So imagine one night he's filling in for one of the guards that's ill, and so he's been tasked with guarding the outside of the palace. Conveniently he's been placed right outside your window. So when you come out at an ungodly hour to rest on your balcony, he can't help but adore the way you look under the moonlight. (I think this is similar to a scene from the little mermaid)
P.s. well done on your exam!! So proud!!<3
HONEY MY BELOVED HI!! (and thank you <33)
[for more royal guard osamu content]
contains: royal guard osamu, princess reader, mutual pining, osamu centric, suppressed feelings, reader has a necklace osamu gifted her because I said so, fluff
Heâs staring up at you and he finds, unsurprisingly, he wouldnât mind continuing to do so even as his neck cranes and his eyes are taken away from where they should be perusing the palaceâs exterior. Youâre leaning against the railing, looking up as well, though you look at the sky, unlike Osamu.
Tonight you wear a silk sleep gown and Osamu wonders if this may be a habit of yours when you find you canât sleepâif you even know that a guard is stationed each night right below your balcony. Osamu presses further against the wall, wondering if youâll look down, if he should look away lest you find him already watching you. But you donât, too caught on looking at the stars.
Itâs then that he sees it: the silver chain around your throat, dipping down to a small obsidian pendant. Heâd gifted it to you during the winter gathering last year, an amulet honed by a witch to protect its wearer. âFor when Iâm not by your side,â heâd told you, kneeling down at your throne as many more nobles and lords and ladies had done before that day to offer whatever gifts they sought to give. And later that night he had also helped to put it on.
Something prods within Osamu as he sees you wearing it openly now instead of tucking it into your bodice. Your fingers touch along the chain and he imagines how it would feel on him insteadâyour greatest protection, your most loyal knight.
The evening is unforgiving, with piercing cold rain and blistering winds but you find shelter in a certain restaurant, under a certain males presence. Miya Osamuâs broad back faces you, swaying slightly as he hums an old tune he heard from the radio. His strong arms flex under the warm lights of Onigiri Miya as the ingredients in the pan hiss menacingly. Itâs quiet, the shop closed hours ago. All of the seats are upturned, everything set away for the night, excluding a small table in the middle, lit by candlelight.
He cooks much like a dancer dances, perfecting each technique to precision, the blood sweat and tears of his youth paying off as itâs all second nature to him now. The way he doesnât need to think before adding the seasoning at the perfect moment, ensuring the flavours burst as soon as they touch your tongue â something you appreciate very much.
Thinking of Bokuto and how straight forward he can be...
Heâs running late, so incredibly late that a beat-down from Meian and Atsumu would be justified. But he canât control traffic, I mean sure, he could have left a little earlier, but the little coffee shop he likes to visit only opened ten minutes ago.
As he waits in line, his limbs jittering as he waits impatiently, he can feel the phone in his pocket vibrating intensely. He closes his eyes to try to relax from the building tension when someone brushes against him. It barely moves him, but itâs unexpected nature forces his eyes open.
Heâs immediately greeted with the sight of you, hair spiking in different directions as your chest heaves up and down with vigour. Your outfit is a little creased, probably from your run here.
When you look at him properly, his breath catches in his throat, the emotions hurtling around his chest are so strong it causes him to blurt out, âWow, youâre beautiful.â
He doesnât even realise he said it aloud, too enamoured by your beauty, youâve quite literally snatched his breath away. He greedily devours your facial expressions, how you went from fatigued to shy in an instant.
And when he does realise, the warmth that spreads to his cheeks makes him look like a tomato, he can barely look you in the eyes without wanting the ground to swallow him whole.
But when you finally gather your thoughts and recover from the very unexpected compliment from the handsome stranger, you make the next move, asking for his number.
Bokuto obviously complies, still a bit shy, but heâs definitely glad it happened the way it did, or else he might not have your number right now <3
Notes: This was all I could think about at work someone save meeee
It's Fanfic Writer Appreciation Day! So go on, appreciate the fuck out of those who generously share their ideas and talents with us. Today and every day after.
@icedhoneyy @oomiya @kuroosdarling @cup-of-fluff @writingbymoonlight @kagejima @shibaraki @satisfactooru @arquitecturadelanada @crescentkaze @khinux @meloomi @kurootosis @134340am @demxnscous @sarangrin off the top of my head + but of course a big smoocherino to my other writers!!
@tahdashi @heich0e @vilevvords @sashimiyas @heyhoneyybunn @domineer @goreist + and of course my mutuals above that Laura already tagged!
a kiss for all of yâall and yâallâs contributions to this fandom not just as creators but also as peopleâdoesnât matter if youâve taken a break, currently on one, or plan to be in the future, yâall are so cherished and loved
Osamu starts noticing that by the end of the night, after he's locked up the restaurant, sent the staff home, and sequestered himself away in his office to deal with the admin work that he loathes, that he has a funny pain behind his eyes. He ignores it for a while, blaming long hours and how much he hates bookkeeping (he really ought to hire someone else to do it, he's just been so busy), but after a couple of months it becomes too difficult to ignore.
His doctor tells him the news like it's no big deal. Like a simple eye exam didn't prove to be the first time in Osamu's life that some part of his body failed him; had started to show wear with age (if you ignore the grey hairs he's been strategically plucking every few weeks since the restaurant opened). He's only twenty-eight! Less than three decades old and his doctor is telling him he needs glasses.
He refuses to wear them at first, but the headaches just keep getting worse--starting earlier in the day, and lasting later--and finally he has no choice but to start putting on the little pair of frames he keeps tucked in the back of one of his desk drawers (lest Tsumu ever be snooping and uncover them, and Osamu subsequently never live it down.)
He gets used to them after a while, and doesn't feel quite the same degree of resentment each time he finds himself slipping them on, but he's still resolved never to let anyone know he needs them.
"Miya-san do you have--"
Osamu's head snaps up towards his office door, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose at the sudden movement. You falter where you stand in his doorway, fist raised like it was poised to knock, and tilt your head curiously.
"--glasses?"
Both of you blink at each other in surprise.
Quickly, Osamu pulls his glasses off his face, tossing them aside haplessly on his messy desk as heat creeps up his neck. He didn't realize anyone was still here, certain that everyone had gone home, but yet here you are.
You of all people.
Just his luck.
You clear your throat.
"Uh, sorry, I meant... I just came looking to see if... You have glasses?" you seem to abandon whatever you'd been trying to ask of him after two unsuccessful attempts, shaking your head a little after you finally pose the question that is evidently at the forefront of your mind.
Osamu sucks a little breath of air in through his teeth, contemplates lying, and then nods.
"Yep."
"Since when?" you ask him, still fidgeting in his doorway. You've got your coat on and your bag over your shoulder, meaning you had either been on your way out for the night or had come back to see him for some reason. Osamu wills himself not to focus on how distracting it is when you nibble on the inside of your cheek nervously.
You're his employee. And a damn good one at that. You haven't been serving at Onigiri Miya for very long (three months, two weeks, and nine days--not that Osamu is counting) but you're bright and personable, quick on your feet, don't take shit from snotty customers, and don't completely hate him when he begs you to work a split because someone called off.
The fact that he's very attracted to you is something Osamu has vowed never to act on; valuing what you bring to the restaurant more than the carnal voice in the back of his mind that threatens to lead him into the territory of unprofessionalism. He's your boss, and regardless of how cute you look in the Onigiri Miya uniform, he's willing to leave it at that.
Osamu huffs out a little laugh, scratching behind his ear. "Five months 'er so."
You gape.
"How have I never seen you wearing them?" you ask him, bewildered. "Do you normally wear contacts?"
"Nah." Osamu shakes his head, realizing belatedly he'd taken off his ball-cap and likely had some god-awful hat hair on full display. He quickly ruffles a hand through the short dark strands in hopes it helps. "Just don't wear 'em much."
"That's bad for your eyes, y'know," you say, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the floor. "Can actually make your eyesight worse if you're not wearing them when you need them."
Osamu blinks.
"Really?" he asks, half-skeptical and half in fear.
You nod. "My uncle is an optometrist."
He groans, realizing he's probably been doing more harm than good by not wearing his glasses save for in the privacy of his office.
"Well, thanks fer the info," he says with a little laugh, reaching for his discarded glasses and slipping them back onto his face. He looks up at you from his desk chair, cradling his cheek in his palm as he leans his elbow on his arm rest. "Is there any other reason ya came to my office at eleven o'clock at night? Or just to share the good news about my failin' eyes?"
You laugh a little bit yourself, your nose scrunching up. "I actually came back to ask for a copy of my timesheet from last week. I meant to do it before I left, but I knew you'd probably still be here so..."
Osamu looks around the mess of papers on his desk, shuffling some stuff around until he finds what he's looking for. He holds it out to you, and you take it with an appreciative dip of your head.
"I also figured it'd be good to come back and tell you to try not to stay so late," you say, eyes flickering around the chaos on his work surface (he really, really hates bookkeeping.) "But judging by the scene in front of you I'd say you're gonna be here for a while."
"You'd be right," Osamu laughs, though he does recognize it's at his own expense.
"Well..."--you take a little step back towards his doorway, having shifted closer to him at some point that Osamu can't recall--"...I guess I should head home."
"One of us oughta get a good night's sleep," he agrees, waving you off.
"The couch down in the staff room is surprisingly good for napping," you offer, hitching your bag a little further up your shoulder.
Osamu knows that, actually. He sleeps there at least one night per week. He didn't know you knew that though, and the thought that the two of you had been sleeping in the same spot makes another wave of heat rush up to his face.
"Thanks," he says, dipping his head.
"G'night, Miya-san."
"I told ya to call me Samu. Osamu if ya really can't stomach being familiar with me," he urges you, for what must be the thousandth time since you started working for him.
"Okay," you concede with a smile. "Goodnight, Osamu-san."
It's not exactly what he had in mind, but it works for now.
He offers you a little wave as you step through the doorway, ready to turn his attention back to his mortal nemesis (i.e. the papers on his desk), when you pause.
"Don't feel embarassed about them," you say, your voice soft.
He looks at you curiously, and you point up towards your own face--twirling your finger in a circle around your eye.
"The glasses," you explain, noticing his perplexed expression, "they look good on you."
Osamu feels a palpable knock of his heart against his ribs at the genuine smile you offer him, waving one last time before you slip away down the hall out of sight.
It takes him a full five minutes to collect his thoughts after you leave--his fingers shoved up under the frames of his glasses to press against his aching eyes.
He slumps back in his seat once he finally manages to calm the racing beat of his heart, and slides the bridge of his glasses back up his nose from where he'd knocked them askew.
Oikawa is harassing you over a secret on your husband's 27th birthday.
tags: angst, fluff, domestic
note: not as polished as I want to be but here we are. have fun!
"Does Iwa know?" Oikawa asks, his voice soft as a whisper you almost didn't hear him from all the chaos coming from the living room.
"Know what?" you replied, confused at his sudden question. You moved to grab a bowl from the cupboard, Oikawa following closely. You hear him sigh, causing you to turn to him with raised eyebrows.
"What exactly are you talking about, Oikawa?"
Today is Iwaizumi's 27th birthday, and he decided to celebrate it with the boys through a simple dinner at his place. You obliged, knowing full well he wouldn't want to celebrate it any other way. The only request he had was for you to make his favorite dish, which was why you were occupied in the kitchen. The trio were heavily engaged with some basketball game on the TV, but since Oikawa's not as interested in basketball as he is with volleyball, he volunteered to help you out which you gladly accepted.
Oikawa frowns, setting aside the vegetables he was washing before fully turning to look at you. "You know exactly what I'm talking about," he insisted.
"I certainly don't, which is why I'm asking you," you countered, feeling your face heat up as panic slowly rises up to your stomach. Oikawa's exceptional at reading people, and you know full well he wasn't buying any of your bullshit-
"That's bullshit and you know it," he growls, "I know what you're hiding. From us. From him."
You looked away from him, taking deep breaths to calm your nerves after his sudden outburst. You could feel your heart beat loud and hard in your chest, palms sweaty and cold at the onslaught of emotions mixed up inside. Fear, sadness, anxiety. Everything was overwhelming, and it's taking all your strength keeping yourself from breaking down, but the tears that pooled in your eyes were simply inevitable.
It was too late before you realized it was quiet now, the house now hushed and quiet when a minute ago it was anything but. The sound of footsteps reached your ears, making you gasped at the realization that they, or worse he, may have heard.
You grip Oikawa's arm, eyes pleading, asking for him to do something when a voice rings out in the quiet space, sending shivers down your spine.
"Is everything okay?" Iwaizumi asks, his voice on edge. "Is Oikawa acting shitty?" The question was directed at you, making you stand up straighter, body taut as a wire.
"He's not," you assured a little too quickly.
Silence fell in the room then, and you knew you messed up. You turned around just in time to see your husband lunged at his best friend, Matsukawa and Hanamaki a split second too late to stop him but you were faster, adrenaline pumping in your veins as you raise your arms, grabbing Oikawa to secure him behind you. Iwaizumi frowns, wondering why in the world would you protect Oikawa when he just made you cry.
"Haji, stop," you plead. "It's not what you think, okay? We were just talking and I-I just...I got a bit emotional. That's all." You tried to smile, but even you didn't believe that crappy fake so you turned to Oikawa, holding his arm so he'd say something, anything to make Iwaizumi calm down.
Oikawa had the decency to look at you apologetically before shaking his head. You felt your lip tremble, triggered by the betrayal Oikawa just did. Hot tears rolled down your cheeks and you sniffled, your head hanging low while you tried to compose yourself the best you can.
"Oikawa," Iwaizumi growled, voice low with the underlying threat behind it.
"It's not his fault," you cut in, finally having the courage to face your husband. "Oikawa's being an ass, but it's my fault." Oikawa huffs at this indignantly, causing you to shoot a glare at him.
Iwaizumi raises his hands to touch you, but you stop him. Not now. Not when Oikawa just pushed you off the edge of the cliff to reveal the damned truth. Consolation from Iwaizumi would come later, if all ends well... Great. Now you're anxious and scared again.
Clearing your throat, you swipe at the tears on your cheeks. Taking a deep breath to gather yourself once again, you only had seconds to think about how to break this to them with the least damage, especially to you.
"Wait here," you tell them. You were about to exit the kitchen when you stopped, turning to them with a stern look (as much stern as your snotty face would allow), "and don't beat each other up, I'll be back."
As quickly as you could, you run to your bedroom, grabbing a stick from your bedside cabinet. When you came back, the boys were the same as you left them, frozen with confusion and disorientation from what is happening, so you pulled your husband to sit on a kitchen chair before motioning for the others to do so. It was a miracle to have Mattsun and Makki in complete silence, not one snarky or funny comment from any of them.
With you sitting in front, four pairs of eyes watched your every move and waits for your every word. There is only one person in the room that you couldn't return their gaze. You inhale deeply again, trying to calm your nerves while the grip you had on the stick remained tight. Tears were starting to pool in your eyes again, making you groan in frustration.
"Sorry about this," you began to say, but words clogged at your throat when you felt a hand envelope the one you had gripping on the table.
"What's wrong, hon?" Iwaizumi asks, and that was all it took for you to break, both in tears and in words.
"Haji, I know Olympics has always been your dream. I am also aware that you're very busy because things are hectic and everything's just so overwhelming for you and for the team. I've tried really hard to be supportive of you every step of th-"
"Please don't tell me you're breaking up with me," Iwaizumi cuts in and you freeze, eyes shooting up at him.
You couldn't hold it in any longer then, placing the stick on the table in front of you before bursting into tears. You could feel the world slow down as curious eyes lands on the object on the table. It took seconds... and more seconds... before a reaction rises out from one of them.
Hanamaki stands up abruptly, sending the chair he was sitting on to topple backwards. He shoves his hands in his hair, pulling on it as though it will make reality real. "Oh my god oh my god oh my god," he mumbles, louder and louder while pacing back and forth. Suddenly, he stopped, looked at the stick again, and then he was jumping, throwing his fists in the air and screaming. "I'm gonna be an uncle!" he shouts. He shakes Matsukawa's shoulders, screaming "I'm going to be an uncle!" right at his face. This causes Mattsun to wear off his shock, grinning widely before giggles erupt from him.
You felt the hold on your hand tighten, causing you to shift your gaze to Iwaizumi. Your breathing stops at what you see. Tears are on his cheeks, but the happiest smile you have ever seen on him was there too. You watched as he brought your hand to his trembling lips, kissing the back of it and holding it there. You couldn't hear the words but you can feel them etched in your hand. Thank you. I love you.
But you still couldn't be in peace, not without making sure of it and so you ask the words you've been dreading ever since you found out you were expecting.
"You're not... angry?"
Everyone freeezes then, except for Oikawa who groans so loudly before rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.
"What?" Iwaizumi asked, frowning while disbelief etches on his face. "Is that why you didn't tell me? Why Oikawa's harassing you?"
"No, I wasn't!" Oikawa counters, but it fell to deaf ears as you nod. You kept your head down, trying not to shrink too much from their scrutiny. With the little shame you had left, you tried defending your decision.
"Olympics is right around the corner, and I didn't want to take your mind off of that. I'd tell you right after the games, so I was waiting..." you explained.
Iwaizumi sighed. "As much as I appreciate your concern, I think I can handle both just fine," he replies, a little childishly at that with the little pout he had.
"It's my dream to be a father, too. I'm damned lucky to have two of my dreams come true," he grinned, squeezing your hand lightly.
You look at him then, trying to find even a hint of regret, sadness, or even disappointment on his face, but all you could see is happiness, excitement, and pride burning in his eyes. Slowly, you could feel the weight on your heart disappear, replaced by calmness from the certainty that everything will be alright. This time, when tears bloomed in your eyes, they're from joy and excitement.
Oikawa chooses this moment to butt in. "I told you it'd be fine!" he exclaimed, making you frown.
"But you didn't have to bug me about it for days!" you shot back, glaring at him for a second before you couldn't take it anymore and smiled. "You're such an ass. No wonder you're still single..." you mumbled under your breath.
"I heard that!" Oikawa screeches, standing up dramatically while pointing an accusing finger at you.
You faked surprise, holding a hand to your heart. "I didn't say anything!" you lied, causing Makki to snort.
"Bitch," Oikawa mouths at you. You only had time to gasp before Oikawa's tackled to the floor, your dear husband quick on his feet to defend you.
"We don't say that to mothers, Oikawa." Mattsun mused, clicking his tongue as he walked closer to the mess of limbs on your kitchen floor. He grabbed Oikawa's arms, holding them above Oikawa's head and as Makki walks over to them, you knew what Oikawa's fate would be.
"Alright, boys. I'm going to finish the agedashu tofu," you said to no one, just as Oikawa screams, "No tickling! No tickling!"
-> synopsis: saturday mornings like this are special
-> cw: food
-> wc: 1k
-> a/n: osamu đ€đœ food as a love language
When he wakes up, itâs to an empty bed and golden sunlight pouring into your bedroom. Though it gently warms his bare torso, he craves the kind of warmth that comes from you, pressed against him, skin to skin. As he sits up, he can distantly hear something sizzling, before the smell hits him. Thereâs something heavy with spice hanging in the air, and it can only mean one thing - youâre making breakfast. He scrambles out of bed, and hurries to the kitchen, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste, hoping to catch sight of you humming away at the stove.
You see. one of Osamuâs favourite things about Saturday mornings is in fact breakfast, unsurprisingly. As much as he loves cooking for you and sharing the memories and flavours that he grew up with, watching you cook for him is something else entirely. And being able to enjoy the fruits of your labour? Osamu must have done something heroic in his past life to be able to experience this.
Youâre dressed in one of his t-shirts, hair pushed back haphazardly to keep it out of your face as you drift around the kitchen with a practiced ease, comfortable in the space the two of you have spent ages perfecting when you moved in. Thereâs pieces of both of you in here, and itâs undoubtedly his favourite part of your home.
He leans back against the doorframe, watching on fondly as you scoop up a palmful of dough and begin pushing it against the heel of your palm to form it into a perfect little ball. Heâs seen this much before, but now youâre reaching a tub of something speckled with greens and reds and his curiosity is piqued.
âWhatâs that?â You grin, sleep still lingering around his eyes when you turn to look at him.
âGood morning to you too, sleepyhead.â
âMorning.â You giggle at the grumble in the back of his throat. âWhat is it?â he repeats, padding into the kitchen.
âPotatoes.â He cocks his head to the side as he approaches you to get a closer look. Sure enough, the plastic tub is full of mashed potatoes, riddled with spices and herbs.
âOh? What are you doing with them?â he asks, resting his head on your shoulder so he can watch.
âItâs a stuffing.â
âFor a⊠Paratha?â The new words youâre teaching him still feel strange on his tongue, but Osamu is nothing if not determined to learn something new about the food you love.
âYep.â His eyes are fixated on how you add a generous amount of the filling inside the dough, before pinching it closed so that itâs fully encased.
ââS like making onigiri or gyoza,â he observes quietly, wrapping his arms around your middle.
âYeah, it kinda is,â you agree, adding more flour to your dough ball to prevent it from sticking as you begin to roll it out. Itâs about 10 inches in diameter when you set the rolling pin aside and reach for the butter. Generously, you spread some over the surface of the dough before flipping it expertly in your hands and throwing it onto a smoking hot pan. Thereâs a resounding sizzle as it comes into contact with the heat.
âSmells good,â he mumbles absently, kissing at your shoulder.
âGo sit, lâm almost done.â He hums, long and thoughtful, before he brushes another kiss higher, on the curve of your neck, peppering them slowly up to your jaw, ignoring your playful yet warning tone. âSamu.â
âHm?â Heâs too distracted by your soft skin, tugging you in tighter against his chest as his lips reach your cheek.
âCan I finish up?â He mumbles something that sounds like a yes against the corner of your mouth but his hold doesnât loosen. With a sigh, you let him do as he pleases, leaning forward to flip his paratha and add more butter. Itâs difficult, what with him practically restraining you, and you have to pat his arm to get his attention.
âBabe, let go for a second, itâs gonna burn.â That seems to do that trick, and his arms relax just enough for you to finish your task. âThere,â you say as you slide it onto a plate. Itâs a dark golden brown and crispy, glistening from the melted fat and Osamu knows that once he tears into it, the inside will be soft and no doubt delicious.
But he doesnât reach for the plate as you would expect. Instead, he spins you around his arms so that you can peer up at his sleepy face.
âI came in here for morning kisses.â
Because yes, while Osamu loves Saturday mornings and breakfast, he loves you a whole lot more. The true highlight of this time of the week is waking up to you, and tugging you back into the circle of his arms. Kissing you slow and lazy under a cocoon of bedsheets, is far more inviting than any breakfast could ever be. Well, until his stomach begins to protest, that is.
So you smile and roll your eyes, relenting to this needy-when-he-wakes-up version of your husband and letting him kiss you in the middle of your kitchen, whilst buttery sunlight laps at your feet. When he pulls away, he looks decidedly more awake, and thatâs when his stomach begins to rumble.
âOkay, now I want breakfast,â he grins, and you shake your head fondly as he follows you to sit at the table, plates in hand. But he still hasn't started eating.
Instead, he waits. He waits for you to settle in your seat, forearms still lightly dusted with flour with your hair falling loose and a little messy. He takes this moment to savour the sight of you glowing in the morning light, to chew on it slowly before your eyes meet when you look up, and he swallows his lovesick sigh. And finally, your attention is his.
âHere.â You tear a piece off your own plate, wisps of steam curling off it that you gently blow at to cool it. Osamu meets you halfway as you reach across the table, happily accepting the bite you offer to him - a tradition youâve kept since the start of your relationship. A hum rumbles in his chest as the flavours invade his palette and the tender look in your eyes pours adoration into his heart.
To Osamu, this is the greatest declaration of love, and he will always savour it down to the last morsel.
contains: childhood friends (how you met), shinsuke centric, old memories, shinsuke's family dynamicsâthat's all, I just love him
A younger shinsuke that tagged along with his siblings to catch toads in the gardens; and a younger shinsuke who tried to memorize certain patterns on each toadâs roughened skin to give them a proper name.
He was the boy that the teachers placed misbehaving kids next to, having him âserve as an exampleâ for those children, even if he was one of the quieter students in the classroom.
Shinsuke who meandered home with his eldest sister and younger brother after school, watching his brother kick a rock along the sidewalk before his sister intervened. Whose smiles and laughter werenât so rare in his own home as they were in other environments; his sister who often chased the two boys around the house, pretending to not see the stark white of Shinsukeâs hair peeking from beneath a pile of blankets as he hid, until she snatched him up with an onslaught of tickles to his neck and sides.
Your childhood neighbor, Shinsuke, who came hand-in-hand with his grandmother to your front door step as she introduced herself and then him to the womanâyour mother, newly settling into the areaâwho opened the door.
âAh,â Yumie had said with a smile that fateful day to your mother, âI see you have a little shadow at your feet.â And there you were, wide and curious eyes peering from around your motherâs waist to find him and his grandmother looking back.
The dayâs a little brighter. Maybe itâs the small meditation session earlier giving you that extra pump in your step, or the upbeat music ringing in your ear, either way you know today is going to be a good one.
Classes pass quickly and to your relief, you understand all of the content which will definitely save some hours in the next study session. During lunch, the sandwich youâve been craving stares at you as you scoop up the last one and munch on it while beginning a book youâve been excited to start reading.
The day only gets better when you head to the gym to greet your boyfriend with your exciting news. Sliding the door open, youâre instantly welcomed by a polished Kita and his rowdy teammates. His hair is wet, still dripping from the shower he mustâve had, his muscles flexing as he takes another swig of water.
You watch as Atsumu leans in to whisper something in his ear, a cocky smirk on his face. After he pulls away, Kitaâs warm eyes land on you, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. After excusing himself, he takes his leave, readying to walk you home.
âWait,â he hums, lips tipped down. He grips your shoulders and gently moves you to the inside of the pavement and away from the busy road â effectively swapping your places, âThere.â
His chivalrous act turns your brain to mush. Even if he notices your flustered state, he doesnât say anything â he is a gentleman after all.
âHow was your day?â He asks, letting you grab his hand and swing it idly.
Beaming up at him, you relinquish the details of the day. He smiles and nods along adding his own little comments here and there.
ââŠand then I checked my email...â
He raises a brow, âHeard anything?â
You decide now is as good a time as any to tell him the news, âI got the job.â
He doesnât jump with excitement, or shriek with joy but he sends you one of those smiles that never fail to make your knees weak. Pulling you in for a congratulatory hug, he plants a soft kiss onto the crown of your head.
âI knew youâd get it,â he murmurs, âwell done sweetheart.â
âItâs all thanks to you,â you tell him in earnest. All the practice he went through for your sake on top of his usual work was definitely draining yet he didnât complain once.
He shakes his head, some of the damp strands sticking out at odd angles, âYou did all of the work, I didnât do much.â
Rolling your eyes at his âKita-like-responseâ you drag him through the streets to the bustling main roads, âIâm treating you to a tofu burger.â
There are no objections from his end, it is his favourite food after all, but if you thought heâd just stay quiet and let you pay without any sort of dispute, well, you have another thing coming.
Iâm gonna go fucking feral over that stupid hat that osamu wears. every time I see art work of him taking it off and putting it behind his back, or ducking it down to hide his face, it drives me up a wall, literally clawing at the wallpaper like a madwoman how dare he be so attractive
donât get me started on how his hair sticks out from underneath, and how when he takes it off the top of his head is all messy and flattened because heâs probably been sweating andâ
when you purposely annoy him, he takes his hat and puts it on your head, pushing the brim down until it practically covers your face. But itâs mainly because whatever you said now has him blushing
âYouâre here!â Oikawa chimes as soon as you walk into the gym. He hooks an arm around your shoulders and drags you inside to the group he was entertaining before you arrived.
Itâs always the same with the close physical proximity, persistent touches and lingering glances. Ever since heâd knocked your books over last month, heâd been a main character in your life since. After years of going to school together, itâs taken a shocking seven years to notice your presence.
âI said Iâd come,â you laugh at his antics, melting under the warmth of his body.
Heâs so hot and cold. One day heâs gracing you with one of his signature cheeky smiles, and brushing your hair behind your ear, and another day heâs walking by you in the hallways without a second glance with a cold mask of indifference. Youâre there when he wants you and easily discarded otherwise. His indecisiveness makes your head spin.
But Oikawa had a talent for making people feel special no matter how he treats them, you were no exception to the rule. And how could you not feel special? Especially when the girls coo as he leans down to whisper affectionate things in your ear, âIâm happy youâre here.â
He takes you away from the others to ask if you want to go out tomorrow, your surprise must be apparent because he laughs that knee weakening laugh, as he holds your face in his hands.
âIs itâŠa date?â Your question is reasonable enough. Despite his overly flirtatious attitude towards you, youâd never discussed any sort of labels â the lines were still heavily blurred so to speak.
âIt can be whatever you want it to be.â
And you eagerly agree, despite the red flags that are waving behind him, because the depth of his eyes distract you from rational thought.
On the occasion he offers to walk you home, intertwining your fingers in his, thereâs no denying the triple skip of your heart.
âIâll just be a second,â he says, âNeed to get my jumper from the changing room, then we can go.â
He heads off and you decide to fill your water bottle, the hydration necessary from how quick your throat dries up in his presence. As the water streams in, voices echo down the hall.
âWait youâre still going out tomorrow? I thought she cancelled on your ass,â the gruff voice of Iwaizumi questions.
âShe did,â you hear Oikawa huff, âBut Iâve made the reservation and itâs too late to cancel.â
âWho you going with then?â
âJust some girl.â
The perfect image shatters as you wait patiently for his return. Itâs hard to fight the disappointment but with all of the signs, what could you really expect? You knew this day was coming you just didnât realise itâd be here so soon.
If you didnât put an end to whatever this thing was between you both, youâd end up hurt.
âReady to go?â The man wreaking havoc in your thoughts asks as he strolls in with his jumper in tow. He doesnât even notice the conflict in your eyes as you just stare at him like a puzzle.
âWhatâs your motive Oikawa?â
The slight widening of his eyes and lack of response, the hesitance is all you need.
âYou should find someone else to hang out with tomorrow,â you say with one last sad smile before turning on your heel and walking out, leaving him alone in the gym. Although it hurts, itâs freeing to walk away from him and the burdening unanswered questions that surround him.
Itâs always a careful balance between showing your kindness but not letting people walk over you. But if thereâs one thing youâve learned, itâs being in the public eye is hard and emotionally draining. As the girlfriend of the great Miya Atsumu youâre always being monitored, scrutinised. Nothing is yours anymore, how you spend your time, how you speak to people, how you look. His craziest fans become more worried about you than they are themselves.
And itâs ridiculous, that spending a day at the spa has labelled you a gold-digging housewife and therefore undeserving of such a great man, that spending an afternoon with his brother has instilled a scepticism that youâre unfaithful.
It can be hard to ignore the baseless rumours that question your character, the pinch in your heart is proof but along with the challenges there are also many good things that come from dating the Miya Atsumu.
Like the encouraging people who he hangs out with, who support your relationship whole-heartedly or the fact that his mother loves you, inviting you around every Sunday to bake together.
And then, thereâs the man himself, who has so much love to give you he almost bursts at the seams. Who dedicates every serve to you and kisses you after every game to let the world know, no matter how much it talks, itâll never change the way he feels.
Heâs the cutest when heâs angry on your behalf â it makes your heart skip at his protectiveness, even though you tell him to ignore it, that it doesnât mean anything, heâs still huffing for the rest of the day, muttering curses at them.
Because theyâll always talk, always have something to say, and although it can get overwhelming, Atsumu is always there to keep you on track and shut up the voices.
