the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
You still have time. Time to change your wardrobe. Time to get divorced and married again. Time to change majors. Time to learn a trade from scratch. Time to pay off debts. Time to travel. Time to love and be loved. You still have your whole life ahead. Whether you're 19 or 66. You still have so much time. But you have to take it.
@ the people who followed me for one specific thing i’m really sorry my interests are all over the place and that sometimes i will suddenly start posting a fuck ton of something i’ve never mentioned before whoops
it’s CRIMINAL that there isn’t many fairytail fanfics like wym😣😣 fairy tail got some of the most DROP dead GORGEOUS men I’ve seen and only me and like 5 others are thirsting over them??💔💔
Indirectly hiring Shane as a farmhand after JojaMart goes under is one of my fav scenarios to think about.
Nevermind if he lives with you or not, or if you’re even dating (yet), if you ask he’ll pull on a pair of muck boots change into an old t-shirt he doesn’t care too much about and head on over. And he will stick around for hours to help you out. Sometimes even after everything’s taken care of for the day he’ll hang out with your chickens and sheep for a little while.
And yeah it’s a lot more physical work than his old retail job, and I mean a lot, but at least he’s out in the sun getting fresh air and not under the fluorescent lights that made him feel like the undead. Not to mention that depressing ass back room, makes him a little sick just thinking about it. And if it means things can get done in half the time it usually takes, then he’s all for it.
The dirt on his hands and under his nails is oddly comforting. The sweat on his brow reminds him of a time before he tore his ACL. The sounds of birds and wind rustling the trees is a lot more pleasing to his senses than that old supermarket.
By the end of the day, when the sun gets low, the sky changes color, and he parks it next to you on the porch with a cold water, he feels like he could fall asleep then and there. But it doesn’t bother him as much because now the exhaustion is paired with a profound feeling of accomplishment that his old JojaMart job never could have given him.
Actually I’m in need of questions to ask Lance. Why?? Because he will answer them in the mod! How? Here’s what’s up:
We all agree, it takes FOREVER to get to that hot volcano man 🌋. So once you unlock him, Lance will show up at your door once or twice a week when he’s in town for mini convo events. These events will give your starstruck farmer a chance to get to know the magenta-haired mage and the overall Stardew magic lore. And that’s not all…
Lance will ask you questions, and you’ll get the chance to ask him! He’ll also remember your answers, they will affect his dialogue and gifts he gives you.
So this is your chance, what do you want farmer to ask Lance? Who knows, your question might be in the mod XD
hey!! first of all, I LOVE your mods and can't wait for all the things coming, but I do have just one question! do you have an ETA on when Sam's update will come out?
much love <3
Hi! Sam is nearly done! I hope to have it out next week if not sooner <3
Sam’s immersive Romance Core will be a new mod listing, so watch for that. His spicy expansion will be on the current mod listing. I’ll also have a portrait pack releasing for him with custom expressions for the immersive mod if you’re interested in that, and the Backwoods Skatepark addition mod.
Heya dear! Hope there was still spots available 😳😳😳😳❤️❤️🥺 could i pretty please request Theo+ 11+ fall fluff😍🔥🔥🔥 gotta get some fluff to get some motivation to make it thru the week🥺🤣🤣🤣👏👏🔥✨️🌷
Thanks so much! Hope u have the best day!
A/N: I'm sorry this took ages @nad-zeta! 💜
Theo x f!reader
Dutch translation: kleintje: little one
Word Count: 1465
The Fall Festival is around the corner and nowhere is that more apparent than in the dining hall of the orphanage. The sisters have been hard at work to make the gray stone walls warm and inviting, stringing bright orange paper pumpkins from one end of the room to the other. Small, uneven leaves in red and yellow and gold hang from the rafters on long strings, turning lazily in the rush of air that enters every time the doors open. The children are quick to show you and Theo which leaves they each cut out, pride shining in young eyes that have seen far too much.
Now the dining room tables are covered in pots of paint, paint brushes, and paper. The children are sitting in groups, excitedly painting autumn-themed pictures to sell at the festival. The church had placed a notice, looking for volunteers to help with all the artistry and Theo and Vincent had readily agreed to help. You smile as you watch Vincent in the far corner of the room. He’s sitting on a small stool, holding a ripe red apple in his hand, turning it as he speaks to the children sitting by him, brows furrowed in concentration as they listen to his gentle explanation on the best way to capture the perfect red of the fruit.
A tug on your sleeve tears your gaze away from the scene. A small girl with a smear of orange paint across her cheek asks you to please refill her orange pot.
“Of course I will. But remember, the paint is supposed to be on the paper.” You tap her small nose with your index finger and she giggles as she tries to hide her very orange fingers.
You make your way to the table by door where the smaller paint pots can be refilled. As you’re pouring the color from a larger pot into the smaller one, you feel a hand on your waist. One glance over your shoulder and you can’t stop the smile that blossoms. Theo slides his hand subtly over your hip as he watches you finish filling the small pot.
“Don’t spill, Hondje,” he murmurs, that voice running over you like a warm current of water.
His hand on your hip is certainly not helping you keep your hands steady and that gleam in his summer-sky eyes tells you he knows it. You’re about to let him know that you’re on to him when you both hear it at the same time: the sound of a small nose sniffling. A tiny chest heaving with muffled sobs.
A young boy with hair the color of sunrise and eyes bright with tears has moved away from all the other children and slumped onto the cold stone floor. His fingers, usually streaked with dirt are now streaked with different colors of paint. They’re clutching a piece of paper, the paint so fresh it echoes the falling of his tears as it drips onto the floor. You exchange a look with Theo. You feel his fingers squeeze the curve of your hip. I’ll handle it, the touch says.
Watching out of the corner of your eye, you see how he lowers his large body onto the floor next to the boy, not caring about the cold stone or tiny drops of paint.
“Can I see your painting?” His voice is a type of gentle not often heard from Theodorus.
The little boy sniffs, his face a model of misery. “It’s not good, Monsieur. All the other kids laughed at it. It’s…..it’s all wrong.”
Theo tilts his head, his expression skeptical. “Art can’t be wrong. It can only be misunderstood.”
The boy raises his gaze from the floor to the large man beside him, his wide eyes still glistening with tears but now, there is a small glimmer of something else there as well. “Really?”
The head of messy golden hair you love so much nods. “Natuurlijk”, he says seriously. “Of course. Will you show me?”
The boy sniffs again, but slowly tips the paper away from his chest. He’s painted an autumn scene like the other children. Except his sky is purple instead of blue. The apples on his trees are bright yellow. The grass is red. He’s even added a small brown squirrel with colorful dots perched on one of the branches.
Theo leans forward. He takes his time, his sharp gaze running over every brush stroke, every color choice. He inspects it the way he would any painting. With respect. “What bold choices you have made.”
The little boy wipes his eyes on his sweater sleeve, a piece of clothing that has been patched many, many times. “The other–” He sniffles again, but now sits up straighter, laying the paper down on the floor, smoothing out the corners. “The other kids said the colors were wrong.”
Theo shakes his head, scoffing. “How can colors be wrong?”
The boy points a skinny finger at the sky he created. “They said it needs to be blue.”
Theo glances at him, his own bright blue eyes searching his face. “Why did you paint it purple?”
The boy smiles. “Because when the sun comes up in the morning, sometimes the sky IS purple. And I like how that looks!”
Theo does something unusual for him. He immediately returns the smile. “Well then it’s fine if your sky is purple, isn’t it?” He points to the other elements of the painting. “And why did you choose the other colors?”
The young boy is animated now, shifting on his knees as he wiggles around to sit next to Theo. “The apples are yellow because I like yellow and I like apples a lot so I wanted apples to be a color I like. The grass is red because the grass out in the fields behind the church always leaves my skin all itchy and bumpy and red. And here, the squirrel-” He jabs at the almost dry squirrel. “We had a clown come one time at Christmas and he was-he was so funny, Monsieur. He made me laugh. And squirrels are also funny, with their fuzzy tails and the way they bounce around branches so I made him with lots of colorful dots, like the clown we saw.”
Theo nods, listening intently. “That makes perfect sense, kleintje.” He clears his throat, pretending to ponder something. “You know, you're a very talented artist. And I really like your picture. So much so that, with your permission, I would like to ask the sisters if I can purchase it today and not wait until the festival.”
The boy’s eyes widen in shock. “Really? You want to buy my picture?”
Theo cracks a smile at the wonder in his voice. “I do. But only if you make me a promise.”
The boy nods seriously, his gaze earnest as he leans in.
“You must promise me you'll make another painting for the festival.”
The young boy’s face shines, his heart glowing under Theo’s praise.
“I will, Monsieur. I promise.” He raises his hand, pressing it to his heart, a solemn vow made.
“Good. I’ll be looking for it.” Theo stands up slowly, offering his hand to help the small boy up. “Now go, ask the sisters if it’s ok for me to bring this home today.” The boy grabs his hand, practically jumping up. He bends down, carefully collecting his painting and makes his way toward the closest group of nuns. The oldest raises her gaze to Theo, a soft smile on her lips.
Hours later, you exit the orphanage together. Theo has the painting rolled up and tucked carefully under one arm. You have your hand tucked into his other elbow as you walk across cobblestones littered with dry leaves that crunch underfoot. The sky overhead is a brilliant lavender streaked with yellow and orange, the sun’s farewell as she sinks to her well-earned slumber. You’re about to cross the stone bridge when you stop walking, holding onto his arm, forcing him to stop as well.
He turns to you, a question in his eyes as he looks down. “Yes, Hondje? What is it?”
You rise up onto your toes and press your lips to his. It’s soft and it’s warm and it’s full of the emotion that flooded your body as you watched Theodorus take a little boy’s heart in his hands and raise it up to the light.
When you slowly lower yourself again, he looks both pleased and slightly confused. “What was that for?”
You take his hand, lacing your fingers through his, solid and steady and secure. “Just because.” You smile at him, bright as the emerging stars in the darkening autumn sky. “Now let's get back and hang up that masterpiece.”
osamu and you leave your daughter with her uncle atsumu for the weekend. chaos ensues.
___
“i woulda felt better leavin’ her with kita or aran.”
you let out a snort at your husband’s statement. “over your own brother? her blood relative?”
you and osamu were driving to a weekend getaway in the mountains. while the two of you were excited for a break and some quality time, there was no denying that there was some apprehension in the car.
it was the first time you’d be away from your baby daughter. as great as a vacation sounded, it would be a lie to say the two of you weren’t reluctant to go.
in order to ease your nerves, a suitable babysitter was chosen.
only osamu didn’t have a lot of faith in your choice.
“exactly, he’s ma brother, so ‘m the only one who understands just how much of ‘n idiot he truly is.”
“but you saw how happy he was to offer to watch her! atsumu loves being a uncle, he won’t half-ass taking care of her. besides, if he ends up needing help your mom is just a call away.”
“ma’s hostin’ her book club this saturday, she can’t just drop everythin’ if tsumu’s dumbass ends up needin’ help.”
you let out a sigh. “samu, just try and relax. i’m sure everything over on his end is fine.”
____
“COURT BABY! COURT BABY! COURT BABY!”
hinata and bokuto chanted as they watched your daughter crawl across the shiny floor of the msby practice gym.
having grown tired of the play mat and toys her uncle atsumu had laid out for her, the little one decided exploring her surroundings would be far more exciting.
“she’s crawlin’ earlier than most babies would,” atsumu chimed proudly. “must’ve got ma athlete genes.”
sakusa rolled his eyes from behind the fake blonde.
“she’s really going fast! let’s time her to see how quick she can move!” hinata suggested, fascinated by the little human on the ground.
“we’re supposed to be doing passing drills-“
“GREAT IDEA HINATA!” bokuto shouted.
“i give up,” the masked brunette said, moving to sit down on the bleachers since apparently no one was going to actually bother to follow instructions.
atsumu smirked while watching his teammates fawn over his niece. he knew it would be a good idea to just bring her to friday practice. the vibe for fridays was always a little more laid-back, and he knew having a cute little baby around would earn him brownie points with his excitable teammates. who didn’t love babies?
his brown eyes shifted over to sakusa momentarily, who was gazing at his niece with a look of disdain on his face.
okay, maybe he didn’t enjoy kids, but the rest of the team sure did!
“hey hey hey, baby miya! let’s see how quick you can crawl to your uncle tsum-tsum!”
atsumu grinned, moving to kneel on the ground so he can encourage his niece to move towards him. seeing the familiar face of her uncle- who shared a face with her father- had her happily babbling away as she pushed towards him.
“awe, she’s trying to talk!” hinata cooed, lip wobbling as he watched the precious exchange.
“alright, everyone,” a voice boomed. everyone turned to see a muscular figure with a head of spiky black hair enter the gymnasium.
“your coach asked me to come over to ensure you boys were actually practicing,” iwaizumi hajime (27) athletic trainer stated. “i have some specific stamina exercises i want everyone to participate in. we’re gonna start by-“
movement in the lower peripheral of iwa’s vision caught his attention and the former ace found his gaze turning toward the floor.
“…why the hell is there a baby here?”
“don’t fuckin’ curse in front’a ma niece!”
“you just- nevermind,” iwa grunted, trying to be as patient as possible considering there was a literal infant present.
slotting his clipboard into the junction of his shoulder, the athletic trainer bent down to gently pick up your daughter. balancing her on his hip as if he’d done it a million times before, he turned back to the team.
“alright, jumping jacks and high knees, i want those heart rates getting up!”
before atsumu could open his mouth, iwa shot him a pointed look.
“i’ll hold your niece, miya, now get moving.”
the squeaking of shoes against the linoleum floor began to sound off. after ensuring everyone was properly following his instructions, he turned to the baby in his hold.
everyone knew iwaizumi was tough, but few knew how much of a complete softie he could be at times. giving your daughter a small smile, he lifted his hands to wave his fingers at her, to which she smiled back and tried to mimic his movements.
he let out a light laugh. “motor skills coming along there, i see-“
“iwaaaaa-chaaannnnn,” a voice sounded off from behind him.
iwaizumi froze. that voice, that stupid nickname, he knew it from anywhere. he began to turn his head to look behind him, gradually as if he was moving in slow-motion.
there was no way…
“guess who flew all the way from argentina to surprise you with his presence,” oikawa boasted as he stepped into the room. “that’s right, me-“
the seijoh grad fell silent as his chocolate colored eyes fell on the small human in his best friend’s hold.
oikawa blinked once. twice. three times. then-
“since when did you have a kid?”
“tooru, this isn’t-“
“how could you keep this from me?”
“will you please just-“
“a whole child? when?”
“shittykawa just shut up-“
“STOP CURSIN’ IN FRONT’A HER!”
“-and listen to me for a second!”
oikawa finally stopped his tirade, moving towards iwaizumi to study the baby in his arms. he bent down to be eye level with her, the both of them staring at each other curiously.
the brunette hummed to himself, reaching a finger out to poke your daughter’s cheek. “she doesn’t look like you.”
“wow, what an observation, it’s almost like she’s not my kid.”
“then who’s is she-“
“she’s my niece,” atsumu growled out, pushing oikawa away from the baby he was prodding at. he fixed the other man with a glare, well aware of who he was and what position he also played. the fact that this potential rival thought he could casually touch his flesh and blood had the fake blonde heated. “i’m takin’ care’a her for the weekend, which means i ain’t letting no lesser setter lay’a hand on her.”
“lesser setter?”
“oh boy,” iwa said, moving away from the two ego-fueled players. he could tell they were about to scuffle and he couldn’t let a baby be anywhere near that.
placing your little girl safely to the side, iwa crouched in front of her, sounds of “never saw ya at spring nationals” and “let’s see what your stats are, huh?” airing in the background.
“you stay right here, i’m gonna go get them to knock it off.”
standing a few meters away from all the chaos, sakusa watched as iwaizumi tried to wrench the two setters apart. sighing, he shifted his gaze to your daughter sitting unattended on the ground, babbling at nothing in particular.
sakusa grimaced. he really didn’t like babies. they were so…germy. and gross. but, he supposed the babies themselves couldn’t really help that fact. it wasn’t their fault they were so little and had such new immune systems.
a shadow then loomed over your daughter, bokuto and hinata standing over her. now that iwaizumi was too distracted to lead them in workouts, the two’s attention was back on the infant.
“i know!” bokuto exclaimed. “let’s do passing drills with baby miya! we can pass her back and forth to each other!”
“she’ll feel like she’s flying! like she’s a little crow!”
“or an owl!”
“you two will be doing absolutely no such thing with this child,” sakusa interjected, scooping your daughter up and going to sit down on the bench with her.
“but ki-“
“no.”
he wasn’t a fan of babies, but considering your daughter’s uncle was currently holding oikawa in a headlock, sakusa figured he could keep an eye on her for just a few minutes. it wouldn’t be too much longer before iwa finally decided he’d had enough and smacked the shit out of both of them.
hearing a little gurgle from below him, the brunette cast his eyes downwards. your daughter’s sight was transfixed on him, a smile coming onto her face when she saw she had the spiker’s attention.
from behind his mask, sakusa felt the corners of his lips twitch upwards.
the bells that hang by onigiri miya’s front door ring loudly as you enter the building, the sound of your voice accompanied with a chipper smile on your face as the early morning begins.
osamu barely looks up from the counter at your arrival, not needing to see you to know that it is you, and even if he is too busy fiddling with the register, he still smiles knowing that you’re here.
not that it would be anything special if you were, you were here practically everyday at this point, it might as well be part of osamu’s morning routine to welcome you in.
not that he minds — he’d never — but not that he’d tell you that, anyway.
“good morning.” he says to you, the smile on his face obvious now as you can hear it in his voice, but he still doesn’t look up from the register, too immersed in the work to tear himself away.
“seat yourself, will ya? bit busy here at the moment.”
you shrug off your coat from your shoulders as you hear him, nodding to yourself as you pick the table you like the most, and you call out, teasing, “alright but if you ask me to serve myself too, i’ll be expecting a paycheck from you.”
you slightly hear him chuckle a bit at that, too busy to respond, but you understand anyway considering the incoming morning rush.
knowing osamu, your closest friend for years, he must be knee deep in question marks as he tries to commandeer both the cashier and the kitchen by himself, too stubborn to hire anyone else, and way too confident to ask for any bit of help.
you’ll save the scoldings you have in mind for him later.
now, you’re preoccupied.
you pull the chair on your table out for your guest this morning, a small gesture of your hand to get him to seat across from you as you make yourself comfortable, and once all that’s settled, you hand him one of the menus to choose from.
the menu isn’t complicated at all — mainly the reason you took him here — and you’re sort-of proud of yourself for bringing him here in the first place.
after all, what better first date than the restaurant you already go to every single day?
your date gives you a smile, “so, you come here often?”
from the counter afar, there’s a sound of the register suddenly closing in on itself that can be heard loudly, a loud “clang!” echoing throughout the entire building.
osamu blinks, his attention suddenly torn away from the register in front of him, confusion settling in his face as his eyebrows furrow together, his languid smile dropping slowly and he looks up — finally.
from where he stands, the first person he sees is you, you’re laughing and smiling and you’re all dressed so nicely today that it almost makes him smile — but then he sees you’re talking to someone else, someone you brought here, someone across from you, and that doesn’t make him smile at all.
“yeah, it’s my favorite restaurant.” he hears you reply, the smile in your voice evident.
and as much as osamu just loves to hear how much you like his establishment, he’d rather you say it to him and not to anyone else.
there’s a bitter taste in his mouth. he feels like he just got the wind punched out of him as he continues to stare.
did you seriously bring a guy to his restaurant for a date?
“what can i get ya this mornin’?” there’s an obvious frown sitting on osamu’s face as he stands near your table, a pad of paper in his palm as his other hand holds a pen lazily.
it took him a lot of energy to force himself away from the counter and actually walk over to you and your … date, but he figured the more he ignored you, the more likely you were gonna come after him for not … well … doing his job.
“jeez. reign it in with the joy, please.” you tease, your morning spirits undeterred by his newfound persona of he-who-hates-all-things.
osamu sighs, dramatically, and he straightens up slightly to look at you more professionally now, “i’ve got the new flavors in this morning, they’re new and experimental so you get the chance— alright, what the hell is that?”
you look down to where his pointing, an exasperated look on his face as he gestures at the very bright object you brought with you today that was just distracting enough to bring him out of his spiel, and you smile even wider— proud.
“my shoes!” you nod with excitement, grabbing them from the paperbag on the floor as you take them out to show him.
“those are shoes?” his eyebrows furrow together tightly.
“well, i broke them, that’s why they look so clanky and the steel stuff ended up hanging outside the sole part, so i was planning on fixing it today during my break time at work.”
osamu looks at you, deadpanned, “they look like they could kill somebody.”
and you scoff, “so dramatic today.”
you sneak a peek over at the other side of the table to check on your date, and your smile remains when you see him still pre-occupied with the menu, browsing his options as he gives you a small smile while he listens to the conversation.
back to osamu now, he still looks frustrated at — well, you’re not really sure at what — and there’s a deep expression that settles on his face as he looks at you like you’ve just stolen his pen.
a second passes.
“hand them over.” he suddenly tells you, a big sigh coming from him as his shoulders fall with defeat.
you turn to him, “what?”
“hand over the shoes.”
“samu, i know they look bad, but that doesn’t mean you can take them from me!”
osamu breathes in very loudly as he stares at you, his frown impossibly getting deeper the more he stays here it seems, and with another swallow of possibly his last straw, he puts the pad down.
“give me the shoes so i can fix them, you idiot.” he tells you, his tone as quiet as he can make it, and he swears, if you had not been one of his closest friends, you’d been out of your seat five minutes ago.
you cross your arms over your chest, “you know how to fix shoes?”
and he scoffs, “i don’t, but i figure my chances are better than yours.”
your expression finally breaks into a small smile, defeated, yes, but you did get out of fixing your shoes yourself, which is a win in its own case, and a scenario only possible with osamu by your side.
“you win.” you throw your hands in the air, and show him a wide grin as you hand over the shoes, “thank you very much.”
osamu takes the shoes from you and puts it at the empty table behind him, begrudged, but amused, not like he wouldn’t do anything for you anyways.
your date leans over to you slowly — an action that makes osamu want to roll his eyes all the way to the back of his head.
he gives you a smile, “you get good service here.”
and you reply back, “i know the owner.”
osamu ignores the wink you give him, and he gives you an unamused look as you grin. he shakes his head to himself and grabs the pad of paper once again before clearing his throat.
“order?”
“i’ll have two of my usual orders, and then one of each of the new flavors to go.” you tell him, proud at not having to look at the menu anymore to know what you like.
you do come here every morning after all.
osamu gives you a short nod, listing down your request, and begrudgingly, he turns to the other person at the table, “and you?”
“i’m just not sure.” your date tells him, humming to himself as he picks up the menu again. “give me a second.”
the gray haired man gives you a look; almost 10 minutes with that menu and he still hasn’t decided?
you give him an apologetic look, “oh, then, i guess hold off on mine too.”
osamu shakes his head, sighing, “i might run out of the new ones.”
and your date looks up from the menu to give you a wanton smile, “go ahead, order, i’ll be fine.”
you shake your head, polite, “no, it’s okay, i’ll wait for you. take your time.”
osamu clears his throat. adamant. “i’m almost out and i can’t make more.”
you shoot him a look. “then set some aside for me.”
and he squints his eyes. “it’s first come, first serve.”
there’s a stark frown on your face now too. your eyebrows tightly knit as you shoot the man in front of you a hard glare.
you have no idea why he’s making this morning so hard on you for no reason at all, but you’re about to say something to his remark if it weren’t for the sudden ringing on the phone that interrupted the conversation.
“i’m sorry, i might have to go.” your date intervenes suddenly, the ringing of his phone going off as he stands up and grabs his things from the table.
you look at him expectantly, “you do?”
“yes, something came up,” he tells you, apologetic and giving you a sad smile. he leans down anyway to come squeeze your hand quickly, and he says, “i’ll call you?”
you give him a small nod, “sure.”
not that you can do anything else about it, you say your goodbyes, and suddenly, not even twenty minutes in to your first date with him, he’s off and leaving.
the bells on the door ring loudly as the door closes with a slam.
your head falls on the table once he’s gone.
“well.” you grumble. “that was a bust.”
osamu puts a hand on his hip as he watches you, “ya seriously cannot be hung up like this on the world’s slowest reader.”
you lift your head up slightly to roll your eyes at him, watching him with squinted eyes as he walks away and disappears into the kitchen.
obviously, you weren’t hung up on this stupid date. you didn’t want to go on this stupid date anyway!
dating sucks. and it sucks even more when it’s forced on you last minute by a work friend who you’re definitely not talking to outside of the work place anymore.
you grumble again at the thought.
great, and you were having such a good morning too.
you let your head fall back on the table.
a minute passes in your sulking mess before you hear the sound of a plate being pushed across the table breaks you from your world of wallowing.
“here.”
osamu looks at you from the side, his gaze much softer now as he keeps his hand on his hip, and he watches as your confused look when you see him falls on the playe in front of you.
your usual order, and the new ones to go.
you look up at him, “but i thought you didn’t ring my order in?”
and osamu, defeated, rolls his eyes slightly, but you don’t miss the way his lips curl upwards even just a tiny bit.
you come in here every single day, every single morning, and order the same exact thing. rain or shine, he can also expect to greet you in as you come in those doors and greet him with that big smile you never fail to give him.
he can’t help it, it’s part of his routine now too.
atsumu keeps pestering him on hiring somebody to man the front desk so he can lessen his work load, but that would mean what? give up the chance to see you come in everyday? give up the way you say his name when you say good morning? give up your smile and your laugh and the way you tease and mock and tarry?
you’re the best part of his mornings working here, even when you’re with somebody else, you’re still the person he looks most forward to seeing every single day.
he rolls his eyes but you see him smile anyway.
“i already set these aside before you came in anyway.”
By the time Sakyo’s mother remarried, I think he was genuinely happy to see his mother so happy. He was genuinely thrilled that she’d found someone to treat her well and to spend the rest of her day’s with. However, I don’t think Sakyo ever thinks of his stepfather as a father of any sort and, though he treats the man well, it’s with none of the respect that Sakyo would ever show his father. At the beginning, when his mother did start dating the man who would go on to become Sakyo’s stepfather, though, the relationship between the two of them had no respect whatsoever. It wasn’t the stepfather’s fault – right from the beginning, he tried hard to be nice to Sakyo and to build a relationship with him. After it having been just him and his mother for so long, though, Sakyo didn’t really trust anyone trying to come in and join that tight circle. He was suspicious of the man and also worried a great deal about his mother. Sakyo made it really clear that, if his future stepfather were to ever hurt his mother in any way, he’d have to deal with Sakyo. Given that, by this point, Sakyo did have some experience in the yakuza, the threat was quite meaningful. While Sakyo’s stepfather does his best to love his stepson and to support him, the relationship is never close and somewhere deep inside the stepfather, he’s a little afraid of Sakyo.
Sakyo has never understood the appeal of smoking. It doesn’t matter if it’s cigarettes, cigars, cigarillos, or marijuana. He just doesn’t get the appeal of it at all. Not only is it terrible for one’s health, but he cannot stand the smell. Marijuana affects him particularly badly – to him, it always smell like skunk. But he even finds the smell of cigarettes to be absolutely disgusting and nausea-inducing. To him, the smell is downright offensive. And believe me, he can definitely smell a smoker. Sakoda is the type of drinker who, when out with his friends for a night of drinking and partying, will have the occasional smoke. By the time he sees Sakyo next, often hours later, sometimes even a full day later, Sakyo can still smell the cigarette on him. Sakyo’s not afraid to call Sakoda out on that bad habit either – in fact, whenever this does happen, Sakoda is in for a lecture on what cigarettes do to a person’s health.
Sakyo has always really liked math. Even as a child, he excelled at it. To him, math and numbers are simple. They’re easy for him to handle and figure out. He often worked ahead of his classmates during math classes at school. It’s part of why he likes accounting so much – it’s just easy for him. It’s natural and simple. On top of that, I think Sakyo really enjoys accounting for another reason. Sakyo can be a little obsessed with money, sometimes to his detriment. He’s extremely financially literate and more than a little concerned with budget and such. However, I do think there’s reasons for that. Sakyo grew up in poverty. It wasn’t extreme – he always had a roof over his head, his ass was always covered, and there was food. But he remembers times when keeping that roof over his head was a shaky thing, when his mother, though she tried to hide it from her son, would be in tears at the time late at night, looking at a stack of bills and trying to figure out how to keep it all together. He remembers birthdays and Christmases when his presents were a week late, just to fall in line with his mother’s payday. Where the food in his belly might be cheap ramen for a week. I think that might have instilled a bit of a fear in Sakyo, where he felt really powerless to help his mother, to find a way to make her happy again. Having little to no money means worry, stress, fear, and a complete lack of control over his life to Sakyo.
Though acting is probably the biggest thing in Sakyo’s life currently, it’s not his only passion. It’s definitely not his only hobby. He’s someone who has well-developed interests and who is settled into his likes and dislikes. Sakyo is a big reader. While he reads things that others would expect of him – textbooks and non-fiction on subjects he’s interested in, more famous plays that he dreams of someday acting out on stage, classic novels – Sakyo has an unexpected side. While he tries quite hard to hide it from everyone, worried about being seen as frivolous, I also think he has a guilty pleasure in romance novels, particularly young adult romance novels, with the exception of Fifty Shades of Grey. He never let anyone see him in possession of those books, but he devoured them nonetheless. That guilty pleasure extends to romance movies and dramas, though you would have to resort to torture to get him to admit that.
Though Sakyo would never admit it, Azami was the person who has given Sakyo the best ever birthday gift. Azami thought it would be a good low-effort gift that would show Sakyo how little Azami cared about his birthday…that backfired though. Sakyo seemed quite pleased, in his restrained way, with the gift, and when in private, Sakyo took great joy in the gift. The gift in question? Azami had bought a great big role of bubble wrap from the post office and given that to Sakyo. It kept Sakyo happy and content for a good two months, since he rationed it out.
Going along with that headcanon, while I don’t think that they are something Sakyo would buy himself, because he would consider it a waste of money, I do personally headcanon that he’d really like fidget toys. Pop-it style fidget toys are obviously his favourites but I think he’d also enjoy fidget cubes as well.
While it’s not something others would expect, Sakyo can be hyper-aware of his own looks. He’s not exceptionally vain, but he does have some vanity to him. He doesn’t like to be caught looking ‘sloppy.’ The thought of it bothers him – heck, even sometimes within practice, when he’s going all out practicing fight and stage choreography and gets sweaty or disheveled, it bothers him. He feels like he might be seen as ‘less than,’ that the others might judge his appearance in the moment, even though logically he knows they won’t. He doesn’t like to have anyone see him in outfits that are quite casual – jeans and a t-shirt or even worse, sweatpants and a t-shirt? That’s workout clothes only. I do think some of this stems from Sakyo’s childhood, where he’d often get bullied for his hand-me-down or second-hand clothes, where the cheap clothes his mother could afford often branded him as poor and other from the other children. Other parts of it comes down to Sakyo’s own personal aesthetic taste, which tends to skew towards a more elegant, ‘old money’ type of style.
Though he won’t admit to it, Sakyo often worries when Omi and Tasuku are out on their motorcycles. He’s always been a bit wary of that form of transportation, acutely aware of how easy it is for motorcyclists to get caught up in a traffic accident and how deadly traffic accidents can be for them. He won’t forbid the motorcycles or anything – he’s not their parent, for gods sake, but he breathes a sigh of relief, often unheard and unseen, whenever they return from a ride.
Sakyo has an incredibly hard time planning dates. He struggles to come up with ideas on his own, worries about every minute idea, overanalyzes the balance between fun and romantic. He’s methodical about planning them but planning them also gives him no small measure of anxiety. He calculates every small detail as a way of controlling that anxiety, running through his plans not just once, not just twice, but probably about five to seven times before the date even happens. Even with all the anxiety though, even with how hard it is, because he can be a little bit of a control freak, Sakyo still prefers to be the one in the relationship who plans out date nights.
Sakyo is not a gamer by any means. He thinks that, as a hobby, it’s a little childish and kind of a waste of time and money. Video games and consoles are insanely expensive, after all. With that being said though, even he has his little gaming streak, though not a hardcore one. He just has a couple game apps on his phone. He argues they aren’t really video games, since it’s just Mahjong and a chess app, but they totally count, at least according to Citron. Even then , he much prefers to play those games outside of the phone or with an actual person instead of a computer.
is this my first fic-let??????? 747 word count last i checked. azuma ohhh azuma....!!!
Azuma has a horrible habit of watching doors. Watching doors open, watching doors close, watching doors when they don't move, wondering when they will. He watches when someone knocks, and opens his door, hands leaning on the handle, and he wills the hinges to move, prays for the door to swing open just a bit more, so that when they leave, it’ll take just that second longer to close it.
He watches when the door opens, and people stand outside of it, talking to him from out in the hall. When people stand in the doorway, one foot planted in his room, asking if he wants oolong or sencha? When people walk in, and close the door behind them. That's something he seems to love watching. A fixation, perhaps. To see whether or not they either: close the door completely by hand, let it swing closed on its own, or let it swing, but stay that strange little crack open, almost brushing against the frame. Sometimes when scrolling on his phone, or reading, or coloring, or stretching, or anything, he’ll stop and start watching the door. He never notices he does this. He'll just sit and watch. Sometimes up to 10 minutes straight, he’ll just. Watch.
Who's gonna knock.
Who's coming through next?
Is someone coming next?
Will anyone ever come next?
They’ve all left, haven't they. Everyone moved out. They didn't think to let me know. no one told me. They moved out, and there are no pots or pans left in the kitchen. The fridge isn't plugged in. The rugs have been rolled up and put away, the spots where they laid mark a full shade different from the rest of the flooring. The practice room is locked. It's dusty.
Would it matter if he had the keys?
A set of keys for all the rooms?
If he went in to sweep?
The gardens are dead, he muses. Tsumugi must have felt so bad, leaving his gardens. He must have dug up the plants into pots to move them. Move them to. To. To wherever he was moving them to. They left and they didn't tell me. There are no feet running in the halls, on the ceiling above me, pounding on the wood loud enough to make me jump. There are no more backpacks being dropped carelessly on the floors. There's no more rustle and thump of bags of groceries being hauled into the kitchen. The TV isn't on.
No one’s left the TV on.
I can't hear the TV on.
The vacuum is in a storage closet. That nice one that Matsukawa had to make a written request to Sakyo for, with the mop attachment and everything. All the dressers are empty. If he went through every room in this building and pulled out every drawer, he’d find nothing but sweet little brown house-spiders. He feels like he can remember it. Everyone, packing outside his room. calling out to collect another load of garbage, for more packing materials, if anyone had a spare laundry bag? He remembers it. It has to be true then, if he can see it so clearly, feel it in the pit of his stomach, making him sweat, making him shiver.
They left, and didn't tell me.
Izumi opens the door without knocking, and steps in. Steps in with both feet. Both feet across the threshold. Socks tracking dust onto his carpet. She is standing in his room. In his room.
“Azuuu, I can't figure out what to wear tonight, and when I asked Tsumugi he just said anything would look nice. I mean, like, I know?? but that doesn't helppp! Ok-ok-ok, ummm, work-casual, or like…classy-casual?”
“Oh, definitely classy-casual, sweetheart. You’ll be making that whole bar swoon.”
A ringing laugh, and a hand on the wall. On his wall, to support her as she leans over in her amusement.
“Aw, hush! You mean we will! Pshh, alright, okay, I got it. You get yourself dressed up, see you at the door in 30, ‘kay?”
And when Izumi leaves, she leaves the door open for a moment, and he can see Juza and Tsuzuru walk past, arms laden with a snack haul, the silvery foil crinkle of a chip bag that Taichi was already calling dibs for. A quick shuffling of feet later, Izumi pops back in, stage-whispers a smiling ‘sorry!’ and closes the door again, turning the handle so it clicks back in almost silently.
Azuma stands. He needs to pick out a shirt to wear.
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