of horrors plague your sleep, a respect for each other’s privacy, because despite enjoying his company, life did not bring you two together out of kindness.

There’s a reason why the underneath of his eyes have swelled to a charcoal gray the same way you cannot help but begin your mornings with a beer. The two of you watch reruns of old childhood shows and every so often, Akaashi wordlessly gets up to go outside for a smoke. You thank the heavens there’s no balcony so you wouldn’t have to face the familiar sight of a back lazily bent over a railing and the slow wisp of smoke. He comes back inside with the hint of tobacco on him and you think he’s noticed how it makes you choke because the first thing he does is wash his hands before sitting next to you again.

He chooses to abide by the code of silence until the fifth day. It’s an evening where the bed has been stripped bare, the room emptier than it already is.Your dirty clothes had been piling up but it had been a struggle to clean them when laundry felt like a hug, the firm press of a collar and a lost nape. The two of you lie on the floor and bide time while you wait for the linens and whatever paltry laundry either of you have dry.

Akaashi dons a white undershirt and sleep shorts, you in a shirt that doesn’t belong to you. It doesn’t belong to anyone actually, because its owner has abandoned it too.

He holds a half eaten Okinawa style onigiri in his hand and the sight is so familiar you don’t pay him any mind. Your thoughts are gluey from the alcohol so it takes an extra line for the jokes to settle. Laughter is muffled by your forearms where you’ve placed your chin, laying on your belly and big toe tracing a gap between tiles on the floor.

Even the sound of Osamu’s name takes longer to process.

But you still remember. You devotedly will.

“These onigiris taste different from Myaa-sam’s,” Akaashi says beside you.

You lay a cheek on your arm and look up at the cross legged man. He finally got his glasses and other belongings from his previous room yesterday. A smile is already plastered on your face because the liquor makes Akaashi funnier than usual.

The joke never comes.

“Did you ever want to talk about it?”

His question prompts self reflection. Talk about what? What was there to say when the two of you have been so busy running. Immediately, you scramble to get up onto the smooth surface of the stripped mattress to put some distance between you two.

“That’s why you’re here, right?”

Beneath glasses, Akaashi’s eyes have a pointed edge to them.

“What do you know?” It’s suddenly so cold now with the space between you and there’s nothing to cover you up. You can only pull your knees to your chest.

“Nothing.” Akaashi turns to look at the TV. He watches the scene play out until it cuts to a commercial. “Atsumu doesn’t say anything. He’s been uncharacteristically tight lipped.”

Akaashi says uncharacteristically but you’re not surprised at all. This sounds exactly like the Atsumu you know now. It fouls your mood and has you reaching for your emotional support sake from the nightstand.

“He tells everyone to entertain Osamu lest he get a traumatic episode.”

“You’ve seen him?”

“No,” Akaashi watches your face deflate so he tacks on that Bokuto has.

Tension coils the muscles along your bones. It makes you feel frigid so you gulp down the rice wine in hopes that it warms you up from the inside out. Akaashi only watches. He never mentions your drinking habits. You don’t say anything about his smoking tendencies. These were the boundaries you were supposed to respect, but the man keeps on pushing.

“I heard you sold the food truck.”

“How else could I afford all this luxury?” Your hands stretch out to broadcast the shoebox the two of you call home.

He’s used to your defensive sarcasm by now, only taking a singular bite from his onigiri. “So the branch in Tokyo?”

You laugh. “Not happening.”

Then you finish the whole bottle with an aggressive gulp. You flatten yourself against the bare mattress. You ignore him, pretend you’re alone, pretend you’re okay, and you accept the dizzying fall into slumber.

When you wake, the laundry is brought in. It smells exactly like down and a headache. The digital clock on the nightstand tells you it’s midnight so you drink a bottle of water and work on fitting the sheets to the bed. For your efforts, you reward yourself with another can of beer. Then another. It only takes two for you to fall asleep again.

The both of you don’t broach the topic. He reels you back in with a sense of normalcy, the routine of bumming it in front of the TV and the unhealthy eating habits. Even when you blurt out that onigiris are now banned from the house, he only provides a knowing blink.

Slowly, the space between you two skitters away. He coaxes you in like a stray with indifference and eventually, he’s sat cross legged in front of the TV while you lay next to him on your belly.

The duration of your lease is running out as the month dwindles away into repetition. There’s only a couple of days left but you’ve run out of alcohol and food. It’s a weekend night with prime time television over reruns and you’ve gotten particularly attached to this drama that you started halfway through so Akaashi and you head out one evening to prepare for the last couple days of indulgence.

You should have known Akaashi had something planned when he veered to the left with the excuse of wanting to try out a different store.

Once you heard the quiet roar of waves crashing, you had to pause. A rush of trepidation overcame you. Akaashi was already halfway through the crosswalk when he turned around and noticed you weren’t there. He urged you with his eyes, sharp still below the frames of his glasses. People walk around him and you cannot help but notice their peeved expressions. The sound of cars whiz past and the waves do nothing but recede and crash and it’s all so much to take in.

“No,” you shake your head.

You want to run but where do you go? Forward? Away? Where else because there is no going back.

The crosswalk sign starts blinking and there is renewed severity in Akaashi’s expression. He beckons you with an outstretched hand.

It reminds you of Atsumu, the way he had reached for you the first day at the hospital.

It reminds you of Osamu, the days he’d pull you out of bed when you slept in.

“Come with me,” Akaashi says.

That is all you need to go. The dramatics are uninhibited as you make your way to him, blind with your head bent as one wrist wipes away incessant tears and the other is extended to catch his hand. He takes it. It’s a foreign union with his spindly fingers that are long enough to twine around your wrist like a restrictive vine but you relinquish yourself to it.

Because, this whole time, all you’ve wanted is this: promised, unselfish companionship.

Akaashi leaves you on a bench and returns with meat pies bought from a nearby food truck. The smell of it saturates the area in an appetizing scent of fried deliciousness that has your stomach gurgling. You’ve not had a single healthy meal since you arrived in Okinawa but the alcohol you’ve imbibed religiously for the past few weeks welcomes the offering.

“Have you wondered yet what is going on with me?” A bus whips past you two with an uncomfortable gust of warm wind. You want to pretend that you didn’t hear Akaashi over the sound of the engine, but his silence is imploring.

“Always,” you say.

Akaashi entertains you with a small huff, “you could ask.”

“But then that would breach our secret NDA. Which you have breached by the way. You owe me another 24 pack.”

“Considering I no longer have a job, we might have to put that on hold.”

You reply only with a wide eyed surprise.

“I put in my resignation yesterday.” Akaashi admits. His hands glide up his thigh to clear the grease from his fingertips. “Do you want to ask questions now?”

There’s a lot of questions running through your mind. First of all, why? Why quit? What was the reason? Why did it take you in your pajamas buying alcohol before noon on a foreign island for him to do so?

“Yes, but I won’t.”

“You’re aberrant.”

“I’m assuming that means ridiculous.”

“Close.”

“Share whatever you want to share. I won’t…” you almost hand the crust of your meat pie to Akaashi out of habit. You press it into the napkin instead, crushing it with the pressure of your fingers. “I don’t want to force anything out of you if you’re not ready.”

Akaashi hums. It’s a sound similar to when the understanding of a concept finally dawns on someone. He kicks his long legs out. The Oxfords provide a bouncy noise and it’s only now that you see how aberrant Akaashi is. Near the ocean shore, he wears business casual dress with slacks and though unpressed, he still dons a button down with elbow pads. Freaking elbow pads. You must look ridiculous next to him in your novelty shirt and pajama shorts. It’s been difficult wearing anything that doesn’t have elastic lately and jeans leave for no room to breathe.

He pulls out his cigarettes from his breast pocket and when he remembers, he turns with a silent tilt of his head, asking permission to smoke. You only nod but turn your head away quickly. The gradual exposure to the smell is one thing, but the sight of him smoking might be another step you’re still not ready to take.

The cigarette crackles twice in two long inhales and he makes a point to blow in your opposite direction.

“I’m told that literary composition is not my forte.” You remain quiet, respecting the beginning of Akaashi’s soliloquy. “People tell me that I’m not meant to be an author. The world, actually. My short stories weren’t selling so I tried my hand at writing fanfiction for Meteo Attack, the manga I edit and hardly anyone read it. I even got hostile responses for my characterization.”

He needs another two inhales from the admittance. You don’t blame him.

“My boss and I had been working on a training plan the last two quarters so I could move to the literary department and the night before I met you, we were announced our placements for the next quarter. Mine didn’t change, still editor, still in manga. And when I asked, my boss said he’d be an idiot if he let me leave. I was too good at my job to change positions now. I went on a manic binge, slept through my alarms for the scheduled office activities, saw you, and figured you’d be the best excuse I could have to avoid my boss and coworkers for the rest of the trip.”

The sound of the lighter flicks once more. You listen to the quick initial inhale and the lengthy one that follows.

“My intention was never to quit. It was just like you said, retreat. I wanted to abscond myself of responsibilities for a moment but then I ate the onigiri I bought and I remembered. I remembered lots of late nights in Hyogo with you and Myaa-sam and Bokuto. And it made me think of you.”

“If it’s pity you’re offering, I don’t need it, Akaashi.”

“It’s not. I’m offering another contract. A business one.”

You turn to him and find that the smoker had finished his cigarette already. He gathered saliva in his mouth and discretely spit it on the floor before turning back to you.

“Let’s open Onigiri Miya up again.”

The idea sickens you because just the name of the restaurant brings back an onslaught of memories you’ve been trying to avoid. Osamu in his tight arm sleeves and black apron. His musk after a long night. His weary smile that would worry you only for a second until you realized it was satisfaction that compelled it more than anything. The sweet and salty scent of sticky rice and the starchy feeling on your hands whenever you would swirl your fingers in the buckets of dried grains that Kita would present to you. Long days, long nights, and Osamu, Osamu, Osamu.

“There’s no way. I have no clue how to even begin starting a business.”

“You say that but do you even know if your job will be there when you get back home?”

That was also another pertinent issue you were still planning to avoid.

“There is an Osamu out there right now who doesn’t even know that Onigiri Miya exists. The world is telling you you’re forgotten and there are people out there willing to accept it. But did you? Did you forget?”

His intensity brings on a delicate quality to your voice, “of course not.”

Osamu could forget you, but you? Forget him? The erasure of his existence was something so foreign of a thought that even just the mention of it strained your heart raw.

“I didn’t either. Do you want anyone else to?”

Your response is incomprehensible as you blow snot into your grease laden napkin but the point comes across. For all the weeks you and Akaashi have spent together in the apartment room, he touches you a second time ever, hand atop yours once more.

“Then let’s open Onigiri Miya back up.”

It’s minutes later until you can gather yourself up again and even longer for you to seriously entertain the idea. The night is quiet and you’re thankful there are no passersby to witness this embarrassing exchange.

You think of everyone that Osamu had brought into your life when you walked into his. All the customers and friends and neighbors that offered you joy and small gifts worth living for. Atsumu was okay with throwing it all away, abandoning it just like his high school motto had endorsed.

But they were the ones who found Osamu. They were the ones who saved him, who forced the firefighters to break down Onigiri Miya’s door when the fire began to consume. If not for the community he fostered, he would not have had the second chance he has today.

There’s an Osamu out there that does not love you, that you may never learn to love without being hurt, but there was an Osamu that was beloved by all. If you had to do it for anyone, you’d do it for him.

“Fine.” Akaashi does not move, eerily still as if to not startle you to backtrack. “We can give this a try.”

You settle in with your choice and finally, with a bit of courage, you ask “I know what I am getting out of this, but what are you?”

“A flexible schedule so I can write my novel,” the man beside you answers frankly. Then in a softer voice, he adds, “and maybe I can finally open that branch in Tokyo.”

You cannot help but crack an amused snort. Akaashi joins you with his singular chuckle.

“That seems ambitious.”

It is so grossly, overwhelmingly, exceedingly ambitious to run a restaurant and more so, to even consider a second location. Promises are easy to make on tear-stricken nights amongst the salty air of Okinawa, but back in Hyogo, the air is severely stifling.

Even with more than half a decade of partnership with Osamu, it is a steep learning curve managing all its operations. Your ex boyfriend did not make it seem easy. No, not with the long hours he’d pull or the days when he’d lash his frustrations on you. Some days, even seasons, happened to be more difficult than others but to have first hand experience all on your own is novel.

Akaashi moves in the day you guys arrive. The two week unofficial dry run makes the decision easy. He fills in the space that has been left behind, screens all the voicemails that you’d avoided when you were gone, and confirms that you are officially jobless by looking through your emails too.

What is better than one jobless, mid-twenty travesty who is one milligram of caffeine away from a breakdown? Two jobless, mid-twenty travesties who are one milligram of caffeine away from a breakdown. It’s a support system, hardly structural but functional enough.

It includes a lot of spontaneous frenzies, you and Akaashi both. He teaches you to be quite efficient with your distress. A prolonged yell helps relieve the pressure and it compels the other to join. You teach him the benefits of isolation. Sometimes, it’s simply best to take some space, to cast away the burdens for a night and relearn how to breathe.

It takes a year and a half to open the restaurant with the help of Onigiri Miya’s neighbors. Their support does not come without payment though. They ask questions you’re unprepared for and no response is ever safe. If you say you are fine, you’re scrutinized with a watchful eye, just waiting for proof of a lie. If you admit that you’re struggling, there’s pity. Some are more vocal about it than others, a patronization in their tone that never used to be there before.

The price may be steep, but it’s worth it because Hyogo ward was Osamu’s community. They carry the pieces of Osamu that you know, the ones that made the alleycats fat.

(Osamu frequently gets yelled at by the Shizuku, the florist, three doors down. She blames him for the rising cat population. Osamu laughs it off. He always did and frequently, there is a cheeky quip that follows. He says something about catnip.

Something like, “ya sure ya ain’t the one growing catnip in there?”

It taunts the woman even further, but malice never burns their interactions.

A grudge on Osamu, though easy to promise, is impossible to uphold. Not when he delivers a bouquet of onigiri right to her door the next day. Not when he accidentally tips a pot over while obnoxiously perusing through the abundance of greenery, hoping to find catnip within the collection. Not when he looks at her sheepishly, swiping his hands on his apron as if dusting away any evidence and says, “now how did that happen?”)

Shizuku’s a savior, by the way. If left to your own devices, Akaashi and you would work yourselves to the point of exhaustion but Shizuku comes in during lunch and always provides tea in plastic cups. Eventually those cups turn into a beautiful ceramic set when Kita drops off your first order of rice, a visit in disguise.

His barley eyes that were always warm to you darken at the sight of Akaashi. Their greeting is stiff which you thought just had to do with their taciturn personalities but it wasn’t until Kita pulled you into the alleyway, Akaashi left to finish painting the front, did you realize it was out of protectiveness.

“I was glad to hear from ya.” Kita leans against the waist high wall that separates two lines of shopping streets. “But I didn’t know how to feel when I found out ya were calling me about business.”

“I know,” you say, eyes cast down low. Kita has a way of making you feel guilty with so little words. He’s disappointed, you know despite his level tone, because you never called. What was there to discuss? You figured if Osamu could forget you, if Atsumu can cast you away, then there was nothing to expect out of his friends either.

“I won’t say anything because I know ya already feel bad but Gran and I were worried about ya. It’s good to know that you’re okay.”

You shrug. Okay is hardly what you’d describe yourself when you’re barely hanging on just like the threadbare sheets from the studio in Okinawa.

Kita crosses one muddy boot over the other, “and what ya got going on here, it feels like the right thing.”

It’s hard to make of what you feel, decipher the feelings that manifest inside because the days have not gotten any softer. The pain is ambiguous and persisting. Whenever you feel like you’ve made progress, another strain emerges like a new variant of the same virus. You’re doing this for Osamu. But Osamu…

“Have you talked to him lately?”

Kita’s lips line into a solemn expression. He stares you right in the eye and you hold yourself strong because you know he’s testing whether or not you can handle his answer.

“Not recently. Atsumu’s kept their distance from here. If I do see them, it’s when I stop by Osaka.”

“And…”

“And he’s good. He plans on going pro,” Kita shakes his head, “or Atsumu says, going back to pro. He tells him he took a break.”

You nod slowly. So that’s what you were. A break.

“But it ain’t him.”

The farmer’s voice is barely above a whisper and for some reason, it is gut wrenching. You have to lean against the wall with him in case you topple over. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it, the admittance that the Osamu you had was someone real. And maybe that’s why you’ll never be okay because you’re chasing after validation that has already been erased while he chases other things, of dreams unfulfilled.

“This,” Kita points to the restaurant in renovation, “this is him, but…”

He never finishes his sentence. The irony of it makes you laugh.

“Well I’ve got another delivery to drop but don’t be a stranger now. I’m serious. I ain’t letting ya. And visit Gran once in a while, will ya? She needs someone to talk to because I think she’s about had it with me.”

Kita hugs you goodbye and by the end of his visit, you think Akaashi’s gained his approval. When he leaves, he gifts the two of you the tea set. They are black with white and brown intricacies. Two of them have geometric blocking designs and the other two have one lone stalk of rice, bent gracefully by the wind.

Akaashi and you sign up for onigiri making courses where you eat them for every meal. So much so that even Akaashi of all people gets tired of it. The craft does not come easy to either of you despite your business partner’s penchant for it and Osamu’s intermittent lessons over the years. When you did help him out on the days he was short-staffed, Osamu would have you ring up customers up front, smoothly mentioning how your pretty face would help them rack up tips when you knew it was just to keep you out of the kitchen.

(He flusters you with a wink and an encouraging tap on the ass, laughing when you look back. He flings his glove into the trash can and makes his way to the handwashing station, thinking it was worth it just to see your cute pout. You know he’d wasted boxes of gloves since you’d been together just for one quick touch. Your eyes would be enraptured by the graceful jerks of his chest and the curl of his lips and later, at close, when the two of you were finally alone, he teases you about it. He asks you if you were hungry, what with the way you devoured him with your eyes. You bite his arm just to prove how hungry you were.)

“Quit drinking the mirin. That is foul and we need it.” He hides little revulsion in both tone and expression but your time with Akaashi has you immune to his harsh delivery.

You take another swig out of spite even if you didn’t plan on having another sip. It is, in fact, foul.

“This is the only thing that has alcohol in this apartment.”

Akaashi snatches the bottle with starchy hands. The residue imprints the shape of his palm onto the neck of the bottle, furthering his irritation. “Then drink something that does not have alcohol.”

“No,” you slump with your chin on the table, leveling your gaze with the practice oblongs you’ve just made. “I am sad.”

They’re lumpy and if they’re not lumpy, they are mushy. If they are not mushy, then the filling is peeking out. All in all, completely imperfect and not suited for a restaurant succeeding Onigiri Miya. Just the image of his disappointment discourages you because these were not up to his standards and certainly not to yours.

“We just need more practice,” Akaashi tries to console. “Maybe we could buy molds.”

“He didn’t use molds.”

“Unfortunate. We’re not Myaa-sam.”

“Neither is he.”

Akaashi doesn’t respond. You don’t say anything more either. If anyone is tired of your deploring, it is him and he already has to handle you enough. But it’s true, isn’t it? No one is Osamu anymore, not even the one out there who is probably doing practice sets in a gym, who wears a uniform that’s less than five years old, who has no recollection of you.

“Everyone’s going to be disappointed because it tastes nothing like the ones he used to make. They’re going to hate us for even disgracing his name.”

Akaashi’s had enough. He drops his practice roll, the heavy weight of the thud clattering the utensils on the table. You’re about to reprimand him but the man talks over you.

“Do you think that’s why people will come? Because of Osamu?”

The answer seems obvious that you can only gesticulate.

“Are you inane?”

That hasn’t been a word of the day so you haven’t learned that one yet but you can take a guess what the right answer is. “No?”

“People want to come and support you. Everyone knows Osamu’s gone off elsewhere doing whatever he is doing now. You’re the one honoring his memory. You’re the one keeping him alive. You are the reason they’d walk through our door now so get your act up.”

You glower like a child, unsure how exactly you feel. That sort of pressure seems daunting but comforting at the same time. You want to do him right. Is it really better than not even honoring him at all?

“You’re mean,” you settle on saying.

Akaashi clicks his tongue behind his teeth, “do you want to scream about it?”

You smile, “yeah.”

His mood lightens, “me too.”

“Okay, but it’s late already so we should probably scream in some pillows.”

“Yeah, that sounds right.”

The journey continues like that. Ups and downs. Ebbs and flows. Akaashi handles operations and finances. Your first job at the local government helps you complete the clerical stuff like having the proper documentation and paperworks. Your most recent job in IT helps you develop the website while Akaashi words out the marketing. You set up all the socials, design the uniforms, and the last step is to decide on the name.

The night before the opening, you have a dinner for everyone that helped as a thank you and soft launch. You and Akaashi slide in and out of service with Shizuku, Kita, Gran, and some of Akaashi’s friends like Konoha and Kuroo and Kenma as guests. It’s a small gathering of every single member of the community that never forgot about Osamu sitting around a massive table you’ve made by pushing the smaller ones together.

“Lovely what ya did with the rice, here,” Gran says beside you, a seat she had claimed.

You tilt your head to the side, “that’s all Akaashi.”

“Fine cooking, dear.”

“I followed a good recipe and had a little luck.”

“Ya better hope not,” Kita laughs and it’s comforting to hear the quiet trickle of his humor knowing fully well that Akaashi’s been accepted into the family. “Or else ya gonna have some unhappy customers.”

“Will ya tell us now what the name of the place is? Hard to advertise if I don’t know what it’s called,” Shizuku demands.

Her impatience started when she walked right through the door, but you wanted to wait for the right time when everyone was already gathered together and broken bread, heart happy and stomach satisfied. It’s how Osamu would have wanted it. It’s how you do too.

“Fine,” you say, dragging the word out with little bite in your tone.

You pull out the uniforms you’ll be wearing tomorrow. It looks not much different from what Osamu used to wear, plain black shirts with lettering on the upper left portion of the chest. Everyone lifts up from their seats to witness it.

o.mo.ide

Miya Osamu, Onigiri Miya, memories that you’ll always keep close to your heart.

There’s tears that escape, from you no different. There’s more that follows when you show them the corner right by the entrance dedicated to Onigiri Miya. You want everyone to know whose walls these actually belong to, whose essence and soul brought his dreams and yours to life, that without him, this would have never been possible.

Kita helps you kick everyone out knowing that you and Akaashi have a long day ahead. People promise to visit tomorrow just to show their support as they bid you goodbye. Gran slips an envelope of cash between your hands and quickly loops her arms around Kita’s so you can’t make a scene.

Akaashi is quick to have a foot out the alley back door after cleanup. He nods his head out, “are you ready?”

“Yes.” You run your hands through the crisp fabric once more as you shuffle your bag over your shoulder.

And the two of you leave. The black apron on the last hook closest to the back alley door waves as the door slams shut. There’s a black cap above it with the original character snaps against the wall from the wind pressure. They sway in the dark, until finally they lose momentum and settle in the dark.

They stay. They always will.

The support is so overwhelmingly kind. People show up in droves that Kita has to come in later in the day with an emergency delivery because your forecasts had been so off. Compliments come one after the other, of the design of the store, the food, and even yours and Akaashi’s service. Cheery employees were no longer in, it seemed. Everyone loved the stress-ridden ones instead. More relatable, they’d explain.

The novelty slowly wears off, but you maintain a generous rotation of regulars. Of course, Shizuku always arrives. She retains her habit of having afternoon tea with you and Akaashi. She’d bring along Hayashi, the man who owned the ice cream shop behind your store. He’s a grizzly man with a barrel chest with a right bicep so plump from years of scooping ice cream. The two are the neighborhood’s newest gossip. Flowers and ice cream. Looks like they do go together.

And you think that you have finally have this life handled. You and Akaashi settle on this pleasant routine of wake, work, and rest and the mundanity has you fooled. Still, after all this time, it takes so little to disrupt your small ecosystem of peace.

You hear someone compare o.mo.ide as a mockery of what it used to be and it sends you into a spiral. You listen with a crazed expression, hands busy scrubbing tables but ears listening like a hawk.

Osmau never needed consolation like this. He had been a master of quick glances. He was always multitasking, mind on the next task as he was still in the process of finishing the first. And his eyes never missed anything, not when you’d try and sneak into his office unnoticed to surprise him for break or how he’d always know when someone was taking their first bite. He’d watch from the corner of his eyes and he’d wait for that precious moment. It didn’t take much to make Osamu proud. Just a single hum. He’d beam from ear to ear, and as if shy from his sudden display of emotion, he’d tuck his chin into his head and pull the brim of his cap down.

But then again, this was his forte and not yours.

You start sleeping in and waking up late. You lose the habit and Akaashi has to pick up after you. In order to make it up to him, you offer to close the restaurant on your own. His response is a simple scan to check that you’re okay, but he has little energy to say a word, probably expended it screaming in the walk-in freezer when he couldn’t get you out of bed. So he goes.

You don’t even wait a full five minutes after he left to lock the doors and ignore any knocks from customers who know your regular hours.

In the silent kitchen, you situate yourself atop the recently wiped down stainless prep table, a bottle of sake in one hand and Kita’s teacup in another. A shot glass is much too small for your preferences.

“Cheers,” you raise your glass in the air. This might be your sixth one, so just the image of your hand and solo teacup is enough to make you giggle. “This one is to…”

Your gaze is glassy and there’s no one here, but the alcohol reminds you that you’re not lonely. An image of Osamu appears before you like an apparition and the sight brings on a void of yearning. You throw back the shot and quickly pour yourself another.

“To you.” This time you clink the tea cup against the bottle, already hollow in just one sitting. When the burn dies down and settles in the pit of your stomach, you begin to kick your feet.

“Hey,” you say softly. “Haven’t spoken to you in a while. Think about you every day though.”

It’s weird because you thought that with this place being saturated by Osamu’s very essence, you’d find his face everywhere you look. He’s more of an idea now, lately. A feeling you carry, memories that you play before you go to sleep. It’s difficult to accept because it feels like you’re losing him. The old Osamu, the one you knew, the one you loved. The other one in Osaka, Kita’s accidentally slipped that he likes to read as a pastime and that they’d recently visited Panama. Osamu never bought books unless they were cookbooks and that was more for aesthetic than anything. And the one you knew had never been to Panama, more so even mentioned it at all.

What you have left is the remains of his legacy and the bare bones of a former flame. You crack open another bottle. Here’s another shot to that.

“Life sucks by the way. I don’t blame you for it. I just wanted you to know. This wasn’t my dream. Yeah, I can hear you. You know, you know. But I haven’t told you in a while so you’re going to hear me say it again. I just wanted a cushy, IT job. I’d be your sugar mommy and force you on vacations, pay you for any lost wages. Any reason to have you all to myself. That’s what was supposed to happen.”

Another shot to missed opportunities. That one has you feeling woozy that you have to lay on your side but your drunken mind fails to realize how cold the stainless steel would be against your cheeks. It makes you squeal and then you can’t help but giggle, laughing at your own stupidity. That’s what’s nice about inebriation. Instead of being so serious about yourself, you can just laugh.

“And in the middle of it all, I knew that one day, I’d get absorbed into it. That’s just what you do. You say Atsumu is charismatic, but I don’t think you ever realized the power you had in just being. People get caught up in it and that includes me. And I imagined myself working hard so I could leave early from work just so I could help you in the kitchen. And then working part time until eventually, we woke up together and ran it together and did it all. Together. As a family. Ma would help when she has the time but you know her. She’s got clubs and activities and neighborhood responsibilities. And Atsumu would try and hang out but not do any work so we’d just ignore him until he ended up whining his way into the kitchen. I didn’t imagine…”

You look around the backroom. It’s nothing like how Onigiri Miya used to look. There are some items you’ve inherited like the pots and pans with their grease-stricken bellies and the three step ladder with The Little Giant (Akaashi actually wanted to throw this one away but ladders are surprisingly expensive) labeled on the top step. Everything is paltry pickings compared to the care Osamu had when working with his suppliers. It was hard enough with Kita’s endorsement to find something within your budget so you’re left with limp greens and off brand soy. And no Osamu.

Time for another shot. Should you make a game of it? Every time you thought you felt sorry for yourself, should you?

“No,” you giggle as you get up, answering your own question, “then I’d get really drunk and you’d get mad at me for that. Anyways,” you shoot it, neck craning back so swift it makes you dizzy. Your body bends wilted just like the spring onions you were talking about and you have to close your eyes, groaning and giggling, unable to discern discomfort from pleasure.

“Mmmm, what was I saying? I don’t know.” Suddenly, you’re crying. There’s a mess on the prep table that you have no idea how to clean. Over a year now and you’re still not over Osamu and you’re missing the rest of the Miyas especially too.

“This is so hard and fuck, I feel so alone.” It’s heartbreaking to hear how much you pity yourself when there have been so many people in your life that have supported you. Like Akaashi who has dealt with your disaster tendencies and Shizuku and the neighbors and everyone that has made this possible.

But they can’t fill what you’ve secretly been trying to reclaim. Of a family that had loved you, had accepted you with open arms. The ones who held you when you needed them most but… Fuck. You just weren’t enough. You lacked the strength to hold their pain, so much so just by being, by existing, you burdened them.

And maybe this had been a ploy to simply gain approval and find some self-worth again, to show them that the love you have has value. It had been distracting enough while you and Akaashi prepared for the grand opening but only for so long until you fell into this sort of misery again. How long would the next pocket of happiness last? Could you find a stable source of bliss ever again?

Sometimes, as difficult as it is to think, you wish you never…

No, you shake your head adamantly. For all this anguish, for all the ache you’ve accidentally caused the Miyas, you want to selfishly keep all the memories, even if Osamu has to forget, even if you know how it ends. You don’t want to change a thing.

You grab the extra aprons in the back except for the black apron on the last hook closest to the back alley door and slump into the office chair in the back nook. It was a simple office with just a desk and a file folder cabinet. You cover yourself with the aprons, your impromptu blankets as you wait for the inebriation to tide over. The open sake bottle stays on the prep table with the finished one and your used tea cup and you make a mental note to hide your drinking from Akaashi who’s been passively limiting your intake lately.

You fall into a light sleep when a meowing out the alley door rouses you. The office chair snaps as you ungracefully rise. There’s remnants of your misery in the form of crusts at the corner of your eyes that you blearily wipe away.

He stares up at you with a single meow as a greeting when you open the door. The cat sits on his paws like a well mannered customer waiting to be let in. A gray puffball like a ball of lint straight from the dryer, his gold eyes blink up at you and maybe it’s the hour or your halfway sober state or just life in general because you think it’s a sign.

Many of the cats had left when Osamu did too, venturing into more fruitful alleyways that can get them the fixings that they. You’re quick to pick him up but you do it a little aggressively that his limber body bends to evade your hands. Instead, he enters o.mo.ide and you’re able to lure him in with a few slices of fish.

Akaashi is not amused when you get home, especially considering the late hour and cat in your hands.

“No,” Akaashi greets, eyes hardened, aimed at the feline creature who has taken to resting his chin into the crook of your elbow.

“But, Akaashi, look at him!” You turn your body to the side so he can witness his complete cuteness.

The man is not impressed, only closing his book, an index finger marking the pages he left off, and crossing his arms. “No. You can hardly take care of yourself.”

“But they’re low maintenance,” you mention the fact you had quickly googled before unlocking the front door, “and he was crying outside our door because he was so hungry.”

Your roommate weighs the cat with his eyes and before he can complete his calculations, you add, “if I wasn’t there, he would have starved. He needed me.”

Akaashi finds something in your expression and you think it’s this new energy, this purpose outside of yourself or Osamu and after a drawn out glare, he finally sighs. It’s a world weary sigh, the kinds only parents of rowdy and impossible children should only make and you take note that you’ll make it up to him somehow.

“Okay, fine,” he extends his hand for your new friend to sniff, “what’s his name?”

You smile, “Mumu.”

An homage to your boys, your favorite twins, and Akaashi cannot help but sigh again.

But Mumu quickly becomes your new best friend, much to his benefit. Even though Mumu never quite opens up to him, he has to worry about you less and you spend more of your time laboring efficiently at work so you can go home and play with silly things like lasers and a little rattle ball he likes to roll around. There’s energy to do your share of household chores now, and despite the slow trickle of business lately, you’re unbothered.

At the end of the day, the success of the business does not define you or your love for Osamu.

The stability lasts only for a few months because you arrive home unannounced, closing the shop early when the pelting monsoon keeps people locked in their homes.

You opted to take responsibility for the day, allowing Akaashi a break. His trust in you has slowly renewed considering it’d been a while since you dipped into the restaurant’s liquor stash. You knew he’d understand the shortened hours considering the weather but he hadn’t been prepared because when he got home, he was watching a livestream MSBY volleyball match. There was this understanding that had been established when he moved in because the both of you knew that you’d be powerless to the demise.

When you see Osamu on TV, that split second the camera had panned to him, you felt gravity warp. Your heart constricted and condensed while it felt like that floor beneath you had slipped away and you were just as helpless as any other leaf victim to the storm.

Akaashi tries to turn off the TV, but you manically topple over him, not wanting to miss what little camera time he might have.

“I don’t think this is good for you,” Akaashi’s eyes doesn’t leave you as you continue to watch the game. You agree, but you can’t strip your eyes away from the stream. You can’t believe what you’re seeing and you have to continuously wipe away your tears just to be sure, to ascertain that what you’re viewing is really true. It’s him. It’s him and this is the closest you’ve seen him, the closest he’s been to this home in basically two years and he looks so different.

“He grew out his hair,” you observe.

All you can do right now is play spot the difference. What parts of him do you still know? What is gone forever? Osamu’s hair is near shoulder length and you think he might have gained Atsumu’s salon habit because it’s curlier and fluffier than you knew. The color in his eyes have lost their luster, making them appear darker like a smoky quartz and he’s bigger. He’d always had a stronger upper body but you can tell he’s far more defined than you’d last seen him. He looks. Good.

You feel so small knowing how well he’s moved on without you. There’s always this small spark of hope that can’t help yourself from holding onto but seeing him on the screen, living a dream that he had once left behind, you figure it must be your turn to be abandoned for something else.

“He looks good,” you nod, trying to be strong. Because that’s all you’ve wanted. You’ve wanted him to be ok, to live out the life he desired, whatever that may be and regardless of how it involved you. “He looks good. I’m so–”

“You don’t–”

“–proud of him.”

The admittance makes you burst, diving head first onto the floor and crying into the rug. Mumu comes to rest between your legs, wary of Akaashi as he does his best to console you which alternates between a hand down your back and simply hovering over your figure.

But then you hear the announcer and how the music stops, and immediately your head lifts up because you know what the sound of those footsteps mean.

Miya Atsumu is on court, serving the ball with just as much assured confidence as you had left him. He passes to his brother where they easily make a point and you watch the two boys celebrate. The camera eats it up, their facial expressions, the way they hold each other in a solidified joy, and you see it. You see the true reason he’s left this all behind. This was the life he was meant to share.

And you were never meant to be a part of it.

It was delusional of you to think that their bond had enough space for you to fit in.

Of course, as much as you tell yourself Osamu’s happiness is the most important thing to witness, it still sends you on a spiral that neither Akaashi or Mumu can bring you out of. Business slows down when you can’t provide proper service and Akaashi struggles to pick up the labor you can’t complete. Days pass in a haze where you burn things by accident and your mindlessness has you putting in two servings of soy instead.

You wallow in your sheets, so worn that the Osamu’s essence has filtered through the gaps and all that’s saturated it is your misery. Mumu leisurely snoozes beside you, happy to keep you company.

Akaashi tries to persuade you out of bed with ice cream.

You shuffle to the side of the bed pressed against the wall and tuck yourself into the crevice, “no thank you.”

He ignores you and opens the door and you whine, noisy and petulant. “This one is from Shizuku and Hayashi. They’ve missed you.”

You instantly sit up, interested because Hayashi’s ice cream had been a favorite of Osamu’s. Whenever he’d have a bad day and their schedules lined up, the two men with their solid stature would gossip in the alleyway, the brick wall separating them. One would be devouring an onigiri while the other relished the fox shaped ice cream he’d always be given as payment.

You’d peek your head out the alley door whenever you could never find Osamu in the kitchen or in his office. The alley was the only other place he’d be and Hayashi would prompt you to come out, sit and gossip with them. He’d leave so he could serve you an ice cream of your own, but you suspect he’d take longer on purpose so that you two could spend some time alone.

(“Have you heard about Shizuku and Hayashi?” Osamu asks once the confectioner steps back into his building. Your response comes for the back of your throat, a soft hum while busy licking the dessert your boyfriend offered. He laughs when he sees you nibble off the candy eye of the animal, leaving him a little lopsided but far more endearing. “Damn, I said ya could give it a try, not eat all of it.”

“I was hungry and you weren’t inside.”

“Ya could have made yaself some food. I’ve taught you enough to be self-sufficient.”

You shake your head immediately, “doesn’t taste the same. Stop changing the subject. What’s going on with Hayashi and Shizuku?”

Despite all the time you’ve spent with him, all the different faces and expressions you’ve been gifted to witness, his smile still disarms you. It’s the right combination of conniving and whimsy that has your heart traipsing the edge of a cliff.

“I was talking to the Grandma that’s got the okonomiyaki shop right there, ya know?” He points with his ice cream whose lifespan is slowly disappearing, “and she told me how she went into Hayashi’s shop and he had a full bouquet of flowers.”

“Oh, that’s nice. I wonder who got it for him.”

Osamu snorts, “Shizuku obviously. Who else would have?”

“Osamu,” you give him a discriminatory look, “are you starting rumors.”

“No, hear me out. Shizuku came by yesterday and was asking me for some cooking tips.”

“You?”

“Yeah, we have a truce right now. The onigiri won her over.” You giggle, snatching another bite from Osamu’s hand. He’s too busy telling his story to even admonish you. “And she was telling me she planned on making grilled mackerel and guess what Hayashi had for dinner last night apparently.”

You hum forcibly, drawing it out and giggle when Osamu gets irritated with you. “Mackerel?” He nods and the image of those two makes you laugh.

Hayashi’s just like the ice cream he serves, a man who longs for the richer things in life. He has women swooning out of his restaurant with his velvet words and Shizuku is a woman who knows what she wants, spritely and tough. She’d be perfect to keep him in line.

“Now that I think about it, they’re surprisingly good for each other.”

Osamu agrees, “Grandma says Hayashi needs to lock it in and get married.”

“Shizuku’s a catch! He’d be wrong not to.”

Your statement dulls the mood because Osamu turns quiet. He hands you his ice cream for you to finish, Hayashi forgotten, and his hands clasp together, right pad of his thumb running over the back of his left. His side profile is soft, round cheeks over a strong jaw.

“Ya know that I–”

“We don’t have to get married for me to know that you love me,” you say quickly. You don’t want him to finish the thought because he gets caught up in the guilt a lot. You’re not certain what it exactly is aside from the fact that he doesn’t want your future to be tied down to one as unstable as his, as if marriage would be the only thing that could permanently hold the two of you together. As far as you know, he’s all you want for the rest of your life and Osamu makes you feel like he thinks the same.

Your admittance relieves the weight on his back. He straightens up, a thankful expression on his gaze when he rolls an arm out to wrap around you. You fit right into the crook of his body, pleasantly warm with your ice cream.

“I love ya, I really do.” You nod. “One day, when I get my shit together, I promise I’ll make ya mine for real.”

He says it like you’re not his already. He says it like this relationship is less than the ones acknowledged by law or the gods or whoever presides over the validity of unity.

He says it like he really does love you.)

Thinking about it makes you cry despite Hayashi’s ice cream. He artfully crafted the gift in a pint that he must have bought from the store because you’ve never seen him sell take-home products. A frog decorates the surface complete with blush, large, round eyes, and the brightest of smiles. Usually the confectionery is an immediate remedy but it looks like your sorrows have fallen so deep that its effects are hardly uplifting. Akaashi hands you a letter made of cardstock in a saturated red and shaped like a heart.

“What’s this?”

“Open it,” is all he replies.

You do as he says and find a poorly drawn replication of what you assume is you, serving a triangular item to a smaller stick figure human.

“That’s from Asako. She missed you when you left early today.”

Asako is the little girl who orders a plain onigiri with extra sesame seeds. Exxxxtrraaaa she likes to say and you entertain her, seeing who can lengthen the word the longest. It’s an effortless game that comes with a high reward of giggles. She comes in on Fridays when her grandparents pick her up from school. They didn’t know of Onigiri Miya then so you never thought much of them, but clearly, she had thought of you.

“I understand that we opened up o.mo.ide in order to commemorate Myaa-sam and everything he’d done for this community, but have you ever stopped and thought that in the process, you’ve integrated into it yourself?”

You hadn’t. You’d been so deeply absorbed by your own troubles that you had never bothered to even look outside of yourself or Osamu.

“We’re operating at a loss right now, but there are people like Asako that rely on us to stay open. And so help me, I need you too. We promised to do this together and I refuse to let you abandon me.”

“Oh… oh, Akaashi, I’m so–” you’re forced speechless by your own guilt.

“Don’t apologize. Just.” Akaashi searches through his vocabulary, “just get better. Have you ever thought about therapy?”

Akaashi introduces you to his therapist but after two sessions, you find that the way he gels his hair back and the nasal hums he provides every time you confide in him is unsettling. The journey through therapy is not so much a journey but more like an illegal obstacle course formed with bottomless pits and thorny vines and a portable bed.

It’s physically draining and mentally exhausting that you need a nap most days. Akaashi hardly yells at you anymore when you fall asleep in the office chair while on break as long as he knows you have an appointment scheduled at the end of the week.

You go through three more therapists. This fourth one, she’s on thin ice, but you’re five months in and she’s managed to get you to stay. She encourages you to reach out to the people you love on your own and to make time for them every week.

Now you spend time teaching Mumu new tricks. He’s mastered the command ‘sit’ and is also very good at laying down. You’ve yet to teach him much else though. Monday mornings are for mahjong with Granny. Sweet as she is, that woman is a good liar and to this day, you still haven’t won a game. According to Kita, no one has yet to beat her. You’ve extended tea dates with Shizuku into dinners after you and Akaashi close. Most of the time Hayashi is there and despite Akaashi’s indifference to their relationship, every night you gossip about the way his hands would linger around her waist or how he’d whisper something in her ear while they washed dishes. When Asako visits, you untie your apron and give her grandparents a break. Only when she is done with her meal, you walk her into the back where you tell her to mind her step and you and lift her over the wall so she can knock on Hayashi’s back door for an ice cream.

People gradually enter your lives, ones that you didn’t have courage to see. With a warning text sent like an afterthought, it’s a welcome surprise to find Bokuto seated on top of your kitchen table, towering height even more pronounced, while Akaashi showcased his skill in a new apron.

“Oh?” you say and at the sight of Akaashi’s expression, all you do is smile and wish them a good time. If there is a time that Akaashi shouldn’t be burdened by you, it would be now. You are in the process of healing after all.

Suna and Aran eventually visit, dragged along by Kita. His small build compared to the two athletes make an awkward remeet amusing.

Suna scruffles your head and cups the fat of your cheeks as a greeting, “hey, Bug. Nothing kills you, huh?”

You’re grateful when Aran saves you, pulling you into a deep hug that soothes your soul. He lifts you up once just to hold you closer, and when he’s done, they all apologize for not visiting you sooner. It was shame, they admitted. Because for Osamu, they were willing to do anything to make him feel better, even if it was to perpetuate lies.

You’re at a space now where you understand because for Osamu, you know you would and will do anything for him too. No one talks about him though. No one dares mention any Miya first, and finally, you’re not compelled to bring them up either.

Of course, it’s just as tumultuous of a ride, even more so now that you’re more aware of your issues. Some days, the social vigor of running a restaurant is so draining that all you can do is keep your head down in the back. Count inventory and roll orders whenever Akaashi places them in. Sometimes it’s even harder than that, where you end up at the convenience store with one bottle of sake. Usually the guilt hits you half a bottle in and you end up pouring the rest over the nearest drain. This time, halfway isn’t nearly enough to ease the pain.

With the amount of volleyball players that have re-entered your life, an old interview of Osamu’s is in your recommended videos to watch. You can’t not click it when the thumbnail is a closeup top angle of his face, long hair pulled into a messy bun.

He stands the same with hands on his hips and in a wide stance but even the way he speaks sounds different. Same voice, different person. Different words.

The comments prove that he has a lot of fans from all over the world. They shout words of affection, recount the best games they’ve witnessed him in and no one mentions a single word about Onigiri Miya.

You’re at a point in your life now that any sort of Osamu brings on a general longing. You miss him so much you’re willing to take whatever you can have.

The realization makes you feel like you’ve lost him again because this place, the venue where you labor yourself until your back is broken despite your lack of knowledge had been a huge part of him. Now it is all lost to his pro volleyball glamor.

Onigiri Miya Osamu will eventually fade from existence. Once more, you begin grieving.

Despite your coping methods, it takes a long time to build yourself out of your rut. The gloom lasts for days and life has a predilection for stacking up your misery.

“Miya–”

Akaashi doesn’t have to finish his sentence. The impact already hits your stomach at the surname. It doesn’t matter which Miya it is. A Miya has stepped foot into this building, the first time since the fire. Suspense boils in your gut and its noxious fumes cut the breath from your lungs.

You’ve thought about this moment in great lengths, anxiously in bed or idle thoughts as you wait for the train. Preparation has never been your strong suit though. The fact is clear with the condition of your restaurant that struggles to even get by.

Blonde hair glistens against the backdrop of an afternoon sun and distracts you from the bells that ring when he opens the door. He glances around the walls with his mouth agape, focusing mostly on the origin story next to the host stand. It’s just a few old newspaper clippings of articles and one image of Osamu’s face. It was one of your few stipulations. He must always be there to greet the customers.

When Atsumu’s gaze finally finds yours, you can’t help but grip the towel tighter in your hands. Misplaced anger simmers right behind your tightly pursed lips. His face is so similar. It’s the closest anyone could get to a clone, and the distinct features you’ve been searching for, the ones that belong to the Osamu you once knew, are not there.

It’s a lot. It’s been a bad couple of weeks.

But Atsumu doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know that you’ve worked yourself raw and instead of building calluses, all you've done is made yourself tender.

He passes the backline and you find yourself taking a step back towards the display case as he crosses your first line of defense. He acts like nothing’s changed, that he’s still got free reign of the place and maybe it hasn’t. When he pulls you in, when he mutters ‘I love ya’ and ‘I’m so sorry’ over and over again, you fall apart in his arms.

You fist his shirt at the chest and sob in a way you haven’t allowed yourself since the hospital, since you’d seen any of the Miyas last. You cry into his chest, condense the past years you’ve had to make do with just your hands or sleeves or pillows. There’s rage and pity, but most of all, there is relief. Because as much as Akaashi has sat beside you while you mourned, and how everyone had gathered to remind you of your worth, they could never fill the space that any Miya left behind. None of them understood what it was like to lose Osamu. Not Myaa-sam, or Chef, or Oji-Samu. Youhad borne that misery alone.

You can’t fault Osamu for not choosing you. And Mama Miya has tried reaching out despite your lack of response.

But Atsumu, he could have stayed. You thought there was kinship there, a shared love for his brother. You thought you could have shared the sorrow too. Instead, he’d whisked away his family to Osaka to escape any reminder of the previous life he lived. He took everything and he left you behind.

Atsumu follows you to the ground when you literally fall apart in his arms. He hugs you tighter and he ignores the stack of napkins shelved right next to you, knowing that his shirt is more than enough.

Atsumu is eventually able to get you to a park near the restaurant once you calmed down. You both lay next to each other on the grass and the sun’s power is too strong for your swollen eyes. You have to balance your water bottle over them as shade. Atsumu offers the sunglasses he likes to keep clipped to the collar of his shirt. You accept it cautiously, wary of taking too much.

“I’m sorry.”

His apology is overwhelming and the corners of your eyes overflow, unprepared.

“Don’t,” you sputter out when you have the breath, a sting clinging to the bridge of your nose, “don’t. I can’t take it. Say something else.”

“I–” the way he blunders means he must have prepared a speech and now you’ve thrown a wrench in his plans. “I… uh. It’s good to see ya.”

“Oh, gods. Why are you even here?”

“I wanted to see ya,” he answers lamely.

There’s still anger in your chest and for the past couple of years, you’d been aiming that ire at Akaashi unjustly. Atsumu’s expression from the day at the hospital still keeps you up sometimes and it’s taken months of therapy for you to realize that his emotions were also misplaced. You’d dealt with pieces of the guilt and there’s still a lot that you need to address, but you understand now, that the burden of being was never yours alone to bear.

“Now? When you’ve had all this time?”

“I know. I–” he stops himself from another apology. You’re grateful he’s grown the maturity to keep his mouth shut when asked. “I just wanted to prepare ya.”

“For what?”

“Samu went no contact on me.”

You rise to your elbows in shock, worry prickling prickling your heart, “and Ma?”

“Not Ma,” he shakes his head quickly. “He calls her sometimes, not enough, but more than me.”

“Why?”

Atsumu breathes deeply, worn and weary. He brings his arms back and rests his head on them, eyes up at the sky watching a kite flown by two children, probably siblings. “Why fucking not, ya know?”

“No, Atsumu, I wouldn’t know when you basically went no contact on me.”

Atsumu pinches his bottom lip between his front teeth. Through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, you can see the way they lighten from the pressure. He sighs again.

“I deserve this, I know. But Osamu didn’t. I fucked up but I had no clue what I was doing. Ya gotta understand. Ya were there and ya saw him and how beaten down he was and maybe I did put blame on everyone but myself. I hated Onigiri Miya for even getting him caught up in that sort of mess, and when his dreams lined up with mine, I figured it would be okay. We could leave it all behind. I tried to play God with my own brother’s life and he let me. Everyone did.”

“He listened to you?”

Atsumu shakes his head, “crazy, right? He was lost and unsure, but I was confident, ya know? I just felt so certain I was doing the right thing and I think that’s the only reason why he let himself be led all this way.”

“So what changed?”

“Are ya kidding?” Atsumu looks at you, and when he realizes you don’t have a clue, he turns to face you. “The answer is you.”

It’s a fucked up thing for Atsumu to say. The words erupt an ache in your chest. You curl into yourself, bring your knees up so that you flinch away from the pain but Atsumu grabs hold of both of your hands. He grips tightly in an attempt to siphon the pain.

“A love like yours ain’t something easy to forget.”

You remember the hospital, “that’s what Ma said.”

“It’s exactly what she told him when he left. I don’t know how he found out, but I saw that he looked up Onigiri Miya the day before he left and he’s been gone since. For about two weeks now, I think.”

“No,” you shake your head, closing your eyes to soften the blow of his words but even in the darkness, a stinging, buzzing pain wracks through your body. It’s everywhere all at once but Atsumu holds you through it.

“I love ya. I promise, I do. There wasn’t a day I didn’t regret what I did, but believe me when I tell ya. I do. I love ya,” He takes your hands that have been bunched up into fists and presses them onto the soft skin below his eyes where it’s sticky and wet. “And I’m so sorry I had to put ya through this and made ya go through this all alone, so if ya moved on, if ya got someone else, I understand and I’ll figure something out.”

You try to pull yourself from his grip but Atsumu holds onto you, head bent in repentance and the sincerity of it all spouts more tears.

“I’ll handle Osamu if that’s the case. I know Akaashi’s a really good guy so–”

You take your conjoined hands and jab him across the forehead. Atsumu sputters in shock, letting you go in the process while he tries to soothe the pain.

“Does it look like I’ve moved on, idiot?” You knock soft fists into his chest like a child. “Would I be crying in what I consider my own brother’s arms in a park if I moved on?”

“I just wanted–”

“And Akaashi? Fucking Akaashi? He’s a good guy,” you mock, irritated, “of course he is. Shut up. You know I’m in love with your brother.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Stop hitting me. I said I was sorry already.”

You make sure to put some extra force in that final punch, “you’re going to say it for the rest of your life.”

Atsumu nods gratefully, “of course.”

“And,” the words hurt coming out, “and don’t run off on me again.”

What makes the tears slip this time is forgiveness. Atsumu holds your hand against his chest where you can feel his heart. You’ve missed him, longed for him just as much as you have Osamu and slowly, you feel yourself start to heal.

“He might not need a brother right now, but I do.”

Atsumu kisses you on the cheek and pulls you close. He holds you in his arms with the same exact care he had for Osamu in the hospital, with the same protectiveness of an elder brother.

Finally, you feel understood.

Atsumu spends his off season in Hyogo where you find out Ma has moved back. Akaashi doesn’t take kindly to a change in routines, but he begins helping out where he can along with Ma.

When Ma first sees you, all she can do is hold you at arm’s length, picking her vernacular apart with words that she wanted to say. You just shake your head and let yourself be swallowed by her cardigan comfort. She encourages you to come to family dinner and you have to ask if Akaashi is invited too. She pats his cheek and says of course like the question was unnecessary to begin with.

The world shifts almost exactly the way you imagined it. Life has a funny way of doing that. Atsumu helps around the restaurant and Ma stops by with some of her friends after an activity. She meets Asako who she adores and is adored just as equally. Ma takes ice cream duty from you while Atsumu, because it’s his off season, likes to overstay his welcome at your apartment. Akaashi kicks him out and the athlete tries to use Mumu as an excuse. Mumu, unfortunately, likes Atsumu even less than Akaashi.

Sometimes Atsumu will try to broach the topic of contacting Osamu, something that both you and Ma are against. Osamu has been through enough, you both reason. And he’s probably had his fill of someone telling him what to do.

The restaurant fills and though you know that yours or Akaashi’s food cannot compare, the laughter spills out the doors from friends and family and neighbors that continuously visit. They manage when you accidentally don’t order enough fish, opting for broth and rice and when you run out of beverages, someone offers to run to the convenience store to buy drinks.

It’s not a perfect venue, but it embodies Osamu’s very being, a place that has become a home.

One day, Akaashi is out of town and Atsumu helps you while he’s gone. He’s not as focused as your usual business partner, whose eyes continuously drift out onto the streets and he even leaves early when you haven’t finished clearing up for the day.

“Alright, I gotta go but I’ll lock the door,” Atsumu runs off quickly. “Ya can handle this, right?”

You look at the stack of dishes and the ready to go items that haven’t been put away yet. It’s not much, but it would certainly be easier if he stayed. Unfortunately, his question is apparently rhetorical because the man does not wait for an answer. He reiterates his farewell and with a jingle, the door is shut.

“Okay,” you say, blinking at his figure that eventually passes a corner and disappears. You scan your surroundings, running a mental image of what would be the most efficient process. Wipe down the tables, you decide. Some haven’t been bussed yet so you head over with a fresh rag and empty tray.

Atsumu likes to turn up the music the moment the o.mo.ide closes as a way to decompress. You hum along. It’s a mindless process now that you’ve done it so many times. Clear the tables. Sanitize the tables. Sanitize the chair. Bend down eye level with the table and make sure you haven’t missed any crumbs. You’re not even thinking, just lost in the routine and it’s why the sound of the bell startles you.

It’s so like Atsumu to forget to lock the door. You compose yourself with a slow inhale and prepare for an irate customer who might argue at your innocent error, but the breath expels from your mouth.

You stand there stupidly, hands holding your chest like you’re about to dive backwards into water. It’s that feeling, where two characters catch eyes on a crowded street. Despite everything that has happened and all that separates you, he holds you captive. Your feet are planted to the ground and everything, heart, mind, body, and breath is under his power.

“O – Oh…”

Even saying his name feels foreign because as much as you’ve thought of him, you can’t remember when was the last time you did. It feels foreign on your tongue and you can’t blurt anything out but the first letter, and you witness his demeanor change.

“Osamu,” you say only because you think it’ll make him smile. It does and because of it, you want to fall down on your knees.

Everything, everything that you had observed different about him, his hair that looks like he’s cut but is still longer than you remember, the cut of his jaw that’s sharper, his brows that he’d boast about being strong look trimmed, and even his choice of clothes is different, opting for a sleeveless tee over his favored oversized shirts, all of that is negligent because seeing him once more, you recognize he is still your Osamu.

“Hi,” he greets and your heart flutters. Was this really how it felt when you were falling in love because everything he does brings upon a desire that you doubt could ever be quelled. “Are ya closed?”

“Yes,” you answer honestly and the wilt of his face makes you overcompensate, “but– but it’s fine! You’re come in… I mean, oh…”

This is so fucking embarrassing. “You’re always welcome. Come in and have a seat wherever you want.”

He points at a bar seat with a head tilt. You nod and make sure to lock the door behind him. The bus tub, the rag, you forego it all and pass the swinging door that separates the register and eating area. Your hands perspire at the stress of perfection. It’s a foreign thing for him to be seated while you serve him and maybe it’s you overthinking, but it feels like he’s watching your every move.

Osamu quickly diverts his gaze when you turn around. His not so subtle glancing of the venue, head craned back as he looks at the decorations on the walls and the lighting fixtures you and Akaashi picked, amuses you but you try not to show it too hard. Osamu seems shyer than you’re used to. That’s okay. You’re nervous too.

“Did you come hungry?”

“I did.”

Ease washes over you. Thank the gods, that has stayed the same.

You apologize for the lack of options and Osamu tries to downplay the inconvenience. “It’s okay. I didn’t… Well I did, but I didn’t really come here to eat.”

“No?”

Osamu plays with a stray grain of rice between his fingers. He rolls the sticky piece into a ball, back and forth as he thinks of what he wants to say.

“No, I… To be honest, I didn’t think I was going to go inside.”

“Oh.”

“But I…” then he stops his rolling and he looks at you, like really looks at you. And whatever it is, you feel it too. “But I just had to.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Yeah, well, it took me all up until closing to work up the courage.”

“That’s okay,” you tell him. You pull up the stool near the rear register and situate yourself across from him. The boundary that separates you two is familiar, 76 centimeters of space that you know by heart and it makes conversation flow smoother. “I’m happy you came at all. How was your day?”

“Shit.”

The answer takes you by surprise, him too by the way he stops chewing, lips puckering close together as he ruminates whether or not meant to say those words. But he owns them, and continues on.

“My smoothie spilled all over my cup holder.”

“Oh no. Did you ask for another one?”

“Pretty sure they tried to sabotage me by giving me a cracked cup.”

You break in the most unexpected way. A smile splits your lips and a giggle strikes through your chest. Everything feels so similar, so weightless. It feels like a dam has been broken with just a couple of words.

“It ain’t funny.”

You agree, “I know. It’s the worst.”

“Then why are ya laughing?”

“I don’t even know. It’s not funny at all.”

“It’s not. I had to stuff a bunch of napkins in there.”

“No, it’s going to get sticky!”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“Cry.”

Osamu sputters, rice flying from his mouth. He’s embarrassed for only a millisecond, fearful of your reaction, but all it does is make you bend over, sincerely losing control of your body. Osamu joins you, laughing at who knows what, but you’re grateful. For as much pain misery brings, it takes so little for you to be happy.

“Fuck,” he says once he’s able to catch a breath. He says quietly with wonder and it has your giggles soften to match his energy. “I’ve imagined every way this meeting could go.”

Your heart constricts like it’s being pinched from the bottom. “Is it everything you thought it’d be?”

“No,” Osamu shakes his head genuinely. You almost apologize. “I thought I’d mess it all up but,” he looks at you and it’s the gaze you had been searching when he had first woken up all those years ago. A quiet ardor, soft around the edges but saturated in passion, “but I didn’t expect it to be so easy.”

“Stop,” you have to hide your lips.

Osamu doesn’t understand, back straightening, “what?”

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Saying those things.”

His lips pucker themselves out, “why can’t I?”

“Because,” you blink furiously, willing the tears away because you want to remember this with clarity, “you’re making me too happy.”

He grins too, but it’s still shy as he bends his head down, nodding slightly as he does, “how do ya think I feel?”

There’s a calmness that settles now that your mania has subsided. Your eyes appraise, trying to find more topics to talk about so he can stay just a little longer.

“Are those cigarettes?” you observe the square box in his breast pocket.

He nods as he pulls them out, holding them in his hands as if they were novel.

“Are you smoking a lot?”

He looks at you curiously, “did I used to?”

The past tense makes you stumble, but you do your best to answer him honestly. “Sometimes. Only the bad days. That’s how we knew you were having a bad day because we’d smell them on you.”

He’d lean his chest against the railings like his body was too heavy, curved his body like a treble clef as he smoked. And often you’d find him in the alleyway, a cigarette in one hand and food for the cats in another.

“It’s crazy how I do shit without knowing the real meaning.”

You shrug, “habits are harder to break than memory.”

Osamu nods. A beat passes before he continues the conversation on his own.

“I’ve had this same pack since I left the hospital.” He opens it and reveals only a few sticks missing, “play with it for the most part but I’ll smoke one when I get overwhelmed. I dreamt of you once and my heart wouldn’t stop beating. I had to go outside and calm myself. Nearly gave Tsumu a heart attack when he noticed my bed was empty.”

“He’s a worrywort.”

The sound Osamu makes is not kind. There’s still animosity for his brother, “even more so now.”

“He means well.”

“Sure he does.”

“I’m sorry.”

Your apology takes him by surprise. Osamu shuts the pack and places it back in his pocket. “For what?”

“For, I don’t know.” A lot of things. For burdening him with faded memories, for not being who he needed, for not being enough, “for being in your dream.”

“What are ya saying? It was a good dream. It felt… nice.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods earnestly while looking at you. “I can’t explain it because I really don’t know the specifics, but it felt good. Made me wish I dreamed about ya more.”

The sunset is almost complete, dark orange hues streak the tile floor. Osamu’s been done eating for minutes now. With his plate clean and the conversation running its course, it feels like a good place for this to end. But you don’t think you can part with him just yet. A culmination of yearning and grieving and mourning and aching has led to this and you’ll be damned if it’s over now.

You hop off the stool and Osamu sighs. He matches your movements, slowly getting up, too. He looks ready to leave but you won’t let him go without trying. Not this time.

“Would you like to see the back?”

“Really?” his giddiness prompts yours.

“Yeah, of course.” You lead him to the back and grab your apron. Then you point at the black one on the last hook closest to the back alley door . “Take that apron.”

He hooks his finger around the neck, “this one?”

You nod. “Yeah, that one’s yours.”

He takes it in his hand, shy and foreign in his fingers. It’s different, clumsier, but it’s familiar enough to let your heart burn.

He pulls the fabric over his head and adjusts it along his shoulder. The apron is knotted up by habit, his hands reaching there after the three usual tugs and when he looks up, your stomach swirls at the sight of his beam.

He’s everything you’ve missed in more ways than one, but finally, thank gods, finally. He’s right where he belongs.

#reina.writeshaikyuu!!#haikyuu angst #miya osamu angst #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #i think i’m going to have a drink now

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superhaught · 25 days

Text

Incurable Cravings (Chapter Four)

Pairing: Regina George x Reader

Warnings: none really, just angsty

Word Count: 2200, Part 4/?

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Continuation of Incurable Cravings series!

Little author's note: I made a small edit to Chapter 2 to fix a plot hole that I created for myself. Regina and Leighton have been living in separate homes for five years as opposed to the original ten.

Regina and reader begin to navigate their first day at school in light of their newfound relationship. Reader learns more about the history between Janis, Regina and Leighton.

Regina’s family was complex.

You knew that Ms. George used to be married to Regina’s father. Together, they had twin daughters, Regina and Leighton. You were all around 13 years old when they divorced. The resulting custody arrangement was unusual. Ms. George kept Regina and the house, while Leighton went with their dad and moved to the east coast. You vaguely knew that the father, Henry, got remarried to his college sweetheart, who had an older son from her previous marriage. Ms. George kept her maiden name and changed Regina’s last name to match, and has since also remarried and had Regina’s half-sister, Kylie. Regina’s stepdad, from what you knew, was a high-ranking military official. He didn’t see combat, but he was almost never home. All of them seemed to prefer it that way.

Regina and her stepdad famously did not get along well, so his frequent absence was appreciated by her. And Ms. George enjoyed being able to maintain her independence. She often referred to herself as a single mom, even though she, objectively, was married.

You hadn’t seen Leighton since she moved away, and based on what Regina had said, she had rarely seen her twin either. You were positive that the distance must be hard on them both. Regina and Leighton had always been each other's' best friend when you were younger. They were practically joined at the hip. You remember that when Leighton moved away, Regina didn’t come to school for almost two weeks and she wouldn’t see anyone.

The divorce, and your small friend group falling apart, all happened within the span of a year. And now, as Regina slept peacefully in your arms, you wondered just how much pain she had been carrying.

It broke your heart.

In spite of your racing thoughts, you eventually gave in to sleep yourself and were able to get a few hours shuteye before Regina’s alarm was going off and waking you for school. Regina groaned and snoozed the alarm once before turning over and curling up against your chest.

You giggled at how cute she was being and took to kissing her head and playing with her hair for those ten extra minutes. You felt her press a few soft kisses onto your neck and then the alarm went off again.

You reached over her and turned the alarm off and then rubbed your palm over her upper arm.

The blonde smiled and whispered, “good morning…”

“Good morning, sweetheart. How are you feeling this morning?”

Regina yawned and stretched her arms out a little before responding, “better than I’ve felt in a while.”

“Good.”

She met your eyes, “am I remembering last night correctly?”

“What do you remember?”

She hesitated for a moment, examining your expression, maybe considering dropping it, “I remember you saying that you love me…”

You nodded your head, “I did, Gina,” you tucked some hair behind her ear, “I said ‘I love you.’”

She nodded back and bit down on her bottom lip. You could see the anxiety mounting in her through her tensing muscles and rapid eye movements.

“I…” she began.

“Shhh…” you leaned in and captured her lips in a kiss.

She melted at the contact and let her hand travel over your shoulder and up the back of your neck to hold you close. Regina held you in that kiss for a long while and then just silently nodded again as she pulled away.

“Thank you…” she whispered.

And thus, only a fraction of your conversation actually took place out loud. You never really imagined having a bond like that with someone, not after the years you had lost of growing with Regina and Janis as your closest friends. But right here, in this moment, Regina knew without a shadow of a doubt that you had meant what you said. And you knew that she felt the same way about you in return.

You both took a minute more to play with each other’s fingers as you held hands in the bed.

The blonde kissed your hand and whispered, “I wish we had time to enjoy more of each other instead of going to school…”

“I do too, trust me.”

“I just want this gorgeous body of yours all to myself, all the time…”

You smirked, “you are such a temptress… but don’t worry, Gina. I’m all yours.” You kissed her cheek and then her lips again, obliging her when she grazed your lip with her tongue to deepen the kiss. You shared a few more kisses like this before Regina finally forced herself to sit up.

She looked sore and stiff in her movements. You reached out to gently touch her back after she sat up and you asked, “do you want help getting up?”

“No, no… I’ll be okay. Thank you baby.”

You got ready for the day together. Regina happily let you borrow some of her clothes that she reserved for wearing only around the house. No one would likely be able to tell that they were hers, not that it mattered to you.

Ms. George had fixed you both a quick breakfast and offered you free reign of the pantry to make yourself a lunch.

Regina, with a little bit of encouragement from you, managed to eat a cup of yogurt with granola.

“I’m gonna go start the car, you coming?” Regina asked you when she finished eating.

“Yeah, go ahead, I’ll be right out.”

Regina nodded and left through the front door of her house. You heard the engine of her Jeep start and you turned to Ms. George, who was scrolling Facebook on her phone while eating her own bowl of yogurt.

“Ms. George?”

She looked up at you, “what’s up, sugar?”

“Do you have Leighton’s phone number?”

Regina held your hand the whole car ride to school and walked inside with you, only dropping your hand once you were in the presence of others.

Regina saw Gretchen and Karen waiting for her at her locker so she turned to you and gave you a sweet goodbye with a quick, stolen kiss to your cheek before she split off from you and resumed her normal.

You realized that the two of you hadn’t discussed this part. You didn’t know how long it would be this secret between the two of you, but you hoped not long.

But you were greeted with your own smack in the face from reality when you walked up to your locker. Janis stood there, waiting for you.

You took a deep breath, “hey.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, “hey. I want to try this again.”

She stepped out of your way as you opened up your locker and she continued when you didn’t really say anything in response, “yesterday, I know I approached you about Regina in the wrong way, and I’m sorry.”

You grabbed one of your textbooks, “thank you. I forgive you.”

“But… I’d really like to talk to you about this. I saw you leave that storage closet with her. And I saw you go home with her after school yesterday. And, oh my god, you’re wearing her sweatshirt.”

Shit. Of course Janis would recognize it.

“And? What exactly do you want to know?”

“I… well, like what are you guys doing together? Are you hanging out again?”

“I guess we are… yeah. We’re hanging out.”

“Why?! Why would you do that?”

“Janis…” your voice betrayed your sadness and frustration.

“No seriously, come on! You’re one of the only people who knows the truth about what Regina has put me through! I thought you would be on my side!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and inhaled, “Janis, it’s more complicated than sides… and, and I don’t know that I do know the truth!”

“What do you mean? You were at that party! You were there!”

“I mean, why does Regina think that something happened between you and Leighton?”

Janis’ jaw dropped, “what?”

“What happened between you and Leighton?”

“What did Regina say?”

“She didn’t say anything specific, only that you hurt Leighton somehow.”

“I…” Janis clenched her hands into fists, “that has nothing to do with me and Regina! I don’t even… you knew how I felt about Regina… you don’t really think I deserved what she did, do you?”

“Janis, no. I don’t think you deserved it. I don’t think any of us deserved anything that happened, Regina included. I think we were kids with a lot of complicated feelings.”

Janis stared at you incredulously.

“Didn’t you guys make up at the dance last year?”

“No. We didn’t. She was high on pain medication. She didn’t forgive me and I didn’t forgive her.”

You sighed, “Look, right now, I know that Regina wants me around and I’m okay with putting things behind me so that I can be there for her. But you don’t have to do that. Just don’t get mad at me for trying.”

She stared at you again.

You closed your locker door, “you weren’t the only one of us who was in love with her, Janis. You weren’t the only one who lost her, okay?”

You walked away from Janis for the second time, once again, unsure whether you were making the right choices in navigating this whole thing. You couldn’t exactly tell Janis the whole truth about your relationship, not without consulting Regina about it first. But you knew it wasn’t fair to leave Janis completely in the dark either.

You sat through your math class unable to pay attention to a single word out of Mrs. Norbury’s mouth because you were so caught up in how complicated this all was.

On your way out, Mrs. Norbury called you up to her desk and you obliged.

“Hey, you doing okay?”

You nodded, “yeah, I’m just having a weird week. I’m sorry for spacing out.”

She gave you a half smile, “look, I know your grades are going to be fine, that’s not what I’m worried about. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

“It’s just friend stuff.”

“Alright, well, just remember that graduation is right around the corner. You need to make sure that you’re thinking about what you want.” She smiled at you as if what she said wasn’t annoyingly vague.

“Have you told anyone else about your acceptance letter yet?” She continued.

“No… still only you and my parents know. I’m not ready to tell anyone else yet.”

“It’s been a few months now, you’ll have to start telling people eventually.”

“I know… I just…”

Mrs. Norbury waited patiently for you to finish.

“It hasn’t really sunk in for me yet.”

She raised an eyebrow. You knew she was suspicious of your answer but she let it go, “okay. Well, if you need anything, just let me know.”

You nodded and left her classroom. Your heart was pounding.

Until yesterday, there was no one that you were overly concerned to talk to about your college acceptance. But now… you’d have to find a way to tell Regina that in just a few short months, you’d be moving to Boston for college.

You hustled to your next class and pulled your phone out as you sat down in your seat. You quickly started a new message to the number that Ms. George gave you.

When you left that class, you checked your phone first thing and you had a text back.

“Is Regina okay?”

You typed your response as you walked, “Regina is okay, but there’s a lot going on right now and I could use your help. I’m sorry to text you out of the blue like this. Your mom gave me your number.”

“So, you and Regina are friends again?”

“Yes.”

“Janis, too?”

“That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about… what happened? If you don't mind me asking…”

It took a minute for Leighton to respond. You watched the little bubble that indicated she was typing until her message back finally came through.

Leighton wrote, “honestly? Looking back, it’s stupid and I’m p sure Regina overreacted.”

Leighton tells you that when you were all kids, Janis confided in her that she had a crush on Regina. Janis begged Leighton not to tell Regina, and Leighton agreed, not seeing any reason to hurt Janis and ruin the friendship between the girls. But sometime later, Regina came to know the truth and talked to Janis and turned her down kindly. Janis was still mortified, but beyond that, she was pissed. Janis assumed that Leighton told Regina and wanted to get back at her for it. Janis knew that Leighton had a big class presentation coming up and she came to school wearing a beautifully pressed, matching white suit jacket and skirt. Janis loaded up her lunch tray with everything that the cafeteria had to offer that would stain and then “bumped” right into Leighton, dumping her entire tray onto Leighton.

It was petty. It was stupid. It was misinformed. But it made Leighton cry in the bathroom, and that was something Regina couldn’t abide. Regina planned her revenge, and that’s how the spin-the-bottle party happened. Janis embarrassed Leighton, so Regina embarrassed Janis with the best ammo she had in her arsenal.

Next Chapter

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daughterofthequeen · 4 months

Text

A New Diagnosis

Pairing: Joel Miller x autistic daughter!reader

Summary: I have an idea. Joel Miller x daughter!reader, based in the camps they had everyone in after the outbreak(so a couple days after Sarah’s death technically) and the reader is a high functioning autistic who stims. So when they get to the camp and because of all the stress she has been under, it’s causing her stimming to flare up like crazy. So Joel and Tommy had to beg and plead to the soldiers, trying to let them know she is autistic and she wasn’t infected, that she just can’t control her stims.

Warnings: Angst, crying, cussing, stimming(not really a warning but its in the story), overstimulated meltdown, denial, most likely inaccurate chain of command about construction work or construction jobs in general, might be a little ooc Joel in one scene I’m not completely sure but it feels like it and I hate it😠😤.

A/N: the reader symptoms and preferences are based on my own, which is also where this idea came from. Ever since the show came out I just wondered what did they do to the people with ticks and stims at the beginning of the outbreak. I mean they eventually had to come up with a way to tell a difference in the beginning of the outbreak before they had the infection detector things, right?

I honestly might rewrite this because I don’t know if I like how this turned out. Usually I’m pretty good at picturing what characters would say in a certain situation, but there’s one part of the fic that I’m not so sure about( you’ll know it when you read it I’m sure). But it’s crazy because I’ve been living like this since the ages of 4 or 5 and it still extremely difficult to describe stimming, even harder writing about it. But I wish I had a Joel Miller parent so I guess I’m projecting a bit in this fic. And this may also be longest fic yet.

So I decided to make this into two parts because I want this posted today because it was supposed to be out yesterday and I don’t want to wait any longer.

Mockingbird (Part 2)

Taglist: @miss-celestial-being @ilovemydinoboi @taraiel @distorted-twink @geralallfandoms @your-shifting-gurl @daemontargaryenwhore @mihstar

What started out as a regular day went to hell in the span of a couple hours. I mean homes being set on fire, families separated, innocents slaughtered due to the fear of a sickness they had no cure for. But I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I? Let’s start from the beginning. My name is (Y/n) Miller, and this is the story of how everything went to shit.

I was only 4.

As a kid you’re oblivious to almost everything, but sometimes a child’s behavior can reflect the type of day the family will have whether they realize it or not. And my attitude had been off all that week, until my father’s birthday aka outbreak day. I called it the calm before the storm. That week I was in an overall bad mood. All of my senses had been on high, being overstimulated plus the struggle of always being alone in school. I mean don’t get me wrong I use to talk to some of my classmates, but most likely than not I would’ve been playing by myself either from trying to avoid the bullies or because nobody wanted to play with me in general. But hey, you can’t miss what you’ve never had. I never really understood people, I still don’t but I had my family and they always made everything okay. They never made me feel different about myself. Regardless of me being only four, I understood that the repetitive behaviors were definitely not normal. Along with the what I now know as stimming; physical, vocal, scripting, ticking, etc. I could go on and on about everything that makes me different, but my family had always helped me feel normal. To be honest I didn’t start realizing I was doing all that stuff until one day my dad sat me down and asked me ‘what are you doing’ and ‘are you okay?’, which made me more self-aware. And then there was school, the weird looks and the mean jokes came into play. I’ve rarely caught my family staring, but I knew they were. Growing up and remembering the past helps you realize things you might’ve missed or didn’t understand as a kid. Like the concerned/confused stares I would catch my dad or uncle Tommy giving me before I was diagnosed. I just didn’t know what the looks were for. But the day my father finally decided something was indeed wrong, that it wasn’t just a phase, had him making an appointment to my clinic fast. It was the first time my stimming caused me serious pain. Well, from what I can remember anyway.

July 23, 2002 - Austin,Texas (Y/n is 3 years old)

The day started out like any other. I woke up in my sister’s bed, once I got my bearings I got out of the bed and headed down stairs to see my dad and my sister having one of their many daily debates

“I’m just saying your generations music has nothing on ours- (Y/N)!” After hearing Sarah saying your name, Joel turned around seeing you standing in the kitchen doorway rubbing your eye.

“Hey babygirl. Did you have a good sleep?” He asked as he turned off the stove top and went to pick you up.

“Mhm. I’m hungry, daddy.”

“That’s good because I just cooked your favorite breakfast.” He said as he kissed your cheek and sat you down in the chair across from Sarah, who got the two of you orange juice. Joel then went to grab the plates. There were eggs, sausage, french toast, and he sat a bowl of grapes next to you knowing how much you love them. You all started eating your breakfast. You went straight for the grapes and started eating them, until you spotted something that looked weird to you. Frowning, you push the bowl away and went to the food on your plate.

“Something wrong with your grapes?” Joel asked you noticing the way you frowned up.

“They dirty daddy.” Causing Joel to frown in confusion.

“Dirty? I just washed ‘em.” Joel leaned forward and grabbed the bowl and didn’t see anything abnormal about the grapes. The water in the bowl didn’t even black specs in it that grapes leave behind. “They look fine to me.”

“No. They dirty daddy, look.” Standing in your chair, you leaned over and pointed to a grape with a light brown streak on it and another where it was brown from where the stem was.

“Oh, that doesn’t mean they’re dirty, baby. Grapes just to look like that sometimes or because they’ve gotten older. That’s all.”

“Ew.” You mumbled.

“They’re gonna taste the same.” Joel said as he sat the bowl back down next to you.

“I don’t want them anymore.” You say pushing the grapes away.

“They’re fine, (n/n). I actually think the small brown areas actually make them sweater.” Sarah says trying to reassure her baby sister.

“No.” That was your final statement before you went back to eating the food on your plate.

“Ok, you don’t have to eat ‘em.” Joel states as him and Sarah go back to eating their own food.

———

“(Y/n)!!! Come back here!”

“No!”

“We go through this every time you use the bathroom!”

Sarah was currently chasing you around the house. A daily thing really, but for the last few months you have determined on not washing your hands after using the bathroom. And not with just Sarah. With Joel and Tommy too. Joel usually would have to keep a firm grip on you that disabled you from moving away from the sink, and to keep you from running or flailing your arms around as an attempt to keep him from making you wash your hands.

The first time that happened you guys were at a restaurant. He would be surprised if that whole side of the restaurant didn’t hear you,

“Daddy, I have to use the bathroom.”

“Ok.” Usually he would have Sarah take you but her and Tommy’s food had made it to the table. And since he was still waiting on his, there was no sense in stopping her from eating. He took you out of the high chair, and you two headed to the restroom. After the long process of putting toilet paper on the seat, he sat you on the seat and let you do your business. Once you were finished cleaning yourself up and him flushing the toilet, he waited for you to go towards the sink. But you headed towards the door instead.

“Don’t forget to wash your hands.” Joel said from his spot on the wall he was leaning on with his arms crossed.

Turning towards the sink, you clasped your hands to your chest, letting out a low groan of disgust.

“What is it?”

“I don’t want to touch it.”

“What the sink?” You nodded.

“You have to wash your hands, babygirl. Come on.”

“No.” You whined, and Joel knew then the two of you were going to have a problem.

“Babygirl, please.” He said in a pleading tone and tired tone.

“No!” Joel sighed then picked you up and held you over the sink as he usually would when washing your hands, but this time due to your decision of fighting and squirming in his arms, he had to get a gentle but firm grip on your hands to wash them himself.

“(Y/n).” That caused you to stop in your tracks. The sound was unfamiliar until your mind put together it was your father’s voice. He never says your actual name unless you were in trouble, and even then it would depend. But him calling your name was enough time for Sarah to scoop you up and head to the nearest sink which was the kitchen.

Sarah sat you down after she finished washing your hands. After getting free you pouted and went into the living room to continue playing with your toys before your bladder interrupted you. So invested in what you were doing, you didn’t even hear your Uncle Tommy come in the house.

“What’s for dinner today?” He teased, rubbing the top of yours and Sarah’s head as he passed by each of you.

“I don’t know you’ll have to ask this guy. He was supposed to go to the store but surprise, he didn’t.” Sarah says with a sarcastic smile towards her father who was going through bills. Joel head turned towards Sarah giving a bored look.

“We’re ordering pizza.”

“Fine with me.” Tommy states triggering Joel to role his eyes.

“Of course it is.”

Sarah went upstairs for the book the two of you were reading. To ‘keep her ahead of her future classmates’. While Sarah was upstairs, Tommy eyes trailed over to you, he smiled as he watched you in your own little world playing with your toys while talking to yourself. He watched you for a minute until he saw you stretching your neck. Normally he would’ve thought nothing of it until he realized it was happening constantly. At first they were only seconds apart, then you would stop for a few minutes and start again. There wasn’t an exact pattern, but he caught the rhythm of it.

“Buns neck been bothering her?”

“No.” Joel answered absentmindedly, still invested in the papers he wished he could use as a coaster without consequence.

“You sure?”

“Yeah I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be sure?” Joel asked, getting annoyed by the fact he kept getting interrupted with his task.

“ ‘Cause she keeps stretchin’ it like it’s bothering her.”

Joel looks up at Tommy who had a slight worried look on his face. Joel then turns around in his chair to see what his brother was talking about. And true to his little brother’s words there you were stretching your neck and shoulder in a way that looks painful if he’s being honest. Joel turned back around to his brother with an equally concerned look. He leans closer towards him and lowers his voice before he started talking signaling Tommy to do the same.

“I don’t know why she does that, and every time I ask her if she’s ok she tells me she’s fine.”

“Maybe she has a crook in her neck.”

“No, if it was a crook we would know. She would be a lot worse. She tends to panic when she has one of those, and doesn’t do a lot of moving around. To stop the ‘bouncy feeling’. This. This is something else. And it’s been getting more frequent lately.”

“Frequent?”

“Yeah, this started a few months ago. It’ll leave and come back after a few weeks, but like I said it’s been happening a lot more often lately. She does it with her hands and wrist too.”

“Hm.”

Joel turned back towards his youngest. “Babygirl, you okay?” He said in a tone reserved for only you and Sarah when she’s upset about something.

You look up from your toys, bright innocent eyes finding your father’s concerned ones.

“Yeah.”

“You sure? Your neck not bothering you?”

“No.” You replied while standing up from your place on the floor and walked over to your father. When you got close enough he automatically picked you up and sat you on his thigh.

“Then why do you keep rollin’ it around honey?”

“I’m not.” Joel frowned in confusion. He’s clearly watching you do it so, either you’re lying for some unknown reason or you just don’t know that you’re doing it. But he’s always able to tell just by asking one question.

“Are you telling me the truth?” Simple, but it works. It was a question he would ask you every time he would think you were lying. And every time you answer you have a tell. When you tell the truth you tend to answer pretty confidently, but when you lie, you always fiddle with something whether it be your clothes, your fingers, or just bouncing your foot.

“Yes.” There’s no fidgeting. Covering up how even more confused he was in the moment he just nodded in understanding even though he didn’t.

“Ok baby, you want to go back to playin’ with your toys?”

“Yeah.” You replied getting down from your father’s lap before he even had the chance to put you down. Then you ran off to start back playing until Sarah came back down the stairs.

“(N/n), story time.” Hearing that you stood up and headed over to the couch with your sister. Before you sat down you picked up your stuffed bunny, Tommy got it for you when you were two. They used to use it to stop you from crying, but now you take it wherever you go. You laid down across the couch with Sarah and had your bunny in front of you in the same position you were to Sarah. She opened the book to where you two left off and started reading stopping at every few paragraphs to let you read.

Joel watched the two of you, his world. He would never understand how a mother would want to give this up.

“Have you thought about getting her checked out?” Tommy’s voice broke Joel from his thoughts.

“Checked for what?” Joel asked frowning at his brother.

“Joel, are you serious? Something could be wrong.”

“She’s fine, Tommy. She’ll grow out of it.”

“Grow out of it? Don’t you want to make sure?”

“Tommy, please.” Now Joel was lying. To himself especially. But that is understandable, what parent wants to accept that something may be wrong with their child. It was a scary thing to think about.

“What if it’s somethin’ wrong? Wouldn’t you want to get Bun’ the help she needs as soon as possible.”

“She doesn’t need help Tommy. I’m telling you she’ll grow out of it.”

“Joel-”

“Just let it go.” Joel whispered in a hardened tone, trying to keep his voice down so the girls wouldn’t hear that anything was wrong. “Look, would you order the pizza for tonight. I’m trying to finish up these bills.” Tommy mumbled a ‘sure’ and got up to make the call. He understood why Joel didn’t want to talk about that kind of stuff, what parent does? But knowing his stubborn nature he won’t act on it unless something happens that causes him to. After hearing the voice of the pizza lady on the line, Tommy uses it as a distraction to get his mind off his niece and his stubborn mule of a brother.

January 16, 2003 - 6:30am

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Sarah sat up with a soft groan and stretches, when she heard whining. She turned toward her sister who was hiding under the covers.

“Time to get up (n/n).” Sarah was about to stand up until she heard you cry out. She pulled back the covers to see you in a fertile position, hands covering your ears, eyes squeezed shut. “Come on (n/n), we- what’s wrong?” Sarah asked starting to panic seeing a tear fall from your eye.

“Too loud!” Sarah was confused for a second before she remembered the alarm was still going off. She quickly reached over to turn it off, and brought you into her arms. She laid you on her chest, rocking you back and forth while rubbing the top of your head, and she softly shushed you until you calmed down. When Sarah heard your cries turn into sniffles and looked down at you.

“You okay?” She asked softly rubbing the top of your head. She was confused as to why you reacted this way but, whatever the reason, it had her extremely worried. After seeing you nod your head she was able to relax, but she knew she still needed to tell dad about what just happened. Sarah got you up so, the both of you could start your morning routine. Everything went semi-smoothly, but that’s to be expected after your reaction to the alarm clock she’s not all that shocked about your agitated behavior. Sarah had just finished fixing your shirt when there was a knock on the bedroom door.

“Come in.”

“Hey, you girls almost ready?”

“Yep, we were just about to head down for breakfast.” Sarah stood from her kneeling position in front of you, letting you know that she was finished. And after going to tuck your bunny in bed you walked over to Joel.

“Unfortunately, you two are going to have to eat breakfast at school.” He said as he picked you up.

“Ew, why?” Sarah asked.

“Well your Uncle Tommy called and said there’s been an emergency at the house we’re working on so, when he pulls up we gotta go.” He grabbed your book bag and started down the stairs since you had decided to fall back asleep, not that he blamed you if he could he would have too. A minute later Tommy pulls up and surprisingly the Adlers weren’t outside, then again they were leaving a little earlier than usual. But, either way they didn’t have time to stop and talk. Sarah was dropped off first, then you. And it wasn’t until Sarah sat down in her first period class when she realized she forgot to tell her dad what happened this morning.

———

Time Skip

Normally, when school gets out you would ride home with Denise, due to her daughter going to the same school and Sarah’s school getting out 10 minutes after your school does. Then add another 20-30 minutes of her having to take the school bus then the city bus to get home. When Sarah makes it to the neighborhood she has to pass by Denise house to get to yours which is when she picks you up, but today didn’t work out that way. It started when Joel got a phone call from your school.

Joel and Tommy were currently managing the workers that were doing the framework of the building they were working on. Well Tommy was, Joel was trying to keep calm while talking to the construction manger.

“Look all I’m saying is we should be getting paid more since we’re working more hours than what we were told we would be working, don’t you think.” The construction manger has been going back and forth with Joel for about 10 minutes now, way too long for Joel’s liking.

“No, I don’t. Especially since the reason we’re in this situation is because you guys didn’t do your jobs right in the first place. You’re lucky you’re still gettin’ paid the amount that was agreed upon.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that if you and your guys spent as much time working as you do talking and taking breaks you probably would’ve done your jobs right the first time, and we wouldn’t be in this situation, or behind a day.” The manger didn’t take too kindly to that statement, and Joel was so close to losing his nerve until he was saved by the bell, literally. Right before he was about to tell the construction manager that he can stick it where the sun don’t shine, his phone started ringing.

Joel sighed while taking his phone out of the carrying case to see it was the preschool calling much to his confusion. He didn’t even notice the construction manager was still talking.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Take it up with Tommy.” He said while waving him off and answering his phone. “Hello.”

“Mr. Miller.”

“Yeah.”

“This is Elizabeth, (Y/n)’s teacher. We need you to come to the school.” Joel immediately sighs, dragging his hand over his face.

“What’d she do?” He replies in an exhausted tone. He never gets calls from your schools unless it’s to let him know he needed to bring a change of clothes for you. All the preschoolers have to have an extra pair of clothes that’s to be kept in the classroom just in case the kids have an accident or something. But you’ve been acting out a lot lately, and he wouldn’t be surprised if it was for something like that.

“It may be better for you to come up to the school so we can explain it to you face-to-face.” Joel didn’t like the way this was sounding. It was hard for him to pinpoint the emotion that was coming off her voice, which worried him more.

“Okay, I’m on my way.” He sighed while hanging up the phone. He walked over to Tommy who looks like he actually did tell the construction manager to shove it, going off the look on the of their faces. “Tommy, I need you to watch over everything here for a while.”

“What’s goin’ on?”

“That was (Y/n)’s school, they need me to go up there.”

“Is everything okay with bun’?”

“I don’t know her teacher wouldn’t tell me anything. I’m sure she’s fine, she probably just got into it with a kid in her class again.”

“Okay, call me when you find out what’s goin’ on.”

“I will. Alright I’m off, and make sure they actually do their job correctly this time.”

“I got it, go on.”

After that Joel made his way to the truck. Even though he says he’s sure she’s fine, he couldn’t help but worry about you. The tone of your teacher didn’t sound good at all. She sounded worried. And sad? Were you sick? He could deal with a common cold, but your teachers tone indicated something worse than that. And there has been a deadly virus going around the world, it hasn’t made it to America yet at least that’s what they’re telling everyone. But what if it has made it over seas? There’s no cure for it, and what if you had it? That couldn’t happen, to you or Sarah. He wouldn’t know what he would do if he lost one of you. No. Stop. That’s not going to happen. That would never happen. He hates when his mind gets like this, but as a single father the need to protect the two of you is the most important thing to him, and that makes him worry even more because that’s something he can’t ever fail at, and he doesn’t even want to think what’ll happen if he does.

He gets out of the truck and speed walks towards your classroom. He had gotten into his own head, but there’s something inside of him that’s telling him this is as serious as it feels.

“Mr. Miller.” He turns upon hearing his name being called, seeing your teacher standing in the doorway of the office.

“Where is she?” He asks as he makes his way to her. Once he got close enough he realized the tone in her voice wasn’t sadness, but pity? Why would she pity him, and where were you?

“She’s in the principals office. But! But before you go in we should probably explain what happened and why.” She said stopping him from brushing past her.

“What did she get into a fight with another kid or somethin’?” Joel ask impatiently.

“No-”

“Okay, then it can wait.” He moves to fast for her to stop and walks into the principals office to see you sitting in a chair with dried tear stain down your cheeks. He quickly kneeled in front of you gently grasping your hands in his.

“What’s wrong, babygirl. What happened?”

“I wanna go home.” You mumbled

“Ok, you want to tell me why?”

“Mr. Miller, we really need to talk to you.” The principal finally spoke up motioning to the officer hallway. He huffed as he stood up and followed the principal out, but not before he kissed your forehead and told you that he would be back.

“Okay, what’s so important that you had to drag me away from my daughter, who’s been crying? And why is she crying? I swear if that Richardson kid put her hands on her again-” He was annoyed with everyone at this point everyone besides you obviously, he just doesn’t understand why they couldn’t tell him while he comforted his daughter.

“We’re sorry, Mr. Miller. We just didn’t want to make her think that she was in trouble, we just got her to calm down.”

“So, she’s fine?”

“Physically, yes.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“Ms. Elizabeth?” The principal could he was getting upset so she found it best to let your teacher explain what happened.

“Mr. Miller.”

“Would y’all stop calling my damn name and actually tell what the hell’s going on with my daughter?

“Well (Y/n) has been in an agitated mood all day, but that’s not the problem. Uhm, the kids just got back from lunch about 30 to 40 minutes ago, and after they eat I usually let them have play time before I start their last lesson for the day before nap time. Today during play time (Y/n) had a little outburst.” Elizabeth knew she was beating around the bush, but that’s because she has heard this conversation happen many times with other teachers and parents and most often than not the parents don’t respond to well.

“Little outburst?”

“Well not really an outburst, but more of a meltdown. This is the special needs teacher, Ms. Thomson, and a friend of mine so I know what signs to look out for in a child. And (Y/n) has been showing these signs since the beginning of the year. They can be overlooked especially in girls and be seen as ‘normal’ and in a way it is. For her anyway.”

“What are you talking about? Signs for what?” Joel asked in frustrated tone.

Ms. Elizabeth look over at the special needs teacher to nervous to continue, and to make sure that she’s positive of (Y/n)’s condition. To which her friend responded with a nod.

“We think (Y/n) has autism. And before you say anything, the signs are all there. I’ve been watching her since her first day of becoming my student. And we highly recommend that she be tested.”

“What? She’s not autistic. I think I would know if my daughter had autism. Look at her, does she look autistic to you?”

“Autism doesn’t always have a look Mr. Miller, and just because she doesn’t have a physical disablement doesn’t mean she’ll be any less autistic than someone with one. That’s why we recommend getting her tested to find out how far she is on the spectrum.”

“You sound so sure that, that’s what it is. How did y’all come up with autism from her having a ‘meltdown’? And what do you mean by meltdown?”

“Well after I sent the kids to go off and begin playing I noticed (Y/n) hadn’t moved from the table, she just sat there, covering her ears with tears in her eyes. She had been in that position since they came back from lunch. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me the other kids were being too loud. But before I could offer a solution the students behind us started screaming louder than what they were, which triggered somewhat of chain reaction with the rest of the class, so I turned around make sure everything was ok but when I that’s when (Y/n) ran to the bathroom and locked herself in. I had to send the other kids to sit in a classroom with another teacher. (Y/n) was crying. Sobbing. When I unlocked the door she was sitting in the corner squeezing the sides of her head so hard it looked painful. All to try and block out the world because it was too much for her. It broke my heart to see her like that because (Y/n) is sweetest little girl I’ve ever met, and to see her in pain like, any child, it’s a hard thing to see. I had to wrestle with her a little to keep her from hurting herself, but I was able to get her calm enough to sit her in my lap and have her hold onto me while I called Ms. Thomson, who was able to calm her further until she reassociated with everything around her.

“Pain?” That’s when the special needs teacher finally decided to step in and say something.

“It’s called a sensory overload, Mr. Miller. It’s very common in the Autism Spectrum. It’s when someone on the spectrum becomes to overwhelmed with the world around them, and if they can’t find some kind of outlet from everything more than likely it’s going to cause a break down in one way or another.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s autistic-“

“Mr. Miller. Does (Y/n) walk on her tippy toes?

“Yeah, but all babies do that.”

“How does she act when she is in a large crowd or around someone she doesn’t know.” Ms. Thomson was completely calm while asking these questions. Knowing that getting agitated or saying something wrong could keep you from getting the help you need.

“The same as any other kid.”

“Does she get in mood where she doesn’t want to talk or just can’t talk in general?”

“Ok look, you’re only naming things all kids do.”

“Yes, but like every thing else on the spectrum there’s a line where it occurs more than it should. Let me ask you one more question Mr. Miller.

He doesn’t even reply he only took a breath to let her know he didn’t want to talk about the topic anymore. Still in denial, even after everything they just told him.

“Does she tend to twitch, or repeat her movements? Have you ever seen her stiffen or strain her body?” Joel didn’t even reply.

“Your silence speaks volumes Mr. Miller. Please, get her tested. It will help her make it in a society that wasn’t made for her. Giving her benefits she can use to even the playing field with neurotypicals. Don’t you think she deserves that?” Joel really didn’t want to accept this. Knowing that if you are autistic, you’ll face more difficulties in life. All because you were different. Difficulties you’re already facing, he just didn’t want to admit it.

“What do I need do to get her tested?” Joel asked after his little debate. All he can hope that the test comes out as negative, but that’s a long shot, given the special needs teacher already seems so sure, the test was just to confirm it.

Ms. Thomson who was smiling after hearing his agreement answered him. “Nothing, I already have an appointment set up for her with a neurodevelopmental pediatrician, who is also a good friend of mine. So, as soon as she finishes with the evaluation you will get the results. I just needed your approval.”

“Okay. Uh, thank you.”

“No problem.”

“Is it ok if I take her home?” Joel ask looking towards your teacher.

“Yes, I think that’s the best thing for her right now. Being in her safe space with all her things will help her get some much needed rest. I will write down the appointment information and what you’ll need for the evaluation and put it in her backpack for you.”

“Thank you.” After that Joel walked back into the office to see you playing with one of the pens on the principals desk in one hand and your head laying on top of the other. “Hey babygirl. You want to go home?” He asked as he kneeled in front of the chair, while making sure to keep his voice at a low level. Once you nodded he stood up, gently grabbed your hand, and the two of you went to get your bag and appointment information.

January 20, 2003 - 1:00 p.m.

Joel and Tommy were on their lunch break at a burger place when Joel’s phone started ringing. He cleaned his hands and took his phone out it’s carrying case before answering. “Hello?”

“Is this Joel Miller?” A woman’s voice.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, good. This is Tonia, the neurodevelopmental pediatrician that did (Y/n)’s evaluation.”

“Right, so what were the results?”

“Well, the documents are ready for you to come and get them, and I will break everything down once you get here, if you want.”

“Uhhhh yeah, I’ll be there in about 20-25 minutes.”

“Ok, see you then. Bye bye.”

“Bye. Get up Tommy, we gotta go.”

“I’m still eatin’”

“Tommy, bring it with you. Jesus.” Joel mumbled as he rolled his eyes at his younger brother.

They made it to the building, and Joel was doing his best to remember the way to the correct office while also trying to calm his anxious mind. When they made it to the office, Joel knocked on the door frame of the open door before walking in Tonia’s office.

“Here you go.” She said as she handed the papers to Joel who noticed it was about 15 pages.

“Wha-what am I looking at?” He asked looking up at the pediatric who let out a low chuckle, she gets the same reaction from almost all of the parents she encounters.

“Well first things first, I’ve concluded (Y/n) does have ASD. She is what we call a high-functioning autistic, and I came up with that diagnosis based on her teacher’s observations, your own, and from the activities I had her to do. The evaluation explains everything of what that means in detail like her sensitivity to sounds, her not liking to touch certain things, lack of social skills, etcétera.”

“So, what does this mean for her?”

“Well, she can stay in Ms. Elizabeth’s class, there’s no need to move her to the special needs class permanently. But she does have special education, and all that means is that Ms. Thomson will take her in her classroom to help her find ways to calm herself when she feels herself getting overstimulated. Or if she can’t and Ms. Elizabeth sees she is getting overwhelmed or she tells Ms. Elizabeth she’s getting overwhelmed they’ll send her to Ms. Thomson class or a quiet place for her to calm down. And maybe she’ll even have better luck with making friends in the special needs classroom than she does in her regular class. And education wise it means when she gets test she can go to a different classroom to take it and she’ll be able receive more time on any tests she has to take as well.” She looked up from her notes, making sure she got all the main checkpoints, but when she did Joel’s face told her everything she needed to know.

“Mr. Miller, the worst thing you can do for her is to feel bad for her. There’s no reason too.”

“No reason to? The whole point of this was to make sure she gets the help she needs to keep up with everyone else.”

“No, the reason for this was to make sure she had the help if and when she needs it. Academically (Y/n) is one of the smartest kids in her class, actually in her grade. It might take more effort, but she’s keeping up with her classmates. Some of the worst things you can do is pity her, hold her back due to being overprotective, or use it as an excuse to make her seem more fragile. I’m not saying she’s not going to have challenges because she is, but all you have to do is stay beside and make sure she keeps working at it till she gets it. And stay way from describing her condition as ‘slow’ or ‘retarded’. And you can’t punish her because of her stimming or overstimulated behavior. Not saying that you would! I mean- you just wouldn’t believe how many parents would get agitated and angry about things their child can’t control, but I’m sure you’ll be fine. You’re attentive to her, and that’s something she’s going to need from you growing up.” Joel nodded in understanding still skimming through the evaluation packet.

“Thank you for doing this in such short notice.”

“No problem. She’s one of the sweetest kids I’ve met. And cutest.” That caused a smile to appear on Joel’s face. He hasn’t been able to smile much since Thursday, always thinking about you and the whole situation. Which has been weighing on his mind literally 24/7.

“Thank you for this, you have a nice day.” He said before turning around to leave out the office.

“You as well.” She replied also smiling at Tommy, who smiled and winked back, reaching his goal of getting her to laugh.

Joel barely made through the door before Sarah hit him with a “what’d she say?”

“Uhhh- where’s (Y/n)? And how’d you know she called?”

“She called the house phone first. And (Y/n) is upstairs, I just got her out the tub, which she didn’t like, at all.”

“She didn’t want to get out?”

“No, she didn’t want to get in. But she should be finished putting on her pajamas by now.”

“Ok, go get her and I’ll tell y’all the results.”

“Ok.” Sarah ran upstairs to get you, when you both got down stairs and sat on the couch, Sarah sat on the right side of Joel, and he picked you up and sat you on his lap tucking you into his side.

“How was school today, honey.” Joel turning his head towards you.

“Good. Ms. Elizabeth gave me headphones to put on my ears when everything got too loud again.”

“Did she? That was real nice of her.”

“Yeah. How was your day, daddy?”

“It was really good, babygirl. Thank you for asking.” The smile you gave him made his whole day. He thought back to what the pediatrician said about not pitying you because that’s not something you need from him. Looking at you now he realized she was right. He’s going to do his best to give you what you need. Whatever it may be, and he knows you’re going to grow into a smart and beautiful woman. He reached down and kissed your temple getting laugh out of you, a sound he would never get tired of.

Joel turned his towards Sarah, about to ask her how her day went stopped him before he started.

“My day was fine, the same. What did she say?” Joel paused for a second before he chuckled at her before pointing to the where he sat the evaluation.

“That’s the paper, she gave me that explains everything.” He blinked and Sarah had the papers in her hand, while she started reading he turned back to you to explain everything to you somehow.

“Ok babygirl. Do you remember test you had to take with the lady a few days ago?” After you nodded he continued. “You remember she told you it’s going let us know if you think differently than everybody else?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it turns out you do.”

“Is that bad?”

“No! No, no, no. It’s not bad at all, and don’t let anyone tell you that it is. Ok?”

“Ok.”’

“All it means is some things may be a little harder or more overwhelming to you than other people, but it also means better at other things too.”

“Like what?”

“Like being artistic, and solving puzzles. But it also means you can be smarter than others in your class. You may have to learn some things in a different way, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be smarter. You already are. Ms. Elizabeth told me you were one of the smartest people in your grade.”

“She did!?”

“She did.”

“Wow.” You whispered in awe.

“Yeah, that’s a big deal, and daddy is so proud of you. You remember that, ok? No matter how big you get.”

“I promise, daddy.”

“Good. I love you babygirl.” He said, pressing another kiss to your temple.

“I love you too, daddy.” You said placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Awwwww, that’s so sweet. What are we eating for dinner? I’m hungry.” Sarah interrupted and Joel huffed out a laughed placing a quick kiss on her temple as well.

“I’m proud of you too baby.”

“I know, dad.” She said softly smiling.

“How about we go out for dinner? I really don’t feel like cookin’.”

“Fine with me. Come on (Y/n), let’s go put some clothes on.”

“Okay!” You said as you jumped up from Joel’s lap and ran off to catch up to your big sister.

A/n: Long story short the story was too long🤭🙇‍♀️😭 so I decided to split it into two parts. I hope you guys enjoy, sorry I took so long. But I love you guys for being patient, I really appreciate it.

#joel miller x autistic!reader #joel miller x platonic!reader #joel miller x daughter!reader #joel miller x reader #hbo tlou #tlou fanfiction #A New Diagnosis #joel miller x autistic!daughter!reader #joel miller x autistic daughter!reader

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the-froschamethyst4 · 22 days

Text

Over the Net

𖤐Pairing: Single Father! König x Volleyball Coach! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: fluff, language, volleyball terminology, flirting, high school, badly translated German, a bit of an age gap, drinking,

𖤐Summary: König needed to pick up his daughter from Volleyball practice and he ends up meeting her coach for the first time

————

König sits in the parking lot waiting for his daughter to get done with Volleyball. Normally he would allow her to get a ride with one of her friends but after practice she had a physical therapy appointment.

She rolled her ankle, twisted her knee and ended up breaking her thumb all within a span of 4 weeks into the new season of Volleyball.

König was worried about Heidi. He told her to sit out for this season but nothing was going to stop her from playing and not only that her coach asked for her to be on the team.

He gets out of his car knowing they were going to be done soon. He stood in front of his car waiting, tapping his foot and then tapping his fingertips on his forearm.

“Come on, what’s going on?” König mumbled to himself. He was just being impatient because he’s never missed an appointment and he’s definitely not going to miss one now.

"Hey, you waiting as well?" Another father came up to König.

"Yeah, what's going on? Don't they usually finish as 5?"

"Yeah...I'm not sure either."

"THEY JUST SENT OUT THAT PRACTICE MAY BE A LITTLE BIT LONGER THAN EXPECTED!! MAYBE TILL 7?!" A mother yells from her car waving her phone.

"Oh okay, I'm going back home then," the father says getting back into his car. Not König.

"What," he groans. He needs to get Heidi so they could get her physical therapy done. He walks to the gym, seeing the one right door open and he could hear the sound of shoes squeaking on the gym floor.

He peaks his head into the building, he sees the girls running up and down the court, sweating, panting and tagging the next person to run up and down the court.

König could see Heidi, he could tell she was pushing herself to her limit, she sat on the gym floor, panting, wiping sweat from her forehead and taking a swig of her Gatorade.

"Heidi, is that your dad?" One girl bent down to Heidi's level pointing to the tall buff man walking in.

"What the hell is he doing here?" She mumbles before getting off the floor. "Dad-"

"Why's practice all of a sudden becoming longer? We have an appointment to get to, you know this."

"I can't control that, dad, it's up to my coach."

"Well where is he, I wanna talk to him," he says, looking around for an adult. He hears the whistle blow and all the girls stopped.

"TAKE A BREAK!!" A woman's voice called to her athletes. "Heidi, who's this?" She comes up to Heidi and her father.

"Coach Y/n, this is my father."

"Why don't you go get water, Heidi...can I help you?" She looks up at König.

"Well...I'm here to collect my daughter, she has an appointment for physical therapy-"

"I'm aware," she says, tapping her clipboard with her pen.

"You're aware of?"

"Her appointment, she told me..."

"And you made practice longer?" König was confused.

"I made practice longer for the girls who needed the help the most, Heidi says she would like to practice longer..."

"But...can I take her for today, and next practice she could stay the long time?"

"Sure, but she'll miss a new play we'll be going over."

"Why didn't you teach it during the first hour of practice?"

"Because Mr. King, the first hour we do review, second hour we do some scrimmaging, and third hour we go over new plays, this new longer hour, we are going to start doing some exercises and practice hits in between and then we start doing the new play for the court, now...can I do my job or are you going to tell my boss that I'm trying to make a better team?"

König was kind of shocked by Coach Y/n's sudden outburst. She seemed kind of frustrated as well, like ever since she made this longer practice, parents have been getting on her tail about it. EVEN SOME OF THE PARENTS ASKED FOR LONGER PRACTICE HOURS AND THEY STILL GET ON HER ASS ABOUT IT!

"I understand...completely I do...Heidi, come on, we need to get going, we can't be late..." König says as Heidi groans and Y/n just discreetly rolled her eyes.

----------

König sits in the waiting room of the Physical Therapist. He was mainly thinking about how that small woman has such a big temper. He's never really met anyone like that.

He leans back his head hitting against the wall behind him, his hand playing with the fluff of his daughters coat. Heidi soon comes walking out of the therapy room huffing and puffing taking her coat off König's lap.

"You ready?"

"Yep," she says, putting her coat on and König pats Heidi's head.

"What's up with that Coach of yours?"

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"She's got a temper on her."

"Only when she's frustrated," Heidi tells him. "And when we have games."

"I see," König says.

-----------

The Next Practice

Coach Y/n sits on the outside bleachers as the gym they usually use was being used by the male basketball team. So, they were booted to the outdoor court, where the girls had to wear their knee pads, just in case.

Y/n hates this court because half of the time most of the girls will scrap their knees and Y/n has asked the school so many times for a little sand pad for the girls, if they will have to practice outside then why can't they be more comfortable in sand and brace their falls versus the concrete.

"Careful!" Y/n yells as some of the girls landed on the concrete almost half her team had sat out because of their knees and or feet hurting.

Heidi groans as her hands were on her knees, she sat on because of her bad knee hurting her, so she barely practiced. Y/n then blew her whistle getting the girls to stop.

"We'll call it for today...I know you girls are hurting, I'm sorry about today," Y/n apologizes to the girls.

Heidi chugs some of her water and then waited for König. She texted him that practice ended early. She sits on the curb, she looks at the blacktop kicking some of the small rocks or throwing them.

Soon someone sat next to her, she looks at the person and it was Y/n. She gives Heidi a small smile and handed her a new water bottle, Y/n knows Heidi's water bottle was empty, she's just bored.

"Dad's late?" Y/n asked.

"Just a bit...he's getting off work now..." she says, twisting the cap of her water bottle taking a few swigs from it.

"I see..." Y/n says. "How's your knees?"

"Fine, my right one hurts," the one she twisted late season.

"I bet, I'll have to tell the principal that male basketball and girls volleyball need to figure out their practice times...this is the 2nd time they've done that...they have an outdoor court, I don't know why they can't use that one instead?"

"It's because the principal only cares about the male sports and what they need, even though this school is only popular for their female sport programs...didn't the girls basketball make it to finals and the male basketball team like lost almost every game they've played?" Heidi says.

"Agreed..." Y/n and Heidi could agree on so many things wrong with this school giving so much money to male sport programs but giving the girls a lower budget. It was stupid.

The girls had to come up with fundraisers to be able to get a new net, the old one had big holes from the net being old and being dry-rotted.

Heidi then saw her fathers car pull into the schools parking lot. Heidi grabbed her things and headed to her dads car, he steps out after she gets into the passenger side.

"Sorry, about that," he apologized to Y/n.

"It's okay...Mr. King, before you leave..." he turns back to her.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry, for being rude to you the other practice, I know you had an appointment to get your daughter to that day, I was going to release her to you, but I wanted her to get done with some exercises before I released her."

"I understand, I get it, really, coach-"

"Please, call me, Y/n..."

"Okay, see ya' later, Y/n." he gets into his car driving off.

-------------

A Week Later

Heidi's first game of the season, she was ready to hit the ball back over the net, it was coming right at her too. König watches his daughter and Y/n is making sure Heidi had enough time to get the ball back over the net before the timer runs out.

Soon Heidi hits it back over the net and another came running up from her side and spiking it, hitting the floor on the opponents side. Heidi's team wins and Y/n was excited that they won the first game.

The girls all ran off the court to hug Y/n and line up to shake hands with the other team. Heidi runs to her chair grabbing her water bottle. She heads to the locker room and some of the parents went to Y/n to thank her.

König stood in the back of the group of parents as Y/n talked to every parent. Once the parents left König walked to Y/n, hands in his hoodie pocket and he cleared his throat.

"You did good."

"I didn't do anything."

"You helped our girls...you did good," he tells her before leaving to go get Heidi.

"Mr. King."

"Yes?"

"This may be...highly inappropriate and I thought about getting it off my chest, and you are allow to deny me...would you like to get some drinks, one day?"

"Coach Y/n...are you asking me on a date?"

"Forget it."

"No, no, I'm joking, I'm joking...yeah...I'll get some drinks with you."

-------------

A Few Nights Later

König sits at the bar tapping his fingers on the bar counter and waiting for Y/n, she wasn't late or anything König was just early. 10 minutes early.

Probably to get a good spot for the both of them, this bar usually filled up quickly. Soon Y/n comes in and sits next to König. He turns and smiles at her.

"You look..."

"Dumb? I didn't know what to go with-"

"Wunderschön (Gorgeous)," he says.

"Danke (Thank you)." She says back.

König and Y/n just talked and drink the whole night. König then brought Y/n to his car. She came by UBER not knowing how much she would drink. She wasn't drunk nor tipsy, but König didn't want her in a car with a stranger after drinking.

He took her home. König held Y/n to his side as they entered König's domain, they laughed as they removed their shoes at the front door and once they walked in Heidi peaks over the couch.

"Dad!? Coach Y/n?!" Both adults stopped in their tracks looking at the Junior.

"Hey, kiddo, I thought you might have been asleep."

"What would you two have done if I was?" She asked.

König and Y/n looked at each other before laughing like to teenagers, Heidi rolled her eyes and scoffed before getting grossed out and leaving.

"You know what, I don't want to know..." she says as she goes up the stairs.

"So...since she's upstairs...do you wanna?" König raised his eyebrows at Y/n before she lightly pushed him away.

"You're so weird," she teased.

"I'm not weird, I'm fun, come on," König takes her hand and going to his bedroom, shutting the door behind them.

#cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #fandom #fanfic #call of duty #mw2 #cod #könig mw2 #könig x reader #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig fanfiction #könig #mw3 x reader #mw3 #call of duty mw3 #cod mw3

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perictione00 · 8 months

Text

Selfish

Ch 2: Confession

Pairing: Geto Suguru x reader

Warnings: MDNI, smut, fluff, pining, teenage angst.

Synopsis: You left the Jujutsu World behind the moment the source of your warmth turned cold. So what happens when you come face to face with that one episode in your life that you wanted to obliterate? Simple, you reap what you sow.

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Ch 1

2006

On your first meeting with Gojo Satoru, you concluded that he was an arrogant, spoiled brat who was gifted with good looks and godlike powers. Fortunately, with him came the heavenly two: Shoko and Geto, who aligned with the normal spectrum of human emotions in your eyes, unlike the borderline narcissist called Gojo. Maybe you were biased, but at least those two didn't call you weak when you introduced yourself. It was not difficult to get along with all of them, so in no time, you grew close to everyone. You spent a lot of time with Yaga, who was trying to decipher your cursed technique, which he believed was something akin to Geto's, and that brought about daily practice sessions with your then crush.

Geto Suguru was nearly perfect in all senses, always on the morally correct side. His desire to protect everyone, his unique approach to the whole teaching situation, and his method of training added more to his already mesmerizing persona in your mind. You trained with him every single day after classes, had hour-long conversations about the most stray subjects while trading vintage cassette tapes, and feasted on any peculiar but palatable dish you came across. Regarding your slow growth, his patience with you bore fruit the day you stumbled upon an unfavorable breakthrough. You fainted halfway through combat, yet your body swerved every additional attack coming your way with some foreign cursed energy. He conducted certain actions that might trigger this behavior again, only to discover that you shared some sort of symbiotic relationship with an entity that resided within your subconscious. He surmised that it didn't possess you; instead, it protected you, the host, for mutually gainful results. It wasn't dangerous by nature. Geto tried exorcising it but gave up due to its unpredictable nature while secretly informing Yaga about it.

_______

After your lucrative performance in the Yamanashi Prefecture assignment, you were bombarded with numerous missions, sometimes assisting Haibara or Nanami, keeping you busy enough to miss out on your lessons with Geto. So naturally, Geto found himself gravitating towards you when he saw your bruised form coming out of the infirmary. "Missed me?", Geto asked, leaning on the infirmary door.

"You wish", you replied with a playful smile.

"Ouch... can't recall your Romeo already, I see". Now that is awful because that's the thing about Geto; he says stuff like this so casually, and it hurts knowing well the platonic character of your relationship. You feel terrible for not being a truly faithful friend. However, you have almost made peace with it over the span of 4 months, striving to get it through your head that dating is not the most significant experience of teenage life; maybe it's friendship, and it's okay to accept that some people are just way out of your league. These were the constant subliminal messages going around in your head.

"Yeah, found a new one. Hello husband", you retorted as Nanami entered the scene, and in true Nanami fashion, he took his time to understand that the remark was meant for him.

"So it was a head injury, I presume", Nanami said with a straight face.

"More like a heart injury after your blatant denial of our romantic married life just now!", you scoffed, trying to sound as offended as possible. You found out recently that teasing Nanami had become your new favorite thing; his reactions were to die for, and possibly Gojo's weird tactics were rubbing off on you.

To say that Geto was bewildered would be an understatement, because the last time he checked, Nanami wasn't one to entertain such chatter or blush at unintentionally flirty jokes. Generally, Geto considered himself the most mature of the bunch, and he was above all these sappy-feeling things, so why were several questions flooding his head? Was Geto the third wheel here? Was he feeling some sort of way for you? Did he want you to be this way only with him? Geto waited till Nanami left out of sheer awkwardness and embarrassment to ask if you wanted to hang out with him, and unfortunately, you were not free.

Actually, you were. You just wanted to save yourself from the heartache because it was frustrating how you felt around him. He was untouchable and really beautiful, and your sense of inferiority kicked in every time Gojo bragged about the double dates he went on with his best friend. So turning him down seemed like a better option than deluding yourself in fantasies. What you didn't know was that life already had a funny joke up its sleeve—that Geto had been assigned to an inevitable mission along with Gojo that very day.

2010

Geto was tired of dealing with the spineless monkeys; they were getting on his nerves. Such self-centered, one-dimensional idiotic bunch weren't worth his time, but their pockets full of money and senseless heads filled with blind devotion were. Since their disgusting lives lacked meaning, he manipulated them into believing in the revolutionary religious group that he was the god of. To make some sense of the useless souls, he was doing them a favor by liberating them and making use of their miserable existence. It was always easy to instill fear in the ignorant; hence, his blessings and powers became the perfect pearls in his already beautiful ornament.

What kept him motivated was something that he yearned for—the only boon he had been enthroned with—you. And right now, he was waiting for you to return from an important congregation you conducted to scout some new fools into this institution. He knew you were capable of so much more than just using your beauty and polite, submissive nature to exploit the beliefs of the non-sorcerers, yet he couldn't trigger your fragile state by exposing you too much to the consequences of following him. So he complied with your wishes of playing house as an escape from everything. It was everything and more; there was no harm, there were no curses, there was sincerity, there was love, and there was you, and you were all he needed.

"I'm never going back there again!", you declared as you pulled Geto into a hug the minute you arrived. Being surrounded by silly people, putting up a facade, carrying yourself like an angel in front of all the devotees, a ruthless sorcerer for the enemies, a diplomat in non-sorcerer politics, and a prudent young girl for all the perverts was exhausting. It was only beside Geto that you allowed yourself to let loose, as danger was always on your tail due to your close association with him.

"Come on, I have to show you something", he said, breaking the hug.

"I really don't have the energy to travel anymore, Suguru. Let's go back to the hotel", you whined.

"Please, just this once. You won't regret it", he pleaded, and you obviously agreed. The car ride was peaceful, with your head laying on his shoulder as he admired your sleeping form, waking you up once the car reached its destination.

You woke up to a duplex surrounded by a row of rare flowers and trees, arranged in a uniform manner. You looked around the area before speaking up, "What's this place?"

"It's our home", Geto answered lovingly.

You looked back and forth between the house and him, taken aback. You remembered telling him how frustrating it was to move hotels every week. How much you craved the warmth of your parents own place. How much you wanted to be with him in a place where you could breathe freely and not feel guilty about anything. You turned to Suguru only to see him looking at you affectionately. You could be here with him, and no one in the world would know. Maybe there's a chance for change. You wanted to convey your million feelings to him, so you closed the distance between you to kiss him and let him know, which he reciprocated by kissing you deeply, pulling you as close as possible, and stopping only to take you to explore the rest of the house.

The moment you entered the bedroom, Geto had you against the wall as you wrapped your legs around him instinctively. Nuzzling into your neck and pecking you, Geto felt alive for the first time in a while. The way your lips met, the way you tasted, and the way you were trying to move your hips to gain some friction were driving him insane; it was heavenly. Before he could do anything about it, you halted your movements and walked towards the bed, stripping yourself completely and turning to say, "Suguru, I want you to fuck me".

Almost as if on cue, Geto took off his black yukata robes and followed you to the bed. He was so aroused that he couldn't help but kiss you again and suck hard enough on your bottom lip to leave a bruise. Laying you down, he started sucking your neck and teasing your nipples, going south with every passing second. Once he reached your sex, a loud moan escaped your mouth when he swirled his tongue, entering your dripping hole as he initiated the assault on your clit with his thumb. His humming pleasured you more through the vibrations, showing you just how much he longed for you. "Fuck Suguru, don't stop", you whined out of desperation.

Your moans motivated him to lick your clit with broad strokes of his tongue. You were tangling his hair, pulling on them, and trying to grind on his face, and seeing your squirming body under his control made him painfully hard. Keeping a tight grip on your thighs, Geto buried himself between them, swilling and smacking the slick while relishing his new addiction. Your hole pulsated around his tongue as he kept slurping on your juices, and you climaxed due to the overstimulation.

High on you, Geto had you sprawled on your back in a missionary position. The hypnotic haziness of the moment was too much for him, so he entered you to fulfill his carnal desire to have you. Moaning wildly, he tried to move, only to end up shuddering due to the stimulation. He didn't want to hurt you, but your face—the mix of ecstasy and craziness—was enough to drive him to the brink. Forgetting everything, he started rutting into you with harsh, deep strokes, causing you to writhe under him. The delicious jiggle of your tits allured Geto to give them the attention they deserved, sucking on one while squeezing the other. "Fuck...ngh...hsh... you're doing so good, baby...ahh", Geto said with a shaky breath as he lifted your leg up to thrust even deeper.

It wasn't the first time Geto was doing it with you; actually, he had spent countless amazing nights with you before, but this time was different. He felt as if you both were sharing the unspoken feelings you held for each other; it was serene and intimate. Being a God to thousands yet he found true devotion only in your eyes, where he was what he aspired to be: kind. And in this moment, he became one with you, and there was no beyond. His exuberant feelings were waiting to be spilled, but something stopped him. Was it doubt or rejection? He didn't know, but he knew better than to say it out loud.

"I love you, Suguru...hah..fuc-", you were cut off with a suffocating kiss. Geto's thrusting became erratic as he tried to express himself through his actions. Suddenly, life felt more lively; every sensation on his skin felt more pleasurable; it was overwhelming; he was losing control. You both came together, yet none of you stopped, wanting to stay in that euphoric episode for longer. Geto had so much to say to you, so much to confess, but he didn't. There was no rejection now; however, there was vulnerability, and it scared him.

"I love you", was all that his cowardice allowed him to utter.

Ch 3

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littledollll · 6 months

Note

hi hi i would absolutely adore if you could write an agere fic with larissa and a reader who regresses to 9-11. go wild :3

Office day

A/n: I don’t think I’ve ever written for littles on the older side or like bigger than toddlers at all. It's definitely a little harder I think but I had fun with this, I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: none?

_______________________________

“Momma momma momma!” Bright and early Larissa was shaken awake by your somehow overly energetic self. It’s 4:53 am. How the hell were you near ready for a marathon right now?

She had no idea where you came from but you certainly were running from somewhere and ended up crashing into her half-awake self at full speed.

She groaned as she felt your weight over her body before she even got to open her eyes. Eyes half closed, her hands cupped your face gently, giving you a little pinch before she leaned up to press a soft kiss to your forehead. Sighing as she reached over to turn the lamp on, she addressed you. “And what’s got my little darling so energetic today? I’m impressed you were even up before me.”

“I dunno! I just woke up! I slept very very well actually and wasn’t sleepy at all when I woke up.” You so happily explained, and Larissa only slightly envied the idea of actually feeling restful. “That’s very good, but momma isn’t feeling quite as energetic as you, dear. Can we use our inside voices when it’s early in the morning?”

She was always so gentle when she spoke to you. It was near impossible to actively go against her wishes or requests.

“I have a feeling a little one like you isn’t going to work today, hm?” Larissa muses as she finally feels a little more awake. Sitting against the headboard, she pulls you to lay your head on her lap and starts very carefully brushing through your hair. It almost made you fall right back to sleep.

“Hey! I am not a little one. I'ma big kid.” “Oh yes, very big, my love. But certainly not big enough to work.” She says again. More as a fact than a question. You nod in agreement.

There were a few minutes of peace and quiet. Something that was basically a sacred ritual for the two of you never to be disturbed. A second to breathe and just exist together in the quiet and calm of the morning, despite your energy and her lack of the very same. It was the perfect start to the day.

“How about you get out of your pjs and stay in my office when it’s time for work? I’ll pass it as a sick day and you can keep momma company.” She suggested quietly. Of course you sprung up at the idea of it, your energy resurfacing. Immediately jumping up to get changed so you could spend the day completely with her for once.

Larissa gives herself props later for telling you to get ready first thing in the morning because it takes you forty minutes to pick out an outfit that you’re just going to sit in, hidden away at the office.

“Little love, come get your breakfast.” You hear Larissa call from the kitchen and scramble to just chose something and walk out.

“You look very nice, that whole hour it took you was definitely worth it.” She mused, a soft smile on her lips as she tilted her head your way. You so rudely glared at her, making her fake a gasp and put her hand to her chest in feigned surprise. “Look at you with your little attitude. That doesn’t seem like something a big kid would do.”

That only earned her second glare, and she couldn’t help but chuckle as you joined her for breakfast, forgetting your previous attitude. “…thank you momma.” You said after a moment. Larissa only hummed, standing up and placing yet another kiss this one to the top of your head. “You’re very welcome. Wash your dishes before you leave, ‘big kid’. I have to go punch in.”

You pouted and grumbled but Larissa left no room for arguing as she swiftly left the room.

The rest of your day was spent with her just like promised. You roamed her whole office in the span of the whole day. You sat, walked, and laid down practically everywhere. Contrary to her who was stuck at her desk, occasionally taking a walk around the school to make sure everything was in order. Which you happily joined her for.

She reminded you to get off her desk just about a million times only for it to go ignored or forgotten about in just a second.

“Can we order out today?” You asked, praying to every and any higher power that Larissa would agree, and practically cheering when she did. Thinking about it for only a moment, she nodded soon after.

“I guess we could.. sure, darling. I don’t feel like cooking anyways.”

“Yes! You’re the best!” She looked quite happy at that, chuckling as you jumped off the desk to hug her. “Well thank you, dear.. now settle down for just a few minutes so momma can finish up and we can leave soon.”

#larissa weems #cg!larissa weems #Larissa x little!reader #principal larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #larissa wednesday #agere #gwendoline christie #larissa weems wednesday #larrisa weems #principal larissa weems x reader #larissa x reader

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peekawoocc · 5 days

Text

LAW X READER

P.s. ok, so I wrote this within the span of a day, so if there's any mistakes, I apologize. As I mentioned in the first part, this loosely goes along with the actual chronological events of the Wano season of One Piece. If I missed any important details, I'm sorry. I'll probably do one or two more parts. The last part will probably take a while because I'm still watching Wano.

CW: Smut, Oral sex (reader recieving), yes we get cockblocked yet again my dudes.

Cockblocked in Wano Pt.3

You followed after Law once he walked out due to his fight with Shinobu. You knew he and his crew never ratted the Samurai out. To be completely honest, you were just as mad as Law, which seemed impossible considered the sour look he had.

How could Shinobu have accused the Heart Pirates of such betrayal? How could she say anything bad about them when they had Bepo? You would've killed for Bepo. He was a whole reason on his own for why you could no longer stand there and listen to her accusations.

As you were lost in your thoughts, you were suddenly brought back to real time as you accidentally walked into Law's back. Somehow you were at the Polar Tang.

"If you'd rather go back and be with your crew, I completely understand," Law said carefully.

"Oh, i-its fine. I don't think I could handle being near Shinobu anyway, not after that. Now's not the time to be pointing fingers,"

"I completely agree y/n. I'm not stranger to being accused of being the bad guy, I'm a pirate after all. Oh well," Law said with a hint of appreciation in his voice. He could tell you were on his side. Always loyal and kind.

You followed Law as he entered the submarine. It was quiet. Perhaps too quiet. But how could you possibly know? This was your first time in the Heart Pirates home base.

Law walked towards one door way and then turned to look at you.

"Stay here for a moment,"

"Okay,"

Law looked around the shared quarters belonging to his crew. He saw a few faces and noticed they were all sleeping. No hints of danger.

Law exhaled a sigh of relief as he turned back to fetch you.

"It seems everyone's getting some rest, follow me,".

And you did just that.

Not sure where he was leading you, you felt yourself get nervous with anticipation. You knew you could trust him, that's not what worried you. What worried you was the idea of being completely alone with Law. No interruptions. No more having to worry about being walked in on like this morning. However, you two had already gotten into some fun once already. Maybe it could happen again. Your heart fluttered at the thought.

"These are my quarters,"

"O-oh?"

"Maybe we should try to get some rest too. I wasn't expecting to be woken up so suddenly this morning,'

"Yeah, sorry about that,"

"No need to apologize. Hell, I should be thanking you if anything,"

"What, why?"

"I can't tell you the last time I slept for hours like that without waking up 3-4 times from nightmares. It was strange, but it was really nice. And I think its because of you,".

He opened the door to his bedroom, smiling as he did. You felt yourself blush at his kind words.

You took a good look around his room. It was well kept and clean. There was a desk next to a bookcase in one corner, filled to the brim with folders, books, and various documents. Everything from medical books to comics. On the opposite side of his room was a bed. You were surprised to see how big it was. You were expecting something smaller due to Laws lanky, skinny figure, but it made sense. His legs are so long and he must toss and turn a lot if he has trouble sleeping, must need room to sprawl out.

"Mind helping me sleep again?" Law asked without looking at you, he was blushing slightly.

"Sure!"

You felt yourself flush slightly, you felt like you sounded too eager to cuddle with the black cat-like man.

But he didn't acknowledge it. He put Kikoku against the wall and his hat on his desk before making his way to the bed. He watched you make your way towards him and generously held the blanket up for you to snuggle next to him. You prompted yourself up slightly as you laid down, pushing Laws shoulders down and pulling him in front of you.

Before he could ask what you were doing, you answered his thoughts.

"Lay your head on my chest,".

This caused Law to glance down at your breasts as he gulped audibly. How cute, you thought, as you saw him get flustered. As you watched his expression, you felt some boldness due to the sight of how weak your body made him. You giggled and before he could look back up to your eyes, you grabbed the back of his scalp and pushed his face down into your breasts. You heard him gasp into your chest and began giggling more.

As you did, not paying much attention to the man suffocating into you, Law slowly lifted his gaze to your face as he gently bit your displayed cleavage.

"Ouch, what was that for?" you asked, giggling calming down.

"Clearly you're not tired enough for a nap, maybe I should help tire you out," he smirked, and dove back down to suck on your exposed skin. Your giggling was replaced by sucking in your breath as you felt his lips on you. Law began trailing down to your right nipple, dragging his tounge towards it as he pulled your his kimono to the side, opening your body to him more.

He gently sucked on your nipple, and brought his right hand over your unattended tit.

You let out a shaky low moan. Not even loud enough to be considered a whisper.

"L-Law? W-what are you aah~, d-doing?"

He let out a low chuckle, almost growling as he spoke.

"Following through on my promise, I meant what I said,".

He winked at you before diving back down on you, slowly kissing his way lower and lower until he was completely covered by the blanket. Conventially, your legs were already spread for him to hold his body in between. He stopped his trail of kisses and pressed his open mouth to your left hip, sucking in your flesh in between his teeth as he bites you. The bite is gentle at first, but it becomes stronger, earning him a gasp from you. He chuckles again as he makes his way lower. Slowly he places wet open mouth kisses on your inner thighs.

"L-Law!" you whimper, desperately needing to feel him on your core.

He began biting at your thighs, but suddenly stopped.

"Law?" you asked, curious as to why he pulled away.

Suddenly the blanket was gone, and Law had a hungry, devilish smirk on his face.

"I want you to watch me turn you into a mess," he spoke calmly.

Before you could respond, he started devouring you. Pulling moans out of you as your head falls back.

He started sucking lightly on your clit, just enough to make you crave more of him. As you bucked your hips to encourage him, he didnt seem to get the memo.

Letting out a groan of frustration for not getting what you wanted, you looked down at the hungry man between your thighs. You were met with a gaze that seemed to have already been staring at you.

Law smirked. "Bout time you looked at me. Watch me and I'll give you what you need," he said as he began to pick up the pace.

It was exactly the kind of pace and pressure you needed. You started to feel the coil in you getting closer and closer to snapping. Then he added 2 of his beautiful fingers into your entrance making his way to your sweet spot as he lapped and sucked on your clit. It didn't take much after that to make your vision go white as you rode out your orgasm.

After you came back down to reality, you panted as you looked back down at Law. He was licking his fingers, swallowing down your essence. If he didn't give off black cat energy before, he definitely resembled the actual thing with how he licked his hand. It was cute.

"Thank you, that felt amazing,"

"Too soon to thank me, sweetness. I've got more in store for you,"

"Oh really~. Like what, exactly?"

Law slowly started crawling over you, hovering above you.

"I was thinking about fucking you until you went dumb on my dick-"

*Bang Bang Bang*

"CAPTAIN!? IS THAT YOU!? ARE YOU BACK!?" a female voice called from behind the locked door.

Not again. What happened this time?

"Dammit," Law sighed, he sounded desperate as he pressed his forehead against yours and closed his eyes.

He lifted his head back, raising an eyebrow.

"Do I have time to-...get prepared?"

"CAPTAIN WHAT DO YOU MEAN!? THIS IS URGENT! SHACHI, PENGUIN, AND BEPO WERE CAPTURED!"

"Why can't anyone stay out of trouble," he began. Though his words sounded harsh, you could hear the sloght tremble of worry they carried.

"Coming!" he yelled at the voice behind the door.

You heard some footsteps shuffle away from the door.

"Not in the way I'd like to...," Law sighed with furrowed brows. All you could do was giggle.

"Come on, we need to go find your crewmates,"

"Not we, I got it. It's not your responsibility. Oh, and two more things-"

"What?" you couldn't help sounding slightly dissapointed to be away from him.

Sensing your disapproving tone, he hoped that what he was about to say would make you cheer up.

"-First thing, don't tell the Straw Hats about my crew being captured. I'm going to get them back,".

You understood why he didn't want Luffy to know. You knew Luffy would cause more trouble breaking down walls to help Law rescue his crew.

"Ok, what's the second thing you wanted to say?"

"When I get back, I'm going to fuck you so good, you'll want to join my crew instead," he smirked at you. You went completely red. You were so hot and bothered it looked like steam was blowing out of your ears.

Law giggled and got up to reposition his kimono. He started making his way to the door, then he looked back at you fondly.

"Wait for me, sweetness,"

"I-i will,"

And with that, his mission began.

#one piece #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader #fanfic

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crvptidgf · 15 days

Text

Bad Blood • pt. VI

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

➸ summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, you find it difficult to let go of the past. Your trauma lies deeper than you think. When when you meet somebody who understands your pain, your journey of self-discovery and healing begins to set sail. For once, everything in your life seems to click.

➸ warnings/notes: reader is of romanian descent, afab! reader, mentions of trauma, descriptions of death and traumatic events, profanity, friends to lovers trope, hurt/comfort, eventual smut (18+), trauma bonding, eventual mutual pining, mentions of the golden trio being dicks for the sake of the story

word count: 2.1k

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BY THE TIME that the movie night rolled around I wasn't in the mood for it anymore. In the span of the past 4 or so hours, I had received at least 25 messages from Hermione and Harry. The contents varied from "can we talk" to more condescending ones like "you're ignoring us for them now?".

I sighed as I plopped onto the couch, everybody filing in as Theo set up the projector to face the dark, stone wall across from us. Pansy sat to my right as she chatted with Enzo and Blaise - something about their upcoming exam.

"Okay!" yells Theo as he claps his hands, "what are we in the mood for?"

"Pretty Woman!" came Mattheo's voice from behind me. Everybody groaned at this suggestion. He, completely unbothered by the reactions in the room, walked in with his bag on one shoulder, throwing it down next to the couch before taking a seat beside me.

"Hey, that's my seat," said Theo as he stopped fiddling with the projector to complain.

Mattheo threw his arm on the back of the couch before shrugging. "Find another one."

Theo only rolled his eyes as he finally set up the movie.

Draco sighed from the other side of the room, his arms filled with snacks that he probably stole from the kitchen with Blaise. "We've seen this about 3 million times."

"Well, do you have any other ideas?" asked Mattheo cockily.

Draco only crossed his arms and sat down onto an empty armchair after throwing the snacks onto the coffee table for everybody else.

My phone buzzed in my pocket for what felt like the millionth time today. I pulled it out to reply, maybe if I gave them a response just this once they'd leave me alone for the rest of the night. The intro to the movie began so I turned my brightness down to not disturb the others.

- - -

I felt a pair of eyes on me, watching my every move. I didn't need to look to know who it was - Mattheo, his eyebrows quirked up at me, his eyes scrutinizing the look on my face. I didn't like how he constantly seemed to be examining me. Sometimes it almost felt like he was trying to read my mind.

"What's up?" he whispered, his head dipping down to meet my eye level. Everybody's attention was still on the movie, and if they heard the intrusion of his voice, they paid no mind to it.

I shrugged, my body leaning to grab some popcorn before crashing back against the cushions. The boy beside me sighed, stretching his arms above his head before letting them fall onto the back of the couch, right behind my shoulders.

Trying my best to not tense up from the feeling of his skin brushing against my neck, I decided to chime into the previous attempt at a conversation.

"Ginny texted me. I told her I'd talk to her tomorrow."

The fabric on the sofa made an obnoxious sound as Mattheo shifted around, his legs readjusting as he thought about his next words.

"Is that such a good idea? That didn't go so well last time," he said hesitantly.

I pursed my lips, deep in thought. Shrugging once more, I chewed on the salty popcorn in my hand. "Maybe not. She said she'd be down to join us for lunch, though."

His eyes shot up in surprise. "Oh? I didn't think-"

"Mattheo, if you're gonna choose the same boring movie over and over, can you at least pay attention?" came Draco's annoyed tone. I only chuckled at Draco's agitation, continuing to watch the movie in silence.

The rest of the night passed by swiftly. I didn't receive any more texts, and Mattheo stopped trying to pry. Everything was well, and I was actually starting to feel better - the few hours we had to bond during the movie made my mood rise immensely.

But when the time came to go to our dorms, I began to sense a nagging feeling in the back of my mind. Truthfully, sleeping had been rough these past few months.

The war was still fresh in my mind, as I'm sure was the case for everyone else. It was hard for me to open up about it. The only person I ever talked to being Harry, since he was the only one who understood how traumatic events still follow you no matter how hard you tried to lose them. He even knew what it was like to be plagued by recurring nightmares - ones that would make you wake up in a cold sweat, unsure of where you were, feeling like you were transported back in time to the root of the trauma.

However I haven't spoken to him about anything since summer ended, especially now that we were sort of on bad terms.

So, begrudgingly I made my way up to bed, praying that I wouldn't be cursed with another nightmare tonight. It was soon clear to me that my praying was in vain as I woke up with a start, my heart hammering as I tried to gasp for air. I was desperate to regain the oxygen in my lungs, my mouth hung wide as I drank in every breath.

Normally I would text Harry and he would occasionally call me to talk about it. Hearing somebody's voice always grounded me in reality, and when that wasn't possible, he would merely give me advice on how to fall back asleep, offering his playlist of meditations and calming music.

I didn't have that right now.

The next thing in my mind was to slip out of bed quietly and pad downstairs to the common room. It was deathly late by now, but a part of me still hoped somebody would be up reading or studying. Yet I knew that was only wishful thinking.

As expected the common room was blanketed in an eerie silence, the darkness engulfing me as I walked in deeper. The uneasiness of the dream was still lingering, and I hugged myself in a weak attempt to comfort myself.

Maybe lighting the fire would help.

I didn't stop to think that I actually had no idea how to start a fire or the fact that I could've just used a spell to do it. My mind was too flustered to think straight, and instead of pulling out my wand like a normal person, I start shoving wood blocks into the fire place, my heart still racing against my ribcage.

What the fuck was I doing?

"What the fuck are you doing?" said a voice behind me. The wood from my hands slipped as I jolted upwards, my hands shaking from the sudden intrusion, my nightmare, and my confusion at how to start a fire all at once.

"Enzo, what are you doing up?" I asked, my knees bending to pick up the dropped cargo.

He let out a breathy laugh, trying to be quiet so as to not wake others.

"I could ask you the same thing."

Rolling my eyes, I dropped my knees to the floor once more, grunting in frustration. "How do you start this stupid thing?" I said, my voice wavering as I tried not to cry out of both frustration and discomfort at my current situation.

Enzo walked towards me and sat next to me, his hands stopping my motions before pulling out his wand and casting incendio.

I resisted the urge to slap my forehead. "Of course... I could've done that," I almost laughed.

Crossing my legs, I moved backwards from the fire slightly, my eyes never leaving the flaming embers. The low light in the room was incredibly relaxing. I only hoped it would make me sleepy enough to go back to bed.

Moving to sit next to me, Enzo's gaze studied me, his eyebrows scrunched in concern.

"You never answered my question."

I ripped my eyes away from the fireplace, looking at him now. "Ah. You never answered mine," I said smartly.

He only rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his lips as he responded, "Mattheo heard someone walking around but he was too tired to get up so he texted me to check it out."

Scrunching my nose, I tried to hold in a laugh. He was too lazy to get up and look down the hallway, but he could text a coherent sentence to make someone else do it? Mattheo really was something else. Of course I was never one to judge - but he really wasn't what I expected him to be at all. He was kind when the time called for it, he knew when to be serious and when to joke, he was actually pleasant to be around.

Theo was growing on me, albeit slowly.

But Enzo? I still wasn't sure how to mend the broken friendship. Maybe it was already en route to fixing itself, but if I didn't say anything now to properly break the ice, when will I?

"I'm up because - well... a lot of reasons, actually," I said, my fingers plucking at the rug underneath me. Enzo said nothing as he waited for me to keep talking. He was always so good at listening, which is why I knew this wouldn't be too challenging to get out.

I didn't really know where to start to be honest.

"Enzo, listen. I don't know how to tell you how sorry I am-"

"Y/N-" he started but I interrupted him almost immediately. I was fully turned to him now, my eyes hesitatingly meeting his.

"Just let me finish. Please. I know I never gave you the chance to explain yourself, and I don't deserve the same right now, but I really need you to know how much I regret what I said to you that day."

My voice was weaker than I had hoped it would sound, but he mentioned nothing of it as he nodded and let me continue.

"You've always been good to me, you were the best friend I could've asked for. I never should've pushed you away, you deserved a chance and I never gave it to you... So much time has passed but I never forgave myself for how I treated you. Everything was happening so fast and I was so scared and I..." my voice cracked. I lowered my head as I took a deep breath.

"I was scared of losing you to the war, to the other side - and the only way I thought would make it hurt less only hurt us more in the end. I'll spend every singlet day making it up to you. Just tell me what I can do and-"

The air was knocked out of me as Enzo threw himself onto me, his arms enveloping me in a familiar warmth. He was too forgiving.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. We both did things we aren't proud of during those times," he said, his voice muffled by my hair. Pulling back, he kept a hand on my shoulder as he gave me a small smile.

"It means a lot to me that you're back, y'know. That's all I care about."

"And all I care about it getting some sleep. The fuck are you guys chatting about so late?"

Both you and Enzo whipped your heads behind you, the sight of Mattheo's sluggish body casting a shadow across the floor. He looked grumpy, like he was mad that he was so rudely awoken from his beauty sleep. Muttering a half-hearted apology, Enzo stood up to make his way bad to bed.

"Thank you," he said to you, but for what he was thankful for, you weren't too sure.

Mattheo watched as you bid him goodnight and made your way back to your own dorm as well. An unfamiliar feeling settled in his stomach knowing that Enzo was the one to comfort you during the deep hours of the night and not him - but why that was he didn't know. Perhaps it was his ego talking. Yeah. That was it - he was just upset that Enzo would get the credit of being a better friend than him.

At least that's what he told himself to help him fall asleep.

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bg-brainrot · 3 months

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Hugs for a Vampire (Astarion x GN!Reader) - Chapter 4: After Encountering Araj

Chapter 4: After Encountering Araj

Each chapter can be read as a standalone hug.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Rogue!Tav)

Genre: Fluffy, Filling in Canon

Rating: Teen

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Act 2, Canon-typical violence, cw: Astarion's past, Feelings Realization

WC: 3k words, 4/18 chapters

Summary: Set in Act 2 after infiltrating Moonrise and meeting Araj, a retelling of the Act 2 romance with some extra dialogue. The canon-hug!

Ao3 | [Hug3][Hug5] | Hugs for a Vampire Masterlist

Your team is tired. It’s been several days of travel through the Cursed Shadowlands, and you, for one, can’t wait for this damned curse to be lifted. You’ve done all you can with Halsin’s help, all that’s left is to defeat Ketheric. The man’s demise can’t come swiftly enough, especially after you had the absolute honor of meeting him yesterday.

Infiltrating Moonrise Towers was surprisingly easy for your group. You simply said you belonged there and everyone seemed to trust you, all because of the worm that takes residence in your skull. It probably helped that it was a short visit: free some prisoners, meet Ketheric, scope out the location, run into a slew of its inhabitants and leave as soon as you get the information you need.

There were a few moments of awkwardness in your adventure. You told off a disgusting drow woman who made Astarion uncomfortable, a cat insulted you and your hunting, and a half-orc was utterly entranced by your lust filled thoughts of Astarion. And that was all in the span of a few hours.

It’s no wonder that today’s been a bit calmer for you all. Your team is on the outskirts of the towers, searching the remains of its previously bustling settlement. However, being out of the lion’s den doesn’t mean you feel any less tense today.

Astarion has been oddly distant since you left Moonrise yesterday. You can’t help but worry for him, knowing that he takes to sulking alone at times. Perhaps the tower was a reminder of bad memories? Maybe the reality of your situation was just too much right now.

Either way, you know that it’s you that needs to get to the bottom of it, as he keeps sneaking glances your way. Each time you catch him looking, his gaze darts away and his brow furrows as he stares at the ground. It might be comical if it didn’t instill a deep concern in you.

Honestly, you’d ask him what was wrong here and now if it weren’t for your companions, Shadowheart and Karlach. They have certainly noticed something amiss, Astarion is almost never without a quick quip, but they decide not to acknowledge it. Despite his occasional bravado, he’s a private person, and it wouldn’t do to corner him as a group.

And so, the rest of your day is spent in an awkward silence, somehow amplified by the eerie stillness surrounding you. You decide to search through the Mason’s Guild, hoping for a palette cleanser to help your team feel like themselves again. For one particular teammate to feel like himself again.

As you had hoped, it’s not difficult work. At one point Karlach even whines to you, “Soldier, I’m bored. Aren’t we going to see some action today?”

She, of course, gets her wish moments later when your group faces off against some Shadow Vestiges.

“Please be more careful next time,” Shadowheart chides, healing a wound on Karlach’s arm after the battle. “The Lady of Sorrows can only do so much when you charge into a group like that.”

The tiefling laughs at that and flexes her arm a bit. “How else am I going to impress our leader?” She shoots you a wink and a smile, which you deftly deflect with a thumbs up.

“Consider me impressed, Karlach,” you call into the wide room with an echo. “I’m swooning!”

She comments something in approval, but you don’t catch it as you see Astarion slinking off into the dark recesses of the Mason’s Guild. You excuse yourself, humor leaving your voice as you follow him into the shadows.

You think you hear Astarion muttering to himself, swearing, and you follow the sound to him. When you finally find him, the vampire just looks at you, eyes dark and face torn. It’s been too much for you to bear all day, and you can’t help but snap at him now, “Do you need to talk?”

“Later,” he says, through gritted teeth. His eyes close and he softens his expression, “Please, just come by my tent later.”

You relent for now, but it’s only a short while later that you decide to call it an early day. “For no reason,” you say to Karlach, when she asks why. “We’ve just had a rough couple of days.”

Shadowheart, catching the way your eyes trail Astarion, places a hand on Karlach’s shoulder. “You need to rest that wound of yours, alright?”

Karlach visibly slumps, but says, “Alright. Goddess’s orders or something, I guess.”

Finally leaving the land surrounding Moonrise in your dust, you head back to camp.

___

You head toward Astarion’s tent at the first opportunity. You’re resolved to get to the bottom of what might be bothering him. Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than illithids or Cazador– in short, nothing that you can’t handle together. On the way, you try to convince yourself you would go to any lengths for all of your companions. Underneath it all, you know that you would go a bit further for this particular man. Leave it to me to link my happiness to the emotions of a vampire, you think to yourself, annoyed.

You shake the scowl off your face before turning the corner to Astarion’s tent. Once you approach, you find that he’s already standing there, waiting for you expectantly.

“I want to thank you,” he says, starting off the conversation once you’re close enough. He seems oddly unsure, either of how to approach the subject or of the very words coming out of his mouth.

Raising a single eyebrow at him, your worry takes a secondary role to the confusion his words cause. “You’re welcome?” you question, not sure what prompted such a sentence from his lips.

“For what you said, while I was in front of that vile drow,” he explains, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. His voice begins heating up as he continues, “I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my Master. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing, it never mattered.”

You take a step towards him, your heart reacting to the pain in his words, to the anger on his face. Despite getting closer over the past several weeks, you still feel scared to console him, afraid he’ll take off like a skittish cat. You decide that this is enough for now, saying just his name, “Astarion…”

He doesn’t startle, only continues a bit calmer, “You could have asked me to do the same– to throw myself at her, what I wanted be damned. But you didn’t.” He sounds in awe at the very idea, his red eyes wide. “And I’m grateful.”

Understanding fully dawns on you now, as you see the situation from his perspective. Leveling a serious look at him, you say earnestly, “I didn't want you to do something you don’t want to do. Actually, I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.” You hope that your words ring as fiercely as you feel them.

“It’s a novel concept I admit. And a… a little intimidating.” His eyes are big, fear at war with a warmth at your words. “It would have been so easy to bite her. To just go along with what I was being told to do.” Astarion continues flippantly now, waving a hand as he speaks, “A moment of disgust to force myself through. And then I could have carried on, just like before.”

A transaction. He says it so casually, masking the pain that you know he feels. But you’re still a person, a person who might have been just another checkmark on his to-do list, another thing to force himself through. Despite yourself, you’re hurt. Afraid of the answer, but needing it all the same, you ask, “So why sleep with me? Did you think you’d get something from it?”

“Of course, I needed protection,” he laughs, and you can feel your heart pounding painfully against your chest in response. He remains casual though, so you temper your hurt, waiting for his full answer. “People don’t trust vampires– perhaps understandably– so I needed to get someone on my side. And seducing you was easy, frankly.”

You look at him skeptically, recalling that it was not, in fact, easy. “Huh, okay. We might be remembering that a bit differently.” But you motion for him to continue– as far as ‘thank yous’ go, this one has been distinctly gut-wrenching, and you hope that he’s reaching a point.

“So imagine how stupid I felt…” he says, eyes darting away nervously. Cautiously, Astarion returns his eyes to you– his face is open, bearing an expression more vulnerable than any you’ve seen from him. “When I started to genuinely feel something for you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, brain processing what he’s just said far too sluggishly. What, you think to yourself, did he say?

Reading the shock on your face, he continues to clarify, “Trust me, I was not happy about it. You were a complication I didn’t see coming. And yet…” His voice trails off, looking at you as if daring himself to be hopeful.

You already know your answer, what your heart feels. You’ve known for quite some time, resisting it all the while, thinking he could never feel the same way. But here you are now, his wide eyes and exposed heart waiting for you to say something– anything. Wracking your brain, you think of the skittish cat again. You don’t want to scare him or seem disingenuous, not now. You settle on a simple, achingly honest, “I care about you.”

“Really?” he asks, breathless in the moment, eyes wide in anticipation. The anxious optimism is written plainly on his face and your body moves, almost on instinct.

You’ve been so afraid to be tender before, worrying that he may not feel the same way or even believe you. Now though, you know this is the best way to show how you truly feel. To make him realize that you don’t see him as a body to take pleasure in or as someone who serves as a means to an end.

You close the distance between you, wrapping him in a full-body hug.

He seems surprised at the sudden contact. Unlike any embrace you’ve had before, it’s not sexual, it’s not tentative. It’s simply full of all of the love you can muster.

After a second’s hesitation, you can feel him move to hug you back, his hands come to rest on your back softly. You squeeze him to yourself a bit tighter in response, and he leans into you, his head tucking into the crook of your neck. You stand like that for a long moment, the camp around you long forgotten, the world, your problems, they might as well be in another plane of existence. The feel of his arms around you, the tickle of his hair on your skin, the warmth you’re sharing – it feels so utterly intimate. More than anything else you’ve done together thus far.

When the time comes, you’re reluctant to let go. You know it has to be you to break it though. With the way he’s leaning into you, the pressure of his body pressing into yours, Astarion may never break this hug. But let go you do, standing back a step to take in the man before you.

Awe colors his pale face, as if he can’t believe that this is really happening. He takes a second to blink at you before saying, “You… you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

You chuckle in response, shooting him a wry smile, “I think my feelings may only be a surprise to you, Astarion.” You have a sneaking suspicion that at least a few members of your merry crew are exchanging knowing looks at each other right now, watching this drama unfold from the comfort of their tents.

“Honestly,” he gives a shaky laugh. “I have no idea what we’re doing. Or what comes next.”

He slowly holds out his hand to you, a cautious invitation. It’s a simple gesture, but you’re not certain you’ve ever just… held his hand before. It almost makes you timid. You push down the butterflies and place your hand in his, looking up to find his ruby eyes intensely focused on you. The affection in his eyes wash away all of your nerves, and the smile that comes to your face is beaming.

Reading your expression, Astarion gets a step closer. He places his second hand atop yours and says, “But I know that this... this is nice.”

Then he just smiles at you, eyes crinkling in pure, unfiltered joy, and it reaches to your core. It feels like sunshine after a storm, a light in the murky depths of the Shadowlands. You think you could live off of his smile alone.

Again, you stand together for a moment, drinking in the feelings that have surfaced, basking in this nervous little bliss you’ve built together. By the time you break apart, your hand has warmed his cool skin and you can hear the sounds of your companions continuing camp life around you.

You give an awkward cough, not sure what to do next. The relationship between you has changed, but you’re not sure how yet, or how you should approach it. Nothing your usual wit can’t handle, you suppose. “And here I was, worried all day that some new, undying horror was plaguing you.”

“Gods above, I wish,” he says dramatically. “But no, it was the far more difficult matter of my stupid heart versus my beautiful, pragmatic brain.”

“I’m sad I didn’t get to witness the epic battle,” you give him a disappointed face that does nothing at all to mask the glee you feel at imagining his thoughts firmly revolving around you all day.

Astarion gives you a reluctant smirk before saying, “You missed a bloodbath. Last night, I stared at the roof of my tent, just considering all of the ways you may reject me. Like some kind of pining prepubescent boy.” His face winces at the image. “I thought I may never feel like myself again.”

While amusing, you’re surprised he thought you would ever reject him. “I always thought you were the perceptive one. Did you really not notice how I felt?”

He gives a light laugh at your incredulity. “My love,” your heart thrills at the new pet name. “I make hearts race regularly– whether from fear or lust, who am I to say?” Astarion gives you a sidelong look before continuing in a slightly sullen tone, “Besides, you’ve always seemed incredibly close to Karlach, I didn’t want to presume.”

“Ah, yes. She tried,” you look a bit abashed, thinking back to the night she asked you for something more. “But… I wasn’t sure what we had. And I didn’t want to ruin it, no matter what it was.”

“Seems I should have trusted your good taste.” He looks proud, but somehow you’re certain that it’s not just pride in himself. “You are incredible.”

You feel almost overwhelmed at his praise. If this is what being in a relationship with him is like, you’re not certain your heart will be able to handle it. While you consider that thought, the question of your relationship begins burning a hole in you. “So,” you drawl, not certain how to broach the subject. You’re still incredibly careful about scaring him off, especially when the connection you’ve built is such a new, delicate thing. “What exactly are… we?” You add on, “To you?” as a safeguard. He needs to know that he can formulate his own opinion and you won’t push the matter.

He produces an anxious little sigh, “I don’t know. But isn’t it nice, not to know?”

The look you give him is likely more nervous than you intend. “I suppose.”

“Ugh, you’re not a victim, not a target, not just one night it’s better to forget. But then… whatever in the world could you be?” Astarion looks confused, desperate for an answer he’s not ready for.

You know it’s not your place to give it to him. And, to be honest, even this admission makes your heart feel full, comforted. “That’s okay,” you respond. “Let’s take our time, figure it out together?”

“I’d like that.” His small smile is genuine and his hand is back on yours, squeezing gently.

An involuntary yawn escapes you, the day’s exertions catching up to you as the conversation winds down. “Oh, sorry,” you cover your mouth with your free hand. “I didn’t mean to–”

“No need to worry, darling.” He lifts the hand he’s holding to his lips and leaves a cool, gentle kiss before continuing, “It’s late. Our feelings will still be there in the morning.” He shoots you an anxious glance before continuing, “I hope.”

You grin at him, all too happy to reassure him. This is new to you both, but especially to a vampire who hasn’t known a gentle embrace in centuries. “I’m afraid you can’t be rid of me that easily. I’m not a wound that can heal up overnight, you know.”

Astarion leans into you to say, “If you were, I think I’d simply never sleep again.”

Your heart races at his weird little compliment. And, while your body begs you for the sweet relief of sleep, your head and heart scream at you to stay awake, to while away the rest of the night next to him and relish in whatever it is that’s blossoming here.

He can sense your hesitation to leave and tugs on your hand gently. “I’m probably doing this all backwards, but would you like to sleep with me? Not,” he stresses quickly, “sex. Just… resting together, perhaps?”

“Yes, please,” you say, earnestly. “I’d love to know what was so fascinating about the ceiling of your tent.”

Your new paramour shoots you an annoyed look, but continues to pull you after him, leading you to his bedroll. His hand is warm from your touch and you silently swear to keep it that way.

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #rogue + rogue #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion fluff #astarion masterlist #hugs for a vampire #hfav #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 astarion

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mint-yooxgi · 1 year

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{4} - Morning Mist - Yandere!Dragon!Ateez X Chubby!Reader

Yandere AU & Dragon AU

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst

Pairing: Ateez X Reader (Focus on Jongho)

Words: 4,905

Warnings: This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: I know I keep saying this, but I'm super excited for you all to see what I have planned for this series. There’s a bit more plot drops in this chapter, and mentions of things still yet to come, so I really hope you like it! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Mini Masterlist

Nothing but the sounds of the forest surround you as you trudge through the bush. Your footsteps are quick, even, not daring to make a sound. Years of practice has made you able to tread cautiously through every situation and terrain, not even the exhale of your breath falling on prying ears.

This is how you are able to lose Jongho.

The male silently curses himself for trailing so far behind that you manage to slip his sight. He didn’t want to chase you away, but now that he knows what you are, he’s sure that you’re purposely doing this just to throw him off of your trail.

Oh, how right he is.

Lifting his head up slightly higher, he strains his ears, doing whatever he can to scent you in the air. His eyes dart from left to right, pupils blown wide in the darkness that encompasses the forest around him as he searches for any indication as to where you might have went.

He’s not going to give up so easily.

You, on the other hand, lessen your pace as soon as you’re positive you’ve thrown him off of your trail. Now, instead of there being a small sense of urgency to your steps, you allow yourself a breath of relief. Slowly, you continue the trek towards your little lookout spot. A lookout spot that is the most guarded place in this entire village. A fact of which you have ensured every year since she has been resting there.

It takes you half an hour to reach your spot, but once you do, you feel a weight almost lift itself off of your shoulders. Stepping out through the trees and into the half-moon clearing, a sorrowful smile tugs at your lips.

“Hello, My Love,” your voice is tender, nothing more than a soft caress on the wind. “It’s been a while.”

A silence settles around you, as still as the night blanketing the forest. Though, you have come to never expect a response from her. Not anymore.

You blink, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes as your gaze lands upon the small stones stacked one on top of the other. The grave marker sits directly in the centre of the little clearing, more pebbles spanning the edge, and evenly spaced outwards for protection. Each enchanted to hide what lies within.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to return,” you continue, footfalls suddenly shaky as you approach the monument. “You would not believe the week I’ve had.”

The clearing overlooks a small valley, the mountains surrounding it on either side. You can see clear across the fjord from here, the lights of the town across the way twinkling beneath your gaze.

A special place where the two of you would spend hours talking, getting to know each other, and subsequently falling in love. Until she was taken from you all too soon.

Softly, you lower yourself onto the ground beside the tower of stones. Your cloak fans out behind you, back turned to the woods as you spend your time speaking all about the events of the past month.

Before you know it, an hour has passed. Then another, and then another. Enough time so that when you gaze up at the moon, it has now travelled to the opposite side of the night sky.

Still, after a while, once you’ve finished talking, you remain. Sitting in silence has often been your fortitude during tough times, and it makes no difference now.

“Oh,” you chuckle after another moment, “I almost forgot.”

Slowly, you place the palm of your hand in the grass before the tower of stones. Closing your eyes, you focus your energy, feeling the spike of magic in the air as you mumble an incantation under your breath.

Daisies begin to sprout from the earth beneath the palm of your hand and all around the clearing.

“Happy Birthday, My Love.”

The first tear of the night finally escapes your eyes as you gaze back out upon the valley before you. Swallowing thickly, you straighten your spine, resting your arms over your legs which you have crossed beneath you.

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. Then, softly, you begin to sing.

Your voice is no more than a whisper on the wind as you repeat the lullaby she had taught you all those years ago. It’s a little rough, given how long you’ve gone without performing it. The added fact that your emotions threaten to choke you out at any second makes it all the more harder to keep going.

That’s when you sense him getting closer.

Immediately, your lips clamp shut, steadying your breathing to blend into the sounds of the night. If you’re lucky, he should walk right passed you without even noticing a thing.

Unfortunately, luck does not seem to be on your side as of late.

The moment Jongho reaches the edge of the tree line, he freezes. A furrow pulls at his brow, eyes darting everywhere around the seemingly empty clearing overlooking the valley before him.

Funny, he could have swore he heard your voice on the wind coming from this direction.

A few minutes pass like this, with you gazing warily over your shoulder at him as he seemingly scans the clearing over and over again. Perhaps he believes you will suddenly appear from thin air, or perhaps you’ll pop up over the edge of the cliff. Either way, he doesn’t seem to want to leave any time soon.

That’s when you’re letting out a small sigh. A sound of which you know he hears, for he stills immediately, his heartbeat suddenly thundering in your ears.

“You sure are one persistent dragon, I’ll give you that.”

The moment your voice reaches him, his eyes are once more darting around the area, attempting to spot you to no avail.

“Do you Halas always make it a habit to disobey orders?” Even though you know he cannot see you, you quirk a brow in his direction.

“I can hear you, and if I focus, I can smell you.” He comments, gaze looking straight passed you for the moment and at the spot you’re sure he thinks you to be standing. “Yet, I cannot see you. Why?”

You sigh once more, standing back to your feet as you wave a hand in a small sweeping motion in his direction. Instantly, the one barrier you have shielding you from unwanted, prying eyes falls, and he nearly jumps back in shock as you appear before him.

It takes only a second for his gaze to dart around the area, lingering briefly on the tower of stones that now rests beside your one leg.

“No dragon I know of can do that,” Jongho blinks, a sense of wonder shining in his eyes. “Not even the ancients.”

“There are various beings other than dragons that reside among us, boy.” You reply, quite sharply, watching him carefully.

“Are you even a dragon at all?” The question posed is innocent. At least, in his mind.

Your eyes flash. “Watch it, boy.”

“You have magic akin to none,” he blinks, gazing around the clearing once more before inhaling sharply. “You’re a witch.”

You remain silent, observing him carefully as you stand as still as stone.

“I never knew a dragon could also be a witch.” He says. “You’re-“

“What?” You snap, eyes sharp as you tense. “A halfbreed? An improper inbred? A curse amongst us all?”

You can tell Jongho is taken aback by your words.

“Save your breath, I’ve heard it all before.” You mutter. “Been quite a few years, though. Usually all people care about now is how powerful I am. Rather, how powerful I can make them.”

“Who?” His eyes flash gold, a snarl pulling at his lips as if he’s ready to hunt down any and all who have said such things against you, or dared to use you in any way.

“That is none of your concern, now.” You reply bluntly. “Those who have tried, have failed. Every. Time.”

Your words also serve as a warning to him. One which he picks up on.

“You think I would use you?” Jongho cannot hide the hurt in his voice.

“I do not know what you are capable of, Jongho.” A slight shake of your head. “Nor do I have any intentions of finding out.”

“Please, if you would just let me explain-“

“I thought I told you that I never wanted to see you again.” You cut him off, a stern look resting on your features.

“You know I can’t do that.” He keeps his voice low, steady as if he’s attempting to reason with you.

“And why is that?” You raise an eyebrow expectantly.

“Do you really not know?” For a brief second, his expression falls, eyes flashing with sorrow.

“You are not the first dragon to imprint on me that I have denied, nor will you be the last.” A cold statement as you blink back at him once.

“I wanted to be.”

“What? My first, or last?” There’s a slight amusement to your voice as you stare across the clearing at him incredulously.

“Both.” There is no hesitance in his reply, and at the way his eyes shine, you can tell just how honest his admission is. “I thought you were human.”

“You were meant to.” Your hands shift slightly beneath your cloak, fingers gripping the edges and pulling the material tighter around yourself. “You Hala’s sure have plenty of vain ambition to go around.”

He ignores your comment for now, but you can see the way his chest deflates at the mention of his clan.

“You knew I was a dragon this whole time, yet you said nothing.” He remarks. “Why?”

“Many of us have our own reasons as to why we hide our true nature. When you approached me that day in the woods, all I saw was a lost boy who was running away from his duties. I see now you weren’t the only one deceived.” You tilt your head in understanding. “As far as anyone else from the village is concerned, I am a simple girl living on the edge of town who sometimes helps around here and there. Only a very select few people know who I really am.”

“Right,” his jaw twitches. “Like the Neos.”

“Watch your tone, boy,” you snap, eyes sharp. “That is my family you speak of. The only people left on this godforsaken planet that I still care for.”

“Is that why you care for this village so?” He inquires, a bitterness to his words. “Because they reside near it?”

“Would you not do the same to protect your own?” You counter knowingly. “Your loved ones?”

“I would protect you and my brothers in a heartbeat.” He replies without a second thought.

“You hardly know me, yet you put myself before your clan.” You observe. “Are you truly that young that you have never imprinted before?”

The fact that he remains silent is answer enough.

“Tell me, Jongho,” you shift your stance, gazing down almost longingly at the tower of stones before you, “have you truly never been in love before?”

“I thought I was,” he replies. “Once.”

“You thought you were?” You spare him a glance out of the corner of your eyes, a curious twitch to your eyebrow upwards.

“I never knew what love truly was until I met you.”

Your gaze hardens. “You do not know me.”

A moment’s pause.

“I want to.”

“You do not deserve to.” You frown, noticing how a few fireflies begin to buzz throughout the clearing.

“You didn’t take issue with befriending me before.” He goes on to say, tone edging on pleading. “Nothing has changed. I have not changed since you have discovered my clan. I am still your Jongho.”

You shake your head. “You were never mine, Jongho, nor have I ever desired you to be.”

“Would you be saying the same to Kun if he were here right now?” The hurt is clear on his face and in his words as he spits them out in anger.

Your eyes flash as your spine straightens. “You do not know what you speak of, boy. Don’t you dare pretend that you do.”

“The father of your cubs abandoned you to imprint on someone else, and you can stand there defending him?” Jongho asks, incredulously.

Your heart pangs in your chest, unwanted memories surfacing that you force down once more.

“He did not abandon me. We were never even together in the first place. I-“ you stop yourself short. Pursing your lips, you take a deep breath through your nose. “Kun did not father my cubs.”

“Then who did?” Jongho is practically seething at this point, fists clenched tightly at his sides. “I’ll tear him apart for abandoning them. For abandoning you.”

“You seem so certain that I’ve been abandoned.” You tilt your head curiously. “How do you know you’re not standing upon his grave at this very moment?”

Jongho goes unnaturally silent, inhaling sharply as you watch remorse immediately paint his features.

“No, those cubs are not my own. None of them are, but that does not mean I won’t care for them like they are.” You say, meeting his gaze and watching how his whole body seemingly relaxes at your words. “I can never bear cubs of my own. My father made damn sure of that.”

The shock on Jongho’s face is apparent in the way his lips part the slightest bit. He blinks at you, subtly taking a step forward only to be blocked by the barrier cast by the stones.

He frowns. “Why can I not reach you?”

“Are you forgetting that I am still upset at you?” You quirk a brow, amused by the pout that pulls at his features. You shake you head, motioning to the pebbles surrounding the area with your chin. “Only people I have granted permission to walk upon this spot may pass the boundary stones. You’re lucky I’m even letting you view such a private part of my life, given everything going on.”

“Yet, you cannot trust a Hala dragon.” He sighs, somewhat sadly.

“I do not trust easily, Jongho,” your tone is sharp as you answer him. “What little trust I had in you has long since been destroyed.”

“Then tell me what I can do to fix it.” He persists. “I want to make things right.”

You remain silent, lips pursed as you meet his gaze.

“There must be something I can do to prove myself to you,” he begs, eyes pleading. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” You quirk a brow.

“Anything.” He confirm, honesty dripping from his words.

“Then tell your clan to give up on your quest for the crown.” You once again see his eyes widen in shock. “It is fruitless, and vain. You will not succeed.”

“So, what? We’re just supposed to let that stupid Wolf Gang win?” He scowls, crossing his arms over his chest.

“They will not succeed, either.” You state with a blink. “No one can. It is pointless.”

“The ancients have agreed to allow the clan which finds the Jewel to rule over the kingdoms in tandem.” Jongho explains, as if you haven’t been told and taught this your whole life. “Out of the ashes, an imperfect Jewel shall emerge, proclaiming the true leaders of the land.”

“I am sick and tired of that damned prophecy.” You spit, ire shining on your features as you tighten your cloak around your shoulders. “Too many have taken it far too literally. Like that hot headed brother of yours.”

“Mingi is just hoping to speed things along.” Jongho attempts to defend his own.

“So, you all allow him to decimate people’s homes after completely destroying their villages.” A statement, not a question. “And you wonder why I do not like you Hala’s all that much.”

“The Wolves are no better.” Jongho mutters, brow furrowing in distaste.

“I have spoken of this before, but at least they do not burn their conquered villages to the ground.” You retort.

“You seem to like them better than us.” His eyes narrow.

You remain silent, opting not to comment on his accusation.

“They never cross to this side of the fjord.” He continues, choosing his next words carefully. “Is that also your doing? I know you were discussing some other treaty you seem to have with that Neo last week-“

“All you need to know is that I will protect this village with my life.” You cut him off. “You are not the first clan I have defended it from, nor will you be the last.”

“They tried to hurt you?” He growls, teeth bared in a snarl.

“I have not had dealings with them for almost fifty years now.” You reply. “Christopher is much better at keeping his promises, it seems, than your leader is.”

“Christopher?” The distaste is clear on Jongho’s features, the name no more than a feral whisper on his lips.

“Also, better at controlling his clan.” You add, cooly.

“Don’t pin this on Captain. He doesn’t know I’m here.”

“So, you regularly break the trust of people you claim to care about.” You observe, nodding as if everything makes sense to you now.

“No, that’s not-“

“What is it that you want, Jongho?” You cut him off, a tired sigh escaping your lips. “It’s late, and I would rather not have you follow me all the way back home.”

“I thought I made it clear.” Comes his gruff reply.

“I heard you loud and clear the first time.” You bring a hand up to rub at your eyes, cloak slipping open the slightest bit to reveal your thin cotton shirt and trousers beneath. “I mean, what is it that you really want?”

The material pulls against your skin, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. A fact of which Jongho takes immediate notice of, eyes darting down to trail over your torso shamelessly. The plump curves of your flesh have him swallowing thickly, mouth watering as he desires nothing more than to pull you in closer to him. To wrap his hands around you and hold you flush against him as he breathes you in, your scent finally mixing with his in every way that he’s always fantasized about.

Of course, you notice.

Your cloak is wrapped tightly around your torso once more.

“I just want you.” There is no malice in his words, only a desperate longing lingering there as he meets your gaze. “I swear to you I had no idea what you were when I first approached you all those months ago. Even now, what you are does not bother me, nor do I have any desire to use you like you have implied so many others before me have. I swear to you I am not like that. I have been nothing but honest to you since we met. The only thing I kept from you was being a dragon because I didn’t want you to be scared of me, but I know now that never mattered to you. I cannot change my clan, but I swear to you that I remain the same.”

You can only blink at him for the moment, watching as his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows yet again.

“I-“ he pauses, as if unsure whether or not he should continue. Then, as if deciding against his better judgement, he steels his resolve, staring deeply into your eyes. “All I want to do is cherish you. I want to protect you until the end of our days, of which I swear to you will be plenty and prosperous. I will never hurt you, nor will I ever let anything hurt you again. I desperately want to be yours, just as badly as I would like you to become mine.”

Saying nothing, you feel yourself tense.

“I promise you that we’re not as bad as we seem,” he continues. “The reason I came to you that night, the real reason, was because I wanted you to join us. I longed desperately for the day where you would come live with me, so we could be by each other’s side where I know we belong. You wouldn’t have to worry about anything ever again, because I will do everything in my power to take care of you. I will provide for you, and make sure you always feel cherished, desired, and loved until the end of time. You never have to be alone again.”

A silence settles over the both of you as you let his confession linger in the air. You even take the time to search his eyes, and you cannot find a hint of dishonesty in them. Even the tone he used, you cannot find fault with, his words ringing through your ears with the heavy honesty that painted his tone.

The fireflies float lethargically through the air around you, twinkling like the stars in the night sky. You sigh, sparing a glance at your feet as your eyes slip closed.

A faint, tender caress brushes at the side of your cheek, and you’re quick to wipe it away.

“I do not trust you, Jongho,” you begin, and you watch his expression fall, the devastation clear as anything, “but,” he perks up, even if only slightly, “I will give you a chance to prove yourself to me if what you have spoken here tonight is true. You do not know me, nor do you know what I have been through. I do not give out second chances easily. You are going to have to earn it.”

“What can I do?” He attempts to take an eager step forward once more, only for that barrier to stop him dead in his tracks. “Tell me what to do, and it is done.”

“If you cannot convince them to stop this pointless quest for the crown,” you sigh, “then I want you to get that canary man to stop burning down every village you ransack. There is no honour is complete destruction. Every good leader should know that.”

“I suppose your village doesn’t count?” His attempt at a joke does not bode well with you, a low growl leaving your lips. He raises his hands in response, palms up. “Okay, my bad. I’m sorry, that was too soon.”

“Tell me, Young One,” you turn back to the tower of stones beside you, “are you aware of what a Drygg Promise is?”

The sharp inhale you hear in response is all the confirmation you need.

“Do not fret, I do not expect you to make a sacred promise of that sort to me,” you hum.

“I would if you wanted me to.” Comes his immediate reply.

This time, it’s your turn to look at him in mild shock before you’re shaking your head.

“I will not expect that from you unless it comes to it.” You reply softly. “They are a dragon’s deepest, and more sincere form of loyalty to whoever is apart of it. They are not easily broken, nor should one ever seek to break one. In most cases, they are unbreakable.”

He nods gently along with your words. “I understand.”

“I have made quite a few Drygg Promises in my lifetime, but none of them are as important to me as hers.” You shift your gaze from him back to the stones piled at your feet, a tender look shining in your eyes.

“Who is she?” The question he poses is soft, nothing but an innocent inquiry as he sees the way sorrow fills your expression.

“She was My Daisy,” you smile faintly, slowly sinking to your knees as you reach down and pluck a delicate flower from the ground. “And we built this village from the ground up. She was beautiful, and headstrong. Carried a passion for all living things, but especially flowers. A passion which rubbed off on me.”

“You made a Drygg Promise with her.” He repeats your words from only moments before.

“I did.” You hum in confirmation, twirling the stem of the flower between your thumb and forefinger. “I swore to her to always protect this village until my dying breath, and I have not once went back on my word.”

“There are stories,” he adds, lowly. “Stories of a cloaked figure with glowing golden eyes that protects this village. A Shadow Demon, of sorts.” He takes his time to look over your dark cloak, watching as your head turns and your eyes flash gold in the moonlight. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

“Very perceptive, Young One,” you smile lightly, and you swear you hear his breath hitch. “You would be correct.”

“But I don’t understand,” he shakes his head slightly. “Why would you make such a promise to this woman?”

“Well,” you let out a long breath, standing back to your feet after placing the flower carefully on top of the stack of rocks before you, “people tend to do crazy things when they’re in love.”

This time, there is no denying the way his breath hitches. “You loved her?”

“I did.” You nod once firmly in conformation. “You never forget the first lover you imprint on.”

“You imprinted on her?” The surprise is clear in his voice, eyes wide as you meet his gaze.

“I’m sure you are aware that we can imprint more than once, and with multiple people if we so choose.” You state, blinking a few times.

“Yes, I am aware,” he confirms with a brief nod of his head. “I just didn’t realize you had imprinted on someone before.”

“I have already told you that I have been around a lot longer than you have, Jongho.” You remind him. “I have loved and lost more than once in my long life, just as I have imprinted more than once.”

“Was it Kun?” His voice rumbles out, words a mere growl on his lips.

“We can fall in love without imprinting, boy.” Your eyes narrow, arms crossing over your chest. “He wanted to imprint. I denied him, and once I realized what I truly wanted, he had moved on. I was not the only choice he had, and he’s better off for the one he made.”

“How could anyone not choose you?” He practically seethes, eyes glinting beneath the moonlight.

“You are blinded by your emotions, boy.” You sigh, shaking your head. “Some dragons do not want to wait an age to find their life partners. I cannot blame them for that.”

“I would.” The sincerity reflected in his golden eyes catches you off guard. “I would wait an eternity if it meant I got to be with you even if it was for just one day. You are not a second choice. You never will be. At least, not to me.”

The way the fireflies dance around his head, illuminating his features even more has your breath hitching subtly in your throat. Never have those words been spoken to you so earnestly before tonight, and even though you wish to deny it, a warmth begins to blossom inside your chest. One which you have not felt in years.

You clear your throat. “I have already told you more than I am comfortable with this night. Much more than I should have.”

His eyes shine with something you do not quite understand, but you do not fail to miss the pleased rumble that echoes around the small clearing.

“I’ll talk to Mingi,” he hums, the corners of his lips tugging upwards faintly.

“Ah, the canary man.” You nod in acknowledgement.

“I’m sure I can convince Hongjoong, too.” He mumbles, more to himself this time, but you still hear.

“Jongho,” your voice calling out to him has his attention immediately on you once more. “One more thing.”

“Yes?” He answers, failing to hide the way his eyes glimmer with hope.

“Stop spying on me through the bush,” you shoot him a pointed look, and he at least has the decency to look sheepish. “I have never appreciated being stalked.”

“I wasn’t-“

You raise a hand to halt his protests, his voice dying in his throat as you begin to walk towards him and to the edge of the clearing. Though, at the way he sees a faint, teasing smile tugging onto your lips, his shoulders seemingly relax.

“Keep your brothers out of my backyard as well, will you?” You come to stand right in front of him now.

So close, yet still feeling so far away; nothing more than a barrier separates you. A barrier of which he wishes to smash through, pulling you into his embrace as he showers you in his love like he has always longed to do.

“They do often have minds of their own,” he sighs, but at the look you send him, is quick to add, “I will try.”

You smile. You actually, genuinely smile at him, and Jongho swears he nearly faints from how quickly his heart is pounding within his chest.

“Oh, and Jongho?” You step over the barrier, moving to walk passed him in the next second as he hums in response. You pause, mere feet away from him with your back still turned, his gaze locked on your figure. “Thank you for the flowers.”

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