akaae

[akaae]

find a way (to tell you that i love you) | osamu miya

leave the city, sitting in a park. watch the seasons pass through the condensation. ➤ ❝ you're so full of shit. ❞ ❝ probably. ❞

Clattering. Heaps of it. There's a quiet that only comes after rain, like the sky's still listening to something. Something, something no one can name. Not even you.

That's what Osamu thinks, standing barefoot on the back steps of his restaurant, fingers curled around a chipped ceramic mug filled with something halfway between tea and broth.

The gravel's damp. The concrete’s still radiating the last of the sun’s heat. And inside, just through the fogged-up glass of the back door, he can hear the low hum of the fridge, the soft clink of dishes being stacked; the gentle rhythm of closing time.

And you. Humming a little something-tune. It's sweet, the tune.

You're sitting at the little two-top table pushed awkwardly into the corner of the kitchen, sipping the drink he'd brewed without question.

No one really tells you that adulthood is entirely repetition. You just learn it the slow way. Clean, prep, cook, close. Wake up, stretch, wonder if you remembered to take the trash out. Watch the seasons pass through the condensation on the windows.

But something about your presence breaks that loop. Not in a disruptive way. More like you make the repetition feel…chosen.

"You're gonna catch a cold," you say behind him, and your voice pulls him back like a tide.

Osamu doesn't turn, "Don't get colds. Built different."

He hears you huff. Knows you're rolling your eyes. It makes the corners of his mouth twitch upward.

"You say that, but a little birdie told me a special somebody'd been sniffling just last winter,"

"That wasn't a cold. 'S allergies."

"In March?"

He finally glances over his shoulder. You're leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, your own mug cradled in your hands. There's a faint pink on your nose from where the warmth of the kitchen meets the damp air.

Osamu shrugs, "Pollen's aggressive 'round here."

"You're so full of shit."

"Probably."

The door squeaks open wider as you join him. Neither of you say anything for a while. The sky above is heavy and slow, bruised purple at the edges. In the distance, someone's wind chime is still trembling from the wind that already passed.

"I like it after rain," you murmur.

"Mm," Osamu agrees, "Smells cleaner."

He thinks of the first time you came here—months ago now. The restaurant had just reopened after the New Year. You'd wandered in, half lost and half curious, asking if the name Onigiri Miya meant anything or if it was just a coincidence.

You’d known Atsumu. Not well. A college tournament, some shared friends-of-friends. Enough to recognize the surname. Enough to do a double-take when you saw it painted above the door of a sleepy little corner shop on the edge of Hyogo.

He hadn't expected you to stay past one order. But you came back. Then again. Then again.

Now, you're here more evenings than you're not.

"You always think this much?" you ask, nudging his elbow with yours. It's a gentle touch. Familiar.

He exhales slowly, "Only when you're around."

You laugh. But it's quieter than it could be. You're not teasing. Just…there.

There's something in the silence that follows. Not heavy. Not awkward. It settles into the air like steam, curling around the mug in his hands.

"You ever think you're in the right place," you ask, "but at the wrong time?"

The question isn't simple. It lands like a weight in his chest. Heavy, loaded. Osamu's never been the type to offer answers he hasn’t thought through.

So he doesn't speak, not right away.

He watches the horizon instead. Lets the words echo.

"I used to," he says eventually, "Used to think I should've done things different. Gone pro like 'Tsumu. Left Hyogo. Seen more than the same streets every day."

You're quiet beside him. He doesn't mind.

"But now…" he trails off, tapping his thumb against the handle of his mug, "I dunno. Maybe there's no 'wrong' time. Maybe there's just the time you get."

You hum, low and thoughtful.

"That's not a bad answer," you say, after a pause.

He glances at you, "You were lookin’ for a good one?"

“No. I just wanted to hear what yours would be.”

There’s a softness in your voice that gets under his skin in a way nothing else does. Not in a sharp, overwhelming way. Just… subtle. Like how sugar doesn’t taste like much on its own, but everything feels off if it’s missing.

Osamu finishes his drink. The broth’s gone cold, but it's still got taste. Just…very faint. He sets the mug down beside the step and stretches his shoulders.

"You staying for dinner?"

"If you're cooking.”

He snorts, "When am I not?"

Footsteps echo, rebounding off tiled walls.

Rice soaked in green tea, topped with plums and shredded salmon. Something that tastes like home. The kind of home you don't have to leave behind.

You watch him cook from the same stool you always steal, next to the sink. Elbows on the counter. It was always considered impolite; but here, rules…really are just a subject that's dismissed. Rightfully so, too.

There's something different in your expression tonight, though. Something quieter. Like you've packed a bag but haven’t told anyone you’re leaving yet.

“You thinkin' of going somewhere?” he doesn't turn when the words drift from his mouth. Not in the slightest.

You blink, legs of the stool quivering, "What?"

"You look like you're gonna leave."

"I—" You straighten up, "Is it that obvious?"

He doesn't rush whatever's he so engrossed with. Plating something, you dunno.

"Not obvious. Just..noticed."

He places the dish in front of you with both hands, leaning on the counter across from you, arms folded, brows slightly furrowed.

You pick up your chopsticks. You don't eat, not yet.

"There's a job," you provide slowly, "Tokyo. Editing position. A real one, not freelance. I wasn't gonna apply, but…" you trail off.

"But?"

"I think I'm tired of waiting for things to happen."

Osamu nods once. Not dismissively. Just absorbing it.

"That's fair."

You take a bite, slow and deliberate.

"It’s not that I don't love it here. I do." You glance up at him. "I think maybe that’s part of the problem."

He meets your eyes, "Yeah."

Silence stretches again. But it's not empty. It's filled with something raw and real. Alive, thriving.

"You'd leave?" he asks. Maybe there's a shiver. One you can't quite...identify where it is in those two words he murmurs, or, if he's even been unsure about his words.

"Maybe."

There’s no resentment in his voice. No anger. But there's a question, deeper down. A kind of 'do I matter enough for you to stay' that he doesn't say aloud.

You seem to hear it anyway.

"I don't want to go without knowing what this is," you say, and your voice is steady. "Us. Whatever it is we've been building."

Osamu doesn't look away. Doesn’t hide behind sarcasm or silence.

He leans in slightly, elbows on the counter, like the space between you is something he’s choosing to shrink.

"I think 'this' is something I wake up wantin" more of," he says. "Even on the days I'm tired."

You swallow. Not from the food. From the weight of the words.

"I'm not gonna stop you from goin'," he adds. "But if you stay, I’ll make sure you know what it means."

Your eyes flicker to his. There's something like hope there, stubborn and blooming.

"Okay," you say, quiet. Everything's quiet in a situation like this, "Okay."

You eat the rest of the meal in silence. This time, it's a silence that means something.

© 𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐞 : 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓, 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

[akaae]

spf: standing (pretty) close | hinata shōyō

sunburnt, and you’re the reason why. technically. wait, what? ➤ ❝ so i—wait—are you saying i blocked the sun? like an umbrella? ❞

Shouyou's cheek is pink.

Cheek…one. Uno. Numero?

Spanish class did you good.

Not the good kind, either.

Not a imsittinginfrontofmycrush-flush pink.

No. This is sunburn pink.

A strawberry splotch has been blooming uneven across one side of his face for the last hour — the right. Only the right.

You blink at him across the cafe table, the untouched smoothies between you sweating against the table.

He’s still babbling about Karasuno this, training that.

Siiiiiigh. It's practically white noise to you now, given how passionately (and successfully) he strives to include them in your conversations. Not in the relaxing way white noise is, though.

Like a baby babbling, gaining consciousness. Rays of light filter through thin curtains, heat radiating from the sun that's dappled through the trees.. Ray of sunshine. Ray of sunshine, he is. Sunshine. He's been blissfully unaware of the slap-mark on his face for however long you've been daydreaming for, checking out the second he only begins to mention 'Kaaaarassu—'. He's,

Golden.

And red-cheeked.

He is.

It's stupid, how often...and quickly you notice the small details on his face. On his hair. In his eyes. Hair, again. Gosh, he's got really nice hair.

"You always wear sunscreen," you interrupt, straw sticking to your lip, eyes narrowing, "So why're you sunburnt?" Time to address the elephant in the room.

He only blinks in response, halfway to a gesture miming...something volleyball related. Action-wise. "Huh?"

You're already leant forward before he manages to defend his case, and point, "Right here." He goes slightly cross-eyed trying to follow your finger.

Then— pause. His mouth quirks like he's scrambling for an excuse, and realizes that there isn't one. Really, there wasn't. No alibi, too.

You squint, “Didja'...forget?”

“No..! I put it on this morning!” He's perked upwards now, clearly very insistent. Maybe it's horror? “I literally got it in my eyes. Look, they're a tiny bit bloodshot.”

Suuuuure.

A second passes, then another. You don't have to lie rests at the peak of your tongue.

Realisation trickles down his expression. Like condensation off a cup. His cup, maybe. It's half-empty now.

"Oh," it comes out like a half-gasp, half-idontknowhowtowordwhatimabouttosay.

You arch an eyebrow, "Oh?" A breath passes through your nose in relief. No awkward silence that hangs in the air. Anymore...that is.

"I was talking to you earlier. Outside," A passerby catches his attention momentarily outside the window, they've green hair. It caught your attention too, admittedly, "the gym. You were...next to me? Kind-of here-ish...I think?"

You picture it. Or, what you're able to make out of it. Memory's going on you.

Shoulder-to-shoulder in the heat, the two of you pressed just close enough to count as something. Anything else past that's just a blur of a whistle to signal end of water-break. The shrrrieeeek of it. Damn you, Ukai. Coach? He wasn't Coach to you, you just watched on the sidelines; their first-year...assistant? Assistant, was kind enough to offer you a seat. She was nice. Maybe a liiiittle jumpy, but nice! Uh-oh. You've been zoned out for the past minute reminiscing. You're praying he hasn't blabbered on again. But no,

no, he hasn't.

His eyes're locked on you. Have been.

For how long, you couldn't say. Your face feels hot. It's not from the sun...you think.

"Okaaaay.." you breathe out slowly. Hopefully he hasn't noticed how long that took you to even...get out.

Doyoufeelalittlehotinhereorisitjustbecauseyourelookingatmewithloverboyeyes is what you're about to spew out, but, that stupid...confused little tone he has fills that gap when he speaks. Murmurs, rather. "You were infront of me."

You stare.

"So I—wait—are you saying I blocked the sun? Like an umbrella?"

It comes out more monotone than you'd initially planned. Or...expected..

That dumb, sheepish little grin of his speaks for the words he's about to physically speak. Or, the overall gist of them. "I think your head was casting a shadow," "Are you saying I have a big head?" Shouyou flinches. If it weren't for his mouth that's completely agape, and good nature, you'd assume he'd meant it. Like, actually-actually. "No! Like...like a movie. Like a, synonym...kind of thing," "Metaphor." How hard was it?

He's grinning at you now. Open and stupid and easy. Like this isn't the fiftieth time this week he's looked at you like that. Or maybe you're the only one that's noticed it. Rumours never flew, or your double-meaning little quips you made never came back to bite you in the ass for it in the form of public humiliation: "I think that person has a crush on you, Hinata."

It's not meaningless...you hope. "Yeah! And like...I'm your sun, kind-of. Kinda."

You snort, "You're ridiculous." No, you're not freaking out. Yes, did he just confirm your thoughts? Uh, time to bite the...shell? Bullet! Bite the bullet. Perhaps you share mutual skill in literature..

"You're the one with face-shadow powers."

"That doesn't even make sense."

None of his story really does. Except for the sun bit, that was cute.

Well, kind-of.

"Shouyou," His eyes bore into the bottom of his glass, straw dented with...teeth-marks. He bites his straw, okay.

"Uh..does it..hurt?"

Of course it does, dumbass.

"...No.." "Buzzer, buzzer, buzzer. Your nose is growing." Well, there goes the first bird. To kill two birds with one stone is to...however it goes.

"..It really stings," "I'll put on aloe for you." "You will?"

Shit.

Uh,

uh.

Think, damnit!

"...Yes..?" "Be careful..it burns..like...alot.." Your hands find your backpack, rummaging...for what seems like forever. A bottle of aloe vera stares back at you. Don't look at me like that.

© 𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐞 : 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓, 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

[akaae]

➤ simplicity and fortitude

dedicated post to johzenji

⌗ yūji terushima

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ hana misaki

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

© 𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐞 : 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓, 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

[akaae]

➤ throughout heaven and earth, i alone am the honored one

dedicated post to jujutsu kaisen sorcerers

⌗ yūji itadori

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ megumi fushiguro

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ toge inumaki

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ gojo satoru

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ geto suguru

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ maki zen'in

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

© 𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐞 : 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓, 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

[akaae]

➤ we don't need memories

dedicated post to inarizaki

⌗ atsumu miya

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ osamu miya

╰┈➤ find a way (to tell you that i love you) ; wc: ~1000

leave the city, sitting in a park. watch the seasons pass through the condensation. ➤ ❝ you're so full of shit. ❞ ❝ probably. ❞

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ suna rintarō

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ aran ojiro

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

© 𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐞 : 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓, 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

[akaae]

➤ one ball, heart and soul

dedicated post to fukurodani

⌗ bokuto kōtarō

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ akaashi keiji

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ shirabu kenjirō

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ konoha akinori

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

© 𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐞 : 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓, 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

[akaae]

➤ irresistable force

dedicated post to shiratorizawa

⌗ ushijima wakatoshi

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ semi eita

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ shirabu kenjirō

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ reon ōhira

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

© 𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐞 : 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓, 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

[akaae]

➤ rule the court

dedicated post to aoba johsai ; seijoh

⌗ oikawa tōru

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ iwaizumi hajime

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ kyōtani kentarō

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

© 𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐞 : 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓, 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

[akaae]

➤ connect

dedicated post to nekoma

⌗ kuroo tetsurō

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ kenma kozume

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ yaku morisuke

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

© 𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐞 : 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓, 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

[akaae]

➤ fly

dedicated post to karasuno

⌗ hinata shōyō

╰┈➤ spf: standing (pretty) close ; wc: ~1200, fluff

sunburnt, and you’re the reason why. technically. wait, what? ➤ ❝ so i—wait—are you saying i blocked the sun? like an umbrella? ❞

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ kageyama tobio

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ tsukishima kei

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ yamaguchi tadashi

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ nishinoya yū

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ daichi sawamura

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

⌗ sugawara kōshi

╰┈➤ fic 1

╰┈➤ fic 2

© 𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐞 : 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓, 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

[akaae]

➤ library

marked (!) or otherwise VERY incomplete

⌗ jujutsu kaisen

jujustories: part 2, by frankenjoly : jjk ficlets/drabbles

⌗ haikyū!!

yours truly, by kazpian : tsukkiyama angst ; 𖹭 After their high school graduation, Tsukishima disappears from Yamaguchi’s life without explanation. 11 years later, he receives a letter.

my dearest clementine, by pearlsephoni : kagehina/shobio ; 𖹭 Tobio Kageyama prepares: he prepares his meals, his workout schedule, the best tactics in his arsenal for any given opponent.

but no matter what he does, he can't prepare for the return of one Shoyo Hinata.

© 𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐞 : 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓, 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

[akaae]

➤ tag system ; distinction

✎ filler post

general/watermark tag ; zan's, how2tumblr, ☁︎ ⊹ ࣪ akaae spits facts post/topic-specific tag ; akaae's ____ ⚡︎ exhibit b : #── .✦ akaae's masterlist, #⋆˚࿔ akaae's tag system, #₊˚ෆ akaae's recommendations

asks answered ; akaae answers thoughts ; akaae thinks

⚡︎ prompt/writing-specific thoughts ; akaae speculates post construction state ; ongoing/to-be-updated/incomplete, complete credits ; panel/header/divider sourced via ____ spoilers marked (if i remember) (!) ; peekaboo, spoilers

© 𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐞 : 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓, 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

[akaae]

➤ open tabs

𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢 on nsfw posts, marked (!)

⌗ haikyū!!

karasuno

nekoma

aoba johsai

shiratorizawa

fukurodani

inarizaki

itachiyama

johzenji

date tech

i do not claim ownership of any original characters, all characters belong to Haruichi Furudate respectively.

⌗ jujutsu kaisen

sorcerers

i do not claim ownership of any original characters, all characters belong to Gege Akutami respectively.

© 𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐞 : 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓, 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

[akaae]

we’re glad

you 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 made it.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ❝ the 𝐅𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 belongs to

those who believe in the

𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘 of their 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒. ❞

ZANIYA ; akaae . . . 18, recreational fiction

writer—(from the concrete) ᭪ australia, aest

sfw, implied nsfw (!) content comms closed suggestions open untagged spoilers rbblog : @boloseater44

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© 𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐞 : 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓, 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞