omisubi

[omisubi]

-cw: reader has health issues

Overdue. Overdue. Overdue. They all bore into you with their bright, red letters. Each letter urges payment, warns of dire consequence, all topped with the same name: Kita Shinsuke.

It takes three reads through for the information to feel real. Credit cards, doctor's bills, the fucking house- all of it spread across the tiny, oak desk in Kita's office, tucked away where he didn't want you to see.

The door creaks open and you whip around, no longer afraid of being caught.

"Shinsuke."

Kita takes a breath, so deep and sudden that his shoulders bounce up, but he lets it go slowly. His expression returns to its usual placid self, if not a bit more crinkled at the eyes. In two steps, he's to you, swiping away the evidence of his wrongdoing.

"I told you not to look through that, darlin'." His voice is soft, uplifted, like your lives aren't on the brink of collapse. "You don't gotta worry about that."

"Worry? Worry? This is--" Your own breath is much, much shakier. "Shinsuke, this is-- this is bad."

He tucks the envelopes back to where you found them and you can't help but notice a quiver in his hands. Shinsuke, your Shinsuke, unflappable, stable Shinsuke, is shaking.

"It just wasn't a good season." His smile never falters. "Things will be better after the next harvest."

"We're going to lose the house-"

"Darlin'." He holds his hands up, palms to you. "It's okay."

It's not. Your mind is already racing; it's your fault, of course. When your physical and mental health declined, Shinsuke had offered to be the sole provider. When you accepted, you hadn't thought it would be putting such a strain on him, but, looking back... the medical bills, the medications: none of it is cheap.

"My surgery alone was-"

He cuts you off. "Don't."

But you're already halfway out the door.

"I'm canceling my doctor's appointments-" Your cellphone is on the kitchen table and you're at the top of the stairs. "We can't afford this-"

Kita stops you with a hand around your wrist. He doesn't tug, but he holds, stopping you from descending. A wave of nausea hit you as your brain finally begins to process the numbers.

"No."

You take a breath. Then, another. Neither center you.

"This isn't a discussion, Shinsuke."

"You're right. There's no discussion." His face is set, deeply serious. His eyes are wide, terracotta against his ever graying hair, so young and so old all at once. "You are going to your appointments and getting what you need. We'll pay for it."

Every emotion inside of you feels carbonated- stimulated, rising, and no where to go. "We can't fucking afford it."

Kita blinks at the curse, flinching at the shock. After a pause, he opens his mouth to speak, only for a warbled sound to come out. The tremble of his lower lip shocks you, as does the wet threatening to spill over his waterline. Instinctively, you reach for him, and he does the same, holding you at arms distance.

"I don't care." His voice is barely whole. "I'd rather lose the house."

"You don't mean that." You grip on to his shirt and it wrinkles in your hands. It's tattered at the edge, hand sewn as a temporary fix. "Your grandfather's house."

Kita sniffles. He tries to smile, but it falls flat immediately after.

"I'm so sorry that I failed you as a husband." He says, more stern than you ever thought possible, while being so brittle. "But I'd sell the clothes off my back before I did anything to sacrifice your health."

The anger inside you hasn't died, but you're able to tuck it away and hold on to the love you feel.

"Don't say that," you say. "If I was healthy-"

"I failed because you feel like that."

[omisubi]

cw: depression, medication mention

kita draws you a bath whenever you're sad. he sits at the edge and lightly chats with you as you bathe, sometimes dipping his fingers into the water.

"i've been taking a lot of baths lately." you say one day, tone flat.

"mm," he hums. "they're good for you."

you sink low, until your knees pop out from the water. "Wallowing is good for me now?"

"Resting is." He pats the water lightly, watching the ripples disperse away from him. "Getting better is."

The water's cooled, the sun is low. The radiator clunks to life and the room smells faintly of burnt-- a problem Shinsuke promised he'd fix, once the next paycheck came in. The was three paychecks ago, but he still nods, like he knows what you're thinking.

"Friday." he whispers. "I'll call the guy on friday."

He emptied the account last month when the car broke down, then again this month at the pharmacy for you. Still, you sit in lukewarm water, mood unchanged.

"And what if I never get better?" you ask. "What if we're always broke and miserable?"

He smiles, lips closed, and turns the faucet. It takes only a couple of second before it warms up, steaming from the nozzle.

"There'll always be more hot water."

[omisubi]

i think when you start dating osamu, your whole world opens. your success isn’t just for you. it’s his and his ma’s and atsumu’s and osamu’s neighbor, and his regulars, and everyone you’ve ever just passed by and said hi to while walking to his store.

say you start dating him while you’re in college. and it’s silly. just an a on an exam you’ve been studying days for. not even a midterm or final. just a regular old exam. but you’re proud of it and osamu has been giving you snacks to keep your brain fueled so you have to tell him when you get the news.

some people say hi as you walk through osamu’s restaurant but no one stops to chit chat. you’re able to pull him to the side and when you show him the exam, your timid smile widens as osamu pulls you into this large bear hug.

and then suddenly you’re surrounded.

“did ya pass?”

“pass?! ya got an a, for sure, didn’t ya?”

someone’s buying a round of shots even if osamu doesn’t sell alcohol. sake is poured though you don’t even know how it’s entered the building. people are telling you how they knew you could do it, how if you’re dating osamu, you’re already one smart cookie.

and you’re family.

osamu’s just one person. despite it, he fills a large space in your heart because loving him means being loved by all those that love him too.

[omisubi]

6 September 2017 | 15:39

(previous) | (next)

You’re sick. Something small, most likely the flu, but you’re caught in a state of panic over it.

At the beginning of the month, you both had to miss school due to evacuations for the La Tuna fire, apparently the largest fire in the area for half a century. While your school had understood, you had set up meetings months ago that will determine the trajectory of your studies and your life after graduation. Meetings that were impossible to get and are appearing to be impossible to reschedule.

And now, you’re on your way to missing your third day of school this week. Iwaizumi understands the panic, understands the pressure you’re putting on yourself. Even if he didn’t, he doubts that he’d be doing anything else right now.

Your tears are staining his shirt while he holds you to him, keeping you close while he hums the melody of one of your favorite songs. It’s hot in this bed—between you and your fever and the blankets, he’s sure he’s melting. But it’s working and he’ll turn into a puddle before leaving you alone to deal with this.

Soon enough, your sobs turn into little sniffles and your grip in his shirt loosens. He continues to rub soothing circles on your back, continues to hum various songs until it dies down completely. It’s when you don’t complain about him humming Ifukube’s Godzilla theme that he realizes you’re asleep.

He’s gentle in laying you down, intentionally grabbing your phone and placing it on silent before noticing three missed calls from your parents. Just as he attempts to turn Do-Not-Disturb on his phone too, he receives an email from your mother.

As much as he wants to read it and address whatever concern they may have, as much as he wants to prove that he’s worthy of being your long-term partner, he knows that you need rest above all else right now. Whatever this is, whatever they need, it can wait, at least until after you wake up and your fever breaks.

over the course of 24 hours masterlist | haikyuu!! masterlist

[omisubi]

bullying him

[omisubi]

the cicadas hum, the late august sun shines bright, and a drop of condensation rolls slowly down the side of your half-drained glass of barley tea.

kita's eyes—warm like the afternoon sun around you—are fixed to a distant point on the horizon of his family's property. there's a content smile on his face, one that looks like it belongs there as much as he belongs on this engawa and this land he works so diligently to maintain. he's not immune to the effects of the sun, and there's the faintest sheen of perspiration at his temple, and a bit of colour in his skin—even in spite of the hat he always wears out in the field, the one presently resting against his back as it hangs from the cord around his neck.

he seems so calm here, like this. so at peace. so himself.

"you're very handsome, kita-san."

you say it without thinking, but it's not untrue. in fact, they may be the most honest words that have ever spilled across the threshold of your lips. these kinds of things are still new between the two of you, but even in spite of that, you don't regret your compliment in the slightest. you meant it. every word.

kita's lips part, but he doesn't look at you. a blush, redder than any sunkiss that might dust across his skin, appears high on his cheeks. you watch curiously as his eyes crinkle at the corners in a smile—wider than the one you'd been admiring earlier, and a little more incredulous—and he huffs out a bashful laugh, though he tries to hide it in the brim of his cup as he takes a sip of tea.

you watch as he swallows, like he's buying himself a bit of time; the slow dip of his adam's apple, the unmistakable pink that's now slithered all the way down his throat. then, he peeks over at you from the corner of his eye, like he's too shy to face you properly. it's charmingly boyish and tooth-achingly sweet.

"well, that's real nice of ya to say."

[omisubi]

tobio doesn't drink much, so when he does he tends to get pretty tipsy. rosy cheeked. bleary eyed. but the worst (best) part is that he starts asking for kisses. demanding them even. just to get him into the car to go home. to get him out of the car. to take his shoes off at the door. then his coat. then anything else. he'll get through one basic task, look at you with those big blue eyes and a pout on his lips, and go "kiss?"

[omisubi]

hajime isn’t the most handsome nor is he the cutest or the prettiest. he might be close to being the hottest, but still isn’t quite there; he isn't the sexiest either, but his attractiveness is just insane.

he doesn’t announce himself when he walks into a room, but his presence seeps into your periphery, flooding your senses. he’s that guy who gives you a small smile and nods his head hello, disappearing with his friends or ducking into some corner of the room.

when you bump into him, his hand settles itself respectfully onto your mid-back, your arm, anything to steady to you. his cheeks turn a deep peach and he mumbles out an ‘oops’ with a small apology, letting go of you quickly. you have a feeling he only touched you because the situation called for it (respectfully).

he doesn’t smell of heavy musk or dark wood like all the other men you’ve met do, but he smells good. crisp. clean. an understated confidence. his outfit matches the same principle—a simple polo, fitted perfectly, with loose pants. put-together but never a try-hard.

hajime is balance and stability, harmony all in one. and he isn’t the most anything, but he reels you in like no one else can. a lingering memory.

[omisubi]

what life would be like if i didn’t have to work or study and could just write fanfiction whenever i wanted to

[omisubi]

Osamu Miya (23) owner of Onigiri Miya, your hand in marriage PLEASE

this tweet was the inspo btw:

[omisubi]

tokyo drift on loop

[omisubi]

Nah, he’d win

[omisubi]

sugu & his head full of hair

[omisubi]

[omisubi]

when oikawa stands across the court facing friends and rivals he grew up with, only a net keeping them apart, his heart always stings. it springs to the back of his throat when the japanese national anthem plays.

he chokes on the lyrics so familiar to him, a home that always will be and never was.

then the argentinian anthem plays and a sense of gentleness brings his heart back to his chest. back to home.

he sings his heart out.

[omisubi]

𓂅 SIDELINES — M. OSAMU

plot : You’re a model in Tokyo’s limelight that is crushing on your best friend’s brother. Except, your usual charm doesn’t work on the impassive cook.

contains: fluff, comedy, reader lacking flirting skills, osamu playing hard to get, atsumu being atsumu, 1.3k words.

.

.

.

Cameras seem to love you.

It’s what Osamu thinks when he sees you on the cover of yet another magazine that piles on top of many others. He turns on the restaurant’s TV and then there you are again on Japan’s Entertainment News. And there’s his brother right next to you.

You and Atsumu were notorious best friends. There were numerous photographs of the both of you at exclusive parties, always dressed to the nines, promoting whatever popular brand.

Of course, just like everyone, Osamu thought you were pretty. Gorgeous. Whatever. He believes you are most definitely annoying. Because who hangs out with Atsumu that much? He did it for eighteen years and he barely made it out alive and you’re voluntarily doing it? You’re insane for sure.

He’s made an effort to know more about your relationship with his brother. Dropping subtle asks to Atsumu like so I’ve seen you on the news with that model. New girlfriend? but oddly enough, Atsumu talks about you like a friend. A good one, at that. To Osamu’s surprise, Atsumu has said the words she’s like my sister.

So, there it was. His opinion of you: indifferent. Yet, there he was, finding himself freezing up when you walked into his store with a million dollar smile as you end your conversation with someone on the phone.

He tells himself its just shock so his calm demeanor comes back when you reach the counter.

When he looks up at you, you’re freezing up. He’s really.... handsome. Of course, he has the same face as Atsumu, but it’s different? Osamu’s confidence is calmly exuded, in contrast to Atsumu’s. His dark hair frames his face nicely under the cap. Wow, is all you’re thinking. His biceps flex as he reaches the tablet at the cashier. That black fitted shirt makes you wonder if half the customers come in just for him, just to stay for both the man and his good food.

“Miss?” The girl at the cashier is looking at you with a concerned expression. You realize you should be speaking, rather than ogling.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I—“

“Hana, could you take the trash out before you leave? I’ll make the order and close.”

“Sure.” She smiles at him, before eyeing you.

“What would ya like?” He asks you. And he almost sounds annoyed. Maybe because it’s a little late. Atsumu did warn you to not come this late, but your shoot just finished and you were starving.

You muster up the courage and with your most charming smile, you say, “Your number.” When it comes out of your mouth, you realize you might just be spending too much time with Atsumu, accidentally picking up his lack of flirting skills. Osamu stares at you. Confused. Unimpressed. So, you abruptly add, “3.” Cough. “Your number 3.. and a cup of green tea, please.”

He gives a nod before registering your cash in and you stand there to dwell on your humiliation.

As Osamu prepares your order he finds himself feeling a little smug because— Wow, you really have no game for someone with a face like that. It could be fun teasing you.

So, he does just that. Every time you come, he gets to play hard-to-get. He finds himself looking forward to Thursday nights. It’s the one day a week you consistently come. He gets to sees why you and Atsumu are friends. You both are somewhat the same, in most aspects. But first, you both are competent in everything but flirting. He gets to see that you’re pretty cute, blushing in front of him like he’s the celebrity.

You, on the other hand, are not having fun. Getting rejected was taking a toll on you. So this is what it’s like to pursue men? Your ego was deflating. Not only do you think Osamu doesn’t like you, you think Hana doesn’t either. Neither of them seemed to enjoy packing your three large orders of onigiri for your management team. They just seemed bothered and inconvenienced for the most part.

You grow sick of it, and it’s evident at your next shoot.

“Are ya sad he rejected you?” Atsumu asks, mocking your evident gloom. You’ve both just finished an athletic gear ad. “Buy tickets to my game. It’ll make ya feel better.”

You roll your eyes. “Nice pitch. But, no. I’m actually feeling rather ill,” you tell him.

It’s Atsumu’s turn to roll his eyes. “Get rejected once and suddenly you’re ill?”

You huff. “Heartbreak is a very serious thing.”

He chuckles. “Sure.”

His amusement doesn’t last long, because he realizes when another model comes in to take your place at the next shoot, that you really might have gone down with something. As an apology for brushing your health off (he realizes how important it is from being with Sakusa all the time), he sends the person he trusts most to you. The person just so happens to be the best at making great soup, too.

Osamu shows up to your apartment, awkward and nervous. He doesn’t know why he agreed too eagerly, even Atsumu had caught it. He could hear the smugness through the phone. But the truth is he missed you. Missed seeing your overly cheery self. Missed seeing you blush every time you two made eye contact in silence.

“Oh!” You smile, surprised but pleased to see him. Yeah, he missed seeing that smile too.“Hi.”

“Hey.” He puts a hand up to your forehead. “You’re burning up. I made you some soup.”

He watches the way your eyes light up, gasping as you look into the bag.

“Really?” When you peer into the plastic bag, you realize there’s two sets of everything. There is more than just soup. You look up to see him looking down, nervously shifting his feet.

“Can I… come in?”

.

.

You watch as Osamu heats up his fresh food and uses whatever scraps you have in your kitchen to prepare a proper meal.

“Are you going to feed me too?” You ask once you both are seated, utensils he took the liberty to set, amused to tease him. Before he can sputter out a retort, “Just kidding. Thank you. Really. And I’m sorry about bothering you the past few weeks. Your food is really good.”

Osamu raises a brow. Bother? You?

“You’re not—“

The microwave beeps.

“It’s done!” You say, excited to get some freshly made, hot food into your system.

The both of you spend the evening together, at your kitchen island. It’s terribly domestic, Osamu realizes, but he doesn’t mind. You both share stories. He learns that you’re not only a great friend to Atsumu, you’re a great person too. He respects the way you explain your career; that it’s not just about the serotonin from seeing your face on billboards and walls, it’s also about traveling and connecting with people. He likes the way you laugh, leaning into him like you’re sharing an intimate moment. He thinks you can make anyone feel at home, just being near you. He understands the draw of it all. Even on photo… he gets it; your allure. It’s the moneymaker all on its own.

“Thank you again.” You say as you walk him to the door.

“It was no problem.” I want to see you again. “See ya Thursday?”

You laugh. “Actually, you’ll be finally catch a break from me. I’m going out of town for a job soon.”

Osamu stops, turning to you. “Oh?”

You nod. “Yeah, for a week or two…”

He steps closer to you, causing you to slow your thinking. He puts a hand to your forehead. The cool of his skin making contact with yours sends you into a frenzy. “Sorry. My mom used to check again after we’d eat.”

You smile at the admission. “Why?”

He shrugs, murmuring, “I guess she wanted to see if her food cured us.”

Your heart swells.

“Well, I feel nothing short of the picture of perfect health.”

Osamu laughs. You feel like a teen again, blushing at the fact that there is a very hot guy in your apartment.

“Listen…” he plays with his sleeve. “When ya get back, can I take you out? I’d really like you bothering me.”

a/n: finally got this out of my drafts! maybe more of this couple in drabbles

[omisubi]

thinking about being osamu miya’s favorite regular rn…🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

technically, onigiri miya closes at 8 PM sharp, but osamu would rather die than tell you that. how could he? not when you shuffle in looking so pretty in your cute little pencil skirt and the button up you wore at the office job you just left for the day. so what if it’s 30 minutes past closing? he doesn’t care. the sight of you all frazzled and happy to see him has slowly become the highlight of his day.

“the usual?” he’ll ask, and you nod with an impressive amount of vigor for someone who has just clocked out of such a strenuous job. osamu will never tell you this, but he already starts on your order before you even come, too anxious to see you to start on his closing duties.

sometimes, if he’s lucky, you’ll tell him all about your day and he’ll nod with a hum, really only interested in listening to the sound of your voice. once he’s finished packaging your food, he feels a tug of disappointment at his heartstrings, knowing this the part where you say goodbye.

he wonders how many extra rice balls he has to slip in there before you get the point. maybe putting a happy face on the to-go bag was too much? perhaps he was too generous with the mayo when you offhandedly mentioned you liked a little bit extra of the condiment in your tuna mayo onigiri.

it’s become the topic of teasing discussion if atsumu is ever around to bare witness, his twin erupts into a fit of laughter once the door closes behind you, leaving osamu an agitated, flustered mess. “why dontcha just ask her for her number?”

it’s not that simple, is it? sure, you do come in every night, appearing to be thrilled to see him for the short time you’re together. and yes, he has noticed that you’ve purposefully complained a couple of times about your friends trying to set you up with someone. additionally, he’s positive he sees you checking your reflection in the camera of your phone each night before walking in.

“don’t worry about it,” osamu sneers at his brother, turning his back to continue mopping behind the counter. it’ll happen someday. eventually. right?