Osamu Miya - Tumblr Posts - Page 2

Heartbroken

How the Haikyuu!! characters are after a breakup

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Ft: Hinata Shoyou, Kozume Kenma, Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu, Bokuto Koutarou.

should i make a part 2 for this with other characters?

Shoyou's ever-present smile faltered as he saw you again after what felt like an eternity. He was so, so sure he had moved on. Yet, there he was, feeling something warm bloom inside him the moment your eyes met. You smiled-awkwardly, not the one that he oh so loved-and moved on. You look like you're doing well, which he is happy about. Do you miss him? He hopes so. He misses you dearly, yes, but Shoyou swears he's happy. He's doing well, too. Because that's what matters right? Though he'd be happier if you were with him.

Kenma cursed as he lost the boss fight for the umpteenth time. He's been playing for so long and still hasn't been able to defeat the boss. Frustrated, he threw the console on his bed and laid back. That was a huge mistake for his mind immediately drifted towards you. He thought about all the things that don't feel the same, now that you had left. He couldn't enjoy games, streaming-everything was so bland without you. He wonders how he even lived before you came into his life.

Osamu is in a rush. It's a rush hour and he's busy tending to his customers. In between customers, he somehow manages to make extra onigiri for his dinner. Absent mindedly, he puts them in a container and goes on about his work. It's when he's finished closing the shop and ready to leave that he notices he's made enough onigiri for two people. He freezes as he notices how some of them are covered in your favorite seasoning. He laughs silently, because why would you be at his home? The two of you had broken up exactly two months ago. Pathetic. Osamu should be over you. He can't stop loving you.

Atsumu is scrolling through social media, laughing at cat memes. A particular one makes him laugh very hard. Trying to catch his breath, he sends it to all his friends. He scrolls through the list to find your name, he's sure you will love it. He's confused when he can't find your contact in the list. His eyes widen as realization hits him square in the face. We're not together anymore. He bites his trembling lip. He misses you so much. He tried pushing his feelings down knowing very well it won't work. Atsumu sobs into his pillow and wishes you would take him back.

Koutarou opens the door to an empty home. There is no one running into his arms to welcome him. No one to ask him about his day. No one to cuddle and kiss when he feels down. He feels an ache in his heart just at the sight of his lifeless home. Did you have this much impact on him? Did he take you for granted? He heats up the leftovers in his fridge and thinks how he would have to sleep in a cold, empty bed and repeat all of this again tomorrow, the day after that and so on.

Work by: @smolbean12

[01:56] osamu coming home

warnings none, just fluff

other timestamps

opening the door to his shared home, he calls out your name, to which gave no response. he called your name out again, and dropped his bag, searching the house and came to an abrupt pause.

sighing in relief, he smiled at your comfortable figure, sleeping in a fetal position with a pillow between your legs. you released soft snores within each breath and osamu chuckled as he brushed your right cheek.

“i love ya so damn much”

he got up carefully and changed out of his clothes to freshen up before getting in bed beside you. he slipped off his shirt and-

“-samu?”

alarmed, he turned around and sighed.

“what are ya doin? thought ya were sleepin'” he moves towards you and pulls you into his arms, letting your face rest in his chest.

“i was waiting for you, but i fell asleep, sorry, love”

“ya didn't need to wait for me, am always here.”

he felt your cheesy smile in his chest and chuckled softly and rested his head on top of yours, quickly placing a chaste kiss.

“am gonna wash up, okay? stay here, i'll be quick.”

nodding sleepily, you gave him a small smile and walked back to bed, laying your ahead atop of a pillow, and immediately fell asleep, even though you wanted to stay awake for osamu.

drying his hair off, he walked into your shared bedroom and laughed as he watched your sleeping figure.

he crawled in beside you, snaking his arms around your waist and kissing you on the back of your head before whispering-

“goodnight. i love ya so much.”

a/n: i'll post the masterlist later!

.iloveyou - miya osamu

.pairings osamu x fem!reader, suna x fem!reader

.genre post break up, timeskip!au

.ongoing | completed

.tw heartbreak if it counts

.wc; 1.1k

SUMMARY

Osamu is at your wedding, and all he can think about is your memories together and how he thought you were going to be his eternity.

He watched you in the arms of another. He stared, sat on the pews placed in the front of the church. He teared up as you spoke your vows. But of course he had to applaud as the two of you kissed, smiling into each other's lips, listening to the cheers of the crowd around you.

The afterparty hurt. It burned a hole through his chest, sitting idly on the table with some old friends from high school. He swirled his scotch gently on the coaster, ignoring the screams and lights of the crowd. As much as he tried to, he wanted to avoid your beautiful gaze towards your newlywed husband, he wanted to disregard the bright expression that was upheld on your face as you danced to the song that belonged to you two. It was yours before you were his.

But he just couldn't. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't just defy the impact of your smile. He fell victim to it years before in high school. Elaborating onto that, your laugh was intoxicating, and your scent was nothing but addictive; it could've hooked anyone else in, but no, it chose him. His best friend.

It was no surprise Osamu would fall for you. You were so sweet, caring, audacious and humorous. You were everything he wanted and more. You were his definition of happy, you were the muscles in his face that brought a smile, and the jokes that slipped a laugh out of his stoic face.

If you had the strength to make Osamu laugh, then you had just as much strength to break his heart. And break his heart you did. The names engraved on the save the date invitations shot an arrow through his chest, and he almost buckled as he read the names "L/N Y/N "and "Suna Rintarou".

It was then, that Osamu realised you were his forever, but he was only your temporary, and he had to live with that now. Especially since he had mastered the "happy" act of the groom's best friend at the wedding.

A bouquet flew in his direction and he caught it, thankfully due to his previous sport experience. You quickly waddled towards him, arms barely holding up the length of your ivory white dress. A smile etched upon your face as you giggled, and brought the microphone back up towards your lips.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it appears Miya Osamu will be getting married soon!” You joke, bringing the crowd, including Osamu, into laughter. Osamu hands the bouquet back which you gratefully hold in return, and turn around, walking back up to the front and telling the crowd that you need to sit down for a bit, as a result of your feet lugging around in three inch heels for the past four or five hours.

Slowly, you make your way to Osamu, and sit down, cheeks red from excitement. Of course, it was your wedding day.

“I'm so glad you could make it 'Samu.” You huffed out, the light of your dress reflecting upon your face.

“Me too, Mrs Suna.” He teases.

“I honestly thought it would be you at the altar with me,” a choke emits from Osamu's lips as you stare at the ring on your finger, “but I love Rin so much. He feels like home. Words can't even begin to describe how happy I am, knowing that I met him.”

Osamu nods, tragically, letting out a pathetic chuckle as he thinks of your high school romance.

“I loved what we had Osamu, but we were teenagers,” in love “so thank you for that experience, I'm so glad I have someone like you in my life.” You finally stand up, but slip in the process, with Osamu there to hold you by the arm to stop you from getting injured. He beams as you walk away from him, and towards Rintarou.

Despite him being a man of very few words, he could feel that he had so much to say to you, but held it in, knowing he didn't want to ruin your day. His smile fades away, and he looks down at his hand that held your arm, and clenches his fist.

He remembers when the two of you were sixteen, making food together at his house, leaving extras for Atsumu. He remembers seventeen, when you wore his jersey from freshman year to his interhigh nationals, and when you ran into his arms after the game ended; he remembers how you took a train just to watch the game. He remembers eighteen, when you get a small tattoo, albeit your parents would practically murder you when they find out (and they did), of a small heart onto the side of your middle finger, and how he kissed it after you showed him. He'll remember the two of you making out in the front seat of his car, when he first gets his license, and how you ran your hands through his hair. He'll remember every fragment of your essence, and cherish all of it.

He remembers you as L/N Y/N, but it would be now known that you are Suna Y/N. And he was okay with that, because he loves loved you, tenderly, tragically. He watches you again, slow dance in the arms of Suna Rintarou, slowly pull your faces close together as you go in for a kiss, and he looks away, tears pooling at his waterline.

So Miya Osamu was okay with you having a happy ending without him, because you were his happy, you were what was behind the pearly gates to his heaven, the sun on a rainy day, and the three leaved clover in his garden, three signifying his hope, love and faith for you, for you were always going to be there in his life.

Even if the distance grew between you two through time, it would not eradicate the love you carried for one another, even if yours had evolved from a romantic love to a love one would have for friend. But if he had the chance, he would go back in time and love you once again, despite knowing the ending between you two.

Osamu pulls a lamentable smile, and stands up from his seat, before making his way out of the stuffy hallways, and into the open air of the outdoors. His chest feels lighter, and he exhales, walking towards his car in the dark of the night, feeling the vibrations of the party music slowly fade away, and sits in his car, head laying onto the driver's seat.

He manoeuvres his car out of the parking lot, and sets out on an aimless drive, ignoring the incessant texts from you and Rintarou, asking where the bride and groom's best friend went. He grips the wheel tighter, and blinks the teardrops away from his eyes, accelerating the speed of the car.

He can move on from you, some day, just not right now.

a/n: bonjour mon bebes i will actually try to finish the gojo angst i have held onto for like a week now im so sorry for the delay i hope u like this subpar masterpiece i have in its stead

.iloveyou - miya osamu

.pairings osamu x fem!reader, suna x fem!reader

.genre post break up, timeskip!au

.ongoing | completed

.tw heartbreak if it counts

.wc; 1.1k

SUMMARY

osamu is at your wedding, and all he can think about is your memories together and how he thought you were going to be his eternity.

he watched you in the arms of another. he stared, sat on the pews placed in the front of the church. he teared up as you spoke your vows. but of course he had to applaud as the two of you kissed, smiling into each other's lips, listening to the cheers of the crowd around you.

the afterparty hurt. it burned a hole through his chest, sitting idly on the table with some old friends from high school. he swirled his scotch gently on the coaster, ignoring the screams and lights of the crowd. as much as he tried to, he wanted to avoid your beautiful gaze towards your newlywed husband, he wanted to disregard the bright expression that was upheld on your face as you danced to the song that belonged to you two. it was yours before you were his.

but he just couldn't. no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't just defy the impact of your smile. he fell victim to it years before in high school. elaborating onto that, your laugh was intoxicating, and your scent was nothing but addictive; it could've hooked anyone else in, but no, it chose him. his best friend.

it was no surprise osamu would fall for you. you were so sweet, caring, audacious and humorous. you were everything he wanted and more. you were his definition of happy, you were the muscles in his face that brought a smile, and the jokes that slipped a laugh out of his stoic face.

if you had the strength to make osamu laugh, then you had just as much strength to break his heart. and break his heart you did. the names engraved on the save the date invitations shot an arrow through his chest, and he almost buckled as he read the names "l/n y/n" and "suna rintaro".

it was then osamu realised you were his forever, but he was only your temporary, and he had to live with that now. especially since he had mastered the "happy" act of the groom's best friend at the wedding.

a bouquet flew in his direction and he caught it, thankfully due to his previous sport experience. you quickly waddled towards him, arms barely holding up the length of your ivory white dress. a smile etched upon your face as you giggled, and brought the microphone back up towards your lips.

“ladies and gentlemen, it seems miya osamu will be getting married soon!” you joke, bringing the crowd, including osamu, into laughter. osamu hands the bouquet back which you gratefully hold in return, and turn around, walking back up to the front and telling the crowd that you need to sit down for a bit, as a result of your feet lugging around in three inch heels for the past four or five hours.

slowly, you make your way to osamu, and sit down, cheeks red from excitement. of course, it was your wedding day.

“i'm so glad you could make it 'samu.” you huffed out, the light of your dress reflecting upon your face.

“me too, mrs suna.” he teases.

“i honestly thought it would be you at the altar with me,” a choke emits from osamu's lips as you stare at the ring on your finger, “but i love rin so much. he feels like home. words can't even begin to describe how happy i am, knowing that i met him.”

osamu nods, tragically, letting out a pathetic chuckle as he thinks of your high school romance.

“i loved what we had osamu, but we were teenagers,” in love “so thank you for that experience, i'm so glad i have someone like you in my life.” you finally stand up, but slip in the process, with osamu there to hold you by the arm to stop you from getting injured. he beams as you walk away from him, and towards rin.

despite him being a man of very few words, he had so much to say to you, but held it in, knowing he didn't want to ruin your day. his smile fades away, and he looks down at his hand that held your arm, and clenches his fist.

he remembers when the two of you were sixteen, making food together at his house, leaving extras for atsumu. he remembers seventeen, when you wore his jersey from freshman year to his interhigh nationals, and when you ran into his arms after the game ended; he remembers how you took a train just to watch the game. he remembers eighteen, when you get a small tattoo, albeit your parents would practically murder you when they find out (and they did), of a small heart onto the side of your middle finger, and how he kissed it after you showed him. he'll remember the two of you making out in the front seat of his car, when he first gets his license, and how you ran your hands through his hair. he'll remember every fragment of your essence, and cherish all of it.

he remembers you as l/n y/n, but it would be now known that you are suna y/n. and he was okay with that, because he loves loved you, tenderly, tragically. he watches you again, slow dance in the arms of suna rintaro, slowly pull your faces close together as you go in for a kiss, and he looks away, tears pooling at his waterline.

so miya osamu was okay with you having a happy ending without him, because you were his happy, you were the pearly gates to his heaven, the sun on a rainy day, and the three leaved clover in his garden, three signifying his hope, love and faith for you, for you were always going to be there in his life.

even if the distance grew between you two through time, it would not eradicate the love you carried for one another, even if yours had evolved from a romantic love to a love one would have for friend. but if he had the chance, he would go back in time and love you once again, despite knowing the ending between you two.

osamu pulls a lamentable smile, and stands up from his seat, before making his way out of the stuffy hallways, and into the open air of the outdoors. his chest feels lighter, and he exhales, walking towards his car in the dark of the night, feeling the vibrations of the party music slowly fade away, and sits in his car, head laying onto the driver's seat.

he manoeuvres his car out of the parking lot, and sets out on an aimless drive, ignoring the incessant texts from you and rintaro, asking where the bride and groom's best friend went. he grips the wheel tighter, and blinks the teardrops away from his eyes, accelerating the speed of the car.

he can move on from you, some day, just not right now.

a/n: bonjour mon bebes i will actually try to finish the gojo angst i have held onto for like a week now im so sorry for the delay i hope u like this subpar masterpiece i have in its stead

[23:17] atsumu miya knows colour theory

warnings none just atsumu using a lot of nicknames

other timestamps

"atsumu."

humming, your boyfriend turns his head around towards your direction and finds peace within your presence as you sauntered your way to him.

"this is a very important question okay?" an interrogating expression beholds itself on your face, but atsumu only stares at the features upon it like it was the first time he'd seen a human. "atsumu. i need your answer."

"yes 'm listening, sweets."

"what's your favourite colour?"

the adoring expression atsumu wore like a badge had wore off and transforms into what you could only assume was a perplexed man sitting in front of you. he laughs.

"atsumu! i told you to answer the question this is serious." his face puffs up with a vermillion tone and he pulls you closer to his body, thick arms around your waist fitting together like jigsaw pieces.

"darling, yer so earnest about it, of course i'll laugh." your face is peppered with billions of feathery kisses, swiping him away with your hands you attempt to push him away and sulk; only to make his offense stronger and kisses you more.

"miya, answer my damn question-"

"ooh, pulling out miya are we?" teasingly, he smirks and how attractive it is to watch that stupid man in front of you lovingly mock you.

"it's not that hard of a question to answer." crossing your arms and folding your legs, you move to the other side of the couch before he scooches towards you to gift a disgustingly fat and tender kiss on your cheek.

"okay, then what's yer favourite colour my love?"

"since i'm not like you," you humph annoyedly, "green."

"then simple, mine is red."

puzzled, you unfold your arms and atsumu's cheesy smiles widens in it itself, slightly beginning to look creepy so you push your palm against his face and move him away, and he laughs before coming in to hug you once more.

"they're complementary colours, baby. it's supposed to be romantic." chuckling, his face is attached to your stomach and he lays upon your body, although the position is awkward.

"it sounds like christmas. and what are complementary colours?" disproving his point and forgetting the reason why you asked him the question in the first place, you relax your body and sit up properly for atsumu to prop his head on your legs.

"they're like colours that are opposites but they're good together. like us. and what's wrong with christmas, scrooge?" twiddling your fingers between his, he mutters and awaits your response.

"that was corny, and you only enjoy christmas because you're not the one making the christmas list for all of our friends and family." flicking his head you scold him and he winces, before bringing your fingers back and trapping them in his hands.

"now i have an excuse to hold your hand as well as provide for my own safety!" he pauses for a moment, "hey i do help with christmas shopping."

"you chose to buy fuzzy dice for samu last year."

"that was a good 1800¥ spent."

"he doesn't even own a car."

"what matters is that we spend too much money on him and last year was a cool down compared to all the rocking gifts i've got him before."

"you know what, it's fine, i'll handle the shopping but you pay for it."

"i'll accept that. now, i need to go upstairs i have super secret agent stuff to attend." he kisses the top of your head and bolts upstairs.

"miya atsumu, i know you're changing the shopping basket gifts for samu! get back down here."

a/n: my exams are ending soon thank whoever is up there

@superhero--imagines

This is the best book imagine I’ve ever read

One arm is nestled under your head, supporting your neck, the other wraps around you waist as he holds your books open. He watches your eyes flutter open and shut, a yawn spilling past your lips. His lips hum the words on the page, only stopping when snores leave your lips, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead before closing the book shut.

- Bruce Wayne, JASON TODD, Damian Wayne, Kita Shinsuke, OSAMU MIYA, Kageyama Tobio, Akaashi Keiji, Satoru Gojo, Nanami Kento, Yuuji Itadori, Edward Cullen, Zoro Roronoa

~This is a repost from my old blog~

OsᴀSᴜɴᴀ

ғ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs ➪ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʙʀɪᴇғ ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ᴀ ᴘᴜɴɪsʜᴍᴇɴᴛ ɪɴ sᴜɴᴀs, ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ғʟᴜғғʏ <3

|ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1|

ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴅᴏ ᴍɪss ᴛʜᴇsᴇ </3

I want to make onigiri with Osamu so badly

It’s a real problem. I don’t even like onigiri that much, but I perfected the technique and can make smooth, perfectly filled onigiri in a minute.

Just imagine being next to him with a cooled pot of rice in your kitchen. You grin at him in the silence, just comfortable in each other’s warm presence and the peace of a spring afternoon, making lunch to take to a park. You take turns scooping the fluffy, soft rice into your hands, cupping fingers so you can add tuna mayo to the center. You glance at him. His strong arms working, biceps as thick as when he was an athlete, whipping out a perfectly triangular onigiri in just a few seconds. The motions are easy to him as breathing, now, and while he has the little shaped molds for them, he likes connecting to the food he’s making by hand instead. One wrap of nori later and he has a picturesque little onigiri on the plate.

He notices you staring, rice untouched in your hand.

“Hmm?” he asks, pretty eyes of his searching.

You don’t really have the words to tell him how much you love him. How much joy you get just from knowing he’s real and breathing next to you, seeing the flutter of his eyelashes as he blinks, waiting for your answer.

So you scoot over, press your lips against his, softly. And you know he understands when one of his sturdy, hardworking hands touches your jaw, trembling juuust a little. He understands. 

It’s the same way for him.

Hi and welcome on tumblr. 🌞 Hope you'll like it here.

May I request an Osamu Miya fluff with a female or gender neutral reader who is an overthinker and is convinced that the signs Osamu sends her are just because he's nice, but in the end she has to realise that he is indeed in love with her/them?

Have a nice day🌞

thank you so much for your request !!! I tried my best, hope you'll enjoy it ;) have a nice day <3

A TRICK OF YOUR MIND (osamu miya x overthinker reader)

characters : Osamu Miya x overthinker reader and a little bit of Atsumu too

genre : fluff

warnings : mention of insomnia

you were friend with Osamu for a very long time, but as time goes by you start to overthink his nice and kind gestures towards you and might wonder if there isn't a little bit more than friendship between you two

You were caught up in your mind again. You weren’t paying any attention to the book you were reading, too busy thinking of the gray haired boy and your mixed feelings towards him.

You must have been imagining things. Well you do that so well anyway.

But you couldn’t help yourself and hoped there may be more than just platonic feelings behind the kind actions and gestures of Osamu Miya. Every time you come to their volleyball practice, he’ll always shoot a nice glance and a smile toward you, like he was happy you were here. But that’s impossible right ? He’s just nice with everyone, you saw it during class and practice.

And then, you can’t help but hope there may be more behind his selfless and caring behavior. You were craving his attention, and his nice and understanding gray eyes didn’t help making you feel less eager for his presence. How you hoped you could one day maybe feel comforted and happy in the tenderness of his arms. You’ll be able to hold his hand on your way back home after a long day at school. Maybe even have a date, cheer for him during a match, kiss him stupid to chase away his guilt when he blames himself for their loss…  But that’s impossible, and you know that, you’re just a nice friend who is too lost in her mind. Nothing very attractive in that. Right ?

However, you’ve decided to do nothing about it, knowing perfectly well that nothing will ever happen. Because that’s how things are right ? And what if he really doesn’t like me in that way ? I’ll be so embarrassed, I’ll never be able to face him again. 

So you slowly grew apart from him. You didn’t share meals with him, Rintaro and his twin anymore. You no longer came to watch Osamu at practice and walked home with him and Atsumu. And on top of that, you stopped looking at him for too long, afraid that the volleyball player will notice how you felt towards him just by looking in your eyes.

This strange behavior of yours didn’t come unnoticed by Osamu. And, to say the least, it irritates him so much. What did he do wrong ? Why don’t you eat with him anymore ? Usually you would immediately join them and sit right next to him to share your meal. What happened to that ? Right as the bell rings, signaling lunch break, you escape straight away claiming that you have stuff to do. It goes the same for practice. You aren’t here anymore to cheer for him and make him feel proud. Those moments were the happiest time of his day. Always thanking you in a quiet way, his way, with a kind and warm smile and locking eyes with you. Hoping that you’ll get the hint of his feelings for you. But now, you are so far away from the gray-eyed boy, making him feel like you’re slipping away from him.  

       After practically two weeks, the situation remains the same. You are sad and no longer cheerful, staying as far away from Osamu, even though it hurts you so much. And Osamu is more frustrated than ever, without being able to talk to you, he isn’t able to focus properly during school and practice, receiving remarks from his teachers and teammates. And especially from Atsumu. Oh, his damn twin, who could read him like an open book. And this is exactly because of this sly Atsumu, that Osamu comes to the conclusion of why he feels so out of it. 

After what felt like a never-ending practice, Atsumu decides that it's time for his twin to snap out of it and do something about his behavior, so uncharacteristic of the Osamu Miya that he knows. 

    “Hey, ‘Samu, don’t you think it’s time for you to do something about this Y/N situation ?”   

The gray-haired twin, lost in his thoughts, jumps in the middle of the street, only illuminated by the street lamps 

“Ha ?! What do you mean by the Y/N situation ‘Tsumu ? Why would you talk about her anyway ?” Osamu responds, now ready to slap his brother by approaching this sensitive subject. 

“Easy there, I’m not trying to pick up a fight, I just want the real Osamu back, and not this pale version of yourself too caught up in your mind to even realize that people are actually concerned for you.”  Atsumu answers gently. 

Osamu, trying to collect himself, comes to realize that he hasn't really been himself during the past few weeks and he’s willing to sort out this situation with you. He saw it in your eyes, the lack of energy and joy, because he can’t help but look for you when he enters a room knowing that you’re there. 

“Maybe, you’re right, I should definitely talk to her and sort things out. I’ll try tomorrow, and I hope I’ll find out what’s wrong with her.”  Osamu exchanges a knowing look with his brother then looking before him, preparing himself mentally for his so needed conversation with you. 

                                                           *

You’re exhausted. You haven’t been able to sleep for days because of your mind that keeps you up at night. He didn’t even notice that I don’t talk to him anymore. I was right, I’m just a classmate and nothing more. Oh my god I can’t even imagine if I ever confessed to him ! It would have been mortifying. And your mind goes on and on all night like that. Keeping you up, drawing you towards the man that you try to escape so desperately from. Osamu Miya. 

After class, you find comfort in the promise of a much deserved rest at home, in your room. But your plans are blown away by the sight, rather the man in front of you, Osamu, who looks like he was waiting for you. Wait, is he waiting for me ?? That is not possible, there must be some kind of mistake right ? Yes, he must be waiting for Atsumu to go with him to practice.  You keep walking past him, trying to look unbothered, but no, he has other plans for you and your poor heart. 

He grabs your wrist. Are we in a romantic show or something ? Help, I can’t take it anymore, that is it, I’m going to confess. Fuck the consequences. But before you can speak and seal your fate, the gray-eyed volleyball man speaks, and oh, that is not what you expected at all. 

“Y/N, look I don’t know what I’ve done to you, but I need to understand why you are avoiding me so much.” His voice is unsteady and his eyes won’t meet yours. Wait, is he nervous ?

“Osamu… I…” unsure of what to say you try to step back. Damn, I must look so stupid

“I just want you to know that, I didn’t know what to do with this situation, and how to react, but what I am sure of is that I miss you Y/N… I miss having lunch with you, having you cheer for me at practice, walking back home with me when the sun just set. I miss those moment with you, and I miss the glee in your eyes whenever I look at you, you just look so upset Y/N. And I want you to tell me if I did something to anger you, please.” Osamu almost sounds like he’s pleading, and now he looks at you straight in the eyes.  

You are so taken aback by this conversation and by the way Osamu is so casually speaking up his feelings to you, that you forget how to breathe for a moment. What should I do…  I must tell him. It isn’t fair if I don’t explain it to him. 

“ Look Osamu…” You begin, and the attention of the boy on you feels immediately more intense. You gather your courage and speak your feelings up  “The only reason why I’ve been distancing myself from you so much is because I was scared of my own feelings. Every time I look into your soft eyes, it’s like they’re promising me something that I won’t have. I feel so attached to you that it almost hurts, and I know that it is a one sided feeling, and I don’t blame you for that, I was just trying to move on and protect myself. Despite all of my efforts, I feel inevitably attracted to you and your always so nice and gentle behavior towards me. I know I must have been imagining things, but I think that you deserve to know how I feel.” That is it. I said it and he will never talk to me ever again. But I said it and I will be able to move on. Why do I feel like I need to cry though ? 

Saying that Osamu Miya is surprised is an understatement. He is flabbergasted. You, the always sweet and cheering girl he has been admiring from afar, likes him back ? Is he dreaming ? If this is the case, he never wants to wake up. 

You’re looking at him with averted eyes and , wait, is that a blush on your face ? And he feels like screaming out of happiness, or maybe melting right on the spot, he doesn’t know yet. 

“Y/N, what in my behavior towards you made you think that you were imagining things ?” 

You’re frozen, you don’t know what to do, maybe running away would be a viable option, but no, Osamu is a volleyball player and runs way faster than you. So you indulge yourself and respond  “I… hum…” 

Osamu quirks a brow, I repeat, Osamu whose face is always so collected, quirks a brow and smiles at you for the love of god. “Well ? You’ve got nothing to say ? Here I’ll help you”  He takes both of your hands and places them on his chest, only for you to feel the quick pace of his heartbeat. “See, I’m nervous too.” He says while chuckling. 

Fuck it. I have nothing to lose anymore. And then, you approach Osamu and place a chaste kiss on his cheek, only for him to pull you closer and cup your cheeks between his large hands. After what felt like an eternity of looking each other in the eyes, he kisses you tenderly, drawing you impossibly closer to him. He kisses you on the lips, on the cheeks, on the eyelids and he goes on and on, and you feel like crying out of happiness. 

Between his kisses, you manage to say “I love you, I really love you Osamu…”

And then he stops, “Y/N, I love you, I adore you, I’m sorry if I haven’t shown it well but I’ll try my best” he says while cupping your face lovingly. 

You feel at peace, it wasn’t all in your head this time. Osamu places one more kiss on your lips and smiles at you “See, it wasn’t a silly trick of your mind after all”.

miya osamu | s4, ep. 14 : “rhythm”

too far away to hold me

Anon asked: bully!samu twisted hurt/comfort,,, where other guys on campus see y/n as easy pickings and try to bully her n somehow the bullying is worse w these strangers ;-(( bc y/n has gotten used to osamu actually

samu doesn't find out until after a while (maybe bc he doesn't ask what's goin on in y/n's life much or she kept it from him) n he's just like 😡😡😡 y/n is MY bully target!!!

you can read all about bully!osamu here if you want context on his relationship with the reader!

this was long-overdue 🥺 i'm finally back in nyc and i'm hoping to update more!!! 🖤

words: 3.3k

cw: fem!reader, bullying, name-calling, physical violence, college au, hair pulling, jealously, possessiveness, toxic relationship, slight dacryphilia, unprotected sex, minors dni

Osamu was getting annoyed.

Noticing that you had been stressed out lately, Osamu decided he’d be nice for one day in his life and treat his little cry baby to a night out after class. He waited outside the room for you to come out but you never did. One by one, all your classmates left, and eventually so did your professor. Already growing frustrated, Osamu was about to barge into the room when he heard your voice.

“I told you no, Daishou,” you mumbled softly, grabbing your books. The boy Osamu doesn’t recognize stops you, grip strong on your wrist and that’s when he slams the door open, startling both of you. “Samu—”

Osamu pulls you to his side, barely giving the other boy any attention before getting you out of the room. He doesn’t say a word as he drags you down the hall to his car. Osamu when he’s red in the face and screaming at you was easy to deal with but when he's quiet like this, you’re a bit more worried. “Samu, I told him no—” Osamu turns the car on, interrupting whatever excuse you had ready on the tip of your tongue.

He’s not an idiot, he knows you were trying to push this Daishou kid away. But you were either too nice or too stupid to get the job done. “Who was that?” he asks. Part of him wants to take you back to his place and pound you into the mattress but he figures that could wait, choosing to take you out like he originally planned.

“He’s just some guy in my class,” you explain, twiddling your thumbs, too nervous to look over at him. “I think he wants to go out or something, but I keep telling him I’m not interested.” This gets his attention. Osamu never labeled himself as your boyfriend—you two definitely weren’t dating—but he always felt entitled to you, so hearing that some punk kid trying to come on to you pissed him off.

“Is that all?” Osamu figures you’re hiding something from the way you won’t meet his eyes. Usually, Osamu can’t get you to stop talking about something but you’re keeping your answers short with him today. You let out a small “mmhm…” and Osamu knows there’s more but he decides not to press you.

By the time you two got back to his place later that day, you were exhausted. You were shocked that Osamu bothered to take you out tonight, it’s very rare that he’s so nice —at least, in his way. You could handle the teasing comments made at your expense, it wasn’t anything you weren’t used to. He even seemed to be softer than normal.

The front door slams behind you and strong arms circle your waist. “Samu…” you whine, feeling his along your jawline, thick fingers slipping past your jeans. This also wasn’t a surprise, you were wondering when he was gonna get his hands on you. Osamu had a habit of getting jealous anytime someone else got in your personal space. It wasn’t going to take him long to stake his “claim” on you.

“Been wantin’ to do this all day,” he says against your skin, sighing when he feels the slick folds of your cunt against his fingers. “Keep actin’ like a dumb little girl and someone might steal ya away from me.” You can feel his hardening cock pressed against your ass, timidly palming him from behind which forces a growl from his chest.

You two don’t make it to the bed, Osamu bends you over the kitchen counter and tugs your bottoms off. His lips don’t leave your neck, sucking deep purple bruises into the skin and, knowing him, he won’t let you cover them up tomorrow. His thick cock stretches your pretty cunt, ramming into you over and over. You can’t help the tears that fall from your eyes, running down your cheeks. It brings a sick smile to Osamu’s face.

“There’s my fuckin’ cry baby,” he croons condescendingly, pulling your bra down to get at your breasts. The way you sob as he pulls on your nipples will never fail to get him hard. He could tell you like it too with how your cunt choked his cock whenever he manhandled you. “Dirty bitch, bet you’d let anyone use you, hm?”

You’re gripping the counter, trying not to fall over with how harshly Osamu’s movements are. “Just you,” you keen, pain turning into pleasure just like it always does.

Oh? You’re not always receptive like this, giving into Osamu’s possessive nature. Honestly, he wished you’d fight him more often but Osamu can’t ignore the rush of pleasure coursing through his body upon hearing those words come from your lips. “What was that, stupid? Can’t hear ya when yer fuckin’ mumbling like that.”

His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling your head up. “Just you, Samu!” you cry, tears properly flooding from your eyes now. Your gasps of pain contradict the way you’re clamping down on him with your walls. He groans in your ear, hips moving faster as his cock kisses your cervix. Osamu never warns you when about to cum, not when you make that dumb little look of shock every time he does it. But you always have a tell, your thighs start to shake and you grip the nearest surface for purchase.

Fucked ya dumb already? He thinks as he brings his free hand down to fondle your clit. Osamu’s name falls from your mouth over and over while you cream around his cock, almost falling over yourself if it weren’t for his grip on your hair.

Osamu cums inside you, filling you deep with his thick seed. You let out a whine of discomfort, but Osamu slaps your thigh to get you to shut up. He pulls out, leaving you a trembling, pathetic little thing clinging to the countertop as he watches his cum run down your leg. Just to be mean, he collects some of his spunk on his fingers and fucks it back into your cunt, laughing when you cry from sensitivity.

He helps you off the counter before leading you into the bathroom. He starts a bath for you, grumbling the entire time that you were too dumb to do it yourself. But he’s so gentle helping you into the tub, undressing and settling in behind you. “Kiss me?” you ask quietly. Osamu rolls his eyes, grabbing your face and pressing soft kisses against your lips.

You wish Osamu didn’t make you tag along to these things. It wasn’t that you didn’t like his friends, Kita and Aran were sweet and Suna always had a funny meme on his phone to share, but you’d much rather be at home, trying to convince Osamu to cuddle with you on the couch.

But Osamu didn’t ask you to do things. “Can’t you just go without me?” you had complained, not really wanting to put in the effort of changing out of your sweats.

“The boys want to see ya and last time they bitched the entire time when ya stayed home,” Osamu explained, steam still coming off of him from the shower he just took after getting home from the gym. Osamu wasn’t a huge fan of parties either but his friends invited him out and they wouldn’t leave him alone until he promised to bring you.

You were still whining about not wanting to go when Osamu had grabbed you, pressing you close to his still-naked body. “Don’t get all bitchy with me tonight,” he growled in your ear, rubbing his cock against you. "Be a good little dummy and you’ll get this fat cock.” He humps against your ass, forcing a sigh of pleasure from your lips before he releases you, laughing at how easy it was to rile you up.

Which is how you ended up in some rando’s house, sitting on Osamu’s lap while Suna showed you his favorite TikToks. His old teammates seemed to be the only boys Osamu didn’t mind you getting chummy with. Maybe because they’ve known you two (and his brother) for so many years. They were aware how weirdly possessive Osamu got when you were out of his sight for too long—they had seen it firsthand with how he acted when you were with Atsumu. They knew not to pry about the relationship you two had. Maybe they just knew not to poke a sleeping bear.

The party wasn’t too bad. You chatted up some of your classmates and Osamu even loosened up for once, laughing with his buddies and taking a few shots every once in a while. When Osamu had a bit of alcohol in his system, he was sweeter than usual. He pressed a few kisses to the side of your head, whispering how good you looked in your dress. Suna teased you for blushing and you elbowed him, mumbling “it’s not like that”

“Who’re you trying to convince?” Suna said back, you opened your mouth to tease him when you heard someone calling your name.

“Is that my favorite classmate?” you grimaced once you recognized him, sleazy green eyes meeting yours. Daishou slithered his way from the other side of the room, standing in front of where you were sitting with the boys. “Didn’t think I’d find you here.”

Osamu must have felt your body tense because his arms tightened around your waist, steel eyes glaring at Daishou. “Don’t push yer fuckin’ luck, kid,” he says, alcohol heavy on his breath. Daishou falters for a second but his sniveling smirk is back on his face almost immediately, taking a step as if he’s about to reach for you but Osamu is quick to stop him. “Walk away from her now. I won’t be askin’ again.”

You could tell Daishou wasn’t ready to give up just yet, but his chances against Osamu and three of his teammates weren’t looking great. He gave you a quick wink before heading back into the crowd of faceless people. Osamu was still stewing, grip on you never wavering. Kita and Aran initiate conversation while Suna grabs him another drink. But it’s your hand on top of his that calms him down.

After a while, things are back to normal. You take a few glances at the other party go-oers and can’t find Daishou anymore. For once, you feel relieved and even a bit adventurous. You grab Osamu’s hand, getting his attention. “Dance with me,” His eyebrow quirks.

“That desperate to get me close to ya, dummy?” he slurs, eyes growing heavy. His words hold no venom, it’s second nature at this point to call you that. Osamu doesn’t put up much of a fight when you pull him to the center of the room, holding him close as you sway to the music blaring from the speakers. You’re bound to get an earful tomorrow when he sobers up. He’ll probably take you from behind, taunting you for acting like such a “needy whore” tonight. The thought sends surges of pleasure through your body.

Osamu grinds into you chuckling deeply in your ear while you wrap your arms around his neck. Most people are probably confused when they see you two—Osamu’s mocking you one minute and kissing you the next. The whole time you’re in his shadow, never too far away. You figured out a long time ago that it’s really nobody’s business what you two do at this point, somehow it’s managed to work all these years.

You two danced for a bit more before you pulled away from his side and, almost immediately, his arms reached out for you, a stern look on his face. “I just need to pee,” you tell him and he, reluctantly, lets go of you. He grumbles something about not making him wait before you walk away.

The bathroom downstairs was occupied so you headed upstairs and, thankfully, it was empty. You washed your hands when you were done, thinking about stopping to get another drink in the kitchen before going back to Osamu. You probably shouldn’t make him wait too long but he’s having a good time tonight, so he might just go a bit easy on you today.

You step out of the bathroom, ready to head back downstairs when you feel someone snatch your wrist. For a second, you assume it’s Osamu but the body you’re pulled into feels unfamiliar. You feel your skin crawl when someone whispers into your ear.

“Finally got you separated from your little bodyguard,” Daishou says, crowding your personal space until he has you backed into a wall. You’re quick to open your mouth, ready to tell him that you’re not interested in anything he wants. But Daishou leans in close as if he’s about to kiss you. “Don’t get a fucking bratty with me, I just want to talk.” You want to push him away but you’re frozen, unsure of what to do. Osamu will come to look for you if he notices you’ve been gone too long, right? But he’s been drinking so much tonight, you’re not sure if it slipped his mind.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say, hand on his chest to try to place some distance between you, but Daishou grabs it, nails digging into your skin.

“Why? Your fucking boyfriend gonna get mad or something?” the way he says the word makes you cringe, which he notices right away. “Not your boyfriend? Then why were you dancing with him like a slut out there?” You pluck enough courage to shove him away, trying to race down the stairs back to your friends when you feel Daishou’s fingers in your hair, tugging you back to him. “Stop being such a fucking bit—”

It happens pretty quickly after that. One second you’re in near tears as Daishou’s pulling your hair at the root, the next Daishou’s on the floor holding his jaw. You look up and Osamu has you in his arms, eyes practically bulging out of his head in anger. He doesn’t say a word while he snatches your hand, forcing you down the stairs and past his teammates who’re dumbstruck. Too drunk to drive, Osamu decides to walk the couple of blocks to his house, dragging you along with him.

“You’re hurting—” but Osamu keeps yanking your arm anyway, not letting you stray too far away. It’s hard to keep up with his pace, every so often you’ll end up nearly tripping on yourself.

“He’s done that before, hasn’t he?” Osamu asks, reaching for his keys with his free hand as you two near the house.

“Never that rough,” you admit, shrugging your shoulders. “Usually he’ll just say mean things to me, never shoves me around like that.” Osamu opens the front door, gestures you inside first before locking it behind him. He’s pissed, angry in a way you’ve never seen him.

He reaches over and grabs you by the jaw. “Why the fuck did ya not tell me?”

It’s hard to look him in the eye but Osamu tightens his grip, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. I mean... you do the same thing.” His hold suddenly loosens, eyes boring into your soul as his brain registers what you told him. “You do the same thing” Now Osamu’s wondering if Daishou’s the only one who’s treated you like this when he’s not around. He wonders how much you’re not telling him.

“Excuse me?”

You furrow your brows at him as if he asked a stupid question. “Oh, come on, Samu. Like you never pulled my hair before? Or spilled beer all over me at a party?” you cross your arms. “Or flipped my skirt up to look underneath?” You must not notice the way Osamu tenses up. Was someone else touching you like he did?

“Who else?” he takes a step close to you, eyes widening as all the thoughts start playing in his head. Has someone else been picking on you? Fucking you? Dumb little y/n that’s always been his to torment? “It’s not just Daishou, who else has it been?”

You wonder what has Osamu so upset but you tell him anyway. You tell him that Daishou’s the only one who’s gone as far as putting his hands on you but that doesn’t stop other people from teasing you. There’s Matsukawa in your chem class who slaps books out of your hands every other day. Konoha who forces you to let him cheat off your exams in calculus. Futakuchi who makes comments about your ass on days you wear a skirt. “They see how we are and they think I’m easy pickings…” You can’t believe Osamu’s never noticed—maybe it’s because people only dare to do it when he’s not around.

Osamu says nothing the whole way back to his house, doesn’t even bother slamming you against the wall and having his way with you like he normally would when he’s pissed off. Little do you know, Osamu is stewing. Your words keep replaying in his mind along with the names of everyone you mentioned.

He’s got some work to do.

The next few days are... weird to say the least. Daishou turns up to class with a busted lip and actively avoids you. No more comments under his breath or trying to grab at you when the professor isn’t looking. You weren’t surprised by that with the way Osamu leveled him to the ground. Daishou definitely isn’t looking for a rematch and you wouldn’t be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying how he cowered every time he walked past you.

You gripped your books before heading to chem a few days later, knowing Matsukawa would snatch them out of your hands once he got the chance. But as you round the corner, you notice that one of his hands is wrapped up with tape as if he sprained it or something. Instead of tripping you or slapping your books away, Matsukawa pulls your chair out for you and says he’ll carry your books to your next class. Still, you don’t think much of it.

It starts getting really weird when Konoha is offering to do your homework for you. Apologizing for all those times he’s cheated off of you, even asking if he could study with you sometime before taking back his invitation, eyes looking everywhere but at you. But it’s when Futakuchi Kenji walks into class that you’re truly puzzled.

It was a hot day and you groaned when you remembered you had class with Futakuchi today. Whenever you wore a skirt or a pair of shorts to alleviate the heat, you could feel his eyes leering at you. He’d sit next to you and lightly brush the material against his skin. Mumbling an “oops” under his breath he’d grab at your thighs, raking his fingers down them.

But today Futakuchi shows up with a black eye and keeps his hands to himself, not even sparing you one single glance. When you call him out on it, he doesn’t say anything—just looks down at his hand like he’s scared. The few times you two end up brushing against each other, he’s quick to apologize and scoot as far away from you as possible. When class ends, you try to make conversation—to try to understand what’s his damage. But Futakuchi books it once the professor dismisses you all.

Strange.

Little did you know, Osamu’s been keeping himself busy. Tracking down all those boys who think they can lay a claim on you—who thought you would be their little punching bag. Those fucking losers didn’t know who they were messing with. Osamu’s had you in his clutches since the playground. Of course, they didn’t listen at first when Osamu told them to stay the fuck away, but he’s always been good at persuasion.

And now that he has you laid out on his bed babbling about how “fucking good” his cock feels, Osamu can rest easy knowing that nobody will try to mess with you anymore.

You belonged to him and him only.

©sugawarassoulmate 2021 all rights reserved - please do not repost/translate my work on other platforms!

DAY23: KISSES FOR OSAMU

simple small lads heh

OSAMU MIYAMOR

I guess the jock Tooru and soft Iwa au rubbed off on me and lead to this;; Edgy tired bfs?? Bfjdhdjsj

This is so out of character I'm gonna cry ahhhhhh :( honestly as much as I love osamu, I feel like I haven't really gotten his personality yet;; I don't think this piece does him justice hhhhhhh I've never drawn either of them before so please forgive me for this :( I was just playing around with colours and the edgy™ look

snippet of my bokuaka fic wip to motivate me to write more

i have been working on this fic since 2020... im 20k words in and not even halfway done yet...

Obvious Blasé

Blasé [blä-ˈzā] adjective; indifferent to or bored with life; unimpressed, as or as if from an excess of worldly pleasures. "Can we start over? Akaashi Keiji, pleased to meet you." Tokyo feels a world and a half away, especially when Koutarou is punching Keiji's phone number into the keypad of a hospital payphone. The whole island of Honshu may as well be spinning out of the Milky Way, his husband with it, when he's met with a full voicemail box and another wet flower petal. "I'd love to. Miya Osamu, at your service."

8808 words (just the beginning) ; bokuaka / osuaka ; tw : drinking + cheating

Keiji loved few things; one was gardening. He spent hours upon hours in the summer with dirt on his knees and under his nails, weeding and digging and planting. Koutarou bought him expensive gardening gloves as a one-year anniversary gift years ago, but Keiji loved using his bare hands, feeling life at his fingertips. Keiji always had the window boxes full, filled with vibrant colors and lush green leaves, even in the dead of winter. Whenever they had guests over, there was always at least one conversation about just how Keiji keeps his begonias coming back every year and keeps them so lush (apparently the neighbors’ begonias are really kicking their asses).

Koutarou learned that Keiji loved gardening by accident. It was summer break—June, to be specific—during Keiji’s second year at Fukurodani. Koutarou had gotten bored at home with nothing to do and attempted to call his friend to ask if they could hang out; when he got a voicemail message in response, he decided to head to Keiji’s home anyway. He knew the way there by heart and could walk it backward and blindfolded.

Outside, Keiji was knee-deep in fertilizer, a bucket of ripped up weeds beside him, as he pruned his camellias. He nearly knocked the bucket over into an adjacent fern when Koutarou yelled his name from behind—he was not expecting any interruptions, not in the middle of summer vacation, and certainly not from a boy in a different year.

Keiji sat back on his haunches and tossed his head over his shoulder to look at his upperclassman. Koutarou stood in the middle of the street, holding his volleyball high above his head and smiling like a fool. Keiji couldn’t help it when a small smile began to tug at his lips; he sighed in defeat and stood up and began to walk towards his friend.

“Akaashi!” Koutarou exclaimed again, bouncing from foot to foot as the other grew closer. “I tried to call, but you didn’t pick up!”

“That’s because I was out here,” Keiji replied, a quarter of Koutarou’s volume. It always struck him how the two were as different as night and day, even down to the way they talked.

“I got bored at home all alone,” Koutarou continued. “I wanted to see if you would hang out with me today!”

“Bokuto-san, I’m very busy,” Keiji sighed, and gestured back to his abandoned gardening tools. “I just bought some—”

“Please, ‘Kaashi? Pretty please?”

Keiji still didn’t know, to this day, if Koutarou was aware of how powerless he was to his pleas. A simple puppy dog look from the third year was enough to melt Keiji’s resolve. A pout would be enough to force Keiji’s hand, no prodding words necessary.

“Fine.”

The local park was only a few blocks away from Keiji’s house, so they set off down the road. It wasn’t a vocal decision; once Keiji agreed to entertain Koutarou for the day, they both just began walking.

“So… what were you so busy with?” Koutarou asked, giving Keiji a lopsided grin as he tilted his head. He was currently tossing the ball back and forth between his hands, catching it with the pads of his fingers.

“Gardening.”

“I didn’t know you were into that!”

A smile cracked across Keiji’s lips. “I was pruning my camellias, actually.” He held up his hand to show Koutarou the dirt on it, stuck in every little wrinkle and crevice. “And weeding, before that.”

“I can’t quite explain it…” Koutarou laughed in his pause, returning his eyes to the road ahead. “It’s very suiting of you, I think. Being a gardener.”

Keiji just looked down, smiling to himself.

“Are camellias your favorite?”

“Yes, I think so. I like the bright color.” Keiji threaded his fingers together behind his back, rubbing at his knuckles. “What’s yours, Bokuto-san?”

Koutarou hummed in thought. He had now taken to tossing the ball in the air to himself, catching it flat in his palms before tossing it high overhead. “Probably hydrangeas.”

And Keiji never forgot it. He learned later on that the man was particular to the blue hydrangeas—another opposite, this time to Keiji’s blush pink camellias.

Because of this fact, Keiji made sure to have hydrangeas included in the centerpieces at the wedding. Neither of them would have a bouquet, and the flower was too big for boutonnieres, so he had the florist put deep sea blue hydrangeas as the central flower on the tables at the reception. It was a little splash of color that only meant something to the newlyweds, a secret only they were in on.

Koutarou didn’t know about the special centerpieces until they arrived at the banquet hall. He spotted the petals amongst the bursts of baby’s breath and ranunculi and delphiniums, encased in glittering silver vases, which all seemed to deepen the color of the hydrangeas. He immediately shot Keiji a look, both accusing and amused, and the raven head held a hand to his mouth to contain his laughter.

“What’s the matter, Bokuto-san?” he asked, trying to stay level, but the words stumbled out of his mouth like a baby deer around his laughter.

“Hey, you can’t call me that now,” Koutarou cooed, hand curling around Keiji’s thin waist. “It’s Akaashi-san, now.”

Keiji’s cheeks burned, accompanied by a warm feeling in his gut, which reappeared at every mention of ‘Akaashi Koutarou.’ While the blush fell out of practice over time, he still felt that rush of giddiness whenever he heard the name, even all these six months later. It felt like yesterday that Koutarou’s name in Keiji’s phone was ‘Bokuto-san.’

The best music to Keiji’s ears, though, was hearing ‘the Akaashi’s.’

And he felt that warmth again at the florist checkout counter, when the lady handed Koutarou back his card with a chipper, “Enjoy your day, Akaashi-san!”

Keiji held an orchid in one hand and a pothos plant in the other, while Koutarou hefted a bag of fertilizer over his shoulder. The plants were for their bedroom, since the snake plant Koutarou had picked out months ago finally kicked the bucket after a week-long vacation. Keiji gently set his plants on the floorboard of the truck, waiting until after the bed stopped shaking from the toss of the fertilizer into it. Soon after, Koutarou slid in behind the wheel and stuffed the key in the ignition, listening as the engine roared to life. They sped out of the parking lot, Koutarou’s hand settling onto Keiji’s thigh after reaching a straight stretch of road.

“I’m pretty hungry,” Koutarou mumbled, rubbing circles into Keiji’s knee as they slowly came to a stop at a red light. “Want to grab something before we head home?”

“Sure, what’s the harm?”

The light flicked to green, and Koutarou lifted his hand away to spin the wheel as he turned left onto a side road. The truck jumped and rattled with the potholes and pebbles, but after only a short moment, they appeared behind a string of small shops. He parked the truck next to a small compact car and flashed a smile at his husband, then turned to hop out.

The gravel crunched under Keiji’s shoes as they rounded the building, coming face to face with a glowing storefront lighting up the dark street. A glowing neon sign depicted an onigiri jumping side to side, with “welcome!” written out below it. A bell chimed over their heads as they walked in, and a capped head popped out from the kitchen at the sound.

“Oi, Bokuto-san!” the man called with a smile, dusting his hands off as he walked up behind the counter. “Back again?”

“You keep forgetting,” Koutarou chided as he held up his left hand, “that it’s Akaashi-san now.” He spared a glance at Keiji, who was studying his hands to try and hide the cherry red blush that spread across his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“Right, right.” The storekeeper tossed his hand back and forth in the air. He looked over to Keiji, who was now rereading the specials on a blackboard instead of looking at either of the two men.

“Oh, right! You still haven’t met Keiji, have you?” Koutarou wrapped his arm around Keiji’s shoulders and tugged him into his side, smiling when Keiji’s glasses were knocked sideways. “This beauty here is Keiji. Keiji, this is Miya Osamu.”

Keiji raised his hand in a simple greeting, and Osamu did the same. Keiji looked up at his husband with fake annoyance, chiding him with, “It’s rude to introduce me like that, Koutarou.” Koutarou just laughed, and squeezed Keiji closer to his side, knocking the latter’s glasses askew again.

“Well,” Osamu said, clapping his gloved hands together, “what can I getcha?”

“Whatever it is that your brother always gets,” Koutarou beamed, staring down into the glass case of onigiris. Every day before practice, Atsumu brought onigiri from his twin brother’s shop to eat. Koutarou bugged him for weeks to let him try it (“Just a little piece!”) until eventually Atsumu broke the rice ball in half and handed part of it to Koutarou in defeat. Koutarou made Atsumu give him the address to the infamous ‘Onigiri Miya,’ and he found himself passing by it on the way to practice almost every week. It eventually became a little tradition: before games, Koutarou would accompany Atsumu and Kiyoomi to the store and eat there to calm their pre-match nerves.

The game that weekend was no different. This time, though, Keiji accompanied Koutarou to the stop.

Osamu was busy wiping down the counter when the four entered. “Welcome to Onigiri Miya,” he called in his monotone voice, eyes stuck to the tabletop as he made one more wipe across the epoxy. He tossed the rag into a bucket in the corner and looked up, the corner of his mouth poking upward when he saw the ragtag bunch in the doorway.

“I almost forgot that it was game day,” he chuckled, eyelids staying low in amusement, as if he was truly emotionless to the whole ordeal. Osamu was the opposite of Koutarou and Keiji, down to the way they dealt comedy. In ways unlike his husband, though, Keiji felt very similar to Osamu, so when he spotted the cook in the crowd of MSBY fans, it was natural to squirm through the hoard of people to his side.

“Miya-san, was it?” Keiji asked from behind, leveling his glasses to busy his hands.

Osamu looked over his shoulder and was met with sharp blue eyes. His mouth twitched with a half-smile like earlier that day, and he stuck his hands deep in his pockets as he turned to face Keiji.

“Hey, hey,” Osamu replied. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“My husband is playing, after all.”

“As is my idiot brother.”

Keiji didn’t respond, and instead looked out over the crowd. “The seats are probably filling up fast…” he mumbled, looking up at the televisions on the walls that displayed the court just beyond the few sets of double doors. Currently, the teams were warming up on their respective sides. Keiji’s face softened when he saw Koutarou’s stark white hair among the black uniforms, presently chatting with a little redhead near the wall.

Keiji excused himself and wound his way through the throngs of fans, making his way to the front of the stands above his husband. “Ko!” he called, cupping his hand around his mouth in an attempt not to draw too much attention. The last thing he wanted was to be put on the big screen and become the topic of mindless banter of strangers.

Star MSBY Ace Visited By… Husband? Yep, the last thing he wanted.

Koutarou looked up, instantly beaming when he saw Keiji. He waved up at Keiji, arm swinging so wildly that his whole body shook. Keiji folded his hands into a heart and Koutarou mimicked him (although Koutarou’s was much larger), and Keiji mouthed the words “Win for me.”

It was his way of motivating the lump of mood swings since he was no longer by his side on the court to do so. He was used to being very serious and aloof with his teammate in high school, but the years of living together made him like putty in Koutarou’s hands, soft and pliable to his every (usually unconscious) whim. The idea for the hand hearts came to him after Koutarou had enough meltdown at a scrimmage and thought of the words at the training camp in his second year.

“I kept getting shut out!” Koutarou whined, pouting at himself in the mirror. Keiji tried his hardest to ignore him, instead focusing on scrubbing his hands in the sink.

“Everyone gets blocked sometimes, Bokuto-san.”

“Yeah, but it’s still irritating!”

“Please just dry off and go to bed.”

“I’m not tired!”

“You need to keep up your strength. We still have three days of camp left.”

Koutarou whined, swiveling his head to watch Keiji shut off the water and reach for the roll of paper towels. “How do you stay so calm all the time?” he asked, taking a step closer to his kohai. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be any more emotional than a small smile or cheering me on for morale.”

Keiji swung his head around, gaping at Koutarou. “I have emotions!” He waded up the paper towel in his hand and stuffed it into an overflowing trash can. “I’m just not as vocal as you are.”

When Keiji turned around, his nose nearly collided with Koutarou’s. He hadn’t realized how close his captain had gotten, and now Keiji stood incredibly too close to him, closer than a school trip warranted. He stared into Koutarou’s gold eyes, which were wide and bright, accentuated by the pink that lit up the bridge of his nose until it resembled camellias.

Keiji licked his lips, suddenly aware of how dry his mouth had become. “Bokuto-san—”

The door squeaked open, and Koutarou jumped halfway across the room, spinning on his heels to face the open door instead of Keiji’s wide eyes.

“Hey, Konoha!” Koutarou greeted, grinning as if he wasn’t in Keiji’s bubble not even thirty seconds earlier.

“There you guys are!” their teammate said, sounding exasperated. “We’ve been looking for you two everywhere. Do you know what time it is? We have a match at the crack of dawn!”

Keiji and Koutarou were quickly ushered back to Fukurodani’s quarters, where they slept on opposite sides of the room. When he woke up, Keiji was still reeling from having his spiker so close he could almost smell the sweat Koutarou tried to scrub off in the shower.

When the team was stretching to prepare for the beginning of day three, a game against Ubugawa, Keiji approached Koutarou. His back was to the second year, stretching his arms high overhead to pop his back. Keiji lightly tapped him on the shoulder, accompanying it with a small “Bokuto-san.”

“Akaashi!” Koutarou replied as he turned around, eyebrows shooting up like exclamation points.

“Are you still worried about getting past the blockers?” Keiji had noticed the uncharacteristic stiffness of Koutarou’s muscles, his short sentences, and, most notably, his solitary warmup. Keiji knew all too well that what others dubbed Koutarou’s “emo mode” was more than flopped hair and a pout during a game.

Koutarou looked down, then began to crack his knuckles one by one. “Yeah,” he nearly whispered, “I guess I am.”

Keiji felt his heart pang but kept his face stoic. “That was yesterday, this is a whole new game.”

“What’s an ace that can’t power through?” he sighed. He had cracked each of his knuckles and his wrists, then finally looked Keiji in the eyes. His normal puppy dog face was taut and drooped, more so than during a mood swing. It was a look of pure emotionality that he only showed to his vice-captain. “Isn’t rule two to break through any wall?”

Keiji’s face dropped in annoyance. “Are you quoting your t-shirt?”

Koutarou ghosted a smile. “Maybe,” he chuckled.

“Anyway,” Keiji continued, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I came over here to cheer you up.” He peered up at Koutarou through the fingers on his face. “Just one thing, and then I’ll leave you be.”

Taken aback, Koutarou quickly dropped his smile and stared intently.

“Win today. Win for me.”

Koutarou’s ears reddened. He coughed into his fist a few times and rapidly blinked his eyes, like Keiji had dumped a bucket of dust on his head.

“What?” Koutarou coughed out, voice scratched and squeaky.

Keiji squared his shoulders, looking at his elder down the length of his nose. “You heard me.”

Koutarou, clad in his all-black MSBY uniform, mouthed back the words “I will.” As Keiji began to lower his hands, the redhead from earlier shook his husband’s shoulder and they walked towards the rest of the team, who was huddled together by the coach’s bench.

“A pre-game ritual, I see?”

Keiji spun around in surprise, eyes landing on Osamu’s smirking face. “Oh, it’s only you,” Keiji mumbled, then turned to walk towards the seats.

He heard the slapping of shoes against the wooden floor, then Osamu’s face appeared next to him in his peripheral. “Mind if I sit with you?”

“I don’t care what you do.”

Osamu fell back, following Keiji up towards the top of the stands. Keiji didn’t like being bumped into by the other fans, and the top let him see more of the court at once. Shoes squeaked on the floorboards as the players shuffled towards the net, captains leaving the group to shake. Keiji wrung his hands, the all-too-familiar feel of having to shake hands creeping along his nerve endings; he had hated being captain, and he hated it even more after watching Koutarou be captain. The worst hand to shake was Kenma’s, after all the conversations they had about hating succeeding their eccentric best friends as captain of powerhouses.

~~~~~~~~~

Keiji waited patiently outside of the locker room, watching the fans slowly make their way out the doors and to their cars. He mindlessly fiddled with his hands as he quickly became one of only a handful of people left in the lobby. It was dark outside, the sun having set during the tournament, and he could see a couple of stars through the large glass doors. Taking a glance at the locker room door and deciding that Koutarou wasn’t coming out any time soon, Keiji hesitantly walked towards the doors. The light from the building spilled onto the pavement outside, lighting up the concrete while fireflies took to the air like wild Christmas lights. The stars twinkled above, but all the pollution made it hard to see their light. On the far right, the moon peaked out from behind a dark cloud, like a toddler behind its blanket, ready to sleep.

“Pretty night.”

Keiji looked up to see none other than Miya Osamu, staring at him. The right half of his face, nearly pressed to the glass door, was darkened and reminded Keiji of the moon. His nose sat almost directly on the line between light and dark, like a spaceman wandering a little too close to the dead zone that was the shadow of the moon.

“Hello again, Miya-san.”

“Everyone calls my brother that,” he whined. “Just call me Osamu.”

Keiji looked back outside, eyes fixated on the twinkling fireflies. “Alright then, Osamu-san.”

“Are you waiting for Boku- I mean, Koutarou?”

Keiji nodded. “We rode here together, after all.” Keiji spared a glance at Osamu, who was now gazing at the stars above. “Are you waiting for your brother?”

Osamu snorted. “Hell, no,” he laughed. “That idiot can drive his own ass home, or even walk, for all I care.”

“Then what are you still here for?”

Keiji turned to look at Osamu once more and found him looking back again.

“Well,” he started, voice low, “I’m currently talking with you.”

Keiji quickly looked away. His hand reached for his opposite wrist out of pure habit, massaging the skin there like it may fall off if he let go. “I should start the truck,” Keiji mumbled, beginning to push the door open with his shoulder. “It’s getting cold, and there’s nothing worse than cold leather.”

“I’ll come with,” Osamu chirped, slipping outside in Keiji’s wake. “Keep you company.”

The last thing I want is your company, Keiji thought to himself, but all that came out of his mouth was “okay.” Dear God, he thought, where is Koutarou when you need him?

The truck was towards the back of the lot, alone and away from most of the cars. A single streetlight flickered overhead, with mayflies and moths and other miscellaneous creatures flying around it, as if it wouldn’t burn them when they touched. As if the light was a real, tangible thing, rather than something they could only dream of, something they could never have.

Keiji fumbled with the keys, trying to grab that one with the ugly Toyota symbol on it, and he almost had it, almost, almost, almost… then the keyring slipped between his fingers like ice and dropped onto the cement with a clang.

“God fucking hell,” Keiji mumbled, stooping to pick it up. As his fingers reached out to pick up his mess, another hand appeared by his, bumping against his fingertips, only millimeters above the glinting metal.

Keiji shot his eyes forward, meeting with a dark grey set. His nose nearly collided with the sharp end of Osamu’s, utterly oblivious to the body so close to him. So incredibly close, closer than waiting for his husband warranted. Keiji couldn’t help but think that, under that child-like moon, Osamu's eyes looked as deep blue as hydrangeas.

Keiji shot himself backward, feet flying out from under him. He landed on his hands and butt, rocks digging into the soft skin of his palms, as he used his feet to kick himself away from Osamu—who, for the record, was staring at Keiji like he had spoken to him in Latin.

Osamu blinked, then looped his index finger through the keyring and held it out to Keiji. The gold key with the ugly Toyota symbol swung back and forth, glinting in the starlight, right next to his owl keychain that matched the one on Koutarou’s keyring. Osamu offered a small smile, as if to say something simple like “sorry I bumped into you.”

Keiji reached forward and wrapped his fingers around that smiling plastic owl and yanked the keyring off of Osamu’s hand, and with it, his smile. Keiji pulled himself to his feet, back to the driver’s door, and stuffed his keys into his jacket pocket. “It’s cold,” Keiji said, breaking the silence that felt like a thousand years, although it had only been five minutes at most. “You should head back inside before you get sick.”

“Oh, yeah, probably,” Osamu mumbled. “I’ll, uh, see you around.”

Keiji didn’t respond. He watched Osamu walk away, peering over the bed of the truck. The head of grey hair bounced down the aisle, almost out of Keiji’s sight. He screwed his mouth up, internally begging Osamu to walk a little faster, get in his car, and hopefully drive far, far, far away. He had Koutarou—Osamu knew that—and he was happy. He certainly did not need this man trying to make a move on him. What if one day, Koutarou saw it? What would Keiji do then?

A hand landed on Keiji’s arm, and he jumped almost high enough to climb into the truck bed. His head whipped around to see that familiar, sharp face of his husband, staring at him in wild confusion.

“Koutarou!” Keiji nearly moaned and threw his arms around the athlete’s neck. “I thought you’d never come out.”

Koutarou hesitantly wrapped his arms around Keiji’s waist. “Why are you out here?” he chuckled. “It’s freezing.”

“I was going to warm up the truck for you,” Keiji mumbled into Koutarou’s shirt. “I didn’t want you climbing into a frigid car after your game.”

Koutarou’s whole body rattled and grumbled as he laughed, deep and low, squeezing Keiji in the ribs. “The truck doesn’t look very warmed up to me.”

“Doesn’t matter now. You’re warmer than the truck would ever be, anyway.” Keiji nuzzled his face into Koutarou’s neck, inhaling the scent of sport deodorant and that distinct smell of Koutarou that Keiji could never place. It was almost like pinecones, like a dry autumn forest. He’d gotten much better at scrubbing out the scent of sweat.

Koutarou laid a hand on Keiji’s cheek and pulled him back, far enough away he could see the black glasses frames but close enough their noses touched. He planted a light kiss on Keiji’s forehead, pushing away the tousled hair with the tip of his nose. Keiji closed his eyes at the innocent touch, leaning into Koutarou’s soft lips.

“Let’s go home,” Koutarou hummed against Keiji’s skin. So Keiji let Koutarou unwrap their arms and he settled into the passenger seat, watching the lights of the city blink and flash overhead as Koutarou drove them home. He felt his eyelids grow heavy, soothed by the constant sounds of the city and Koutarou’s hand, intertwined with his on top of the shifter, lightly squeezing Keiji’s fingers.

~~~~~~~~~

Keiji awoke to the smell of bacon, fruit, and… eggs Benedict.

He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand as he sat up, comforter stuck on his shoulder and draping across him like a toga. He picked up his glasses with a yawn, settling them on his ears as the smell grew thicker and thicker. His stomach grumbled under Koutarou’s old shirt, awoken by the smell of breakfast that was definitely not made by Koutarou.

Koutarou was a terrible cook. When he had moved into his apartment in the city for college, Keiji had come to visit, as all good boyfriends do. He hadn’t even stepped into the genkan when the smell of burnt food assaulted his nose.

“Koutarou, what is that stench?” Keiji called as he bent to take off his shoes, pulling the collar of his shirt over his nose in a poor attempt to save his nose hairs.

“Breakfast!” Koutarou popped his head around the corner, a smile plastered across his face as if he wasn’t balancing brown eggs on a spatula. “I wanted to surprise you!”

“I’m certainly surprised,” Keiji mumbled as he stepped into the apartment.

He followed Koutarou into the small kitchen, hand flying to his nose when his eyes landed on the plate of crisped eggs and watery oatmeal. Koutarou stood beside them, mouth scrunched to the side from Keiji’s reaction.

“I fucked it up again, didn’t I?”

“How long did you cook those eggs for?” Keiji asked, words muffled from the hand on his mouth. “Are you eating like this every day?”

When Koutarou gave a slow nod, Keiji nearly fell over with how hard he rolled his eyes back. He took a step forward and snatched the spatula from Koutarou’s hand, giving a muffled “Let me show you how to make edible food.”

Keiji stepped out of their shared bedroom and into the living room, bracing his nose for a similar smell of burnt food. Instead, he was greeted by Koutarou’s always overly enthusiastic good morning.

“You’re finally awake!” Koutarou bounced over to where Keiji stood in the doorway, nearly spilling coffee out of the takeout cup in his hand. He planted a kiss against Keiji’s temple, simultaneously wrapping his arm around the raven’s slim waist.

“Good morning to you too, Ko,” Keiji mumbled with a smile, pinching the other’s arm. “What’s that smell—”

A head popped into his view, a golden-haired undercut framed by the collar of a MSBY jacket. A second and third head appeared soon after, a smiling redhead and an emotionless twin.

“We got takeout from that egg place you like!” Shouyou sang, holding up his omelet. “You were still asleep, or we would’ve taken you with.”

Koutarou placed a takeout box in Keiji’s hands. “I know your order, don’t worry,” he chuckled. “You only ever get the same thing.”

Keiji lightly bumped Koutarou’s shoulder with his own, a small bit of PDA that Koutarou always reveled in. “You should have told me you were bringing people over,” he chided. “I’m wearing your ratty shirt.”

"At least you’re wearing some pants this morning,” Koutarou laughed. “You know, usually you just wear my bo—”

“Koutarou!” Keiji hissed and reached up and pinched Koutarou again. Unlike before, this pinch was hard, cutting Koutarou off before he embarrassed both of them. No one else needed to know that Keiji could never tell whose briefs were whose.

They all communed in the kitchen, Shouyou sitting on the counter with Atsumu seated on the floor below him while the other three sat at the cramped table. Keiji decided to make coffee, but the only taker was Osamu, so now, as the three airheads chowed down on various egg dishes, Keiji and Osamu blew at the steam from their mugs. Osamu liked his coffee black. Keiji thought that was gross but said nothing.

“So, why did everyone come over all of a sudden?” Keiji asked once the conversation lulled.

“Your big tool of a husband didn’t know the way to the cafe,” Atsumu laughed. “He called me and asked if I would drive him over.”

“I was already at Atsumu’s place, so I made them take me,” Shouyou added.

“I was trying to have a peaceful breakfast at that godforsaken cafe,” Osamu groaned from beside Keiji. “They saw me and begged me to come along.”

“The more, the merrier!” Koutarou boasted, and Atsumu and Shouyou agreed with him from behind.

“Koutarou was practically crying on the phone,” Atsumu laughed again, tapping on Shouyou’s shoe by his head. “He was blubbering, ‘I can’t cook, ‘Tsumu, I can’t cook! I gotta get Keiji take-out! Where’s that egg place he likes?’”

“Don’t be so mean, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu muttered, but the only person who heard was Keiji.

“Shut up!” Koutarou exclaimed. “I did not!” He attempted to look angry, but the blush that engulfed his whole face betrayed him.

“You did!” Shouyou cackled.

“Oh, oh, and,” Atsumu continued, “when I got here, to pick him up, he was tiptoeing around like he’d accidentally wake you up!”

“Aw,” Keiji whispered to his husband, setting his feet on top of Koutarou’s. “You’re so cute.”

“I just want to spend as much time as possible together before I leave,” Koutarou admitted. He looked up at Keiji with his trademark kicked puppy look.

“We’ll take care of Koutarou for you,” Atsumu said with a smile, clapping a hand onto the aforementioned’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about him, man.”

“He should definitely worry if you’re gonna be around,” Osamu interjected. “You’re the walking personification of trouble.” Atsumu smacked the back of Osamu’s head, but the latter only smirked.

“Hey, isn’t that drama you like airing soon?” Shouyou asked, looking down at his watch.

“Oh my God, yeah!” Koutarou jumped out of his seat and planted a haste kiss on Keiji’s lips. “I’ll be back soon, Kei! I’m gonna watch it at Atsumu’s!”

Keiji wrapped his hand behind Koutarou’s neck and pulled him back down for a proper goodbye kiss. “I’ll see you later, then?”

“Of course!” Koutarou exclaimed, grabbing his track jacket off the back of a chair as he ran to the door, where Shouyou was hanging off Atsumu’s shoulders as they waited for their friend.

“Hey, wait for—”

Koutarou waved at Keiji before walking out, adding a quick, “Don’t miss me too much!” before he was gone.

“—me.”

Keiji looked over to see Osamu with his head in his hand, mouth screwed up to the side. He spared a glance at Keiji.

“He was my ride home.”

“Oh, uh,” Keiji stuttered, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I could drive you home, of course. Your brother drove, right?”

Osamu’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Oh, right, the old Toyota. That you were trying to warm up, unsuccessfully.”

Keiji shot him a glare and Osamu backed down. He walked over to the door, snatching his keys off the counter and grabbing a jacket off the coat rack. “Let’s go, then.”

~~~~~~~~~

“Turn here.”

“You live on the same street as your shop?” Keiji spun the wheel to make a sharp right turn, speeding past Onigiri Miya. “Why didn’t you say so? There’s a much shorter way.”

“I enjoy being navigator, I guess,” Osamu chuckled, staring out at the houses. Without warning, he pointed at an apartment building barely a hundred feet ahead. “There.”

Keiji irritatingly slammed on the brakes, trying to contain his smile as Osamu threw his hands onto the dash to keep from bashing his forehead against it.

The apartment building was right on the street front. He and Koutarou considered renting from a complex like this, but ended up going with a skyscraper in the city. Osamu’s building looked like the ones in movies, where the bad boy love interest lived. And probably did heroin, on the couch. He pulled into the lot behind the building, right next to a little compact car.

Keiji pressed the unlock button, and the pin in the door sank down with a click. He gave Osamu an expectant look, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. Why can’t this guy get out of the car, Keiji thought, and hopefully out of my life altogether?

“Do you want to come in?” Osamu asked, flashing a bright eye towards Keiji. “Koutarou will be gone all afternoon, knowing ‘Tsumu… you’ll be bored, Keiji-kun.”

Keiji prickled at the name. “I can entertain myself just fine, thank you.”

“Naw, come on,” Osamu prodded. “Don’t you believe in a little fate? Obviously, I was meant to entertain you while he’s gone.”

“What are you even talking about?” Keiji mumbled, but found himself pulling the keys out of the ignition anyway. He slid out of the truck and followed Osamu to the back door, with a sun-bleached sign that said, “Tenants Only.”

He lived on the ground floor, number 012. It had an almost maroon look; the carpet was off white, but the light coming through the dark red curtains made it appear pink. The tiles in the genkan were white, but the steps into the apartment were painted the same dark blush from the colored light. The walls were paneled like it was built in the seventies, but it only reminded Keiji of the soundproof rooms from crime shows.

“Want something to drink?” Osamu asked, peeking his head around the corner at Keiji, who was just beginning to step into the apartment, holding his hands tightly to his chest.

“What do you have?”

Osamu turned around and stuck his head in the fridge. “Orange juice, some soda, half a bottle of white wine—”

“That,” Keiji interrupted, pulling a surprised look from Osamu. “Please,” he added softly.

Keiji set his jacket over the back of an armchair, folding it neatly against the cushion, then took a seat at the island. He watched as Osamu pulled a crystal glass from the cupboard for the wine, a simple glass that had a dull gleam to it, like it was used often. After he slid the alcohol to his guest, he opened a can of cherry Pepsi for himself.

“I wouldn’t have thought you a soda fan,” Keiji chuckled. “Wasn’t that trained out of you at Inarizaki?”

“Kita would love to think so,” Osamu laughed. “He really shaped us up.” Osamu chuckled, smiling into his drink.

They sat in silence, Keiji taking frequent sips of his wine. He wasn’t a big fan of alcohol but did tend to overdrink when provided. Koutarou was always there for him, though, even at his first sip, ready to pull the glass away and rub his back on the way home.

“So… what are you going to do when Koutarou leaves?” Osamu asked, staring down at his drink like it was his muse for the night. “Sounded this morning like you weren’t going with.”

“I’m not,” Keiji responded, taking another swig of wine. “I’ve got too much work to do, I can’t be gone for that long.”

He wanted to go, though, he wanted to so badly. He had never been away from Koutarou that long before, even when they went to university. He wanted to watch his husband play every game, he wanted to follow him around the world like in a cat and mouse game, spectator and athlete. But he was reaching thirty (God, thirty…) and he had artists relying on him, and publishers, and he couldn’t leave for a month to chase Koutarou down to Kyushu for volleyball scrimmages.

“You’re just going to be home alone for all that time, then?” Osamu asked, one eyebrow raised in confusion.

“I was hoping to hang out with some friends,” Keiji said, bristling. “What does it matter to you, anyway? Didn’t think you would know they were leaving.”

“Of course, I would know!” Osamu said with fake offense. “Atsumu is on the team, after all!”

“Oh, right, Mr. My-Brother-Can-Walk-Home-For-All-I-Care?”

Osamu rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to make conversation, Mr. Overly-Aggressive.”

Keiji’s phone buzzed. He fished it out of his pocket and looked at the screen, one new message from Koutarou. He swiped it open.

Koutarou: hey Kei, I’m gonna be at Atsumu’s place for a little while longer. Hinata brought out a super cool card game!! I’m currently stuck in a round :( see you tonight still?

Keiji sighed, hand pushing under his glasses as he massaged the bridge of his nose. Just more reason for Osamu to convince him to stay.

Keiji: have fun! i’ll see you tonight <3

“What’s going on?”

“Koutarou is staying at your brother’s for the evening.” Keiji raised his glass to his lips, only to get a single drop. He set the glass down with a huff.

“Want some more?” Osamu asked, already standing up and reaching for the fridge.

“Yes,” Keiji groaned. “Might as well, nothing better to do at home.”

So, Keiji drank another glass. And another. And another. Before he knew it, he had drunk the entire bottle, then Osamu—ever the stoker of the fire—brought out a second bottle, which they downed together. Somewhere in the mess, they had migrated to Osamu’s couch, a ratty brown thing that smelled like mothballs.

“Stop making fun of it,” Osamu laughed, patting the cushions lovingly, “I got it from family.” He, unlike Keiji, was still mostly sober, albeit a little tipsy, and held his liquor well.

Keiji was a giggling mess. Yes, he was a giggly drunk.

“I feel like I’m in a closet!” Keiji exclaimed, dropping his head back onto the arm. “Smells like those little… little red balls, you know?” Keiji held up his hand to make a sphere shape, as if Osamu didn’t know what a mothball was.

Keiji shot upright, leaning across the couch towards Osamu. “At least my shirts won’t get holes in them then, right? Miya-san?”

“I thought I told you not to call me that?” Osamu chuckled, deep and grumbling, similar to another laugh Keiji knew like the back of his hand.

“Oh, right, right,” Keiji blabbered, closing his eyes, and tossing his hand through the air. “Last night at the game. After the game, I mean.”

“Yeah, then.”

Keiji pushed closer. “What should I call you, then?”

Osamu coughed into his fist. “Just, uh… My given name, that’s fine. Osamu.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little intimate?” Keiji cocked his head to the side. “We barely know each other.”

“There’s two Miya’s in your life, so it’s not that intimate,” Osamu replied. “It makes sense, so that whenever you’re with both of us—like last night, at games—it doesn’t get confusing.”

Keiji looked as if deep in thought.

“It was awkward last night.”

“You made it awkward! I was simply trying to give you your keys.”

“Yes, but you got too close.”

“You seem fine with closeness now.”

Keiji blinked. Somewhere in the conversation, Keiji had pushed Osamu back, and now the other man’s head was leaning against the arm of the couch. Keiji’s hands were placed on either side of his head, the heels of his hands brushing the collar of Osamu’s thin t-shirt.

He realized then how similar Koutarou and Osamu looked. Both had heart-shaped faces, and upon closer inspection, Osamu’s eyes held a glint of gold—although not nearly as bright as Koutarou’s. The inspection included the blush on Osamu’s face, which was pink like Keiji’s garden.

“You remind me of flowers.”

“How so?”

“Your face.” Keiji reached up with a single finger and touched down onto Osamu’s cheekbone, which made the blush flare brighter. “It’s like camellias.”

He ran his fingertip along Osamu’s warm skin, up towards the hollow beside his eye, almost to his ear before Keiji removed his hand altogether. Osamu let out a breath, shaky and barely controlled, landing right on Keiji’s Adam’s apple. It bobbed as Keiji swallowed harshly, although his mouth was so dry that he nearly swallowed his tongue.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was Keiji missing Koutarou, or maybe it was Osamu’s blush that looked like camellias. Not a second more passed before Keiji’s hands were wrapped around Osamu’s cheeks, mouth crashing down. Osamu’s lips were chapped, like he noticed last night—a stark difference to Keiji, who took chapstick very seriously. But right now, Keiji felt that if he let go of Osamu’s mouth, his lips would crinkle and dry up from dehydration.

Osamu ran his hand through Keiji’s short hair, pulling his head closer, closer, infinitely closer, until he thought their teeth may clash. They kept their tongues to themselves, much to Keiji’s dismay as he continually tried to work his way into Osamu’s mouth. The latter kept his lips tight, conscious enough of the gold band on Keiji’s finger to keep from going further, but not enough to pull away. Conscious enough to realize this was his brother’s teammate’s husband, but not enough to contain his attraction.

Keiji ran his hands down Osamu’s jaw to his shoulders, clenching his fingers in Osamu’s shirt. “Kou,” he groaned, making Osamu’s eyes pop open.

“Nope, nope, you’re drunk,” he replied, pushing Keiji away. “Gotta get you home. Now.”

“But I’m having fun,” Keiji whined, holding onto the hand pressed into his shoulders.

“God, I can’t drive you home like this, you think I’m Bokuto,” Osamu muttered to himself. He looked around. “Where’s your phone? Is there someone who can take you home?”

“Mm… Kenma can. He should be home.”

Osamu worked his way out from under Keiji, leaving him in a pile on the couch cushions. He searched around on the kitchen counter, moving dishware and tossing aside papers like the world was ending.

Which, in a way, it was. He wanted to forget this ever happened. He wanted to pass Keiji onto someone else for the night and hope that as the alcohol washed out of Keiji’s liver that tonight would wash out of Osamu’s memories, and they could go back to Keiji being annoyed by his mere presence.

He did not want to remember kissing a married man.

“Aha!” Osamu snatched up the phone from where it sat, tittering on the edge of the tabletop. The lock screen lit up with a picture of Koutarou kissing Keiji’s cheek, which made Osamu’s gut twist.

He searched through the contacts until he got to the K’s and hit the green phone icon under a Kozume Kenma. He lifted the ringing phone to his ear, hand running over his lips repeatedly in anxiety.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Goddammit, I thought you said this guy was home?” Osamu grumbled.

“He should be,” Keiji called back, still laying on the couch. “I’m pretty sure he was streaming tonight.”

A click came from the phone, followed by, “Hey, Keiji! How’s it going?”

“Not Keiji here… Is this Kozume Kenma?”

“... Depends on who’s asking.”

Osamu slumped down onto one of the barstools. “This is Miya Osamu, a…” He paused, taking a glance back at Keiji. “... A sort of friend of the Akaashis’. Uh, could you possibly come pick him up?”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing. He’s just, ah, drunk.”

Kenma sighed on the other end. “Yeah, I will. What’s your address?”

Osamu gave it to him a little too quickly and had to repeat it over again twice. Kenma arrived in a timely fashion, and Osamu attempted to drag Keiji outside without any more adulterous acts; that proved quite hard, as Keiji was attempting to kiss his neck, and would have succeeded if it weren’t for his stumbling.

“There he is!” Keiji cried when Kenma got out of his car. “The famous Kodzuken, my best friend!”

“God, he’s wasted,” Kenma sighed. “Where’s Koutarou? I don’t think I’ve ever seen Keiji drink without him.”

“My brother’s house,” Osamu replied. “Hanging out with that little redhead… Hinata, I think?”

A smile perked at Kenma’s lips. “Probably dragged them into some card game,” he laughed. “Shouyou has a habit of doing that.”

Kenma reached over and took Keiji, wrapping his arm around the other man’s waist. Keiji’s head fell against the top of Kenma’s, and his arm dangled over the other’s thin shoulders.

It didn’t take long to pack Keiji into Kenma’s car, since he still had enough sense to buckle himself in. Kenma began to pull out and caught Keiji, in the corner of his eye, blowing a kiss to Osamu. Kenma nearly slammed on the brakes then and there, but attempted to keep his cool for the drive back.

It wasn’t the first time Kenma had seen Keiji so drunk he’d probably end up aiming at the wall instead of the toilet bowl. It was always embarrassing, and they had a secret pact not to speak about Keiji when he was drunk.  Usually, Koutarou was there to rub Keiji’s shoulders as he threw up at one in the morning, but that night he threw up alone.

It was oddly reminiscent, in Kenma’s bathroom. It looked exactly like the bathroom at the Nekoma grad party, all those years ago, that he and Koutarou went to. Tetsurou called them not long after the sun had set, obviously drunk, yakking about someone being “the cutest drunk I’ve ever seen!” and trying to commentate an Uno game.

“Man, this isn’t as fun without you!” Tetsurou said, punctuating the compliment with a gargle of a laugh. “I’ll send you the address. You gotta come, Bo. Consider it my going-away gift.”

So, of course, Koutarou went—he was never one to turn down social interaction, especially with his best friend, especially when it’s a party. Keiji went too because, well, what the hell?

By the time they arrived, not long before midnight, Kenma was already passed out and drooling on Tetsurou’s shoulder, and the two other Nekoma grads were playing the infamous Uno game… but, seemingly backward. Before Keiji could take off his coat, the rival ace was up against his side and shoving a Bud Light can into his hand, with the dumbest and most self-indulgent smile he’d ever seen.

After getting sufficiently drunk off of one and a half cans of the cheapest beer a group of high schoolers could get, Koutarou joined in on the Uno game and Keiji curled up in an armchair, chatting with Tetsurou (who still had Kenma laying across his lap like a cat).

“What are you going to do when Bokuto goes off to college?”

Keiji paused. “Same as I always do, right?” he replied hesitantly, as if touching his toes to a stream. “I’ll still see him.”

Tetsurou paused. “Do you ever think about heaven?” he asked, absently running his hand down Kenma’s thin back.

“Not really.”

“What about that past lives stuff, or soulmates?”

“I don’t think about it,” Keiji replied simply. “What, do you? I didn’t think someone from class five would waste thought on it.”

“The idea is so romantic, though!” Tetsurou pouted. “Someone who you’re meant for, a love that literally goes beyond the world… Isn’t that romantic?”

“Hopelessly romantic.”

“Aw, don’t be so depressing,” Tetsurou said as he stuck his tongue out. “You just say that because you’re not still waiting on your soulmate.”

Keiji’s cheeks reddened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tetsurou laughed, the jostle of his hips making Kenma stir slightly. Tetsurou spared a glance at Koutarou, who was yelling as he slapped a card down with his eyebrows drawn in concentration. “It’s so obvious,” Tetsurou said, hushed, with his hand cupping his mouth to keep Koutarou from overhearing. “You and Bo are nearly conjoined twins! You never go anywhere without the other, even though you’re in different years, and you seem to talk in a special language to each other… Akaashi, you have a memorized list of his weaknesses and how to combat every one.”

Keiji huffed. “It’s what comes with being his vice-captain,” he snapped. “I’m more of a babysitter than anything else.”

“You guys are two sides of the same coin,” Tetsurou said. “You know I’m right.”

Keiji woke up, halfway to a decade later, with the same raging headache, one that permeated to the back of his neck and pulsated. He groaned as he rolled over, nearly throwing himself off the loveseat. He blinked to clear the haze from his vision and was met with Kenma staring at him from across the room with an unreadable expression.

“The hell was that last night?” Kenma nearly growled, tapping his fingers on his crossed biceps.

“What do you mean?” Keiji turned to face his friend, trying to put on a look of innocence but instead giving something between pain and confusion. “I got a little drunk, that’s all.”

“You blew a kiss to that Miya dude!” Kenma yelled, throwing his hand in the air. “What the fuck did you do in there that made him call me, a total stranger?”

Keiji blinked. He stared at the wall for a few moments, before rolling onto his back and throwing his hands to his face. “Oh my God,” he muttered. “Oh my God, Kenma, what did I do?”

“You’re married, Kei,” Kenma said, oddly low and measured. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“I don’t know,” Keiji groaned. He dropped his hands away to stare at the ceiling. “I barely remember what happened.”

“You need to call him,” Kenma tossed Keiji's phone to him, nearly knocking him in the nose. “Find out what the hell happened to you.”

Against his friend’s judgment, Keiji did not call Osamu. Instead, he convinced Kenma to drive him to his truck. When he got to Osamu’s apartment building, he did not go in. He simply got in his truck and drove home. He was hoping Koutarou would be home, to distract him from the guilt eating at his intestines, but he came back to an empty apartment. On the table was a note saying, “went on to practice. I’m sad I missed you. let’s get lunch today– 1:30 sharp! I’m expecting you :) -Kou”

“I don’t have a reason not to now, huh?” Keiji sighed. He looked at the clock on the stove. Not even noon.

Osamu picked up after two rings. “Better Miya brother here, what’s cooking?”

“Do you start every phone call with that?”

He heard some scuffling on the other line. “Keiji? Why are you calling?” The playful tone was dropped from Osamu’s voice.

Keiji sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes with his finger. “I don’t remember what I did last night.”

Osamu paused.

“Hello?”

“You seriously don’t remember?”

“No.” Keiji sighed again as he started to get irritated. “Look, this is stupid, if you’re not going to—”

“You, uh, kissed me.”

The glasses slipped from Keiji’s fingers, clanging on the kitchen tile like an exploding bomb. His head was reeling, headache suddenly returning in full force, and he dropped down to his elbows on the counter below him. “What do you mean, I kissed you?”

“What else is there to mean? You kissed me.” Osamu paused, but Keiji stayed silent as a corpse. “I reminded you not to call me Miya-san, you got closer, said I looked like a flower, and then kissed me.”

Keiji groaned. His head dropped like a dead weight onto the counter, shaking every pot and knife and making Koutarou’s note float to the floor.

“If it makes you feel better,” Osamu rushed, “you didn’t say my name. You said Koutarou’s.”

“It doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Oh.”

“I’m going to hang up. Please don’t save my number.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Goodbye, Miya-san.”

“...Goodbye, Akaashi-san.”

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘'𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 | 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘬𝘺𝘶𝘶 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯; 𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘬𝘪

↬ featuring: 𝘚𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘙𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶, 𝘖𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘶 𝘔𝘪𝘺𝘢, 𝘈𝘵𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘶 𝘔𝘪𝘺𝘢, 𝘒𝘪𝘵𝘢 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘬𝘦, 𝘈𝘳𝘢𝘯 𝘖𝘫𝘪𝘳𝘰, 𝘎𝘪𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘮𝘢 𝘏𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘴𝘩𝘪, 𝘈𝘬𝘢𝘨𝘪 𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘪

↬ tw/general warnings: 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴.

↬ a/n: I DO NOT OWN THESE PHOTOS!!! it was actually kinda hard to find some of these photos that had a similar aesthetic </3 but I live for these men (especially you suna muah)

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