kirschteinoir

[kirschteinoir]

twelve minutes.

zayne (love&deepspace) x reader.

❝ seeing both of your eyes at the same time shouldn't be this attractive... ❞

zayne is uncharacteristically late and you're not pleased, but the reason why definitely makes up for it.

wc; 1.8k

[zayne forehead zayne forehead zayne forehead...inspired by this gorgeous art by sesamefruit on twt / X!!! i haven't stopped thinking about it since i saw it like UGH HE LOOKS SO SCRUMPTIOUS!!! implied suggestive stuff towards the end bc i couldn't help myself so 17+ please! ]

he was late.

zayne was never late. in fact a small but prominent part of his personality was that he was always on time - something he was so fond of reminding you about every time you happened to arrive a minute or two after him to your scheduled date. you sort of understood him though; his job was a harsh reminder that time waits for no one, especially a cardiac surgeon hours into a surgery with a life on the line.

your eyes dart to the giant clock ticking warily above you in the ballroom, its ornate hands and roman numerals mocking you as you stood in the corner with half a glass of champagne in your hand.

it had occurred to you to perhaps text him, although you pulled a face at the thought of being too clingy or rushing him. you trusted zayne and you knew he wouldn't be late without a good reason - you just hoped that he knew what he was doing by showing up almost fifteen minutes after your agreed meet time.

tonight was a charity gala, or something like that, hosted by akso hospital to raise funds for various wards, ones you hadn't even heard of before. the bulk of the guestlist included important patrons of the hospital who most likely had relatives in akso’s care, all of the most significant hospital staff and whoever they brought as a plus one - which is the category you and zayne fall into, respectively.

despite being a guest on zayne’s behalf, the two of you had arrived in separate cars. this was not something you had initially agreed to as the image of showing up on zayne’s arm with both of you dressed to the nines had been all too alluring and a small, smug part of you had wanted to show him off to everyone in attendance. but as always, zayne's work had shattered your grandiose dream and thus he couldn't make it on time to pick you up; he'd paid for your taxi to the venue though, and tracked your location on an app to make sure you arrived safely.

apart from a sending you a happy snowman emote at your arrival to the gala's location, he hadn’t given you any indication of when he would show up. you think back to his text from earlier this afternoon, scrunching your nose slightly as you recall how he'd said that he would definitely be there in time for dessert - his attempt at humour, you supposed.

so here you are, waiting nervously amongst the growing crowd with a watchful eye on the entrance. many of zayne’s colleagues had already arrived and greeted you with a sympathetic look as they knew all too well how busy the schedule of the cardiac surgeon could be. you took their pitiful gazes in your stride, assuring them with an easy-going laugh that he would be here soon. you hoped you sounded more convinced than you felt as an ugly apprehension gnawed at your stomach at the thought of zayne standing you up tonight.

oh well, at least you looked good.

throwing caution to the wind you swallow the last of your champagne with a slight pained expression and discreetly whip out your phone. your fingers find his contact reflexively and are about to hit the 'call' button when suddenly a hushed whisper sweeps through the room like a blizzard and your curiosity is piqued for a moment. the only thing that stops you from going through with the call is the sound of zayne's name rippling through the crowd and then the placid lilt of his voice that you knew so well.

zayne was finally here!

_

an hour or so ago, zayne had been stood in front of his bathroom mirror, his usually composed visage marred by a troubled expression. remnants of his steamy shower clouds the glass and his deep sigh adds to the frostiness as he continues to stare at himself in discontent.

he was already dressed for the evening, his shirt sleeves cuffed and tie clipped, but had yet to style his hair. usually, it would be the easiest part of his routine as he doesn't stray much from his signature windswept fringe. something was different today though and maybe out of the sudden urge to surprise you, he itched for something new. he was nervous as he weighed out the potential cons - what if it didn't suit him? what if you didn’t like it? what if he stuck out too much? was a fancy gala really the best time and place to experiment with his appearance?

as much as he was nervous, he was also tired of looking the same every time you saw him. well, except for when he was fresh out the shower and his hair was damp, but it was still relatively similar to his daytime look...

zayne looks at the short video tutorial on his phone again, replaying it a second time for good measure. the tub of gel was as daunting as his surgical scalpels as he carefully unscrewed the lid. he pauses the video on a particular shot of the final styled product, tentative fingers dipping into the cool gel.

he ended up leaving the house twelve whole minutes later than he had expected and his slight rushing had caused a few strands to break free from their gelled confines already - he thought it would at least hold until the first course of the evening. he was late enough as it was and didn't want to push it by continuing to style it in his parked car, knowing that you were probably growing restless as you waited for him inside.

_

you peer through the crowd that seems to have coagulated at the entrance of the grand hall, wishing you were just that bit taller so you could catch zayne’s eye and let him know where you were.

“excuse me,” you mumble to no one in particular as you push through, side-stepping and shimmying your way to your date. a few of them grumble at your forcefulness and you mentally apologise, only thinking of zayne at the moment.

“has anyone seen- ah, never mind.”

you hear zayne approach before you see him, the timbre of his voice suddenly swirling in a comforting embrace around your ears.

the first thing you're met with is his expensive suit, the woven navy fibres filling your field of vision. you stumble back a little, afraid of bumping into him, and take in his appearance properly. he was wearing a classic three-piece, navy with a black waistcoat, and you remember that you picked it out for him on your last shopping date. at the time he had seemed indifferent to your choices, but your cheeks suddenly feel warm as you realise right there and then how much zayne really likes you.

“zayne, there you are! i-“ you begin, looking up at him with a smile.

expecting to see pear green eyes hidden by a gauze of black fringe, you're shocked when instead those same eyes are crystalline and unobstructed as they regard you with an amused expression, perfectly poised underneath an arched black eyebrow.

the soft skin of his forehead, which you had often traversed with your fingertips on countless sleepy nights, was now exposed to the warm glow of the ballroom. his fringe, which so often tickled your cheek as he burrowed into the crook of your neck, exhausted after an overnight surgery, was gelled neatly back. some rogue strands still burst forward, daring to defy zayne's signature put-togetherness, but even they looked purposefully rogue and elegantly styled to suit his new look.

you could do nothing more than gape at him dumbly as he became increasingly concerned at your lack of response. he'd been fraught with worry about your reaction to his tardiness, expecting to get chewed out for being so ungentlemanly as to leave you standing alone in a room full of his colleagues that you hardly knew. but he surmises quickly that it was all worth it as he takes in your dumbfounded expression; he has to hold back a chuckle at the way you not so subtly check him out. however you aren’t the only one who’s doing so in the room, and he softly clears his throat to bring you away from your thoughts for a moment.

“here i am,” he says smoothly, taking another step forward. he offers his arm to you, his ears tinting that pretty shade of crimson that you loved so much as he finally cracks under the scrutiny of everyone else in the room.

“let’s find some privacy, my dear.”

dazed, you just nod as zayne leads you away from the crowd. it disperses soon after anyway, although everyone is now whispering about that cardiac surgeon and zayne's popularity seems to grow just that little bit more.

he takes the two of you to a more secluded part of the room, exhaling softly when you're finally by yourselves. he's almost disappointed by your silence at his new look and he no longer has his fringe to hide behind as his eyebrows knit together slightly.

“you haven’t spoken a word since you saw me,” he comments, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your cheek. he almost gasps in shock as your hand stops his, gripping his wrist gently. “what’s wro-“

his voice trails off as he notices the change in your expression, one he recognises all too well from the privacy of your bedroom. his own ears colour more and he peers down at you in confusion.

“seeing both of your eyes at the same time shouldn’t be this attractive,” you finally murmur, unable to stop staring at zayne.

he clears his throat again at your words, looking around you briefly to make sure no one was listening in.

“i take it you’re fond of my new look?” he asks, hopeful undertones betraying his casual question.

he was so cute, you wanted to squeeze him.

you smile, a mischievous glint in your eye as you suddenly grab him by the tie with your other hand, tugging his face down to hover inches in front of yours. his eyes widen almost comically, his vulnerable expression fully exposed to your devilish eyes.

“i can show you exactly how fond, my love. it doesn't hurt to have dessert first tonight, right?”

as a bashful zayne crowds your giddy self into the empty bathroom stall and locks the door behind him with unusually shaky hands, he thanks astra for those extra twelve minutes he spent in front of the bathroom mirror today.

about me. 

[kirschteinoir]

[5] you're here, that's the thing.

post-timeskip osamu miya x reader.

❝he brought his other hand, not yet blessed by you, to cover his eyes as he waited for his cheeks to cool and his heartbeat to become steady again.

this was going to be a long summer.❞

when life in the city becomes overwhelming, your grandmother decides to sign you up for a summer in the countryside working at onigiri miya, the best onigiri place this side of hyogo! you're not the biggest fan of the early starts and long hot days at first, but your attractive new boss may change your mind...

wc; 5.4k

[ending things with a bang (or a kiss in this case)! also i have no idea how sports commentary works so my bad if it's inaccurate. cameos from literally all the hq characters who went pro + kuroo lmao]

chapter masterlist.

𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙁����𝙑𝙀. 𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨 - 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙧 𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙛𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙮𝙚𝙩 𝙗𝙤𝙧𝙣.

for the last two weeks, you and osamu had been avidly watching the olympics - especially the men’s volleyball events. after the revelation in july had thrown you off your feet, osamu had steadied your uneasy world by filling you in with everything you’d missed since you’d left him and atsumu behind all those summers ago. unbeknownst to him, it was a comfort to you to know that he’d grown up well and that his relationship with atsumu had remained relatively the same since your childhood. you were happily surprised when osamu had told you that he’d played on his high school volleyball team as an outside hitter, with atsumu as the setter.

onigiri miya became overwhelmingly busy during this time too. you found yourself lost in the sounds of the sports commentary and the chatter of the customers as they chowed down on osamu’s revered rice masterpieces. as they tried to spark a conversation with the boss, he would don his signature lazy smirk and make a dig at atsumu. even with the jokes, you knew osamu couldn’t be prouder of his brother and you always smiled to yourself when you saw how animated he became whenever he talked about ‘tsumu making it to the national team.

the sun still blazed above you even at eight in the evening and you wince in discomfort, sweeping the sweat from the base of your neck with a napkin and trying your best to focus on counting the change in the register. you didn’t see osamu steal glances at you as he mopped the floor, almost breaking the handle in two as he tightened his grip on it. you were oblivious to how he would swallow thickly and tilt his cap to hide you from his view, cheeks taking on a rosy hue.

on the day of the japan vs argentina game, you’d opened shop an hour early. even then, there was a small crowd of people waiting outside as you’d rocked up to work. you greeted them with a smile of gratuity, promising them that they would be able to escape the morning heat soon.

osamu was there even earlier than you and you greet him cheerfully as you entered the kitchen. he's practically elbow-deep in a large bowl of rice, his hands working deftly to make thrice more onigiri than usual. he nods in your direction, watching as you hang your bag up on the makeshift hooks he’d installed a couple of months ago and press your apron to your front, going to tie it in the back.

“wait-” he starts and you pause, looking up at him with expectant eyes.

“everything okay, ‘samu?”

he looked troubled and nervous but also… shy? you swore you could see a blush forming but you couldn’t be a hundred percent sure.

"i- uh… i have a gift for you.”

your interest was properly piqued now and you threw your apron onto the countertop, skipping over to him in excitement. he seemed to fidget more as you close the distance and you can’t help but feel concerned. you stop a few paces away from him.

“a gift?”

he nods, pulling off his plastic gloves to rinse his hands under the tap for a few seconds, before wiping them on his towel. his movements were more deliberate than normal and you wonder again why he seemed so tense. in the end, you chalk it up to the game and decided not to make it personal.

you watch on eagerly as he reaches into his own bag, bringing out a heap of black fabric. as he brings it over to you, your eyebrows quirk and he's somewhat hesitant to pass it into your outstretched hands.

“just for today. y’know, for the game,” he mumbles.

you take the fabric from him and the waft of his detergent has your heart stuttering against your ribcage. he watches you intensely as you unfold, revealing a black jersey with white accents and letters. you had conveniently opened it so that the front was facing you: your gaze field of vision was obscured by the number ‘11’ in white block print and you turn it around to read the lettering on the back: ‘inarizaki high’.

you gasp as you realise what you’re holding.

“this is-!”

“yeah,” he interrupts you breathlessly. “my high-school jersey.”

the two of you stand in silence, trying to comprehend the situation. osamu seems to realise that you don’t know why he’s suddenly presented you with a relic of his short-lived volleyball career.

“the number is the same as ‘tsumu’s. eleven,” he points out somewhat dumbly and he internally smacks himself for sounding so tactless. you nod slowly and a smile creeps onto your face; osamu’s heart feels like it’s about to leap out of his throat.

“jeez, thank you, ‘samu! i’ll put it on right now.”

his mouth hangs open as he watches you race into the storage room to change. his cheeks are uncomfortably hot as his mind runs a little too wild for nine in the morning and he gulps down some water from the tap to cool off, pulling himself back together. he waits for you like a dog, nervously toeing the linoleum with his sneakers.

“tada!”

he hears your voice first and has no time to prepare himself when you appear in the doorway, hands clasped proudly on your hips. his jersey is a little too large on you but clearly you aren’t bothered by this in the slightest as you proudly show it off. you even do a spin for him, pointing at the lettering on the back.

“whaddya think?” you ask, not really expecting an answer.

osamu just stares at you. if he were a cartoon, you’d probably have to pick his jaw up off the floor. he hates how unaware you seem to be of the effect this is having on him and he feels like he’s going to choke if he tries to speak. was the kitchen always this hot? he needs another drink.

“uhhh… osamu? earth to miya osamu?” you say, cautious of his stoic response to something you thought would please him. did you look bad? was he already regretting lending his precious jersey to you? you shrank into yourself a little, suddenly self-conscious.

“anyway, than-” you attempt to ease the tension that had settled

“ya look good.”

his words catch you off-guard and you clam up immediately as your cheeks begin heating up.

“o-oh. thanks…”

his lips flicker into a smile before the kitchen is plunged into an awkward silence. your mind scrambles to think of something, anything, to say but one glance at osamu’s crimson cheeks (and the way he’s trying so hard to hide them from your prying eyes) has your words falling short and your own pulse quickening.

the beeping of the rice cooker snaps you both into reality again and you wipe your clammy hands on your apron. osamu jolts in surprise, remembering that he's standing in the kitchen of his shop only thirty minutes before opening. he nods at you from across the room, wasting no time turning his back to you. you take this as your cue to tidy the shop floor instead of linger in the kitchen unhelpfully, absentmindedly dusting surfaces that osamu had gone over already.

every time you moved your arm, the soft fabric of osamu’s jersey would brush against your skin, wafting the woody scent of his cologne up to your nose like a rolling tide. your cheeks heated again and you scold yourself - today of all days, keep it together!

it didn’t take very long for the place to become packed, the very building itself coming alive whenever the floorboards would creak or the curtains would sway, beckoning customers inside. the television was at full volume and yet the chatter of the diners threatened to drown it out.

the place collectively holds its breath as the commentators introduce the jpn vs arg match. you slide a plate of umeboshi onigiri towards shinsuke, who’d taken the day off especially for the game. he smiles at you gratefully, cheeks rosy as he takes his first bite.

“...great team here today, japan have really put their best foot forward!”

“most certainly! the roster includes some big names from the leagues and i think today’s match will be a close one. not to mention this team has been trained by none other than iwaizumi hajime! after interning under takashi utsui, the father of ushijima wakatoshi, hajime is a force to be reckoned with.”

“i’ve heard that iwaizumi and oikawa, of the argentinian national team, were on the same high-school team! i wonder if there’s any rivalry there…”

laughter ripples around the room.

“with the japan national team in good hands, let’s introduce some of the players! jersey number one and possibly the current best opposite hitter in the world, we have ushijima wakatoshi! he’s joined by his previous teammates of the schweiden adlers, korai hoshiumi and kageyama tobio, jersey's five and nine respectively. what a place for a reunion!”

“they’re not the only ones reuniting on the court today. several members of the MSBY black jackals are here to represent japan. outside hitters kotarou bokuto and sakusa kiyoomi, jersey’s four and fifteen, as well as setter atsumu miya, jersey eleven!”

osamu suddenly appears beside you and kita, grinning wildly as atsumu’s face flashes on screen with a smile. the whole room erupts into cheers and whoops at the mention of the other miya twin and some even clap osamu on the back, their fingers grazing over the number1 printed on the back of his shirt.

“repping ‘tsumu’s number too, huh?” kita mumbles to you softly as he eyes your top with familiarity. you grin, nodding proudly.

“yep! that snotty little brat has come so far!”

the rice farmer laughs, wolfing down the last of his onigiri. osamu watches from his peripheral vision, biceps flexing as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“hey, don’t do that!” you whisper, brushing against the material of his compression sleeve. “you’re hiding the number!”

immediately he brings his hands to his hips, puffing his chest out instead. you bite back a smile.

“there’s no shortage of incredible opposite hitters in this line-up! shoyo hinata, from asas sao paulo, formerly of MSBY black jackals and kageyama tobio’s high-school teammate, is jersey number ten!”

osamu leans down to mutter into your ear.

“we played those two one year at spring nationals. they were a freak duo, f’sure,” he chortles and kita nods in agreement, his lips pursing into a line at the memory. you laugh along, feeling flustered by his closeness.

“not only does japan have a strong offence, but their defence is nothing to laugh at! with yaku morisuke, number seventeen, and motoya komori, number nineteen, argentina definitely have a tough game ahead of them. now for an exclusive court-side interview with kuroo tetsurou of the JVA…”

kuroo’s interview was mostly lost on you as you found yourself swimming in volleyball terminology, some of which osamu patiently explained to you. you would nod along, only half-understanding, and he would laugh affectionately at your cluelessness.

suddenly, the camera pans to atsumu, who’s doing some last-minute stretches. he regards kuroo with familiarity before turning on the charm for the camera. you hear osamu scoff beside you but when you look up at him, he’s grinning uncontrollably. even kita is failing to remain stoic, laughing at atsumu’s unrefined charm.

“if ya ever in hyogo, go ‘n visit onigiri miya! and make sure you tell the owner that i sent-cha!” atsumu announces, waving a little at the camera. osamu pretends to be unimpressed but you can tell he’s secretly preening at the shoutout. 

“and say hello to the pretty new employee too!” the blond twin finishes with a wink, before walking back to the rest of the team.

suddenly, every pair of eyes in the building is fixed on you and you feel yourself crumbling under the intensity of it. someone whoops and osamu groans loudly, apologising on atsumu’s behalf.

“sorry y/n. i may or may not have mentioned ya in my last phone call t’him,” the brunette tells you and you shake your head, telling him that it was nothing to apologise for. thank god atsumu didn’t mention that he actually talked about you non-stop.

“well, alright then, thanks atsumu!” kuroo says, turning to face the camera with a lazy smirk. “i can personally vouch for onigiri miya though, osamu is a wizard in the kitchen. now, let me introduce the starting line-up…”

the electric atmosphere of the court seemed to seep through the glass of the screen as the small onigiri shop all the way in hyogo burst at the seams with energy. osamu swelled with pride as he watched his twin set up perfect, medal-winning spike after spike. he never strayed far from your side either, turning to you to celebrate atsumu’s performance almost reflexively. in those moments it would feel like it was just you and him in the room, everything else drowned out by the thumping of your heart in your chest as your gazes connected and his smile would widen into something you only saw in romance movies.

hardly a week had passed since the game when things were already back to normal. occasionally a customer would mention the game to osamu and they would discuss it in solemn tones before the next person would enter.

“yo, y/n! ‘samu!”

it was right before closing when the sing-song voice of japan’s national setter easily commanded your attention. you jump up at the sound of your name from where you're crouched behind the counter refilling the pile of plastic carrier bags and your head appears over the edge of the counter almost comically as the one and only miya atsumu slides into a nearby stool, a lazy grin on his face.

“a-atsumu?” you breathe, shocked that the charismatic face from the dusty television screen was now in front of you. it was jarring how much he looked like osamu, even though you knew they were identical twins. but evidently it’d been a while since you’d actually seen them both in the same room.

“y/n-chan! it’s been a while, yeah?” he drawls and you pull a face at the cutesy nickname, like you’d remained friends all your life and this wasn’t the first time you were seeing him in person since you were five or six.

“we’re the same age, idiot,” you mumble, slipping around the counter to give the blond an affectionate bear hug. similarly to osamu he towers over you as he squeezes you back, pleased to be reunited with you again. he almost ruffles your hair but chooses to rest his chin atop your head, fearing you'd disapprove of the former option.

“no fraternising with the customers please.”

osamu’s usual scolding tone has hidden mirth as he appears from the kitchen, slinging a towel over his shoulder. his expression of mock annoyance quickly melts into one of happiness as he grins at atsumu.

“hey 'samu! how ya been, bro?” atsumu asks, clapping his brother on the back. “business as usual?”

osamu shrugs half-heartedly, downplaying his recent boom in business.

“yer lil shoutout at the game was funny,” he replies. you nudge his side playfully before turning to the blond.

“he means to say ‘thank you’,” you say, mildly surprised at how little the miya dynamic has changed since you last saw them.

atsumu just barks a laugh, stretching his arms languidly as he sits back down. as osamu flips the sign to ‘closed’, you duck back behind the counter.

“what can i get you, ‘tsumu?” you ask, slipping on a plastic food glove and grabbing a serving plate.

atsumu pretends to ponder his options, rambling about all the new flavours osamu added whilst he was away training. the twin in question merely shakes his head, plopping a plate with three special onigiri down in front of his brother. you didn’t recognise any of them from the display cases and realised osamu loved atsumu a lot more than he ever let on.

“the miya atsumu special,” he comments, pushing the plate further into atsumu’s outstretched hands. “on the house, of course.”

“of course,” the blond echoes, digging right into his specially curated treat.

you bite back a laugh at how voraciously atsumu devours the onigiri in front of him - the plate had barely touched the counter before they were gone. you almost felt inclined to clap as atsumu licked his fingers clean, soaking in your praise. osamu, on the other hand, only looked mildly disgusted as he swept the plate back to the kitchen.

“idiot,” he mumbled as he walked past the two of you and you laugh again.

“tasted even better than the last time,” atsumu comments after a moment.

as sharp as always, the setter had noticed your rosy cheeks and the longing look you'd sent after his twin before he’d disappeared through the curtains. you raised a brow at the sly grin on his face, wondering what he was calculating now.

“he’s never made me my own onigiri before. you’re lucky,” you tell him, folding your arms over your chest as atsumu shrugs and pretends he isn’t proud of the fact he was the only one with a special recipe, courtesy of osamu himself. 

feeling sufficiently fed, the blond stands up and swoops down to pick up his gym bag. he makes a small huff as he hoists it onto his shoulder, despite his lithe arms and broad chest indicating that he lifts much heavier weight on a regular basis. still, the noise is cute and you can’t help but smile as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his sports jacket.

“you on your way already?” you ask, your voice softening as you realise you hadn’t really gotten a chance to catch up with your childhood best friend and now he was going to disappear on you much like you had done to him all those years ago. karma, you supposed.

“yep. i wanna go before ‘samu comes back out so he won’t make a big deal out of it,” he snickers, carding a hand through his fringe to keep it out of his eyes. you thought the blonde really suited him, and it made it miles easier to tell the twins apart - a deliberate decision.

“pfft, i wouldn’t struck ‘samu as the emotional type.”

atsumu shakes his head and scrunches up his face as he mulls over the best way to explain it to you.

“i don’t mean in that way… it’s more like he’ll make me feel guilty for leaving already? He offers with another jerk of his shoulders, the movement appearing uneven due to the bag weighing down his right side.

“then…don’t go yet?” you offer, looking at the blond over the counter with your hands slightly clasped in front of your chest. he suddenly becomes bashful, probably not expecting such a blatant desire for his presence. he can't deny he adores your attention though, grinning as as his cheeks pinken.

“ya drive a hard bargain y/n, but i gotta head back to tokyo early tomorrow morning anyway. the olympics ain’t over yet!”

you throw your hands up in defeat, acknowledging your lesser power over the authority of atsumu’s hectic life as an olympic athlete. returning his smile warmly, you reach into the back pocket of your trousers.

“at least give me your number before you go! when i head back to tokyo we should catch up properly.”

something flickers across atsumu’s face as he notices your definitive choice of language but as quickly as it’s there it’s gone and he’s back to his usual smug self.

“sure.” he taps his number into your phone and takes a blurry, dimly lit selfie to set as his contact icon. “see ya, y/n!”

onigiri miya feels uncharacteristically quiet as atsumu disappears into the humid evening and you feel as though this is a good a time as any to close shop. your thoughts are interrupted by osamu's voice thundering from the kitchen.

“did that bastard just leave?!” he yells, squinting into the distance at the ghost of atsumu’s figure. you muffle your laugh with your hand and nod.

“yep. he did it on purpose to avoid you, i’m afraid,” you reply, much to osamu’s chagrin. he makes a ‘tch’ noise and goes to turn back towards the kitchen. however he remains rooted to the spot beside you for a moment, his fist clenched awkwardly by his side. you wondered what had hardened his expression so suddenly.

following his gaze with your own, you land on the tearaway paper calendar hanging by the entrance of the kitchen. august was fast coming to close, signified by the rows of red crosses staining the paper. the 31st was circled, with the words ‘last day at OM!’ written in your own handwriting. embarrassment washes over you as you think about how osamu must’ve perceived your childish excitement to escape from something he was dedicating his entire life to. when you realise how late into the month it is already, the feeling of returning to your lonely, cramped apartment that you had no real attachment to was not a pleasant one.

the realisation of your changed mind hits you like a truck and you grip the counter to steady yourself, world spinning as you confirmed what had become a fact to you since time had gone on: you don't want to go back to tokyo. you want to be here in hyogo serving onigiri to sweet old customers and you wanted to do it with osamu.

with osamu.

you feel compelled to reach for him now, his nickname leaving your lips softly.

he knows you caught him eyeing up that red circle, an ugly reminder that his time with you was always going to be limited. he knew he was being childish as he maintains a cold front with you.

“make sure you lock the register this time, y/n.”

his sharp tone strikes you like a dagger and you physically recoil from him, your throat squeezing.

“wait, osamu! i have something to tell you-” your tone is frantic as you feel him slip further and further out of your grasp.

he ignores your pleas, brushing past your outstretched hand as he enters the kitchen. overcome by helplessness, your feet are rooted to the spot and anxiety starts infecting the rest of your sound mind like black ink blotching a perfectly written letter right at the very end.

no, you weren’t going to let him leave you behind again this time.

as you gather the shreds of your courage, your fingers shake and you untie the apron from around your waist, throwing the coarse fabric on the counter as you stalk after osamu, yelling his name again as you enter the kitchen.

“osamu! wait!”

but the kitchen lights were off. part of you considered that he might be hiding from you in the dark but you knew there was a limit to his immaturity. still, you check every crevice of the room and even the storage room in case he’d decided to fold himself between the piles of ingredients. it was quickly becoming apparent that he was nowhere to be found and now you were genuinely worried.

“osamu?” you call again, more agitated than before. there was no response except for the wind whistling through the back door, which was slightly ajar.

you continue onwards in your search for your childhood friend-turned-boss-turned-crush (again), stumbling into the august evening air. you grimace when you already feel perspiration on your forehead as you look for osamu in the dim light.

it quickly becomes evident that you have no idea where you are on the OM premises, evident by the way you stumble about. you curse as you end up down some alleyway, a shiver running up your spine as you squint at what you hoped was the streetlight across the road from the shop. the gravel crunches underneath your sneakers as you walk towards it hopefully.

“gah!” 

you jump as your shoe hits something and a strong hand reaches out to grab you before you can faceplant the ground. you recognise it as osamu’s and visibly relax, taking a moment to compose yourself and stand up to your full height again. the lighting was abysmal here and it didn’t help that osamu seemed to purposefully stand in the shadows where the artificial glow of the streetlight could only smooth over his cheekbone and the side of his nose.

“samu? that you?” you ask, even though you know it has to be him. who else would be sulking in the hidden alleyway by onigiri miya? He was upset at you, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why.

“did you lock the register?” he mumbles gruffly and you have to fight the urge to laugh at his ridiculousness. you try to find the playful glint amongst the stone-grey irises you had become so familiar with these past four months.

“yes,” you breathe with a chuckle. “yes i did.”

he nods at your response, his hair rustling from the small movement. once again, the silence swallows you both as you stand opposite him. his hand is still clutching your upper arm, the only sign that he was truly afraid to let you go again. you fold your arms over your chest to emphasise that you were going to stay here and talk to him. he seems comforted by that and loosens his grip ever so slightly.

“why’d you go cold on me?” you finally asks, your tone cautious at the risk of upsetting him again. he huffs quietly before answering, his eyes cast at something behind you.

“dunno. was silly of me though. m’sorry y/n.”

your heart melts at how apologetic he sounds and you reach out to touch his cheek, your hand trembling as your skin meets his.

osamu sucks in a sharp breath not expecting you to touch him, but he doesn’t pull away and allows his cheek to be caressed by you, easing the pout on his lips just a little.

“c’mon ‘samu, don’t you think i haven’t learnt a little bit about you after working by your side for four months? we both know what’s on your mind…” you sigh, alluding to your upcoming departure back to tokyo.

“yeah… yeah."

his head tilts towards your hand again, almost as if he were nuzzling it. however the movement is constrained, showing some internal conflict and you wonder what he’s thinking right now.

“d’ya have to go? y/n, i really like having you around,” he mumbles, allowing a sliver of vulnerability to bleed through his words. his hand tightens around your bicep again, tugging you a little closer than before.

“actually,” you laugh, and osamu wonders what could possibly be so funny. “that’s what i want to talk to you about.”

eyes immediately dart towards yours and his mouth falls open slightly. he stares at you intently in a silent plead for you to put him out of his misery, his eyebrows furrowing beneath his fringe. you have to clear your throat softly before you continue, flustered by how helpless he looks before you, hanging onto your every word.

“i-i want to stay. here in hyogo.”

the soft flesh of your upper arm is at his mercy as he tenses and relaxes his hand, making sure he hadn’t misheard you. your own hand drifts from his cheek to his jaw, barely grazing the skin there as you take a deep breath.

“i want to keep working for onigiri miya too. if you’ll let me i mean-”

“yes,” he breathes quickly, interrupting you. you stare at him in shock and he quickly composes himself, eyes darting away from yours for a moment.

“o-okay then. i’ll stay at onigiri miya. there’s nothing for me in tokyo, anyway, and i really like it here with my grandma. goodness knows she’ll need someone to keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble,” you smile, finally relieving your shoulders of the weight of your decision to stay in hyogo. you're lighter than air now, never feeling more sure of something in your life. “thanks for installing the doorbell for her, by the way. and the security camera, too.”

osamu chuckles despite himself, nodding as he accepts your thanks. then the same desperate look from before settles across his features again.

“are you sure? that you want to stay here and work for me?” his voice is barely a whisper. “with me. work with me,” he corrects himself.

you grin, your fingers splaying across his chin in a feather-light touch. it’s like you’re making sure that he's in front of you, that he won’t bolt away from your advances again.

“can i get a promotion?” you ask and he smiles again, your index finger brush over his bottom lip as he does so.

“if that means you’ll stay, then yes.”

you giggle a little, the sound mingling with his bated breath as his eyes flicker across your features, comparing the 'you' in front of him to the one from four months ago, and even the little brat he knew in childhood. his heart soars and he feels as though he may fall to his knees in prayer any second now, especially when your hand cups the back of his neck, pressing into the strong muscles that had been built from years of high-school volleyball with inarizaki and now the physical labour that came with running onigiri miya.

you see his expression fall a little, his eyes flickering again to the wall behind you, and gently tilt your head in a silent desire to know what is bothering him.

“‘samu?” you murmur, your worried expression mirroring his.

he flinches, startled by your voice even though you had purposefully kept it soft for the opposite outcome. for some reason he’s struggling to maintain eye contact with you and your fingertips warm up as they brush over his pink cheeks.

 you’re about to utter his name again when his large hands suddenly move to cup your face. his calloused fingertips press tenderly into the softness of your skin, savouring the pillowy feeling of your entire face fitting sweetly into the palm of his hands.

“s-sorry y/n…” and you wonder what on earth he could be apologising for at a time like this. “but i need to kiss ya right now. like real bad.”

his brazen admission has your own cheeks darkening, practically glowing in the fluorescent light that was swallowing you both. your mouth hangs open in a mixture of shock and want, and osamu can’t help but groan inwardly at the sight. he begins leaning in, still muttering against your mouth.

“i can’t hold back anymore. yer just too cute-” he breathes, his thumb shifting slightly to sweep over the edge of your bottom lip. you can just about squeak his name out in response before he closes his mouth over yours.

the kiss is a mixture of sweetness and something else and you grip at the collar of his shirt as he kisses you with fervour only a miya twin could have. his hands still cage your face in a display of desperate possession and even as his lips envelope yours, he's still afraid that you would slip through his finger again, seeping into the cracks in the road as you find your way back to tokyo. his lips push against yours slightly harder at the thought and you have to stand on your tiptoes to gain some ground back from him.

your head begins to spin with the lack of oxygen flowing to your lungs but you don’t care - the only thing you were concerned about was the feeling of osamu’s lips melding against yours and his thumb holding your chin to firmly guide you against him.

when you sigh his own name into his mouth so sweetly that his grip on you tightens, movements growing sloppy as he chases and chases your saccharine lips, you can confidently conclude that it never hurts to do something new.

[thank you for all the support on this mini series! it's been very enjoyable to see your reactions to each chapter hehe. also my requests/ask box is open if you want to leave anything! <3 ]

about me. 

ao3 link.

[kirschteinoir]

[4] you're here, that's the thing.

post-timeskip osamu miya x reader.

❝he brought his other hand, not yet blessed by you, to cover his eyes as he waited for his cheeks to cool and his heartbeat to become steady again.

this was going to be a long summer.❞

when life in the city becomes overwhelming, your grandmother decides to sign you up for a summer in the countryside working at onigiri miya, the best onigiri place this side of hyogo! you're not the biggest fan of the early starts and long hot days at first, but your attractive new boss may change your mind...

wc; 2.5k

[honestly it's a bit unrealistic that reader wouldn't remember osamu until now but hey, that's what plot is! also i hope you guys like pining, trying-to-restrain-himself osamu because i sure do :3 ]

chapter masterlist.

𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙁𝙊𝙐𝙍. 𝙟𝙪𝙡𝙮, 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙗𝙡𝙪𝙚 𝙨𝙠𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡, 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙨 𝙖 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙡 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩.

you sigh, staring hopelessly at the dial on your measly electric fan - it was already cranked to its highest setting and yet you could still feel a layer of sweat on your skin, the dampness making you wrinkle your nose in slight disgust. the door of onigiri miya was propped open with a chair and you struggle to swallow a laugh as osamu trips over it for the tenth time that morning.

“there’s a chair there, by the way,” you drawl, your chin in your palm as you anticipate the lunchtime rush. you had no idea what osamu was doing fretting about the shop when the heat made you want to lie down where you were and sleep.

he grunts in response, ignoring your smarmy comment until he had successfully set up yet another electric fan. you sigh in relief as the cool air blows over your skin and osamu has to bite the inside of his cheek at the sight of your exposed collarbone as you lean forward into the welcome breeze.

"yer welcome, by the way,” he huffs, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his t-shirt - it was a habit that he’d picked up in high school as he'd competed with atsumu for the attention of their fans. now it was nothing more than a convenient way of drying his damp forehead in this damn july heatwave. your eyes widen a fraction when you suddenly got a flash of his stomach, the svelte abs he’d developed in high school now slightly beefier and the wisps of dark hair trailing deep beneath the waistband of his trousers. you were surprised to find yourself drooling a little and hastily turned away to suddenly busy yourself with counting the money in the register.

“what are yer doing? counting up the cash already?” osamu asks, leaning over your shoulder to observe your fidgety hands. His sudden closeness causes you to drop the coins you’d been counting and you clear your throat nervously. at this distance you could smell his aftershave mingling with the slightly floral scent of his detergent and your tongue ties itself into knots as you try to give him an appropriate response.

“j-just wanted something to do,” you reply meekly, cursing yourself quickly after - if you hadn’t stuttered he would have believed you!

osamu finally leans back, no longer peering over your shoulder, looking down at you with amusement sprawled all over his face. your own cheeks burn a little at your fumble. he’s about to respond with something clever (you can tell by the way the corner of his lip is quirked up slightly) before a customer shuffles in and you’re saved by the starting trickles of the lunchtime rush.

to be honest, you were not really one to keep up with the sports world; you don’t think you’d ever diligently followed the olympics once in your life and you weren’t about to start now. of course, you would hear about where the japanese athletes placed and react accordingly, always making an offhand comment about not possibly being able to imagine how they felt. because you couldn’t - simple as.

so when you’d showed up for your shift at onigiri miya on monday, you were surprised to find osamu putting up banners and posters promoting the worldwide sporting event. and you realised he was only putting up posters for the men’s national volleyball team. fourteen different men (you’d counted multiple times on your breaks to be sure) photographed in various poses now hung about the restaurant, with a particular blond watching over the entrance.

even now, you were staring at the piece of paper fluttering in the sparse july breeze, your hands on your hips and your eyes narrowed. osamu occasionally glances at you from the kitchen, his hands busy moulding fresh white short-grain rice into those delicious triangles you had come to know so well.

“...’samu,” you start and he braces himself for whatever dopey comment you were about to make. he couldn’t say exactly when you’d started calling him by his childhood nickname again - it was pretty much a natural progression in your rekindled relationship, not that you were aware of that fact yet. he waits for you to continue, an eyebrow slightly quirked.

“this guy looks like you. did you know that?” you announce, stare accusatory as you scrutinise the imposing form of this osamu imposter.

from the kitchen osamu snorts and remains silent, waiting for you to put the pieces together yourself.

you were wondering why he wasn’t coming out here to stand and stare at his doppelganger in similar shock with you until you notice the name on the back of the crimson red jersey.

‘miya’.

“dude! he has the same surname as you too!” you gasp, totally oblivious to how osamu was cracking up in the kitchen.

“y/n. tha’s my twin. that’s ‘tsumu,” he says after collecting himself.

“WHAT?” you shriek, your head whipping between the two men - one 2D and one 3D. “come and stand out here so i can compare you two! is he really your twin?”

osamu’s belly-laughing now, his onigiri abandoned on the counter.

“you said it yerself - he looks like me. and please come back inside, yer gonna get sunburn or heat stroke or somethin’-”

he waves his hand, ushering you over to the counter. you’re grumbling in utter surprise as you slide into one of the stools, waiting for him to scold you and remind you that they were for the customers only. but he doesn’t, simply refilling the display cabinets as he lets you mull over your latest discovery.

“so… twin?” you ask, fiddling with the stack of napkins in front of you. “for some reason that makes sense. you strike me as someone who is twin. you have that vibe, y’know?”

“i have no idea what yer talkin' about,” he deadpans, shaking his head as he slides the cabinet door closed. “now stop takin’ up the customers' space!”

you smile upon hearing those familiar words like clockwork and return to your rightful place behind the counter. Osamu is stood beside you somewhat awkwardly, as if he was anticipating more of an interrogation from you about having a twin. you press your elbows into the counter, leaning back and sighing. the heat was beginning to stifle you again, reminding you why you’d stepped outside in the first place.

“i feel like i already knew you had a twin - is that weird?” you begin to muse, unaware of how osamu’s heartbeat begins to quicken.

“o-oh really?” he responds dumbly.

“yeeeeah, “ you sigh, looking past osamu at the bright blue sky - not a single cloud in sight. “miya atsumu and miya osamu. ‘tsumu and ‘samu... the miyaans… oh my god!”

the way you slap your forehead was like something out of a bad sitcom as you stare at osamu with widened eyes and your mouth hanging open. his own expression is one that mirrors your shock, but is also mixed with something akin to relief.

“y-you’re the miyaans? right? RIGHT?” you gasp all at once, rushing over to close the distance between the two of you as you brace your hands against his chest, your eyes never leaving his for a second. “i spent so many of my summers with you two!”

“evidently not enough. was wondering how long it’d take ya to realise,” he smirks and you feel like he may be mocking you slightly. “you’ve grown lots, y/n,” he follows in a much softer tone.

your heart flutters at the way he’s looking at you now - his usual aloof demeanour has been replaced with utter warmth for you, like the afternoon sun warming garden stones. you break the eye contact first, feeling flushed all of a sudden.

“why didn’t you tell me?!”

are you… upset? the brunette man towering above you panics for the first time in a while as he studies how you cast your gaze to the side and withdraw your hands from his chest. instinctively he chases your touch, reaching up to graze the skin peeking out from the hem of your ‘onigiri miya’ t-shirt sleeve.

“i-” he begins, not sure of what to say but knowing he has to reassure you somehow. “i didn’t think you’d actually remember me - well, us - and… i didn’t want to embarrass ya in case ya really didn't,” he admits, appreciating the irony of the situation as soon as the last words left his lips. you’re silent, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as you mull over his excuse.

“sorry, y/n. really.”

sighing softly, you can at least appreciate how his sincerity brings up memories that you’d long since repressed: memories of you, atsumu and osamu lounging around your grandparent's house, eating all the ice cream within a 5-mile radius as the three of you fail to combat the heat of the countryside. memories of you and atsumu arguing in the rain because he wanted to carry on exploring the woods but you wanted to go home, and osamu just drawing mindlessly in the mud between you both, not really caring either way. memories of the last time you’d seen them and told them you weren’t going to be coming back next summer; your five-year-old brain was unable to comprehend why and your five-year-old mouth was worse at trying to get the twins to understand too. You remember how silent atsumu had become, something you hadn’t thought was possible of him, and how osamu’s eyes had welled up.

“‘samu, i’ll come back one day! grandma still lives here so i can see you when i visit her!”

you crouch down next to him, your nose stinging as you try to hold back your own tears.

“ya promise?” he sniffles, his cheeks flushed pink and his small hands folded in his lap. you grab one of them and lock your pinky around his.

“promise. now stop cryin’, you’re too old for that,” you laugh, sealing the pinky promise with the tap of your thumb against his: a kiss.

“wha’bout me?” atsumu mumbles and you laugh again, standing up and skipping over to where he was sulking a few paces away.

“i guess i’ll come see ya too, ‘tsumu,” you snicker, shrieking in delight and jumping away when he throws a handful of dirt at you in protest. “yuck, gross!”

“promise me too!” he whines, holding out his dirt-covered pinky. you scrunch your face up and shake your head, keeping your hands firmly by your side.

“your hands are dirty, no way!”

the twin opens his mouth to protest until you roll your eyes and pat him on the back instead.

“there, consider that a promise.”

there's a long pause before osamu dares to speak. “y/n? a-are you crying?”

the deep timbre of the now twenty-three year old twin snaps you out of your childhood and you bring your hands up to your cheeks, feeling their warmth and wetness.

“huh? oh! guess i am…” you laugh nervously, reaching out for a napkin to dry your eyes. but osamu is steps ahead of you, using the corner of his apron to dab at your face. it’s scratchy and you whine a little at the odd sensation. his other hand grasps your shoulder, firm enough to keep you in place for him to completely wipe away your tears.

“thanks,” you sniffle, your gaze still cast to the floor. “and i’m sorry for not remembering you sooner. and for not honouring my promise.” you hear osamu chuckle above you, his hand still on your shoulder.

“s’okay. i forgive ya.”

“but it was a pinky promise, sealed with a kiss!” you look down at your own hands, your fingertips tingling as you remember. “that’s like, the worst kind of promise to break!”

osamu can’t help but burst out laughing at your words as he suddenly is overcome by the nuance of your newfound revelation. he so desperately wants to wrap his arms around you now, like he did when you were kids and he would swing you into the air. But not only is there no space behind the counter, he also doesn’t want to overwhelm you even more than you already are.

“you laughing at me, miya?”

but you’re laughing too, happy to have met osamu miya all over again. you recall your first day working under him, how you hadn’t even realised he was the boss because he was young and extremely attractive. even now, your eyes follow the bulges of his bicep as he cradles your shoulder, his god-given flesh unfairly constrained by the black elastic material. you had no doubt that you had been extremely unsubtle in the way you admired his pure size when he’d caged you in the storage room - much like how he was doing now, your back pressed against the edge of the counter. he was no longer the scrawny snotty brat from your childhood, one that was constantly covered in dirt or cuts and bruises or atsumu’s blood from when they took their arguments a little too far. no, he’d grown into his features now - his hooded eyes more calculating than you remember, his strong jaw covered by a stretch of tan skin and the musings of a five o’clock shadow.

you’d loved him then and you love him now, seventeen years later. and that thought made you feel nauseous and heavenly all at once. dizziness seemed to encompass you suddenly and you swayed in your place, held upright only by osamu.

“y/n? are ya feelin’ okay? ya look frightened!” osamu announces, his hand hovering over your forehead. he’s hesitant, unsure whether you’d want him to touch you right now. but you smile weakly, leaning closer to press your forehead against the back of his palm: a signal that you were okay. the gesture makes his chest tighten and all of a sudden he wants to run and hide in that alleyway again.

but he can’t run now, not when you’re so close.

his hand is impossibly still as you press your skin against it, slightly damp with sweat. he looks down at you with his mouth slightly agape and a flash of worry in his beautiful grey irises.

“m’fine. see, ‘samu?” you whisper, pulling away again quickly. the back of his hand feels as though it’s been burnt by your radiance and he instinctively cradles it against his stomach. he nods, observing how you take a deep breath, your chest rising and falling steadily. you sweep your hair away from your neck too, in an attempt to cool off. his eyes follow your every move, a lump forming in his throat.

“so…” you begin, the tension settling on your shoulders in an unwelcome weight. you steady yourself against the counter, knuckles turning white from the way you’re gripping it.

“when can i see ‘tsumu?”

about me. 

ao3 link.

[kirschteinoir]

[3] you're here, that's the thing.

post-timeskip osamu miya x reader.

❝he brought his other hand, not yet blessed by you, to cover his eyes as he waited for his cheeks to cool and his heartbeat to become steady again.

this was going to be a long summer.❞

when life in the city becomes overwhelming, your grandmother decides to sign you up for a summer in the countryside working at onigiri miya, the best onigiri place this side of hyogo! you're not the biggest fan of the early starts and long hot days at first, but your attractive new boss may change your mind...

wc; 2.9k

[i went a bit cray cray (positive) with kita's desc but also... jealous!osamu hehe...]

chapter masterlist.

𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙏𝙃𝙍𝙀𝙀. 𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙟𝙪𝙣𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙨.

normally you had every other sunday off. despite your protests, osamu would insist that you deserved the break and that he was just fine managing whatever inventory needed sorting or floors that needed sweeping. however your sunday off happened to be the first of june, and the day of your rice delivery from the kita farm.

osamu had called your grandma’s landline late on saturday night, apologising for what he was about to ask you. he had other business to take care of tomorrow so he couldn’t be at the shop for the rice delivery - you had to go instead.

“‘m sorry y/n, i really am. y’know i wouldn’t ask if i had any other option,” he was uncharacteristically contrite and you could hear his pout over the phone. you bit back a giggle at the visual image and assured him that it was alright, you were more than happy to take the delivery on his behalf.

the way he breathed his thanks into the phone had your stomach fluttering, his accent stronger as he became more emotional.

“yer a lifesaver, i swear. what would i have done without you?”

so here you were outside onigiri miya, early on sunday morning. you cursed your past self when your alarm went off at a time no one should have to wake up at and you groaned, eventually sliding out of bed in a few clumsy movements. but with a clean OM uniform and some fresh air in your lungs, you were excitedly awaiting the arrival of the rice farmer.

you glance up and down the street, straining your ears for the sound of a diesel engine struggling up the slight incline that onigiri miya was at the apex of. not that you had to listen very hard, for there was hardly another soul alive at this time of day. you began pacing, over-checking your wristwatch whilst fighting the anxious feeling that had begun churning in your lower gut. the corner of the delivery sheet attached to the clipboard digging into your hip became mangled as you absentmindedly fidgeted. just as you debated calling up your boss, a pick-up truck appeared over the summit like a boon from the gods.

the red paint was patchy and flaking off in some places, which you politely ignored, and the whole vehicle looked like it was being held together by duct tape and a single can of WD-40. you try to spy the driver (or drivers) behind the wheel but with the sun in your eyes, you couldn’t do much more than squint stupidly as it cruises to a stop right outside the entrance. softly clearing your throat and smoothing down the front of your black t-shirt, you put on your best customer service smile.

“hello! you must be from kita farms! i’m y/n and-”

your voice peters out into silence as the driver (and there was just one, thank goodness) slinks out of his seat, walking around the front to greet you. he was already smiling, and you quickly noticed that he probably didn’t do so that often. it was small, barely friendly, but it was kind and you found yourself flustering. this guy wasn’t as tall as osamu but he was still fairly built, clearly comfortable in his life of physical labour. in fact, you could see the fruits of his work well-displayed by the thin white tank-top he adorned. it was practically stuck to his skin, chiselling out the curves of his abs, pecs and other muscles you couldn’t name from the marble that made up his body. your cheeks flush as you not-so-subtly check him out, your gaze honing in on the tanline that would reveal itself ephemerally every time he swayed his arms.

like osamu’s, his features were strong and hard-set. his eyes were wide but upturned, vaguely feline, and his hazel irises held you in sharp regard. if it hadn’t been for the smile, you would’ve thought he was about to chew you out for standing in the middle of the road like an idiot. his hair was an unusual colour - stark white, much like freshly cooked rice, with jet-black ends that were curled with sweat and you wondered what he had been doing so early in the day to be this sweaty already.

when he spoke, you couldn’t help but groan inwardly at how unfair it was for someone to both look and sound so attractive.

“mornin'. i’m kita shinsuke. you must be the new hire? osamu-kun’s told me all about ya’. nice to finally meet you.”

in one swift movement he removes one of his gloves using his teeth and extends his hand towards you. you shake it tentatively, staring at the fabric lodged between his lips. it's surprising how soft his skin is and how tidy he keeps his nails - odd for someone who’s hands are their entire livelihood.

since you weren’t expecting someone so attractive (and also similar to your age), your chirpiness from earlier was thrown for a loop and you felt deja vu from your initial meeting with osamu. either kita was used to this or he genuinely didn’t notice how you stared at him with a mixture of attraction, intimidation and surprise - nonetheless he was already unlocking the back of his truck.

“don’t worry, i can carry it in myself. usually i’d just dump it for osamu to deal with, since i know he’s got this freakish strength but ya look like ya might need a hand, hmm?”

you could hardly do more than squeak out your gratitude as you watch this hunky farmer haul bags of rice as if they weighed nothing. before your thoughts could run away with you, you jump into customer service mode again and offer him a drink and some breakfast.

“i’ve got a fresh batch of barley tea in the fridge if you’d like some, kita-san. and i know where osamu keeps his own secret stash of onigiri - i’m sure he wouldn't mind if a few were missing!”

you were looking at him so attentively. his eyes widened slightly before he averted his gaze, hiding his blush with a gloved hand.

“ah, sure. thank you kindly, y/n.”

you glowed as you prepared the food for your guest, stealing glances at him as he worked and beaming at him every time he would walk past you to get to the storage room, two bags of rice hoisted over his shoulder each time.

“that should be all. osamu is our best customer - i’ve never seen a business go through more of our rice!” he chuckles to himself, signing the delivery invoice before taking a gulp of the barley tea you’d poured out for him. he hums in appreciation and you laugh nervously in relief.

“so, how’s it been working for onigiri miya?” he asks, eyeing you as he bit into his first onigiri.

“well,” you begin, endeavouring to answer his question earnestly. “it wasn’t easy at first. it was probably almost as difficult as working for my degree back in tokyo. mentally, i mean. i have no idea how osamu has managed to run everything on his own until now,” you muse out loud, much to kita’s enjoyment. every few bites or so his eyes would glean the details of your face - the way your eyelashes flutter when you laugh, how the colour of your eyes changes as you move in and out of the sun, how you would wrinkle your nose when the heat became too much.

cute, he thought.

you take his silence as an opportunity to continue your rambling, rather enjoying his company.

“i can tell osamu does a lot of the work behind the scenes too. if he’s not working he’s probably crunching numbers at home,” you giggle, relishing in the small freedom of poking fun at your boss without him peering over your shoulder. kita chuckles too, wiping his mouth on a napkin.

“i’ll tell ya now - yer right on the money. him and atsumu used to mess around a lot back in high school and osamu was only ever serious about food. like what to eat for his next meal, that kind of thing.” he pauses for a second, his eyes filling with fond memories you didn’t know about. “it’s nice to see him all grown up now, running his own shop at twenty three! and i’m glad he’s doin’ business with me.”

“you knew osamu in high school? what was he like?”

shinsuke opens his mouth to reply, wanting to satisfy the curious sparkle in your eye but the sound of the door opening and heavy footsteps interrupt your moment. you peek behind shinsuke’s shoulder to see none other than the topic of the conversation himself stretch towards the two of you.

“osamu-kun, nice to see ya,” the farmer greets him, swallowing down the last of his drink. he slides the empty glass and plate towards you with a shy smile. “i’ll get going then. got a couple more deliveries to make. i’ll see ya ‘round, y/n.”

osamu hardly glances at his old volleyball captain as he stalks into the kitchen without another word, leaving a trail of electricity in his wake, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up as you see kita out. the older rice farmer says nothing, choosing to stare at the swinging door to the kitchen, the only sign left of his presence.

“see ya, y/n,” he turns to you and bows politely. you reciprocate with a more nervous touch, watching him leave with a seedling of warmth blooming in your chest.

your giddy moment is quickly dampened by osamu’s attitude as he makes you hang around the shop to do things that honestly could be done tomorrow morning before opening. he eyes the plate that kita had eaten his onigiri from, gaze darting over the grains of rice stuck to the ceramic. he orders you, not rudely but not with his usual flippant edge, to clean everything up and then go look for umeboshi from the store room as he’s about to make a new batch to sell tomorrow.

you keep your grumbling to a minimum and follow his instructions, muttering to yourself about how much of an ass he was being and that kita was only being friendly.

osamu watches you sweep the dirty plate from the counter and wash it in the sink from the corner of his eyes, his hands on autopilot as they shape the boiled white rice. he turns his head imperceptibly in your direction as you saunter into the store room, hearing noise leave your lips and assuming (correctly) that it was about him.

seeing you and kita together instilled a foreign tightness in his chest, one that he did not like one bit. he’d quietly observed you both from the window before stalking in, his gaze repeatedly flickering to how you’d laughed around his former volleyball captain and conversed with him like you’d known each other forever. but osamu knew you first. way before kita.

it didn’t even occur to him that he was being childish as he suddenly dropped the onigiri he was working on and inhaled sharply. he slips off his plastic gloves and scrunches them into his fist with frightening intensity before marching into the storage room after you, his rational side quickly dwindling as he wondered what was wrong with him today.

it was comical, the way his shadow fell over you. you were slightly crouched, one arm stretching all the way to the back of the shelf to rescue the jar of plums that had miraculously gotten themselves lodged between the wall and the shelf. you were scolding it like it was a naughty child and if osamu’s head was in the right place he would have laughed at you for being so juvenile.

you fell silent and stopped squirming as osamu’s thunderous presence announced itself behind you. you hung your head slightly as you immediately assumed you were in trouble with your boss; perhaps he had heard you complaining about him earlier? his silence was starting to perturb you and you wasted no more of his precious time wrestling your arm free and standing amidst the onigiri ingredients, trying to look as small as possible. you couldn’t meet his gaze, afraid you’d combust on the spot if you did.

“is everything okay, osamu?” you finally ask, your voice sounding less assured than you’d wanted it to. osamu doesn’t speak and only continues to stare at you with those analytical slate-grey irises of his. they dart within their ivory prisons, his long lashes fluttering as he analyses your body language. his hands twitch at his sides, one of them still clenched in a fist around his gloves. he realises you’re looking up at him so obediently and with such concern for him and something within him stirs, your widened gaze eagerly awaiting his next instructions.

he steps closer slowly, his heartbeat lurching into his throat - what was happening to him? he saw how you sucked in a sharp breath, searching his face for an explanation for his actions. but osamu couldn’t give you one; instead, he swallowed thickly, his free hand shaking as he brought it to ghost over your cheek. it was barely touching your skin but he could feel the voltage emanating from you, pulling him ever closer. his eyes search for yours, waiting for you to call him a freak and for you to leave hyogo again.

to leave him again.

instead you simply stood in front of him, caged between the shelves and his body. his broad shoulders block any view behind you and the sandalwood smell of his cologne with undertones of the citrus detergent you both used to clean the kitchen lull you into a daze.

you open your mouth to speak but the words dissolve on your tongue as you match osamu’s stare. the second your gazes lock, you feel the wind being pushed out of your lungs: your six-foot-whatever hunk of a boss who looked uninterested on his better days, was gazing upon you like he didn’t deserve to be in your presence, unworthy of your divine attention. his eyebrow was furrowed and you could almost hear him pleading with you, begging you to bring the torture of his heart to an end. if you didn’t know him any better, you’d have thought he was about to start crying as he leaned down towards you, his own mouth slightly ajar.

he was looking at you like you were a divine statue, gracing his makeshift temple that he had constructed in a wild attempt to bring your good fortune back home to him. he dared not touch you, afraid to chip or blemish your skin as if it was made of ceramic, and the hand by your cheek was shaking with the effort of restraint. the rice bags at your feet became his humble offering to you: he was nothing more than a lowly peasant with his hands clasped in prayer pleading for you to bring him miracle after miracle until he can worship you no longer. you were his deity and his deity alone, and he would wreak havoc on those who dare taint the goodness you’ve bestowed upon him.

his face is inches away from yours now and you can tell that his eyes are glossed over like he’s no longer in control of his own actions. you’re torn between your morals: either you succumb to his stupidly good-looks and kind heart and irrevocably change your relationship dynamic, or you protect what you’ve built for the past two months and snap him out of it. your own selfishness surprises you as you find yourself leaning towards the former option, but before you can even speak again, osamu seems to wake up.

you can almost feel his laboured breathing on your lips as he stiffens in front of you. he blinks a couple of times and you suppose he’s reorienting himself. his back straightens and his hand falls back to his side, the air by your cheek noticeably colder in his absence. 

“y/n..i-” the way he’s looking at you as if he’s hurt you, like he regrets what happened just now, causes a pang in your chest so hard you visibly wince. he must’ve misinterpreted your reaction though as he draws back from you with the practised speed of an athlete, his face returned to its usual deadpan. “...sorry. ‘m so sorry. i shouldn't have-”

once more he’s gone, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your own heart as you attempt to process what had just happened. the air in the storeroom is stifling and you clumsily switch the light off and slam the door. for a while you stumble around onigiri miya, looking for osamu, but he’s not in the kitchen (having abandoned his current batch of onigiri), nor is he fussing about the storefront. you sigh in exasperation, bringing a hand to massage your temple, and decide to call it a day, leaving your apron neatly folded on one of the tables ready for tomorrow, leaving without a second look back.

osamu watches you trudge down the hill from the shadows of the side alley, his lip tucked between his teeth and his fists clenched at his side.

about me. 

ao3 link.

[kirschteinoir]

[2] you're here, that's the thing.

post-timeskip osamu miya x reader.

❝he brought his other hand, not yet blessed by you, to cover his eyes as he waited for his cheeks to cool and his heartbeat to become steady again.

this was going to be a long summer.❞

when life in the city becomes overwhelming, your grandmother decides to sign you up for a summer in the countryside working at onigiri miya, the best onigiri place this side of hyogo! you're not the biggest fan of the early starts and long hot days at first, but your attractive new boss may change your mind...

wc; 3.2k

[erm why timeskip osamu kinda...kinda...]

chapter masterlist.

𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏 𝙏𝙒𝙊. 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙨 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙖𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙮.

this was ridiculous. you were ridiculous.

suddenly the new suitcase you’d bought at the department store for the express purpose of hauling your belongings to hyogo seemed distasteful and haughty as you stood on the doorstep of your grandma’s modest home-for-one. you were embarrassed by its unscathed plastic sheen when you where wheeling it along the dirt path, following the signposts to your grandma’s street (cell service was abysmal at best -  good luck trying to use a digital map!) but at least the walk had given you plenty of time to lament the choice in attire that you’d packed too, realising how out-of-touch they were as you'd passed other countryfolk on the street and subconsciously checked out their attire.

in your grandma’s defence, she’d moved further inland and this new house was a luxury compared to her old place and your childhood stomping ground. the house itself was a comfortable two storeys painted in a cool, unassuming grey. the mahogany window shutters were thrown open, allowing the shy ivory gauze curtains to flutter, peeking past the window frame as you struggled with your case up the path, whispering girlishly to each other at your anticipated arrival. it was not a new build by any means but it was definitely well-looked after and proud. someone had even installed a security camera overlooking the unused driveway as well as an intercom doorbell, which chirped happily as you rang it. you could barely announce your arrival before your grandma’s voice shrills through the speaker, bringing with it a warmth only found in a kitchen blanketed by freshly-baked goods and the smell of vanilla.

“sweetheart! welcome!”

“hi grandm-”

the front door was thrown open with tremendous vigour for a woman her age and you were engulfed in a tenacious hug barely a second later. you hugged her back, not quite as hard, before she pulled away to properly examine your grown-up appearance. 

“yer ma wasn’t kidding, you really have grown into yourself. look at that, ya have new piercings! and your clothes, these are very on trend, right?”

she fussed over you and you let her, obediently answering all her questions about how much you’d changed since you’d last seen her.

“make yourself at home, sweetheart. i’ve just made some tea and i had osamu bring some onigiri over to celebrate your arrival!”

as you were busying yourself with your belongings and trying to find your place in your new life for the next four months, you hadn’t registered the namedrop. it wasn’t until your grandmother reappeared with a few onigiris on a wooden tray that you realised she’d said anything at all.

“try one, try one!”

she wasted no time in pushing one of the rice balls into your hands. the weight of it filled your heart, as if you knew that it would be a fulfilling meal even before your first bite. your grandma fluttered about you, going on one of her ‘old lady rambles’ as you so affectionately called them. you heard only fragments of the whole story, words like ‘onigiri’ and ‘osamu’ and ‘shop’, as your attention was largely on the savoury treat offered before you. the room fell silent, heavy with expectation as you took your first bite.

it was a starchy slice of heaven in your mouth. the rice was perfectly fluffy, literally cloud nine, and you eagerly dove in for a second. the slightly salty softness of the rice then burst open to allow the creamy tuna mayo to envelope your tastebuds, seasoned to a divine perfection. this easily topped every onigiri, both expensive and not, you’d ever eaten from the city and your fingertips were licked clean before you could even realise the childish mess you had created by stuffing almost the whole thing into your mouth.

“honestly! yer just as messy as i remember!” your grandma chided, handing you her handkerchief and insisting you keep it with a grimace after you’d cleaned your mouth with it.

“that was the best thing i’ve ever eaten! who made that again?”

“i already told ya: onigiri miya, which happens to be where yer starting ya new job! first shift is tomorrow, bright and early!”

…what?

slight disapproval flits over your grandmother's features at your immediate reaction; she could tell you were already brainstorming ways to get out of it.

“don’t think you were just going to laze around all summer! osamu does so much for me, like installing that new doorbell when i stopped hearing the old one! he takes care of me when my own daughter and granddaughter are too busy in the city to come and help.”

her pointed look was enough to bring another wave of shame over you, on behalf of your mother too.

“he mentioned looking for a part-timer and i said: i’ll do ya one better, i just got a call asking if my granddaughter can come and stay with me and i thought ‘hah! not for free’ so i told him you would go over n' work for him for a little while!” she was so pleased with herself whilst you were already shrivelling into a husk of your former self. unlike your mother, your grandma was not open for negotiation so you just nod solemnly as your grandmother sighs at you, a hint of mirth and cunning in her wise old eyes.

the next morning you were awoken far too early for what was your idea of a summer vacation, and very abruptly too. as you got ready for your day, making sure to choose a sensible outfit fit for your grandma’s approval, you wondered why the shop name felt so familiar to you. it left you with a sense of calm, occasionally disturbed by a fluttery feeling in your stomach and a warmth in your cheeks. you were reminded of the petal that had flitted softly through your grasp that one april afternoon. weird.

with nothing but a hodge-podge excuse of a map scrawled onto the page of an old telephone book and the clothes on your back, you were sent on your way. when you had wondered aloud about what you were supposed to eat for lunch, she’d given you a firm look before pushing you off her porch and slamming the door in your face.

luckily you found your way without getting too lost by diligently sticking to the streets. although skittish at first, relief washed over you they became more modern and more inhabited the further you walked. it was still mind-blowingly quiet compared to the bustle that you were used to in the city and you couldn’t believe that people actually smiled at you when you walked past them! you returned a few nervously before reaching what you hoped was ‘onigiri miya’ (if the wooden signboard spelling those words in thick black lettering was anything to go by).

at first you couldn’t see any other sign of life except for yourself - were you supposed to wait for this osamu guy? your grandma hadn’t told you anything about what he looked like except ‘you’ll know when ya see him’.

how am i supposed to know someone i’ve never met?

hovering outside the shop like a nervous robber committing their first heist, you definitely looked suspicious as you checked and double-checked the squiggles that formed your grandmother’s map. the creak of a door shook the bones out of your skin and you turned frantically in the direction of the sound, your eyebrows furrowing in panic. you were ready to start pleading for forgiveness, to take whatever the penalty for loitering was around here until you noticed a guy no older than yourself striding in your general direction.

chalking it up to how flustered you'd been by the sudden noise, you don’t miss the way your heart flutters as you observe him. for starters he was shockingly tall - easily 6 foot whatever. and by god was he built.

the sleeves of his black t-shirt had been rolled to his shoulders, teasing you with the tan expanse of his deltoids that bulged out of the black compression sleeves, which did little to hide the other muscles of his large arms. although only a small band of skin was actually showing, you were probably more flustered by it than seeing an entirely topless man. there was already a sheen of sweat gathering at this sweet overflow of flesh and you swallow thickly as your eyes finally dart towards his face.

from the angle at which you were standing, the black cap on his head obscured most of his features. you could just about make out a mouth (pressed into a firm line of determination), a nose (unfairly straight and sculpturesque) and his eyes shrouded by a fringe of dark brown, almost black hair. his looks made him seem both out of place and right at home tucked away in the hyogo countryside: he looked as though he'd be more comfortable on the cover of vogue or on the side of a fancy department store but he also had a certain roughness to his edges that complimented the rustle of wind through the wheat and ripples on the surface of a pond as he snoozed along a river bank.

he cut an imposing figure as he marched towards the pile of rice bags by the entrance that you'd not noticed yet. in one smooth motion he hoisted a bag over his broad shoulders, huffing slightly with the exertion as he turned to deliver it inside the shop. only then did he see your cowering figure. with one hand on his hip and the other keeping the bag of rice steady on his shoulder, he watched you with an imperceptible smugness shielded by the brim of his baseball cap. as he stares at you, you internally scream at yourself to say something that would leave a good impression.

you stutter a few times, trying to at least get your name past your teeth, when he pushes his cap out of his eyes and steps closer to you. you have to crane your neck up to maintain eye contact. you notice that his irises are steely grey in the morning sunlight and otherwise a murky mix of green, black and brown in the shadows. they remind you of a garden pond, the murkiness concealing an entire ecosystem of his thoughts and feelings, ones you were not yet privy to see.

“you must be y/n.”

he says your name with a smooth country drawl and you feel yourself wanting to hear him say it again.

“er, yeah that’s me! is this onigiri miya? my grandma sent me here. i mean, the sign says so, so it must be. and um- are you another employee? do you know when the boss is gonna get here? i think there’s been a misunderstanding-”

you were rambling before you could stop yourself and the handsome stranger had to clear his throat softly to make you pause. your cheeks heat as you inwardly groan at your social awkwardness.

if you could meet his eyes right now, you’d have seen the amusement swirling within them.

“this is onigiri miya alright. and i’m the boss ‘round here. name’s osamu, nice to meet ya y/n.”

you tense up at the mention of your own name again, drawing you out of your thoughts. you stammered out ‘nice to meet you osamu’ in response.

“ah-! sorry, i didn’t mean to be rude! you just seem too young to have your own shop already…” you mumble, realising a little too late how that may sound to him. before you could apologise again, osamu barks a laugh.

“s’alright y/n, i get that a lot. ‘m just lucky to be doin’ what i really love. anyway, i take it yer my new apprentice?”

that damn accent again! and you just about caught the teasing tone in which he called you his apprentice. you were about to remind him that you were only going to be here for the summer but bit your tongue in fear of potentially offending him again.

“y-yeah…”

osamu senses your awkwardness and easily leads the conversation forward. adjusting his cap once more, he brushes the hair from his eyes and readjusts the rice bag still resting on his shoulder (how strong is this man?). his head jerks wordlessly towards the closed door and you scramble to hold it open for him as he trudges past the threshold, the added weight of the rice bag slowing his stride.

“it’s just gonna be me and you for a while ‘m afraid. ‘tsumu’s trainin’ in the city and my part-timer has decided to go backpacking this summer,” he says, almost spitting out the last sentence. although you were behind him, you hear the slight pout in his words and smile to yourself.

“so yeah, just us. we’re actually closed today so i’ll teach ya the ropes in the meantime. don’t worry,” he pauses to dump the rice unceremoniously with the rest of the bags in the tiny storage room. “i won’t put ya on onigiri duty straight away. that’ll be my job. just need ya to watch the counter and take stock every once in a while, y’know.”

you nodded, entranced by his matter-of-fact voice when in reality you had no prior experience with running a food shop/restaurant. in front of you, osamu stands to full height and slots his hands on his hips. you supposed he was expecting a flurry of questions from you but you just stared up at him, blinking, awaiting his next instructions. all the questions you’d had for him only a few minutes prior to your introduction had seemingly evaporated into thin air.

he couldn’t lie to himself any longer - having your adoring gaze upon him at all times really did wonders for his ego. plus, he’d seen you checking him out earlier and deliberately flexed more than usual when he’d lifted the rice onto his shoulder just to reward your worshipping eyes.

after staring at each other for a few more intense seconds, osamu remembered the shop he was supposed to be running. he clears his throat and looks behind you at the rest of the ingredients that needed bringing in.

“hey, you look pretty strong,” he lilts, clearly shaping up your puny form (compared to his, anyway). “why don’tcha bring in those boxes of nori? s’only a couple, surely you can manage.”

now that you had your first official task, you perked up and nodded eagerly.

“sure! where shall i put them?” you ask sweetly, following osamu like a puppy dog-in-training. his heart was doing somersaults in his chest as you fluttered about him, drinking in his every word like it was ambrosia. he thanked the heavens that he was wearing his cap today so that his pinkening cheeks remained obscured from your piercing eyes.

“just chuck ‘em next to the rice, we can sort it out later.”

you nod and breathe a soft ‘thank you’ as osamu holds open the door. you then prop it open with a large jar of umeboshi paste, to which osamu nods, approving your forward thinking. you feel especially proud of yourself as you help your new boss haul the rest of the supplies inside.

there was no shortage of work to do at onigiri miya, a fact you were  forced to confront very quickly. you rose early and slept late for the first couple of weeks as osamu’s new second-in-command and you two would spend all week surrounded by each other. you were nifty where he was clumsy and he was robust where you were feeble: you were the perfect pair.

it was sort of scary how naturally this new routine had come to you both, the whole thing feeling violently domestic. you’d greet him nice and early, your ‘OM’ apron already tied securely around your waist like the star employee that you were. he was always stone-faced in the mornings, his eyes groggy with sleep as he tried to function as a normal human, but by your first customer he would mellow out to his usual playful self by throwing harmless jabs at you for being from the city and you at him for being a country bumpkin.

however sometimes he would say something to you, only to immediately clam up before you could retort playfully. to you they were nothing more than a few off-hand comments about how he was glad you came back, the kind of stuff that you didn’t want to take out of context. then an offbeat look would pass over his handsome features and he'd rapidly cast his eyes away after, mumbling an excuse about being needed elsewhere.

time that should have been spent sleeping was often spent mulling these words over, words that you couldn’t connect no matter how hard you tried. every time this happened you’d be left dumbfounded in the middle of whatever menial task he had set you, feeling somewhat embarrassed. had you insulted him somehow at that moment? a weight gnawed at your stomach and by the end of the day you always felt as though you’d lost years off your life just fretting about it all.

may drew to a close as you managed to, in your eyes, level up from newbie to dishwasher. you no longer had to refer to the printed list to figure out which onigiri to give a customer and your basic addition and subtraction skills had improved since being in charge of the register all week. You even thought you’d gained some muscle after all the physical labour osamu instructed you to do, but every time you brought it up to him he would bark one of the most genuine laughs you’ve ever heard from him. 

meanie.

“you’ll be lifting more than me soon,” he’d quipped one day accompanied by an instinct to reach out and ruffle your hair. surprise morphed your features after he’d retracted his hand and his smile dropped after realising what he’d done. at the time, you dismissed it as a sibling instinct and an attempt at friendship, knowing he had a twin brother. nonetheless, you swore that you saw his cheeks darken before he’d yanked his cap down and practically sprinted out of the room, leaving you alone once again.

the hand that had dared to touch you was frozen by osamu's side. if he tries hard enough, he can still feel the tingling all over his palm, nerve endings electrified after touching yours. he found himself flustered - unable to think or speak clearly. and it was the middle of the day too, he had a shop to run!

he dashed past the lunchtime rush and damn near into the middle of the road before turning sharply right to cower in the shade of the alleyway beside the shop - his secret place of respite. he brought his other hand, not yet blessed by you, to cover his eyes as he waited for his cheeks to cool and his heartbeat to become steady again.

this was going to be a long summer.

about me. 

ao3 link.

[kirschteinoir]

[1] you're here, that's the thing.

post-timeskip osamu miya x reader.

❝just one summer. just to appease her.❞

when life in the city becomes overwhelming, your grandmother decides to sign you up for a summer in the countryside working at onigiri miya, the best onigiri place this side of hyogo! you're not the biggest fan of the early starts and long hot days at first, but your attractive new boss may change your mind...

wc; 728

chapter masterlist.

𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏 𝙊𝙉𝙀. 𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙖𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙡 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙚𝙨, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙙𝙚𝙬𝙮 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙣.

“i don’t know… i just want to do something new…”

the window frame of your small tokyo apartment digs into your arms as you lean dangerously into the spring breeze that finally started to make itself known after many months of red noses and cracked fingertips. you press the phone harder against your ear with one hand in fear of accidentally dropping it whilst reaching out to grab a falling cherry blossom petal with the other. you miss it, watching as it flutters through your fingertips and you reflexively sigh, hoping your downstairs neighbour may appreciate the beauty of spring too and perhaps succeed where you failed.

“tch, are ya sighin’ at me again?” your mother scolds from the other end of the line, her kansai dialect crackling into the receivers as her emotions got the better of her. you quickly rebut, shaking your head and pointing out of the window as if she were next to you in the cramped space of your 66 x 66 square metre prison cell.

“no ma, i swear! i’ve just been in a weird mood lately,” you admit reluctantly, ashamed that you hadn’t yet found your footing in the working world of modern tokyo. you were always the kind of kid who’d tell everyone that one day you’d be the prime minister, or an astronaut, or a famous celebrity, and everyone should get your autograph right now so they would have something worth millions in the future and the bragging rights that they were your classmate at one point. but it didn’t take long for the tumultuous reality of adulthood and life beyond high school entrance exams to hit you - you were still a hard worker to your core but after completing a bachelor’s degree and being left to your own devices as a fully-fledged adult, the foundations of those wild ambitions you’d grown up clutching close to your chest were maybe not as steady as you’d thought.

“as i was saying,” your mother cut through your thoughts sharply, in that way mother’s do when you’re about to be lectured about your life decisions. “how about visiting grandma for a while? for the summer, at least.” 

before you could protest, your mother sensed your reluctance and hastily followed up.

“ya haven’t seen her in ages, when was the last time you went to hyogo? and you’ve been stuck in the city for so long, i can imagine the fresh countryside air would do ya the world of good!”

biting back your whines, you desperately try to think of an appropriate response to your determined mother. while of course you would love to see your grandmother again (she’s probably not had many visitors since your grandfather passed), some part of you rejected your humble beginnings. you’d moved away from a simple life in the countryside at a very young age thanks to your father’s new job in the glittering oasis of tokyo and only ever went back for a week or two during the school summer holidays to see your grandparents. and every summer you’d hated how the dirt never really left the underside of your fingernails or how there was nowhere to hide from the heat, your tiny electric fan about as helpful as a bucket in a flood. eventually your visits ceased altogether and subsequently so did the guilt of missing your grandparents.

“i’ll give grandma a ring as soon as we hang up. she’d love to see her only grandchild again, all grown up!”

ah.

she’d really pulled that card.

despite your initial reluctance, your mother ignores your grumblings and cheers in delight as you finally agree to spend the summer in hyogo with your grandma. just one summer. just to appease her.

it was fast approaching late afternoon by the time you bid your mother goodbye. you’d talked about so much since the initial proposal that you’d half-hoped she would forget her declaration to give her own mother a call; you’d supposed luck had never really been on your side because just as you had convinced her that yes, you had enough groceries for now and yes you were taking your vitamins regularly and definitely drinking plenty of water, she’d brought the subject up one last definitive time.

“i’ll call your grandma now and let you know what she says. bye sweetheart!”

and then the line was dead.

about me. 

ao3 link.

[kirschteinoir]

you're here, that's the thing.

post-timeskip osamu miya x reader.

❝ he dashed past the lunchtime rush and damn near into the middle of the road before turning sharply right to cower in the shade of the alleyway beside the shop - his secret place of respite. he brought his other hand, not yet blessed by you, to cover his eyes as he waited for his cheeks to cool and his heartbeat to become steady again.

this was going to be a long summer. ❞

when life in the city becomes overwhelming, your grandmother decides to sign you up for a summer in the countryside working at onigiri miya, the best onigiri place this side of hyogo! you're not the biggest fan of the early starts and long hot days at first, but your attractive new boss may change your mind...

ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘶𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘯𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘶 𝘢𝘯�� 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯!!!, 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘴, 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘢 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘶, 𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 2021 𝘰𝘭𝘺𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘴, 𝘣𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘹 𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘺𝘦𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘤𝘰-𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘶 𝘪𝘴 23/24 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦

status; completed

cross-posted on ao3 here.

I. old april wanes, and her last dewy morn.

II. you are as welcome as the flowers in may

III. it was june, and the world smelled of roses.

IV. july, with its days of blue skies and time that seemingly stands still, holds a special place in my heart.

V. august rain - the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born.

about me. 

[kirschteinoir]

just thinking about kuroo after the battle of the dumpster...

saw the haikyuu movie and cannot stop thinking about this man!!! kuroo is such an important character to the story and i'm glad his boobs are as big as his love for the game <3 when i tell you i was giggling kicking my feet in my chair whenever he appeared on screen... (≧◡≦) ♡

warnings; teensy bit angsty but has a happy ending i promise!!! mild spoilers for the battle of the dumpster movie and the timeskip

didn’t allow himself to be upset about losing to karasuno until he was alone late at night. for the first time in a while he allowed himself to stay up until the early morning, taking a leaf out of kenma’s book. after everyone else had gone to sleep, he snuck downstairs and re-watched the TV highlights of the match, scrutinising every detail (against his better judgement). he probably doesn’t even realise he’s crying until he can feel snot starting to drip down his lips and he momentarily grosses himself out. but he just lets himself cry and cry, horrible choking sobs that he has to hide behind the sleeve of his jacket so he doesn't wake anyone up. god forbid his team (or coach nekomata) see their giant jokester of a captain expressing his emotions!!!

the ride back home the next day is awkwardly silent. he does his best to remain chipper but he also knows his team needs time to recover and gather their emotions. he makes idle talk with kai since yaku is constantly in tears, who seems to be much calmer than everyone else, and kinda just stares out of the window, chin against his palm, until they pull up outside the school.

he doesn’t see kenma for a few days after the match. partly because kenma has a fever and is sleeping it off, but partly because he doesn’t know what to say to him. especially after the whole ‘thanks for getting me into volleyball’ moment… how do you even begin to talk about something like that? should he even talk about it? or is it something that should be preserved in the moment?

he spends the next few days resting his sore muscles, dodging questions from his dad about how the game went, thinking about how he was going to go to school next week and act like a normal high-schooler again despite feeling like a part of him has died. no more practice, no more volleyball at nekoma high.

of course, everyone at school congratulates the team. they get a shoutout in the school assembly on monday morning and have to awkwardly face the entire school as the principal describes how close they were to winning. it takes a lot for him to not burst into tears again on stage.

a lot of fellow students were cheering them on in the stands and kuroo makes sure to thank everyone sincerely for believing in them as they approach him in the school corridors. people always mention that it was such bad luck that the ball was covered in sweat, causing it to slip in kenma’s hands. kuroo’s smile is strained as he laughs it off, not knowing whether it was worse that their final mistake was something they couldn’t have ever controlled or if he would have preferred it to be a matter of bad technique.

unknowingly he regresses into himself, becoming less talkative and more serious for a short period after the game. it would be especially bad at the end of the school day, when he and kenma would usually meet up and head to the boy’s changing room together for practice. he instinctively packs his gym bag for a while, always realising too late that he didn’t need to bring it with him anymore and then being stuck with it for the rest of the day like some cruel taunt.

eventually he graduates, and real-life problems start replacing the loss of volleyball in his life. he knows the world moved on and now so must he. he speaks to his dad a lot about where he’s going to go after he graduates - he’s always done well in school and performed strongly in the entrance exams he took so he ends up at a decent university in the city, moves away from home (and kenma) to make new friends and start again

on his first day in his new dorm all alone, he feels the introverted, timid kid from his childhood start to resurface again. he thinks he might vomit but he shakes himself out of it momentarily by unpacking his sparse belongings, including his nekoma jacket. it’s comfy, he thinks to himself, and it would be a waste of a jacket if he’d left it to collect dust at home.

thankfully, his lectures and assignments keep him busy for a good month or so once semester starts. at first he texts kenma almost everyday but the younger boy starts to see how kuroo's replies get further apart and much shorter. kenma is still the team’s setter so he doesn’t exactly have free time either, but he wishes kuroo would maybe video call him soon, or at least come home to visit every now and then.

on the whole, kuroo enjoys his first year of university. he’s studying business and joined the uni’s volleyball society and team, through which he made a few friends. people recognise him too, as the captain of the red guys that played that one intense match against karasuno last spring. he’s like ‘yep that’s me :D’ before he thinks about the last time he contacted yaku, kai, kenma or anyone from his life one year ago. he feels guilty and that night, over a bowl of rice and some grilled mackerel, he replies to all of kenma’s awaiting texts (three of them) AND shoots yaku a message about his latest inter-university volleyball match. he also calls his dad, who tells him his sister is back in town and to come home and see her if he can spare the time.

let’s be honest, there probably isn’t a human on earth that kuroo tetsurou doesn’t have chemistry with. he’s definitely fairly popular and the guy that everyone wants to invite out because he always makes it a good time. also had a girlfriend or two (maybe even a boyfriend???) but wasn’t really looking for anything solid so graduated single, much to many peoples' despair.

university got easier when kenma joined him a year later. he helped the younger get acquainted with campus and all the ins and outs of what the students like to do but kenma was never going to be a party animal or a socialite so their dynamic from high-school was largely unchanged. it was just that kenma was now becoming famous and was making shit-loads of money… kuroo was in awe of what kenma had made of his life so far and i feel like he inspired him once again to pursue something he was passionate about, no matter how unconventional it may be

stopped playing volleyball for a while after graduating to work some odd jobs, constantly looking for that one thing that he would do until he would die

one of his uni teammates told him about an internship at the JVA and pushed him to apply for it. of course his application was stellar: interest in volleyball from a young age, outstanding academic performance, captain of his highschool VB team? he was their dream hire

the day he got the internship he invited coach nekomata out for drinks. just the two of them. kuroo still reveres nekomata like a god, despite the older man telling tetsurou he has far surpassed him by now. kuroo remains humble, unconvinced that his future work at JVA would even hold a candle to what nekomata did for him when he was younger. they talk about the nationals match and how it could’ve ended differently, they talk about the nekoma high volleyball club as it is currently and nekomata laments that under kuroo’s leadership it was truly the strongest they’ve ever been. they talk about hinata and kageyama and bokuto and oikawa and all these names from their past excelling in their professional volleyball careers and kuroo realises in his heart of hearts that he wants to be in that world too. maybe not on the court itself but definitely on the sidelines pulling the strings, connecting people. lowering the net.

about me. 

[kirschteinoir]

about you.

vendetta!leon kennedy x reader.

❝ ”and I'll miss you on a train, i'll miss you in the mornin'. i never know what to think about...” “i think about you.” ❞

leon has a favourite bar and one day, you decide to visit him there.

wc; 2277

!! gender-neutral reader but wearing perfume is mentioned, i wrote this with a slight age-gap in mind (what can i say i love me a dilf) but can be read without, drinking, mutual pining (TENSION!!!), leon is a bit of a lewser in this sorry i can’t resist writing cringefail leon

𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘢!𝘭𝘦𝘰𝘯-𝘤𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘪’𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺,,, 𝘪 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱

to anyone but you, it sounded like he was just talking nonsense about an arbitrary bar on the wrong side of town. no one gave leon more than a nod of acknowledgement every time he brought it up, wondering what was so special about this place. but not you - you slipped him a telling smile as he spoke, peering through his long blond lashes.

you hadn’t seen the D.S.O agent in a few months now - you’d had your own commitments and he’d had his. this didn’t stop him from crossing your mind often during your missions: you thought about his eyes, once sky-blue bright but now dull and frozen over like the arctic, his soft blond hair, which was so often matted with blood and sweat that you weren’t even sure he was blond for a while after you met him.

you didn’t know why you’d suddenly had the urge to grace this side of town with your presence, the side that is lit only by neon signs and cigarette butts. the rain patters against your umbrella as you wander down the alleys and the clack of your expensive shoes against the asphalt echoes in the narrow spaces. for a reason unknown even to you, you’d slipped into your best clothes before you’d left - the kind of clothes you reserved for official government meetings and stuffy medal ceremonies. you’d even sprayed a little extra of your expensive perfume in hopes that he would compliment it like he always did.

your relationship with leon was complex to say the least. all you knew of him were longing gazes after the other had left the room, a lingering touch for a second too long as you handed paperwork to him or when he brushed past you in doorways. you knew nothing of his past - his family, his friends or how he became one of america’s best B.O.W hunters - but you could paint his face from memory and pick out his cologne in a blind test. you could map the freckles on his face and trace your fingers over the stubble on his cheeks.

the hour becomes later and later as you sweep past various storefronts and other shifty establishments - some closed for the night, some advertising theri after-hour ventures. you decided to allow yourself to indulge in your thoughts of leon tonight: how had you met again? no matter how hard you tried, you blanked every time you thought about your first meeting with leon. to you, he felt like someone you had never not known and had always been a part of your life (and by extension a part of you). this line of work had a reputation for numbing you to the human condition, making everyday feel the same and replacing your earlier happier memories with unspeakable horrors.

it’s not long before you find yourself in front of a non-descript wooden door that had been painted over so many times and beaten by the elements that it appears a dull, unassuming brown. the glass windows have blackened with the build-up of grime and the brass handle is half-rust by now.

there’s no name, no sign: just a single flickering LED light to draw your attention to the uneven step sitting poised under the door, reading to ensnare the oblivious and send them flying. you lower your umbrella, feeling the rain mist your face as you shake off the excess water and tuck it under your arm. a deep breath escapes you as you push open the door, the wood dragging over the stone with an ugly screech.

you step inside and drop your umbrella into the basket by the door, sighing as you glanced around.

this is exactly the place where leon would be on a day like this.

despite looking unkempt and almost abandoned on the outside, it was rather cosy on the inside thanks to the cheap yellow lights casting a sickly warm glow. very few tables littered the bar floor and even fewer customers to occupy the sticky stools. those who had chosen to sit at the tables sat alone, their backs facing everyone else. they sipped their drinks like robots, staring into space or at the cigarette smoke dancing up from the ashtrays. their gaze barely flickered to you as the door slammed behind you.

there was no ambient music, no chatter - nothing to audibly entice you except the thump of pitchers on the tables or the clumsy clink of a bottleneck against a glass.

there was only one man sat at the bar. you dust down your clothes and clear your throat a little - you weren’t actually expecting him to have to face him tonight. the air feels sluggish as you march over to the bartender and ask for an extra dry martini. he nods once to let you know that he heard you before turning around, effectively leaving you alone with him.

“long day?” the deep timbre of his voice shakes you out of your thoughts as you bite back a smile. you turn to face him, resting your elbow on the grimy bar counter.

“everyday is a long day,” you respond with an honest edge in your voice. his features look tired and worn even under the soft yellow glow of the lights. he chuckles at your response and takes another sip of his drink, pretty pink lips wrapping around the cool glass. you watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows the last of it in one go. you avert your eyes, your heart racing a little.

leon doesn’t need to look at you to know that you’re beautiful today, as you are everyday. even when the pair of you have been covered in blood and guts and you have mud all over your hair and face and your under-eyes show your many sleepless nights, leon still finds you breathtaking. he’ll never forget when you both met for the first time: you, a new recruit just wanting to make the world a better place and him, already numb to the things he’d been forced to endure. the mischievous glint in your eye as you sized him up and how you got him to smile within the first fifteen minutes of knowing him will remain in his memory forever.

he can feel your gaze on him as his glass clinks against the wooden table. clearly, you’re waiting for an invitation to sit with him - he wants to tell you that you don’t need one, ever.

“i don’t bite,” he muses, his finger circles the rim of his empty glass absent-mindedly.

your laugh makes him feel lighter than any mixture of spirit and liquor ever could as you slide over to the stool next to his.

“geez, you reek of liquor. how long have you been at this shithole?”

you raise your eyebrows as you sip your martini, swallowing dryly. now you’re beside him you can see the details of his face: his rough stubble, the faint wrinkles on his forehead from the constant furrowing of his eyebrows and, your favourite, his long blond lashes guarding his cerulean eyes like reeds around a pond. his irises are brighter than normal but still hint at exhaustion and you try not to stare for too long.

leon doesn’t respond: he doesn’t feel as though he needs to. he knows you know the answer to your own question, as if the empty bottle beside his gloved hand wasn’t a dead giveaway.

you mutter his name under your breath as you reprimand him lightly and he feels a lump forming in his throat as his heart skips a beat. his fingers tighten around his glass and he finally allows himself the privilege of looking at you for the first time since you walked in here.

he draws in a quick breath as he’s engulfed by your appearance: you’re a deity to him as you swirl your drink, watching the gin swish against the side of your martini glass. leon feels utterly undeserving of your company and he sighs, letting his hair fall over his eyes.

he doesn’t want to burden you by falling for you.

“what are you doing here?” he asks gruffly, no longer wanting the attention to be on him. he watches from the corner of his eye as you shrug.

“you kept talking about this place so much that i had to come and check it out. i had a gut feeling you’d be here tonight.”

leon smirks and stares down at his calloused hands: the ones that wield pistols with the same ease as he does his toothbrush. his fingertips, constantly smeared with gunpowder, should never be allowed to touch you. his smirk falls.

“pretty miserable gut feeling then, if it led you to me,” he jokes softly. his bad habit of self-deprecation made him cringe but you laugh, downing the last of your martini.

“ever the optimist, leon. lighten up, will you? i haven’t seen you in ages. don’t you think it’s fate that we met tonight?” the alcohol was beginning to daub your judgement and although you only half-believed in what you were saying, the thought that seeing leon tonight was because of divine intervention made you smile. you lean closer to the blond, trying to coax a more relaxed side of him out.

he’s caught off-guard by your openness and lifts his glass to his lips to ease the awkwardness of his reaction. it’s empty though, so he sets it down again.

“fate? i...i don’t believe in fate...”

you roll your eyes playfully at his leon-esque response.

“you know what i mean. it’s funny though, because i was just thinking about you the other day.” you’d meant it to sound light-hearted and friendly but leon senses something else hiding between your words. he raises an eyebrow at you, genuinely curious.

“thinking about me? to what do i owe the honour?”

he finally turns to face you fully, crossing his arms over his chest. his leather jacket squeaks as he anticipates your reply.

“nothing like that...” you begin, sensing the smugness of his question. “you just crossed my mind, s’all.”

your answer doesn’t satisfy leon but he doesn’t push you, knowing you’d let him in eventually - you often found yourself being more chatty, more open, more vulnerable when you spoke alone with leon. it constantly eluded you as to why: he didn’t exactly have the most welcoming personality. you just couldn’t help yourself, taking his comfortable silence as a sign to continue whatever you were rambling on about. it was a dangerous habit that you knew you had to reign in, for both of your sakes.

he notices the lull in conversation and his throat starts to close up - his hands feel a little clammy and he realises that he doesn’t want you to leave just yet.

“can i get you another drink?”

your cheeks heat a little as you nod. “sure. i’ll just have another martini,” you say sweetly.

he nods stiffly and flags down the bartender. he doesn’t order a refill for himself, which honestly surprises you.

“are you tapping out for the night?” you joke, motioning to his empty glass with a smirk.

the blond dares to chuckle at your joke, shaking his head. now that you were here, he wanted to remember every second of it and he knew another bottle would breach his usual limit. no, he was very much staying sober from now on.

“a thank you would be nice,” he quips, leaning forward and resting his arms against the table. he steals another glance at you, getting lost in your features as he commits them to memory for the millionth time, afraid of ever forgetting you. he doesn’t realise he’s staring until you clear your throat softly and look towards the bottles of liquor lined up behind the bar.

“thanks...”

“you look nice today,” leon blurts out at the same time as you thank him. he immediately fidgets in his seat, not meaning to speak over you.

whilst leon has complimented you before (nice shot!, you just saved my ass., good work today. ect) this one felt new. it stirred something within you that you had been trying to suppress ever since you first joined the D.S.O. your gaze snaps up to his face and you try to discern his own feelings right now. he was making it difficult though, by refusing to look at you.

“thank you, leon,” you say tenderly.

god, the way you said his name had his mind reeling. he sucks in a sharp breath at your tone, knowing he was fighting a losing battle by trying to stay on his side of the line.

“sorry..i-” what was he even apologising for?

you cut him off by placing a hand on his arm as an attempt at reaching out to leon, hoping he’ll meet you halfway. his cornflower eyes flicker up to yours in surprise and you can see his lashes fluttering as he figures out what to say next.

“there’s this new vietnamese restaurant that opened up near my place. i’ve been meaning to go recently but i’ve always been away on missions...”

his eyes visibly soften and he relaxes as he realises what you’re doing.

“oh really?” he breathes, daring to glance at your lips for a fraction of a second. this doesn’t go unnoticed by you and you smile.

“yeah. i was thinking of going tomorrow actually. around 7.”

after a pause, leon nods.

“maybe you’re right. fate did bring us together tonight.”

you bite back a laugh, taking another sip of your martini.

about me. 

[kirschteinoir]

the boy from the village.

gojo satoru x reader.

❝ “wait, how do you know where i live? are you a creepy stalker too?” you cry, trying to break free from his vice grip again.

“no, i’m just your guardian angel.” ❞

despite being one of the best at gokumonkyo angels inc, gojo satoru had no idea what he would be getting himself into when he agreed to temporarily watch over you as your guardian angel.

wc; 3189

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥!! 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘣𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘦𝘩𝘩

gojo satoru thought humans were weird. sure they were fun to observe every now and then, but some of the choices they made drove him to near insanity with wonder. he’d often seen the other guardian angels wipe away the faint trickle of a salty tear when their human’s heart got broken, or turning red in the face from white-hot anger. you see, a guardian angel is connected to it’s human through the heart, meaning any sort of emotion would be amplified in an angel’s body, the most common one being heartbreak. when he was still getting used to his wings and finding his bearings in the giant headquarters satoru often sat with his mentor yaga who’d lounge day after day in front of his gold-plated television, watching as his human continued to get their heart broken by too many people. satoru thought it was ludicrous that there was nothing a guardian angel could do: according to the guidebook every new angel must learn off by heart, matters of the emotion were not considered physical threats. guardian angels only protected their humans by steering them away from choices that would bring an untimely end so they were forbidden from intervening. this precious rule to maintain balance between the two colliding worlds irritated satoru even as he worked his way up through the ranks to become the well-respected angel he is today. vying for change within his realm, gojo took on the immense responsibility of mentoring younger angels, just as he had been mentored by yaga. but the difference between him and his old, traditional teacher was that he was far more active (though the more common phrase he’d heard was ‘radical’) and pushed his students to experiment with where an angel ends and their human starts, much to others’ chagrin.

despite having this reputation at gokumonkyo angels, he’d yet to be assigned to a permanent human, not being able to last longer than a few months each time. this was not his fault (as he was so often reminded out of pity) as it just so happened he couldn’t help but feel most connected to those in tragedy. despite his somewhat shallow persona, in his heart satoru was aware of how tirelessly nanami kento, a fellow angel and friend, worked to find him a match. at the most ungodly hours of the night the snowy-haired angel would creep into the assignment room and snoop around the blond’s computer for a bit (just because they’re angels doesn’t mean they can’t use modern technology!), looking through many profiles of humans his age that have yet to be assigned to an angel. every night he did this, it would reach a certain point where the frustration would boil over and satoru would stalk out of the room again with a face like thunder, his thoughts flying a thousand kilometres a minute.

to everyone’s demise he often joked that he was too good for anyone and would simply ascend to godhood on his own before being smacked upside the head by utahime for indulging in his overconfidence.

back on earth, it was just another hectic day of many for you as you woke up late once again for your morning lecture, the one that you’d signed up for on a whim with high hopes (and a touch of delusion) that it would be the sole reason for breaking your bad sleeping habits. so far, no progress has been made as you tear yourself away from the warm cosy covers like a band-aid from a wound. you grumble as you brush your teeth and pull on a hoodie, hoping not to run into too many people on your way to the lecture hall. barely managing to wolf down some breakfast, you scramble into the hall with a few other stragglers and squeeze into an empty seat, fumbling with your laptop and willing it to wake up a little bit faster so you could at least get down the title of today’s lecture. how ironic.

 your only friend in class sat too many rows away from you (obviously having arrived on time), diligently taking notes whilst you couldn’t be bothered to glide your fingers over the keys like normal. you stared blankly at the powerpoint, the slides flickering in your sullen gaze, as the chill of the room settled into the open crevices of your clothes. from the moment you had woken up a strange feeling settled in your gut and you weren’t a fan of it. you felt unprotected and exposed, like a child who has just realised they were babbling away to no one and that their parent was nowhere in sight. wanting nothing more than to crawl back into the safe cocoon of your bed, you counted down the seconds until you were free again.

-

“suguru?”

no response.

“suguru? it’s satoru,” he calls softly.

geto suguru’s room was as dull as a rainy day, save for the faint flickering glow of the television in the corner. suguru himself was sprawled out on his couch, wings curled neatly beneath his body, shivering slightly. his eyes were sealed shut and it was obvious that he wasn’t watching anything that his human was doing on screen. sighing, satoru turned the television off and pushed back the thick cream curtains, allowing the light to flood the room once more. his best friend awoke with a jolt, sleep still in his eyes and his inky hair ruffled messily about his shoulders.

“morning sleepy head. didn’t you rest enough last night?”satoru jokes light-heartedly, before realising that suguru was not laughing along and instead looked more gaunt that usual. worriedly, he rushes over to his side and placed a hand to his best friend’s forehead, which is covered in a sheen of sweat.

“oh my god, suguru you need to see the doctor right now!”

“all. night. they were up all. damn. night,”suguru whispers hoarsely in reply, fingers curling weakly against the ivory cushions. he clears his throat, a horrible hacking sound, and groans.

“kept you on your toes? listen ru, you need to see a doctor. like, right now!” satoru gestures wildly. shaking his head suguru tries to sit up but winces and collapses again.

“i’ll watch over your human until you get better, okay? what’s their name?”

“y/n...” suguru mumbles weakly. another series of coughs rack his body and satoru, internally panicking, flies him straight to yaga and drops him off without a single word. once he returns he goes about cleaning geto’s room, sweeping the floors and dusting down the television, which is now back on at full power and showcasing your riveting day at university.

“this already looks boring,” the platinum-haired angel mutters, resting his chin on porcelain hands. “it’s like watching paint dry.”

-

between arriving home after a gruelling day at school, doing the bare minimum revision for three hours and taking a hot shower, you had worked up an appetite. you were craving some cheap and cheerful food from the convenience store, and you thought tonight would be the perfect opportunity to go anyway, after discovering a shopping list you’d pinned up on your fridge during one of your more productive days. snatching up the note and pulling on your trainers, you were out the door in a flash, heading towards the convenience store a few minutes away from your home. the feeling from this morning had still not left your gut, and had now wormed its way into your chest, sometimes making your breathing irregular. you weren’t too on edge but more alert to your surroundings than normal, just the occasional blare of a siren somewhere far off making you jump. you arrived at the store with no problem and silently cheered as you were washed over by the stark white LED lights, thankful that it was still open at a time like this. as you wandered the derelict aisles of the store, you hadn’t noticed the hooded figure shadow you as you pondered between your two favourite ramen flavours. but someone else had.

-

“oh. my. god.”

gojo satoru stiffens in his seat as he watches the hooded figure follow you into the store and join you in the ramen aisle a few moments later. his shoulders are so tense they begin to cramp as you stay oblivious, even when the figure had reached for the same ramen you had, clearly with no intention of buying it. alarm bells were pounding in satoru’s head but he waits a while longer, watching you pay and skip out with your new haul.

before the hooded figure could even notice that you had payed already, satoru dashes for the main lobby of gokumonkyo angels inc and barrels into the junikyu - a special type of elevator and the main link between angels and humans, transporting them immediately to anywhere in a 3km radius of their human. the junikyu also provided the angel with a set of ‘human’ clothes of their choice to conceal their wings and help them blend in a little better. yukatas aren’t really in modern fashion anymore, are they?

this time, satoru is taken to a run-down motel around the corner of the store you had just visited. his head throbbed and he knew this meant that danger was becoming more and more imminent so he hastily changes into the sunglasses, hoodie, leather jacket and jeans he had been given, hopefully concealing his wings. the elevator dings almost comedically as if it was mocking the rush against time that the angel was in. he hopes that he isn’t too late as he sprints down the street but then he sees you on the other side of the road. full of relief, he rushes up behind you, bristling against the person in dark clothing coldly. satoru lazily slings an arm around your shoulders, startling you greatly as you try and wrestle him off.

“dude! what the hell-”

“there’s someone following you, i’m trying to make sure you’re safe and if you don’t believe me, look for yourself,” he whispers into your ear and you shiver before turning your body slightly. he feels you tense up beneath him and you turn back around.

“thanks for this but we’re still being followed!” you whisper back loudly.

curses, it’s the diligent type. satoru shakes his head and wordlessly grabs your hand, breaking out into a sprint with you stumbling behind him, your shopping bumping painfully at your side. neither of you know if you’ve lost them until you reach the entrance of your apartment block.

now in clearer lighting, you get a real good look at your ‘hero’. his hairs is shockingly white but somehow very fitting for a person like him. it flutters over his eyes a little, which are covered by a pair of designer shades - at night? as you stare at them for a bit too long, trying to see past the murky black tint, the only word to describe the rest of him is ethereal. not to mention, while you were pressed against his side a moment ago you noticed how toned he was... is he wearing anything under that hoodie?

you almost allow yourself to be bewitched by his charming good-looks and angelic smile before you harsh reality slaps you across the face.

“thanks but you can really let go now, dude.”

“not until you’re inside your apartment,” satoru replies firmly, having already memorised your apartment number and floor from when he snuck around the files on suguru’s desk out of boredom earlier this afternoon.

“wait, how do you know where i live? are you a creepy stalker too?” you cry, trying to break free from his vice grip again.

“no, i’m just your guardian angel.”

the words ricocheted inside your mind, whizzing around the space between the front of your brain and the back of your confused eyes. you shake your head and force out a laugh awkwardly. your so-called guardian angel did not laugh back.

“wow, you got me there! pick up lines are so extreme nowadays...”

“satoru. gojo satoru.”

“you got me there satoru. now can you stop being so creepy before i call the police? thanks!” you exclaim with a sickly sweetness like that of vanilla fondant. satoru remains emotionless, a different character from the person who saved you only minutes ago.

“seriously, i’m your guardian angel. they exist, y/n,” he tries again.

why is he telling you this? he’s done his job and normally he would be long gone by now. but there’s something about you that is keeping him here and he knows he won’t leave until you are safe asleep in bed.

his voice is as hard as the grey linoleum squeaking beneath your trainers as he continues to escort you back to your apartment.

“ok so not only do you know where i live, you also know my name? i’m seriously going to call the police.”

you slide your phone out of your hoodie pocket and reach to unlock it. panicking, satoru smacks it out of your hand on reflex and it lands with a painful crack on the floor. you both stand there, gobsmacked, before you reach down an assess the damage. luckily, nothing has been scratched or smashed and you wipe at your blurry reflection in the murky black mirror, your hands shaking slightly. you sigh, genuinely frustrated and irritated now.

“satoru, was it? i don’t know who you are or why you’re still here but you have to go home. look, i’m at my apartment now. i’m safe.” you mutter this darkly and give him a hard stare, which he completely disregards as he pulls his hand away from yours and slides them into his pockets.

“i need a place to stay tonight, yaga just will have to let me back into gokumonkyo tomorrow,” he says with a yawn: he’s clearly waiting for you to unlock your door.

you cannot believe the gall of this handsome stranger. goku-what now?

“um hello? you fucking idiot! go home!” he flinches at your colourful language and you roll your eyes at this. this cold stranger you met not even half an hour ago is asking to be let into your home so he can crash for the night? and he claims to be your guardian angel? sure, he saved you from that creep and he’s very easy on the eyes but there is no way you were going to let him stay, even if it meant putting up a stern front and a petty fight.

and eventually calling the police to have him escorted off of your property.

satoru is, of course, oblivious to your irateness, despite feeling something like it himself. he felt weird inside; his insides burned like fire and he wanted to scream at you, punch you, kick you. but of course, he didn’t and merely tried to control his breathing, knowing it was the reflection of your emotions towards him. he didn’t like this feeling at all; he much preferred the one he’d felt when he first saw you. the weird fluttery feeling in his stomach, the increased heart rate and the irresistible urge to smile. he doesn’t know why, but his brain is a peculiar thing and suddenly he’s blurting out this question like it wouldn’t mean anything to the both of you.

“remember when you were five? and you fell into that pond?”

he has no idea where this is coming from or where it’s going.

you seize up immediately, hand clamped around your keys. the familiar feeling of the water constricting your body like a fierce python, the underwater reeds latching to your ankles and yanking you down to the pond’s muddy bed. the entire thing swallowing you wholly. as you struggled to stay above the water that flooded every crevice and pore of your skin, you recall brilliant white light and a pair of strong arms lifting you. the water had rushed back into the pond like an animal recoiling after a hit and as you lay on the grass of the bank, soft porcelain hands placed themselves on your heart. you still remember the incredible warmth that had replaced the frigidity of the pond, comforting your body like a blanket and drying out the water on your skin until you were perfectly fine. you also remember brilliant blue eyes as clear as the midday sky before everything had become fuzzy.

“y-yes...i fell in and must’ve passed out. when i woke up, i was completely dry,” you reply shakily. satoru’s eyebrows soften; he’s glad you remember.

“who saved you?” he prompts again.

“a boy from the village, a few years older than me.” at this, satoru’s face falls with bittersweetness. it was he who had saved you from death, snatching you away before it could take you for good at such a young age. he was a lot stricter with the rules of guardian angels back then and knew that angels were supposed to stay a secret, so he’d meddled with your memory and swapped himself for a village boy that was purely fictional. it also didn’t help that it was supposed to be suguru saving you, but for some reason he had left the tv unattended and by the time he had returned, gojo was already by your side. gently, he pries the keys out from your grasp and let the two of you in. you were a little shaken from recalling such trauma and he sat you down before beginning looking after you: he kept his jacket firmly on to hide the outline of his wings against his hoodie, but found an old blanket and handed it to you, along with a mug of hot tea. you smile weakly and sip the scalding tea, forcing it down even though it burned your throat. he sits quickly sits beside you after putting your shopping bag on the kitchen table.

“i don’t know if i’m breaking any codes by telling you this,” satoru begins softly, almost whispering. “but i think it has to be said because i’ve already said too much and it would be cruel to leave you like this. the reason i know about the pond incident is because i was the boy who saved you. not the village boy though, your guardian angel. well, technically i don’t really belong to you and you don’t belong to me but geto suguru, your real angel, couldn’t get to you on time. so i came to your rescue in his place. slowly he reaches up to the sides of his face and gently dislodges his sunglasses, folding them neatly on your coffe table. he doesn’t need to look at your reaction to know that you recognise his eyes.

silence settles again and you’re too overwhelmed to notice the hot mug burning your hands. but satoru gracefully takes it off you and sets it on a coaster without spilling a single drop.

“satoru?” you finally whisper. worry, an emotion he’s so familiar with, crosses his face and he reaches out to touch your cheek.

“yes?”

“thank you.”

he knows you’re not talking about the tea.

about me.

[kirschteinoir]

New day , new year was so sweet aw man 🫶🥹

thank you so much !! i'm very glad you enjoyed it <3

[kirschteinoir]

new day, new year.

jean kirschtein x genderneutral!reader.

❝“goodnight kirschtein, see you in the morning.”

you haven’t the will to fight the drowsy feeling as he settles his jacket over your shoulders and shuts the window, keeping the cold air from making you shiver. he doesn’t make a move to lay next to you, though he’s feeling pretty fatigued himself, a lot earlier than normal.

““goodnight my love, i really hope i will.”.” ❞

it’s december 31st and jean is stuck in a time loop: every night, as people ring in the new year, jean races against the clock to find and kiss his soulmate at midnight. if he doesn’t do it in time, he’s is forced to live the day over again.

wc; 2551

jean immediately woke with cold sweat settling on his skin. his eyes darted towards the digital alarm clock in a frenzy, head flopping back down onto his pillow when he realises the time. eren was yet to rouse and wake him up shortly after so jean laid in bed with his eyes closed again and tried to slow his breathing until 6:00am rolled around.

every morning that he awoke early, jean thought about how all of this had started: he remembers christmas, which felt like a lifetime ago, before the last week of december had blended together and he’d woke up on new year’s eve; the day had gone by smoothly and he’d had been buzzing for the party later, hosted by his good friend connie (who loved any excuse for a party). he’d picked out his best clothes and styled his hair promptly, thinking ‘it’s only one night, i should go all out.’

it was a good night overall, a great one even. but when the countdown had begun jean had panicked ever so slightly because he couldn’t find a new year’s kiss, as cheesy as that sounds - he’s a romantic guy and has known to be partial to festive cliches. however his supposed date had wandered off somewhere, or even had left the party well before the witching hour and so as the clock struck midnight and the date on his phone blinked over to the 1st of january, jean fell asleep alone surrounded by couples and the flickering of the fireworks outside.

the first time it had happened, jean was extremely confused.

when he’d woken up back in his bed, despite having passed out on a small armchair in connie’s basement, he hadn’t acknowledged the sense of de ja vu, nor did he have the wicked hangover he expected after all the drinking he did to numb him from his loneliness. he didn’t clock the date on his phone when he opened it to find new messages about some party: hadn’t they just celebrated the new year? he quickly voiced this confusion to his friends, hoping that they would tell him it’s an elaborate prank and that today was actually december 31st but all he got were equally as confused responses and connie’s “what do you mean? it’s the 31st today jeany-boy, the party’s tonight!”

jean’s heart rate sped up as he opened the calendar app, indeed confirming the date today in an intimidating black font that mocked and taunted him. after mulling over the panic in his mind, jean realised he was stuck in a time loop and had yet to figure out how to break it.

in the ‘present day’, jean was unsure of what year it was and what was happening outside of this time loop - it had quite literally become his life to be constantly surrounded by the promise of a party and then sulking for the entire evening until he fell asleep just after midnight and the vicious cycle repeated itself.

when his 6:00am alarm finally rang, jean switched it off immediately and began to count down the seconds until eren would burst into his room, wearing a white hoodie and a pair of dark blue jeans, telling his best friend that they had to make an emergency trip to the store to pick up some last minute snacks.

knowing what would happen and when was little comfort to jean when he still wasn’t clear on the only thing that would make him feel better: knowing how to break the time loop and make it into the next year. for a few cycles, jean experimented with the time loop by making small changes every now and then to see what would happen - the butterfly effect and all that. however it wasn’t long before his worst fears were confirmed: he was unfortunately unable to alter the time loop. like the first time playing a video game, it would never let him leave his room until eren had shown up and it wouldn’t let him open his wardrobe to get dressed before the brunet had flounced out a few minutes later. he would need to unlock the first part of the opening sequence to interact with the rest of the world.

as soon as the word one had been uttered by jean, his door was flung open in a raucous manner and in bounced eren jaeger, his close friend and roommate of many years. he was already washed and dressed, yelling at jean to wake up so that they could go together and buy some different doritos because armin was being picky about the flavours he wanted. groaning, jean ushered him out of his room despite the former’s complaints and whines and at last, he was free to use the bathroom and freshen up.

after the hassle about the snacks, which jean had easily rectified by buying a few more bags of each flavour, the afternoon soon bled into evening and the whole of paradis seemed to be thrumming, alive with the electricity of the next 365 days - a new beginning.

“it’s almost 10, why are there so little people here?” connie whines loudly, breaking into another can of beer. jean had heard this complaint a hundred times and he mumbled along to them under his breath like he was rehearsing lines from a play. he knew how it all played out: eren smacked connie upside the head, spewing a few lines about how people would show up soon, though he didn’t sound too convinced himself and checked the time on his phone a lot. jean himself sipped his drink leisurely, watching sasha and mikasa race each other on mario kart, despite being at a party they helped host. armin busied himself by organising the snacks for the nth time, carding a hand through his blonde fringe when he was unhappy with the layout on the table, and it was moments like these that jean felt most comfortable. even though he was doubtful, maybe tonight would finally be his night and that he’d be able to break this cruel curse and be engulfed back into the real world, with real time. he’d grown so used to being a part of this somewhat twisted show, this continuously replaying scene, that he wasn’t sure what he’d do when the velvet curtains finally close and there is no cruel encore.

the minutes turned into hours and suddenly, the party was in full swing. on the original night jean’d been smiling and dancing with his friends like a lunatic, letting loose for once after a tough month of college. but jean had done that too many times now that the thought had lost its lustre and slumped against the kitchen counter, sipping his fourth drink of the night. all hope of finally escaping withers away with the alcohol that trickles down his throat and the familiar buzz brings him light-heartedness once again. his limbs relax and his shoulders stop being so tense, sagging ever so slightly. maybe tonight he’d just enjoy himself like he’d done countless nights before.

just before you had ruined his routine in the most perfect way possible, jean had been humming along to the song blasting from the speakers as he washes out his cup, filling it with water in a pitiful attempt at self-control. he doesn’t notice another presence behind him until he’s taken a step back and bumped into you gently. the drink you had been pouring spills all over the counter, reflecting the coloured LED lights like a mirage, and immediately he turns to apologise.

the words about to spiral past his lips become lodged in his throat when he drinks in the sight of you. you, in all your glammed-up glory, looking utterly... angelic. wracking his brain for any memory of you, jean feels whiplash when he remembers nothing. he’s never seen you before in his life.

“umm...hello? could you please pass me a tissue?” you ask sweetly, with urgent undertones as the alcohol drying on your hand feels uncomfortably sticky. the mysterious boy with the swept back ash-brown hair snaps out of his trance and gives you a charming smile before handing you a wad of kitchen roll and helping you clean up the mess he caused. as you two work in tandem, he apologises profusely despite your efforts to set him straight.

“i’m really sorry, i should’ve been watching what i was doing!”

“honestly, don’t worry. i should’ve been more wary of the small space,” you say with an awkward laugh. there’s another moment of silence as you gazes both skim over the other, taking in their appearance like it’s the last time you’ll see each other. there’s a strange sort of magnetism between the two of you and you decide that you like him and would like to get to know him (although you feel as if you know him better than you know yourself already). your date for the night had melted into the crowd anyway so is there really any harm in indulging this friendly stranger?

“i’m y/n, what’s your name?”

-

there were no words to describe the elation jean had felt when you struck up a friendly conversation with him. he’d gotten the sense that you felt it too, but the more time you spent together, the less you wanted to be apart. after introducing himself, he was immediately infatuated with you, jean hadn’t even bothered to check in on his friends (not that he needed to: he knew connie would be playing beer pong with bertholdt and reiner in the basement, armin would be passed out in connie’s bedroom upstairs with mikasa and eren fussing over him and sasha would be mixing up a storm at the liquor station) because he felt as though time with you was slipping through his fingers like the purest silk and he craved your attention and validation like no other. he liked how your eyes looked when you smiled, how you would become flsutered and punch him gently on the arm when he’d tease you a little, and he definitely didn’t miss the way your gaze would sometimes flutter to his lips and back up to his eyes as he spoke.

before you both knew it, midnight was looming above you. it was at this point in the evening when jean started to worry that you’d leave but you showed no sign of moving away from his warmth as you laughed into the crystal night sky. when the music became too loud and the lights flashed too much, he’d taken you to refuge on the upper level of the house in a room with a tiny balcony - barely enough room to fit you both - where partygoers made themselves scarce. the midnight chill cooled your racing hearts and hot cheeks. even after spending the whole evening together, you hoped he wasn’t like every other guy you’d spent the night at a party with and would just disappear the next morning, no telephone number in sight. you got the gut feeling that jean wasn’t like that though, with his arm draped over you loosely and you curled into his body. he’s been delicate with you the entire night, treating you like the finest china, but the grip on your arm is strong. you’re lost in the steady rhythm of his breathing as the countdown to midnight begins, the shouts distance when you’re surrounded by him.

unbeknownst to you, you are his only hope. 

“i’m not sure why i feel this way,” you mumble into his shirt, taking his silence as a means to continue, “but i feel like i’ve known you forever. have we met before?”

the low rumble of laughter fills your ears.

as the countdown closed in, you had made up your mind to spend your new year’s kiss on jean kirstein. and you’re quite determined about this too, refusing to go home without the lingering feeling of his lips on yours.

FIVE!

“no, we haven’t,” he replies softly looking down at you, nervous eyes running over your own lips, silently asking for your permission.

FOUR!

“hmm, that’s weird then.” it’s barely a whisper as you lean up to him, slowly closing the distance.

THREE!

suddenly he sighs and smiles. “thank you, y/n.”

TWO!

“for what?” you whisper. you can smell his cologne as your noses brush.

ONE!

“for breaking my curse and finally closing the curtains on this shitshow for good.”

you don’t have time to decipher the cryptic metaphor when he leans in, your lips locking softly. the kiss lasts for no more than a few seconds but you both feel exhilarated as you break apart and rest your foreheads together. the mix of alcohol and feelings starts to catch up with you as the fireworks connie got from god-knows-where begin to flash in the prettiest colours and patterns across the sky and you’re not sure why you suddenly feel so sleepy. he leads you inside, his thumb rubbing warm circles over the back of your hand and you practically collapse onto the bed.

“goodnight kirstein, see you in the morning.”

you haven’t the will to fight the drowsy feeling as he settles his jacket over your shoulders and shuts the window, keeping the cold air from making you shiver. he doesn’t make a move to lay next to you, though he’s feeling pretty fatigued himself, a lot earlier than normal.

“goodnight my love, i really hope i will.”

about me.

[kirschteinoir]

play along.

toji fushiguro x reader.

❝ his arm slides easily down to your waist to claim it as its new home and he pulls you flush to his side. stooping slightly so he’s within whispering distance, the close proximity causes you to shiver.

“play along. i’ll explain everything in a minute, ‘k darlin’?”since you weren’t really in a position to object, you decided to obey and play along.❞

after a long day of class, the cherry on top comes in the form of being followed home. with no music and a dead phone, a handsome stranger swoops in to save your ass (and maybe invite you out for dinner at the end of it.)

wc; 2550, genderneutral pronouns are used but he calls you doll/angel/darling! also includes descriptions of anxiety but no actual panic attack.

usually, you'd never have let it get this far.

you’re bright, sharp. always aware of your surroundings before they are aware of you and never one to let such a fatal detail slip your mind; even on the worst of days you powered through to the end, falling asleep satisfied and excited for the new day.

today, however, was worse than your worst days.

nine hours of lectures and supervisions and work (with not a drop of caffeine in your system until it was far too late - the coffee shop you often frequented had closed due to a leak or something and it had entirely set your morning off on the wrong foot) scraped dully at your knife of a brain, rendering it completely useless for its function by five in the evening. you were desperate to go home to your overpriced city apartment with it’s ventilation that chose only to work on 2-3 business days (and the repair man would obviously not be at work for the rest of the week) and the sink you used to clean both your teeth and your dishes to taper it once again into a fine blade with the incredibly effective sharpening stone known as ‘a hot meal and your favourite show on netflix’.

maybe…pasta. pasta sounded really good right now.

you stepped out of your last lecture for the day into the brisk march evening. spring was on the brink of bursting over into the reservoir of mother nature and yet the infrequent bluster nipped at your exposed cheeks and rubbed your ears red and raw. so you snuggle further into your coat and fly down the steps of your lecture hall, weaving through the mass of students also finished for the day.

it was as if by magic your energy had dissipated the moment you’d leapt off of the last step and reached the gate that would lead you out of campus towards freedom. all at once you felt the day’s fatigue deliver a fatal blow to your solar plexus; you draw in a sharp breath, letting it sit on your tongue before pushing it out in a heavy sigh after mulling it over in your lungs for a moment. your shoulders suddenly acknowledge the weight of your bag and you know the coffee you’d had with your soggy sandwich at lunch has officially worn off.

to make matters worse your phone had died just a little over 10 minutes ago and of course you’d left your charger at home. you knew the battery was unpredictable on a good day; in that moment you vow to take it into a shop at the next chance available.

and so, completely alone with your thoughts, you begin walking home.

wow, had the walk always been this long? usually your songs blended into each other, serving as an idyllic distraction until you were fiddling with the lock of your front door. today, however, felt different: not a soul was out at a time that was usually bustling and the sky was darkening into an ugly murky grey-blue, possibly the teasing tells of a storm. your throat began to close and you had to clear it too many times than socially acceptable in one minute to prevent a coughing fit. your hands, which normally slotted themselves comfortably in your pockets as you bopped along to the beat of your favourite song, were now wringing themselves in front of you. you observed your own deft fingers sliding over your knuckles, reddened by the cold, only to pull back and repeat the motion all over again. not only was your pacing irregular, you found that you had to stop yourself tripping a few times too. unusual for someone who’d walked this route so many times that the cracks and uneven spots in the path were engraved into your brain.

and then it hit you: you were nervous.

but this nervousness was different to when you had to showcase your presentation in front of your supervision group during your first week of university. it wasn’t like the time in high school when your crush brushed past you in the hallways between classes and you’d hoped they would stop and say hello. no, this was a primitive kind of nervousness - an instinct that evolution had not yet succeeded in removing. the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end and your skin prickled with the electricity of a thousand neurones firing beneath your skin.

quick, slow your breathing. steady your pace. get as much oxygen into your lungs as possible. somewhat stiffly, you hastened down the street past the smattering of independent shops that had closed for the day.

something makes you falter and your next step is jerky and uncoordinated. had your anxiety finally gotten the better of you?

it’s so slight, a noise carried by the wind towards your heightened sense of hearing. a second set of footsteps.

internally you shut down. you’d heard stories of this happening and you found yourself praying, borderline begging, to make it home tonight. your neck was paralysed with fear and you didn’t have the heart to turn around, your mind running rampant with all the possible outcomes of this scenario.

you were still pretty far from your place. a good ten minutes of a brisk walk along the shortest path, maybe even fifteen if you were unlucky. your usual route was a corn maze of back alleys and unfavourable night time establishments and so you contemplated the longer but more populated route through the city centre. you might even be able to find the police station and scare this person away.

but you reeeeeeally wanted to go home.

while you marched on with ragged breathing, your thoughts had unintentionally distracted you at the wrong time; you never even heard him approach and you were far too busy muttering under your breath to clock the warm hand that rested lightly on your shoulder.

everything about his presence overwhelmed you. whoever this person was kept extremely fit and was definitely above average height. his gait was strong and menacing, like he knew exactly who he was and that no one would ever be able to cross him. he easily fell in time with your awkward pace, casting a shadow over you so strong that you thought you’d suddenly shut your eyes: he entirely blocked out the now-setting sun. his bicep was about the size of your head and subsequently this was all you could see as you craned your neck up at the person who had caught up to you. your momentum of your stride stuttered in shock but his firm grip forced you to keep walking.

“hey baby, you told me to wait for you at your lecture. whatcha doin’ out here, hm?”

the grittiness of his voice did nothing to stop the confusion spreading through your mind, poisoning any coherent thought you might’ve had. it was nice, with a deep timbre and certainly some authority behind it.

“babe?” he says, a little louder. it’s extremely forced and his eyes slink over your frame as his eyebrows shoot up a little, urging you to respond.

when you still don’t, his arm slides easily down to your waist to claim it as its new home, and he pulls you flush to his side. stooping slightly so he’s within whispering distance, the close proximity causes you to shiver.

“play along. i’ll explain everything in a minute, ‘k darlin’?”

since you weren’t really in a position to object, you decided to obey and play along.

“oh hey babe! sorry, i didn’t see you waiting so i just decided to walk home anyway!” a nervous laugh slips past your lips and you cringe at the sound that hangs in the air between you and these two strangers.

basically being tucked under his arm, you couldn’t turn your head to see if the person following you had pissed off yet. after a beat, you felt the muscles by your temples flex and you assumed your saviour was doing the job for you. you feel him exhale and the muscles relax (wow, they’re still so tense in a resting state?!) and he finally lets you go. you almost whine, the warmth of his chest by your face favourable now that the temperature was steadily declining into the night.

“phew, sorry doll. must’ve scared’ya real bad.”

you sort of liked the sound of this new nickname and this caused a lot of mental emotional conflict.

now that there’s space between the two of you, you take a real good look at his features under the harsh white streetlights.

oh boy, he’s hot.

he’s definitely much older than you, judging by the faintest of wrinkles around his temples and forehead. his hair was jet black, hanging over sullen eyes moulded into a permanent glare. speaking of his eyes, even as he glanced down at you you could see how violently green they were - like rough jade against black velvet; you lingered on them for a little too long, missing how he suppresses a smirk at your obvious ogling. your gaze drifts towards a raw line that cuts the right side of his lips, just ghosting the edge. the skin was pinkish and taut and you wondered exactly what kind of person he is to have gained such a scar. even in the abnormal march weather he was dressed simply, a tight black shirt stretched over a strong set of pecs and abs. you drank in the view hungrily, not even caring that he was in such little clothing on such a cool evening.

“you done starin’ yet?” he meant it with no malice (and maybe a hint of amusement) but you felt yourself flush.

“relax, doll. i’m not here to hurt’ya. that dude,” he looks both ways, checking that the person who’d been tailing you really had slunk back into the grimy shadows. “had been followin’ you ever since i’d been behind him. and anyone could tell you were real panicked, so i just did my best to help.”

he sounded…shy? you could almost laugh that this hunky dilf of a man was shy to admit he��d done a noble thing and possible saved your life, despite scaring you out of your wits in the process. you let out an airy laugh and you swear his eyes soften a little as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers. a trick of the light, perhaps?

“thank you so much, really. what’s your name?”

the man hesitates. “…toji.”

you introduce yourself to him cordially. “nice to meet you, toji.”

he clears his throat and breaks eye contact the second his name leaves your lips.

“ahem… anyway, where do you live? i’ll walk’ya the rest of your way home. or to wherever you’re goin’.”

at first you want to object. but weighing out your pros and cons, letting this man walk you home might be the best option to get to your bowl of hot pasta quicker.

“i only live a few minutes from here now. you can just drop me off at the end of my street, if that’s okay.”

not one to speak more than necessary, toji grunts in approval.

you walk on in comfortable silence. he occasionally whistles to see his breath cloud in the air and rarely looks at you but he can see you writhing about in his peripheral vision and he smirks.

“got somethin’ you wanna ask, doll?”

ah, he caught you. well, you might as well spit it out: who know’s if you’d ever see him again anyway?

“why’d you…y’know… do it though?” one. two. three heartbeats passed. “do what?” suddenly he was defensive. you quickly backtracked, trying to rectify your accusatory tone.

“no! don’t get me wrong, i’m beyond grateful that you stepped in. but i’m just curious as to why. most people would mind their own business, pretend they never saw anything…” you trailed off, unsure of why you had brought it up in the first place. you could’ve just swallowed down the kind gesture and left it at surface-level. but something about this stranger drew you to him. the way he looked down at you like you were made of glass with those bottomless forest green eyes. or the way he was still so close to you, even though there was no longer a need to be. you liked how he towered over you, shielding you from the scummy reality of the world.

he felt safe and dangerous all at once. like someone not to be messed with, but who also tempted you into trying.

toji’s lips curve downwards slightly, as if he wasn’t really sure why himself. in the end, he just shrugs his shoulders. “honestly, ‘m not sure. just felt like i had to. and i’m glad i did.”

his resoluteness softens your heart and you feel yourself involuntarily beaming.

“well, i’m glad you did too!”

toji once again averts his gaze from your pure, innocent smile and exhales ever so slightly.

before you knew it, your street was upon you. for the first time that day, you felt reluctant to go home. you’d be alone, for one, and your apartment was truly a miserable place to be lonely in. deep in thought, you furrow your eyebrows and glance forlornly in the general direction of your complex.

toji notices this, unfamiliar with the heaviness in his heart at the thought of possibly never seeing you again. despite the sinking feeling, he knew he’d be overstepping his boundaries and nudges your shoulder gently.

“this you?” does he sounds kinda dejected, or is your tired mind playing tricks on you?

“…yeah.”

you make no move towards home and loiter under the harsh glow of a nearby streetlamp. toji turns to look at you with an eyebrow raised, secretly grateful to be in your presence for just a while longer. you avoid all contact out of awkwardness, flushing furiously. a full minute passes before toji inhales sharply.

“so… this is a bit weird, but i was on my way to pick up some stuff for dinner. and y’know, your place is in the opposite direction of the supermarket,” he mumbles, his hands shoved deeply into his trouser pockets so that they wouldn’t betray his heart and reach out towards your soft skin, angelic under the light. for the first time in a long while, he was nervous.

your mind seems to have sharpened during the walk home as you catch wind of what he’s trying to say and you can’t stop the hopeful look that glitters in your eyes as you look up to meet his gaze.

he was staring right at you already.

“i was wonderin’ doll… if you’d maybe wanna grab dinner together? i’ll pay, as an apology for scarin’ ya. but if you’ve already eaten, that’s oka-“

“i would love that. what do you fancy?”

he’s taken back by your enthusiasm but it calms his heart a little nonetheless.

“hmm… how about italian? pasta is practically callin’ my name right now.”

now, every week, you meet toji for dinner at the end of your 5PM lecture and walk into town with your hands entwined and your hearts only a few steps behind.

about me.

[kirschteinoir]

kuroo is the type to play along when some parent points at him and tells their kid “if u dont behave that man will take you away” and him going :D when the kid cries louder

[kirschteinoir]

ZHONGLI who watches the citizens of liyue hidden in plain view, a know-all smile decorating his lips as he sips freshly brewed tea swirled with the sunrise.

ZHONGLI who is known for knowing, despite only working at a quiet funeral parlour tucked away in a peaceful corner of liyue harbour. people often wonder why he does not strive for more.

ZHONGLI who cannot share the reason why he knows as much as he does, brushing it off and pinning it down to coincidence whenever anyone asks.

ZHONGLI who hasn’t been “zhongli” for long enough to forget the faces of his long-gone past.

ZHONGLI, OR IS HE MORAX STILL? who associates with neither identity and yet too much of both at the same time.

MORAX who still lets memories of the past control his every move like he’s a puppet tied to a binding chain, unable to escape as he dances for a wicked celestial majesty.

MORAX, THE GOD OF WAR who curses the curse of immortality, who loathes time as it passes differently for him than his present day companions.

MORAX who knew nothing but death for a long time until a beautiful glaze lily with billowing sleeves and kind, gentle hands taught him how to finally live.

MORAX who built liyue from dust and rock, pouring into it every ounce of care and love he didn’t know he was capable of feeling.

MORAX, ZHONGLI, REX LAPIS. he who is forbidden to see dear friends that have long since passed until his match is finally met and he is released from this apathetic suffering. and yet who can outwit a god of war?

[kirschteinoir]

WASHING MACHINE HEART BY MITSKI but you’re in a relationship with TOJI and you know that he’s still hung up on megumi’s mother; you try so hard to be the perfect partner, waiting for him until sunrise so you can stitch him up after a bad job or to make sure he actually comes home and trying not to be upset when he doesn’t reciprocate your gestures of affection right away or when he calls you by her name sometimes or how he cries for her still when he thinks you can’t hear him and you realise you will never ever be able to fill the hole that she left in him no matter how hard you try.

[kirschteinoir]

WELCOME HOME.

 ⁀➷ my name is IZZY, i’m TWENTY and my pronouns are 𝗦𝗛𝗘/𝗛𝗘𝗥.

⁀➷ i’m fairly inactive due to the various demands of university life but if i’m feeling particularly down bad (usually for a dilf) i’ll upload once in a blue moon. currently obsessed with LOVE&DEEPSPACE, HAIKYUU (again) and HONKAI STAR RAIL.

⁀➷ CURRENT INTERESTS include dungeon meshi, haikyuu, silent hill, bayonetta, hsr, seventeen and nct

⁀➷ i’m also on ao3 under the same username where i post some of my older work and occasionally cross-post work from here!

RULES : ̗̀➛ feel free to flood my inbox !! just make sure your request is not nsfw (suggestive is fine) or deals with potentially triggering topics. if there are any such requests they’ll be deleted immediately. my blog is a safe space for everyone. : ̗̀➛ i try to make my work as poc-friendly as possible and i always default to genderneutral pronouns (unless stated otherwise.) if i slip up at all, let me know kindly.

LATEST WORK twelve minutes. | zayne(l&ds)

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