just floating thru life

you tell him everything you've ever thought about him—how you admire his drive and his passion, how you have looked up to him for years and years. how you have never felt so deeply for someone before knowing him. it comes out in a rushed ramble of words, all those nights of practicing in the mirror doing nothing for you in the actual moment. you stumble a few times, your face getting warmer with every word, and yet as each sentence falls forth you feel a weight lift from your shoulders—the flesh of your lungs clatter against your ribs, anxious and eager.

tooru inhales, gaze darting between your eyes and then flitting downwards. even in the dark of the night, you can see the pinkish hue crawling up his neck, can see the way he fidgets with his own fingers. he stares at you, lips parted as a wide array of emotions flit over his handsome features—they finally settle into a strange combination of apologetic and resigned.

and then he tells you no.

he tells you that volleyball will always take precedence, that he has already mapped out his future, which is too far away from you. he tells you about argentina and how his mind is made up. he tells you that he's flattered, that he's glad you're friends but that's all he can do right now.

“i'm sorry,” he says with a grimace. he studiously avoids looking at you, but you can't stop staring at him—your stomach sinks as he turns to head inside.

it takes you months to muster up the courage to tell him. it takes him two minutes to say no to you.

the rejection stings in a way that is unfamiliar, and you take a shaky breath as you walk down the street to catch up with the others.

the humiliation makes itself known in the form of a painful lump in your throat—unmoving and heavy. when you glance up you see that the third years have hung back, waiting for you. makki is wearing a knowing grin, but it falters when he sees your expression. mattsun, ever observant, seems to immediately understand, and he wordlessly slings an arm over your shoulder.

all you can do is awkwardly chuckle, knowing that it sounds weak and throaty as you shake your head. “i feel stupid,” you admit, voice wobbling as heat burns through your skin—unpleasant and unwelcome.

“you're not stupid,” makki mutters, hands shoved deep in his pockets as his lips slant regretfully. you stare at the ground, nodding slowly under the weight of mattsun's arm. your lungs ache, and you know that if you open your mouth, you will lose it entirely. so all you can manage to do is look up at iwa with glassy eyes and trembling lips and a rueful smile that probably makes you look as pathetic as you feel.

you don't notice the way his fists are clenched at his sides, nails digging indents into his palms. he grits his teeth, gaze flitting to oikawa's house in the background, but he doesn't say anything.

none of them speak as they walk you home, and you try your best to keep the sniffles to a minimum, too embarrassed to look at them.

you've never felt pain like this before, and it's hard to get over it because everything reminds you of tooru. it's like someone has taken a knife and carved into your ribcage, grasping your heart before taking it out crushing it between bloodied fingers. but even despite the gaping hole in your chest you know that there are expectations to be met, things to be done.

that's the strange thing about your silly unrequited love—it hurts and hurts and hurts some more until it stops one day before you can realize it. even though your chest is still bleeding you go on with life—you go to university, you get a job, you pay bills. you get up in the morning and brush your hair and drink water and tie your shoes until the wound closes itself up. you start smiling a little wider and laughing a little freer until oikawa tooru is nothing more than an old name.

and of course there are instances where you are reminded of him and what could've been, whether it's seeing milk bread in a supermarket or passing by children hitting a volleyball over a net out in the sun. you know very well that your friends are occasionally still in contact with their old captain, not that this bothers you. after all, mattsun, makki, and iwa were very careful not to bring him up around you, which you're grateful for. so even hearing the name in passing becomes easier.

it is difficult until it isn't anymore.

you've all but forgotten him now, after years and years and years—nothing more than a distant memory.

so imagine the sinking feeling of dread pooling in your stomach when you walk into the restaurant on makki's birthday and see oikawa tooru sitting at the bar, drink in hand. his eyes are alight as he laughs at whatever conversation he's joined, dark hair falling into his eyes messily.

one step forward, ten steps back.

for a second you can't help but stare, breath stolen from your lungs because it feels like the knife is back and twisting itself into your flesh all over again. there is a panic rising in your throat, suffocating and overwhelming and jarring.

tooru lifts his glass to his lips, hiding his grin as his gaze lazily travels over the expanse of the room.

another surge of panic. the familiar sting of humiliation.

he pauses as he's about to take a sip, brown eyes widening when they land on you, and you see the sharp inhale he takes. his stare doesn't waver, too consumed by shock to look away.

and yet that's all you can do—tear your eyes away because you're different now and it's long gone and you know there is no point in going down that rabbit hole again.

it was a lifetime ago—it's done now.

but you will never know how long tooru thought of you after that night back in high school. you will never know that he felt sick to his stomach when he saw the way your face fell at his rejection. you will never know that he bit his tongue so hard it bled as he watched you walk away from him. you will never know that he spent countless nights in argentina wondering what you were up to and how you were. you will never know that sacrificing you for his beloved sport was the hardest thing he's ever done.

so imagine the sinking feeling of dread tooru feels when he sees the way your eyes light up as you find your way over to iwa's side.

Osamu leaned against the doorway, towel still hanging from his shoulder after his shower, and let himself just…watch. The sight never got old. You sat cross-legged on the living room floor, hair falling softly around your face as you stacked wooden blocks with your little boy. He squealed every time the tower toppled, clapping his pudgy hands together before immediately trying to build it up again.

Osamu’s chest tightened. It was stupid, maybe, but he still had moments where the whole thing felt unreal. The steady warmth of home, your laugh echoing through the walls, the babble of their son who had his eyes but your smile—this wasn’t the kind of future he ever thought he’d have. He couldn’t stop staring.

“Yer makin’ him spoiled, ya know,” Osamu finally drawled, voice warm with amusement.

You looked up over your shoulder, feigning a glare. “Spoiled? He’s one, Osamu. He deserves to be spoiled.”

Your son turned at the sound of his father’s voice, bright eyes lighting up as he reached both hands toward him. “Da! Da!” he babbled.

That was all it took for Osamu to cross the room. “C’mere, bud,” he said softly, scooping him up with practiced ease. Their son fit so naturally against his hip that Osamu barely thought about it anymore. The boy giggled and tugged on his father’s shirt, babbling something that was mostly nonsense.

“Guess I can’t argue with that face,” Osamu admitted with a chuckle, leaning in to press a kiss against his son’s soft cheek.

When he glanced back at you, though, the humor melted into something softer. He bent down a little so you could reach him, and you brushed your fingers over his arm before leaning up for a kiss. It was quick—half stolen with a giggle from your son between you—but it left a warmth buzzing in Osamu’s chest.

“Our life,” you corrected gently when he whispered that he couldn’t believe this was his.

Osamu swallowed, nodding once. Sometimes he still didn’t have the words for the way you made him feel.

You reached up and brushed a bit of hair from his forehead, teasing lightly, “You’re staring again.”

“Can’t help it,” he said simply. His voice carried a rasp that wasn’t entirely innocent, and your cheeks warmed under the weight of it.

You tilted your head, smiling. “You’re already thinking about tonight, aren’t you?”

He smirked, pressing his forehead against yours, lowering his voice so only you could hear: “Damn right I am. Been too long since I had ya all t’myself, darlin’.”

Your son squirmed in his arms then, whining a little, and Osamu shifted him easily to the other side. “Tch, jealous already,” he teased the baby, kissing his temple before looking back at you. “But he’ll be fine. Ma’s already fussin’ about what snacks she’s bringin’ fer him. ‘Tsumu’s makin’ a whole show outta babysittin’. They’ll spoil him worse than we do.”

You laughed softly, the sound lightening the room. “You think he’s ready for Atsumu’s chaos?”

“Eh, he’s got my patience, he’ll survive,” Osamu said, though his thumb brushed gently over your shoulder as if he needed the reassurance himself.

You leaned into the touch, smiling. “Then I guess we’re really doing this. A whole weekend. Just us.”

The words sank into him, heavy with promise. Osamu’s gaze lingered on you, darkening just a little, and you felt it—the restrained hunger he’d been carrying for weeks, maybe months, since life with a baby left little room for indulgence. He wasn’t rushing it, not in front of your son, but it was there, simmering low and steady, waiting for tonight.

It had taken him some effort to convince you about this trip in the first place. You’d worried yourself into circles, repeating again and again that you weren’t ready to be apart from your son, not even for a night. Osamu understood. He saw it every day—the way your boy clung to you, the way your arms seemed to know exactly how to hold him before he even fussed. That attachment ran both ways, and Osamu couldn’t fault you for it.

Truth be told, he didn’t mind if you’d refused. He could’ve been perfectly content celebrating your anniversary here at home, maybe with a quiet dinner after the baby went down. He liked seeing you as a mother, liked how natural it looked on you, even when you insisted you were fumbling through it. To him, you made it look easy. Beautiful, even.

Still, he wanted more for you than sleepless nights and the weight of a baby always on your hip. He wanted to give you space to breathe, to remind you that you were still his wife, not just a mother. So he’d gently nudged, reassured, and coaxed until you finally said yes.

And thank god his family had jumped at the chance to help. His mom had practically squealed when he called, already rattling off a list of snacks she’d prepare for her grandson. Atsumu, conveniently in his off-season, had made a whole production out of “Uncle ‘Tsumu’s big babysitting debut.” Osamu smirked just thinking about it; his twin would turn the weekend into a comedy show, but there was no doubt he’d take good care of his nephew.

Now, holding you close with your son tucked snug against his chest, Osamu kissed the top of your head. “Darlin’, he’ll be fine. Don’t stress yerself.”

You sighed, though your fingers curled in his shirt like you were grounding yourself. “I know… I just—he’s still so little, ‘Samu. What if he wakes up in the middle of the night looking for me?”

“I’ll tell ya what’ll happen,” Osamu said with quiet confidence, tipping your chin so you’d look up at him. “Ma’ll rock him back to sleep before he even has the chance to cry. Or maybe Atsumu’ll run ‘im ragged so he sleeps straight through the night.” He cracked a grin, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“You make it sound so easy.”

“That’s ‘cause it is,” he said simply, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Yer allowed to rest, ya know. We both are. Just a couple days. Then we come back and pick up right where we left off.”

Your little boy babbled something then, tugging at Osamu’s collar with tiny fists, and Osamu huffed a laugh. “See? He agrees with me. Ain’t that right, bud?”

The boy shrieked happily in response, and the both of you broke into laughter.

Osamu looked between the two of you, his chest heavy with affection. “It’ll be good fer us, sweetheart. Promise.”

An hour later, just as promised, the doorbell rang. You were already cradling your son against your hip, swaying a little without thinking, humming under your breath. He was clutching one of his little toy cars, babbling as you walked to the door.

When you opened it, Atsumu’s voice boomed into the entryway before you even had the chance to greet him. “Where’s my favorite nephew?”

Your boy perked up instantly at the loud voice, blinking wide eyes up at the near mirror of his father standing on the doorstep. Then, as if recognizing something familiar in the smile or the shape of his face, he squealed happily, reaching out both hands toward Atsumu.

“Well, don’t I feel special,” Atsumu laughed, swooping forward to take the baby into his arms with practiced ease. “Look at ya! Yer heavier than last time. Osamu, ya feedin’ this kid sumo portions or what?”

“Don’t drop him,” Osamu said flatly from behind you, though his lips twitched at the corners.

Their mother came in right after, softer but no less excited. She set a tote bag down on the table—already stuffed full of snacks and little containers, if the smell was anything to go by—and cooed immediately at her grandson. “Oh, look at him! Such a big boy already.”

You felt your throat tighten as you watched your son giggle in Atsumu’s arms, already distracted, already content. It should have reassured you, but instead it stung, like he didn’t need you as much as you thought.

Osamu must have noticed, because before the first tear could slip free, he wrapped an arm around your waist and tugged you back into the solid line of his body. “Don’t do that, darlin’,” he murmured against your ear, voice low and grounding. “Don’t cry now. Look at ‘im—he’s happy as can be. He don’t even notice we’re leavin’.”

You swallowed hard, blinking fast. “That’s what scares me.”

“Nothin’ scary about it,” Osamu said gently. His thumb rubbed small circles against your side. “Means he’s comfortable. Means he feels safe. And that’s ‘cause of you.”

The reassurance steadied you for a moment, but the ache lingered as you watched Atsumu bouncing your boy a little too high. “‘Tsumu! Put ‘im down before ya launch him into the ceiling,” Osamu barked.

“I know what I’m doin’!” Atsumu protested, laughing when the baby shrieked with glee. “See? He loves it!”

Their mother immediately fussed, stepping in closer. “Atsumu Miya, you be careful with my grandson! He’s not one of your volleyballs!” She reached out to steady the baby herself, smoothing a hand over his back.

The sight tugged a laugh out of you, but your chest still tightened. You wanted to scoop him back up, to keep him in your arms just a little longer. But Osamu didn’t give you the chance—he leaned down, kissing the top of your head, his grip firm on your waist. “We’re leavin’, sweetheart. Don’t make it harder on yerself.”

You bit your lip, nodding, though your eyes were still locked on your boy. “Just…one more kiss.”

Together, the two of you went over, pressing gentle kisses to your son’s cheeks. He only squirmed in Atsumu’s arms, giggling and babbling something no one could understand, too distracted to even reach for you.

“Eat whatever Grandma gives ya, alright?” you whispered against his hair.

“Sleep easy, bud. Don’t give Ma a hard time,” Osamu added, ruffling his son’s soft hair with a tenderness that made your heart ache all over again.

Then he straightened, fixing Atsumu with the big-brother stare that had always worked on him. “Bedtime’s eight sharp. He likes the brown blanket, not the blue one. Bottle’s already prepped in the fridge—just heat it if he wakes in the night. Don’t rile him up too much before bed. And don’t let him climb on the couch, he—”

“Alright, alright!” Atsumu cut him off, rolling his eyes dramatically. “You think I’ve never babysat before? Relax, ‘Samu, I got this.” He adjusted the baby on his hip, smirking. “Yer lookin’ at the best uncle in Japan.”

“Yer the only uncle he’s got,” Osamu deadpanned, though there was warmth in his tone.

Finally, he turned to his mother. His voice softened in a way it never did with his brother. “Thanks, Ma. Really. We owe ya for this.”

She waved her hand as if to brush it off, but her eyes crinkled with affection. “Don’t be silly. Go enjoy yourselves. You two deserve it. He’ll be spoiled rotten by the time you come back, I promise.”

Osamu gave her a nod of gratitude, then tugged gently at your hand. You lingered for half a second more, eyes still glued to your son’s bright smile as Atsumu made funny faces at him. He didn’t look upset. He didn’t look abandoned. If anything, he looked like he was having the time of his little life.

Osamu squeezed your hand, pulling you toward the door. “C’mon, darlin’. Before ya change yer mind.”

And even though it hurt, you let him lead you out, the sound of your boy’s laughter following you into the hallway.

Osamu hailed a taxi at the curb, one hand raised with casual ease, the other still wrapped firmly around yours like he had no intention of letting you go. The driver pulled up quickly, and Osamu opened the door for you, pressing a steadying hand to your back as you slid inside.

It was still afternoon, sunlight spilling gold across the quiet street, warm enough that the air itself seemed to hum. You glanced back at the house as Osamu settled beside you, your chest tightening when you thought of your little boy giggling in Atsumu’s arms.

“Darlin’,” Osamu’s voice pulled you back, low and gentle, “quit lookin’ back. He’s fine.”

You blinked, realizing you’d been craning your neck to watch the door even as the taxi started moving. He reached across the seat, catching your chin between his fingers so you’d look at him. The faintest smile curved his lips, but there was something firmer in his eyes—steady, grounding.

“I planned all this fer you,” he said simply. “So you don’t gotta worry about a thing. Just relax, yeah?”

You exhaled, the tension easing a little as you let yourself sink into the seat. “You really did all of it by yourself?”

“Course I did,” he said, leaning back casually though his thumb still stroked over the back of your hand. “Didn’t want ya stressin’ over details. Flights, hotel, dinner reservations—it’s all sorted. All you gotta do is sit pretty and let me take care of ya.”

Your chest warmed at his words, and maybe at the way his voice dipped a little at the end. You could already picture him arranging everything meticulously, making calls between prepping orders at Onigiri Miya, staying up late to book the exact things he thought you’d love.

“A candlelit dinner by the beach?” you teased softly, trying to lighten the ache still lingering in your chest.

He gave a short laugh, shaking his head. “That’s just the start, sweetheart. Figured we’d watch the sunset, have a drink or two. Then I’ll bring ya back t’the room and…” His gaze flicked to you, heated for just a second before softening again. “Well. We’ll make up fer lost time.”

Heat rose in your cheeks, but you found yourself smiling despite it. “You’ve really thought of everything.”

“Damn right I have.”

The taxi rolled through the familiar streets toward the airport, the afternoon light slipping across Osamu’s features. He looked…content. Focused. And you realized he wasn’t just excited for the trip itself—he was excited for you. For giving you this little stretch of peace, of freedom, of just being his again for a while.

As the airport came into view, he squeezed your hand once more and leaned closer, his lips brushing your temple. “Trust me, darlin’. This weekend—it’s all about us.”

The taxi rolled to a stop at the airport, and Osamu was out first, slinging both your bags over his shoulder before you could even protest. “I can carry one, you know,” you said, half amused, half exasperated.

He only shot you a look over his shoulder. “Not when I’m around. Yer job’s t’just sit back, got it?”

You smiled despite yourself, falling into step behind him as he steered you through the terminal with a quiet confidence. He checked in at the counter, double-checked the tickets, even guided you through security with a hand at the small of your back the whole time. It was subtle, but he never stopped touching you—your wrist, your waist, your hand—like he needed the reminder that you were right there with him.

On the plane, you ended up by the window, your head leaning against the cool glass as the engines roared to life. Osamu sat close beside you, his shoulder brushing yours, his hand finding yours again almost instinctively.

“Ya doin’ alright?” he murmured as the plane lifted, glancing at you carefully.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, though your chest still ached a little. “Just…thinking about him.”

Osamu squeezed your hand, his thumb rubbing slowly across your knuckles. “That’s natural. But he’s in good hands. And I need ya here with me, darlin’. Just fer a little while.”

The warmth in his tone left no room for doubt. You nodded, letting yourself lean into him, and he kissed the top of your head before closing his eyes for a nap.

The flight was short, barely giving you time to settle before the announcement came over the speakers. When the plane finally touched down, the first thing you noticed was the air—the soft, salty breeze that hit as soon as you stepped out of the terminal. It smelled like the sea, like something fresh and wide open.

Osamu flagged a shuttle to the resort, loading your luggage himself while you took in the palm trees swaying gently against the late-afternoon sky. The sun was still up, casting everything in shades of gold and pink as the horizon began to soften.

By the time you arrived at the beachfront resort, the world felt different—slower, calmer. The sound of waves carried on the breeze, mixing with the distant chatter of other guests. The main building of the resort was elegant but warm, open-air with white stone paths and flickering lanterns leading the way.

Osamu handled the check-in quickly, keys in hand before you could blink, and guided you toward your room. The walk took you past a stretch of beach, the sand already cooling under the shadow of the coming evening. He glanced at it, then at you, his lips twitching. “That’s where we’ll be tonight. Dinner by the water. Candlelight. Nothin’ but you, me, and the sound of the waves.”

Your heart fluttered, a mix of anticipation and tenderness. You couldn’t help but glance at him—the way he carried the bags so easily, the quiet certainty in his stride, the care he’d woven into every part of this trip.

When he opened the door to your room, the first thing you noticed was the view: sliding glass doors leading straight out to a private balcony, and beyond that, the ocean itself. The waves glittered in the fading afternoon light, stretching endlessly toward the horizon.

You turned to him, unable to hide your smile. “Osamu…this is perfect.”

He set the bags down and crossed the room in three steps, his hand cupping your cheek as he kissed you softly, lingering there for a moment. When he pulled back, his gaze was already darker, hungrier.

“Good,” he murmured. “Cause this weekend’s all about makin’ sure ya remember how much I love ya.”

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing the two of you away from the rest of the resort, and you stood there for a moment just drinking in the sight. The room was airy and bright, a soft white and sand palette that opened straight onto a balcony overlooking the water. The ocean stretched endlessly, waves catching the afternoon light until it looked like the horizon itself was glittering.

You drifted toward the glass doors, your fingertips brushing the curtain as you slid it aside. “It’s beautiful…”

Osamu came up behind you, his arms sliding easily around your waist, chin hooking over your shoulder. “Not as beautiful as you,” he murmured, pressing a slow kiss to the curve of your neck.

You flushed, leaning back into him. “You really thought of everything, didn’t you?”

“Course I did,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact but his hands gentle as they smoothed over your hips. “Didn’t want ya liftin’ a finger this weekend.”

For a little while, the two of you just stood like that, soaking in the view. When he finally let go, it was only to take your bag and set it carefully on the low bench at the end of the bed. He began pulling things out one by one, setting them neatly aside, as though unpacking was his job and his alone.

“You don’t have to—” you started, but he cut you off with a look.

“Sit. Relax. I mean it,” he said firmly, tugging at the back of your knees until you perched on the edge of the bed. He bent down then, unlacing your shoes himself and slipping them off before brushing a kiss across your knee. “Yer on vacation, darlin’. Let me take care of ya.”

Something about the quiet authority in his voice, the way his rough hands turned so gentle when they touched you, made your chest ache with warmth. You let him fuss, watching him move around the room with steady purpose until everything was in its place.

Later, when the sky outside had deepened into hues of coral and gold, he coaxed you out of the room and down toward the beach. Lanterns lined the path, their glow soft against the deepening twilight, and the air smelled of salt and grilled seafood drifting from the open kitchen.

The resort staff had set a small table right on the sand, shielded by a canopy and lit by flickering candles. The waves lapped just a few feet away, their steady rhythm underscoring the intimacy of the moment.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly as you sat down. “Osamu, this is straight out of a movie.”

He smirked as he pulled out your chair for you, then settled across from you. “Good. Means I did it right.”

Dinner was easy, the two of you slipping into quiet conversation and shared laughter, the candlelight catching the warmth in his eyes. You felt yourself unwinding more with every passing moment, the ache of leaving your son easing as Osamu reminded you—without words sometimes, just in looks and touches—that this was about the two of you, too.

When the plates were cleared and the sky was full of stars, Osamu reached into his pocket. “Got somethin’ fer ya.”

You blinked as he slid a small velvet box across the table.

“Osamu…” you breathed, already feeling tears prick at your eyes as you opened it. Inside, nestled against the dark lining, was a delicate necklace—simple but elegant, a tiny charm glinting in the candlelight.

“It ain’t flashy,” he said quietly, watching your reaction with careful eyes. “But when I saw it, I thought of you.”

Your throat tightened, and you shook your head softly. “You didn’t have to get me anything. You already have everything I could ever want.”

He leaned across the table then, his voice dropping low, heavy with meaning. “Ya already gave me the greatest gift I could ever ask for. Our son. This—” he gestured to the necklace “—is just my way of sayin’ thank you. And happy anniversary, darlin’.”

The tears slipped free then, no matter how hard you tried to blink them back. You laughed through them, nodding as you held the necklace out to him. “Put it on me?”

Osamu stood, coming behind you to fasten the chain gently around your neck. His fingers lingered against your skin, and when he bent to press a kiss just beneath your ear, his breath was warm, his voice rough.

“Perfect,” he murmured. “Yer mine.”

The words lingered between you, heavy and warm, as Osamu slipped back around the table to pull you gently to your feet. You leaned into him easily, your hand finding his without thought, the new necklace cool against your collarbone as you pressed closer.

“C’mon,” he said softly, brushing his thumb across your knuckles. “Let’s walk a bit. Don’t wanna waste this view.”

The two of you drifted down the shoreline, the sand cool beneath your bare feet. Osamu had insisted you take off your sandals, holding them easily in one hand while his other stayed clasped around yours. The waves whispered against the shore, starlight reflecting on the water, and you found yourself breathing easier than you had in months.

He didn’t rush you. He never did. Instead, he matched his pace to yours, sometimes slowing just so your shoulders brushed, sometimes tightening his grip when you stumbled against a patch of softer sand. At one point, you laughed softly, leaning into him.

“Ya happy?” he asked quietly, glancing down at you.

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “Very.”

The simple word was enough to ease the last bit of tension from his frame. He lifted your joined hands and kissed the back of yours, his lips lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

When you finally turned back toward the resort, the night had deepened fully, lanterns glowing faintly against the dark. The quiet between you felt charged now, heavier than before, as though every brush of his fingers against yours was a promise waiting to be cashed in.

The moment the hotel room door clicked shut behind you, that promise broke wide open.

Osamu’s hands were on you instantly, your back pressed to the door as his mouth crashed against yours. Gone was the slow tenderness of the evening walk—this was hunger, sharp and consuming, weeks and months of restraint spilling over all at once.

You gasped into him, your hands clutching at his shirt as he kissed you like he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t breathe without you. The lock clicked into place under his hand, and then he was cupping your jaw, tilting your head just so he could deepen the kiss.

“Been waitin’ fer this,” he rasped against your lips, his breath hot, his voice already roughened with need. “Too damn long.”

Before you could answer, his hands slid down to your thighs, gripping firmly before lifting you up as though you weighed nothing. You gasped, arms instinctively looping around his shoulders, your mouth finding his again in a fevered kiss.

He carried you across the room with steady strides, only breaking the kiss when he tossed you down onto the bed with a little more force than necessary—though the gentleness in his eyes gave him away. You bounced once against the plush mattress, your chest heaving as you looked up at him.

Osamu peeled his shirt off in one smooth motion, the fabric landing somewhere on the floor. Candlelight from the balcony spilled across his broad chest, shadows tracing over the lines of muscle and the faint sheen of sweat already forming on his skin.

Then he was on you again, caging you in beneath him, his mouth finding yours with a hunger that left you breathless. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly, and he groaned into the kiss, deepening it until you could barely think.

When his hands found the hem of your dress, he didn’t hesitate. He shoved the fabric up, baring your thighs, your hips, until it bunched around your waist. His hips pressed down against you, grinding hard through the thin layers of fabric still separating you, the heat of him unmistakable.

You let out a soft moan, the sound spilling into his mouth, and Osamu seized the opportunity immediately. His tongue pushed past your lips, hot and demanding, tasting every inch of you as though he couldn’t get enough. The kiss turned messy, wet, your head tilting to keep up with his insistence.

His voice was ragged when he finally pulled back for air, lips brushing yours as he growled, “Gonna take my time with ya, darlin’. Gonna remind ya who ya belong to.”

His fingers found the straps of your dress, tugging them down slowly, deliberately, like he was savoring every inch of skin he uncovered. The fabric slid down your shoulders, then your arms, until the top of your dress sagged uselessly around your waist.

Osamu froze. His breath stuttered, his eyes darkening as they locked on your chest.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, almost to himself. His large, rough hand came up to cup one breast, weighing it in his palm. “Ya don’t know what ya do to me, lookin’ like this. Yer tits… they’ve gotten so damn big since ya gave me our boy.”

You squirmed under his gaze, heat flooding your cheeks, but his thumb brushed over your nipple and you gasped softly. A bead of milk pearled at the tip, and his eyes sharpened like a predator catching sight of prey.

“Oh, darlin’,” he groaned, lowering his head until his lips ghosted over the soft swell. “Yer still full. Still leakin’ fer me, even now. Can’t—” His voice broke off into a growl. “Can’t waste it.”

He latched onto your nipple, mouth hot and greedy, and you arched instantly, a moan spilling from your lips as he sucked hard. Milk welled against his tongue, and he groaned like a man starved, swallowing noisily before pulling more from you.

“Goddamn,” he muttered between gulps, tongue flicking and circling your nipple before sucking again. “Yer perfect. Fuckin’ perfect. Made to feed me, made to feed our babies. Could drink from ya forever.”

Your fingers tangled desperately in his hair, tugging, trying to ground yourself against the rush of sensation. Every pull of his mouth sent sparks down your spine, your chest tingling with sensitivity as he feasted without shame.

“Don’t hold back,” he urged against your skin, voice muffled, desperate. “Give it all to me. Lemme have it.”

He switched to your other breast without warning, tugging the nipple into his mouth, lips sealing tight as he sucked hard enough to make you cry out. His hand massaged the breast he’d just abandoned, coaxing more milk forward, kneading and squeezing until it dribbled down his fingers.

The sight made his hips rut harder against you, the bulge in his pants straining as though he might tear right through the fabric.

“Ya see what ya do to me?” he groaned, pulling back just far enough for you to see his lips wet, slick with your milk. He smirked, breath ragged, before latching back on, pulling greedily. “Taste better than anythin’. Better than food, better than water. Just need you.”

He alternated between slow, teasing licks and hungry, deep pulls, like he couldn’t decide whether to savor or devour. The wet sounds of him feeding filled the room, shameless and raw, until you were writhing beneath him.

He finally pulled back, chest heaving, a thin trickle of milk glistening at the corner of his mouth. He swiped it with his tongue, groaning low in his throat.

“Yer body’s beggin’ fer me, darlin’,” he rasped, his voice ruined from sucking you raw. “Still feedin’ me, still makin’ milk… still ready to be bred again.”

His rough hand trailed down from your breast, over the curve of your stomach, until it cupped the heat between your thighs. His fingers pressed against the damp fabric, slow and deliberate, his touch firm enough to make you twitch.

“Yer mine,” he whispered, pressing harder, feeling the wetness soaking through. “Always mine.”

You whined, hips rocking helplessly into his hand. Osamu smirked, dragging a calloused thumb over your clit through the thin lace.

“Already soaked fer me. Haven’t even touched ya properly yet.” His voice was dark, pleased, almost smug. “Such a needy little thing.”

He moved the fabric aside and let his thumb find your bare clit. He rubbed slow, lazy circles, teasing, refusing to give you the rhythm you craved. You moaned, clinging to his shoulders, thighs trembling.

“Osamu—please,” you gasped, desperate, your voice breaking. “Stop teasing me. I need you—”

“Ya need me, huh?” He chuckled low, the sound vibrating through your chest where he hovered above you. “That’s right. Only me. Always me.”

Then, without warning, he hooked two fingers under your panties and yanked them down. The delicate lace slid off your legs in one swift motion, and before you even registered it, the garment was already flung across the room. He didn’t spare it a glance.

All of his attention was fixed between your thighs.

“Fuck,” he groaned, staring at you, eyes nearly black with hunger. “Look at that pretty cunt. Drippin’ already, just from me suckin’ on yer tits. Yer perfect, darlin’. Made fer me.”

He spread your thighs wide, forcing them open with his broad hands, and lowered his head. His hot breath ghosted over your slick folds, making you shiver.

“Osamu, please—”

“Shhh,” he cut you off, kissing your inner thigh slowly, reverently, before finally dragging his tongue through your folds in one long, deliberate lick.

Your cry echoed in the room, your back arching off the bed.

He hummed against you, the sound low and satisfied, before sucking gently at your clit. “Sweet,” he muttered against your skin. “Yer sweeter than anything I’ve ever cooked up. Sweeter than rice, sweeter than dango. Fuck, I could eat ya every day.”

Then he dove in, no hesitation. His mouth wrapped around your clit, sucking hard, while his tongue flicked quick and insistent. Your thighs tried to snap closed from the sudden rush of sensation, but he growled, prying them apart again, his grip bruising against your skin.

“Keep ‘em open, darlin’,” he ordered roughly, pausing only to catch his breath before burying his face back in. “Gonna devour ya. Gonna make ya cum on my tongue till yer cryin’.”

He alternated between sucking and licking, sometimes slow and steady, sometimes fast and messy, until you were a writhing mess beneath him. Every time you thought you were about to fall apart, he’d ease up just enough to drag you back from the edge, making you beg.

“Osamu, please—please, I can’t—”

“Yes ya can,” he groaned, sliding his tongue inside you now, fucking you with it while his nose pressed against your clit. “Yer gonna take it. Yer gonna cum for me, and then I’m gonna fill this needy little cunt again. Put another baby in ya.”

His words made you clench around nothing, your body tightening, your moans spilling freely now.

He lapped up everything, groaning like he couldn’t get enough, until your thighs were trembling violently against his shoulders. He pulled back just enough to meet your dazed eyes, his mouth glistening, his lips swollen.

“Cum fer me, darlin’,” he commanded, voice rough, almost pleading now. “Cum on my tongue so I can taste ya before I fuck a baby into ya.”

And then he buried his face back between your thighs, sucking hard on your clit, refusing to stop until you broke apart. His tongue moved with relentless precision, the slick sounds obscene, his groans vibrating against your soaked skin.

You could barely breathe, your voice breaking as you clutched desperately at his hair. “Osamu—ah, I’m—I’m cumming! I’m cumming—”

The words tore out of you just as your body snapped, the climax hitting hard and fast. Your back arched off the bed, thighs shaking violently around his head, your hips grinding helplessly against his mouth as the pleasure ripped through you. You sobbed out his name, voice caught somewhere between a scream and a plea, utterly undone.

But he didn’t let up.

Osamu groaned into you, hungry, like a man starved, and lapped up everything you gave him. He swallowed it all, then dragged his tongue through your release again, slow and greedy, making sure not a single drop was wasted. The overstimulation had you thrashing, your body twitching as you whimpered and tried to push him away, but his strong arms wrapped around your thighs, pinning you open for him.

“Don’t run from me, darlin’,” he growled against your swollen clit before sucking it hard again, forcing another cry from your throat. “Yer sweet cunt’s mine. Gonna eat ya till ya can’t think straight.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes from the intensity, your chest heaving, nipples still aching and wet from earlier, and you sobbed his name again. “’Samu, it’s—ah—it’s too much!”

But he only chuckled darkly, the sound sending a fresh shiver down your spine. “Too much? Nah, baby… ya’ve been holdin’ back from me too long. Gonna make ya cum ‘til this needy little pussy remembers who owns it.”

He alternated between flicking your clit with his tongue and plunging it inside you, fucking you with his mouth until you were squirming, nails digging into the sheets. Every time your hips lifted off the bed in a desperate attempt to escape, he pressed you back down, his shoulders solid against your thighs, refusing to let go.

“Cum in my mouth again,” he demanded roughly, his words muffled against your wet heat. “Feed me. Wanna taste ya drippin’ for me while I think about breedin’ ya full again. Give it to me, darlin’.”

Your whole body trembled, overwhelmed, already teetering on the edge of another climax from the ruthless pace of his mouth. You tried to tell him you couldn’t, that you were too sensitive, but all that spilled from your lips were broken sobs and high-pitched pleas.

And still, Osamu didn’t stop. His tongue worked you mercilessly, his lips latching around your swollen clit, sucking hard enough to make your vision blur. The overstimulation hit like fire, building faster than you could handle until it tore you apart again.

You cried out his name, back arching off the bed as another release rushed through you, flooding his mouth. Your thighs clamped tight around his head, shaking uncontrollably, but he held firm, groaning into your cunt as if the taste itself drove him mad.

When he finally pulled away, his chest was heaving, lips shiny, your release dripping down his chin. He swiped at it with his tongue, savoring you, eyes blown wide with hunger. “Sweetest thing I ever had,” he rasped, his voice low, almost reverent. “Ya give me this and expect me not to want more?”

Before you could catch your breath, he was crawling up your body again, caging you beneath him. His mouth claimed yours, hot and desperate, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue. The kiss was sloppy, intoxicating, his hand fisted in your hair while his hips ground against you, his erection straining hard against the confines of his pants.

Your shaky hands found their way down, fumbling with the buckle of his belt. You managed to undo it between frantic kisses, your fingers tugging at the button and zipper with urgency. He groaned into your mouth as you shoved his pants down, and with one rough kick, he sent them flying off his legs to the floor.

Now, pressed flush against you, only the thin barrier of your soaked panties kept him from burying himself inside. His cock, thick and heavy, ground against your slit through the damp fabric, and the friction alone had your body twitching with leftover sensitivity.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he muttered against your lips, his hips rutting slow, deliberate, teasing. “Been achin’ for this. Gonna fuck my cum so deep inside ya, ya won’t ever forget who ya belong to.”

He shifted back onto his knees, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock, stroking himself slowly—purposefully—while his eyes devoured you. The sight made heat bloom low in your belly, and your thighs pressed together instinctively, aching for him.

“Spread ‘em,” he ordered low, and when you obeyed, his grin deepened. “Good girl.”

He guided the thick head of his cock down to your folds, dragging it through your slick. You gasped at the contact, the blunt tip bumping your clit before sliding down over your entrance, parting you just slightly before he pulled back again. He stroked himself once more, deliberately slow, and then repeated the motion, smearing precum and your wetness together, coating himself in you.

You whined, hips lifting to chase him. “’Samu… please, stop teasing—”

“Shhh,” he cut you off, pressing the head right against your hole, just enough to make you feel the stretch, before pulling back again. “Ya hear how wet ya are? Ya think I don’t know how bad ya want me?” He rubbed himself along your seam again, deliberately brushing your clit until you cried out.

His voice dropped, husky and rough. “Tell me, darlin’… ya want me to breed ya again? Wanna be full of me, carry my babies?”

Your lips parted, breath shaky. The words should’ve embarrassed you, but instead they made your whole body burn. “Y-yes, Osamu… I—”

He chuckled darkly, cutting off your stammer with another slow drag of his cock against your folds. “Course ya do. Gave me the perfect boy already. Strong, healthy—my son.” He leaned down to press his mouth to your ear, his breath hot as he murmured, “But maybe this time… we make a girl. A sweet little girl with yer eyes, runnin’ ‘round in pigtails. What d’ya think, darlin’? Ya wanna give me that?”

Your breath hitched, and you nodded quickly, nails digging into his shoulders. “Y-yes, I want that—want another baby with you.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, the sound guttural, his hand working faster over his cock as he ground the head against your clit. “Yer gonna make me lose my mind, sayin’ that.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and glazed with hunger. He rubbed the head over your swollen folds again, smearing you everywhere, then pressed harder against your entrance, circling the tip without pushing in.

“Look at ya,” he rasped, his tone almost reverent. “Cunt’s cryin’ for me, tits still full and heavy from feedin’ our boy… body already knowin’ what it’s meant for. Yer perfect, darlin’. Perfect for me.”

You whined, writhing beneath him, the combination of his words and his cock teasing you making your head spin. “Osamu, please—I need you inside.”

He smirked, giving himself another long stroke before pressing his tip flush against your entrance again. “Patience, sweetheart. I’m gonna fill ya soon enough… but I like hearin’ ya beg first.”

He pressed forward just enough for the head of his cock to breach you, stretching you slightly, the burn sharp and sweet. Your lips parted on a gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders—only for him to pull out a second later with a rough groan, dragging his length through your slick folds instead.

“Fuck, that little squeeze,” he muttered, voice frayed. “Ya’d milk me dry if I let myself go too soon.” He aligned himself again, pushed the thick tip in just barely, then pulled out again, smearing your wetness all over himself.

You whimpered, trying to chase him with your hips, but he held you down, cock sliding cruelly slow along your clit before nudging back against your entrance. “Ya keep clenchin’ for me, darlin’… like yer beggin’ to be knocked up again. Tell me that’s what ya want.”

“I—I do,” you sobbed, eyes wet and body trembling from frustration. “Please, Osamu, I want it, I want another baby with you.”

He groaned deep in his chest, shoving the tip inside you again before pulling out just as quickly, leaving you empty. Your walls fluttered around nothing, and you nearly cried at the loss. “Fuck, the way ya say that,” he rasped, his voice low and filthy. “Ya want me to fill ya till it takes, huh? Want me to pump ya so full ya’ll be round and swollen again, feedin’ me while yer carryin’ my girl?”

The words shot straight through you, your body clenching down in anticipation. Tears slid from the corners of your eyes as you shook your head desperately. “N-no more teasing, Osamu—please, I can’t take it. Just—just fuck me already!”

For a moment, he just stared down at you, chest heaving, his cock straining in his hand as he stroked it once, twice, smearing your wetness along his length. Then he leaned down, kissing the tears from your cheeks before growling against your lips, “That’s it, sweetheart. Begged so pretty for me. I’ll give ya what ya want.”

And this time, when he pushed forward, he didn’t stop. His cock slid into you inch by inch, stretching you wide, the thick weight of him finally filling the ache he’d built in you. Your head fell back against the pillows with a broken moan, your walls clamping down around him greedily.

“Fuck yes,” Osamu groaned, bottoming out with one hard thrust. “That’s it. Yer mine. Gonna fuck my cum into ya ‘til it sticks.”

Before you could even catch your breath, he reached for the pillow beneath your head, sliding it down beneath your hips. He lifted you carefully, tucking it under to angle you up for him, and your heart fluttered at the tenderness buried in such a filthy act. The new position made you feel even fuller, his cock pressing deep into that spot that had you clenching tight around him.

Your pussy fluttered, reacting instinctively, and Osamu’s eyes darkened as he felt it. “Yeah… there it is,” he rasped, his voice low and rough. “Yer squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight, darlin’. Like yer body’s beggin’ me to give ya another baby.”

He drew back slowly, dragging his cock almost all the way out before sliding back in just as slow, savoring the way your walls hugged him. Each deliberate thrust had you gasping, the stretch unbearable and perfect all at once.

He bent low over you, his lips brushing your ear, his words pouring into you as steady as his movements. “Can ya feel it? How deep I am? Pillow’s makin’ sure every drop of me stays where it belongs. I’m gonna fill ya, sweetheart… breed ya so full there’ll be no doubt whose baby yer carryin’.”

You whimpered, hands gripping at his arms as your body quivered under the intensity. He kissed along your jaw, his voice dropping to a near growl. “Ya want that, don’t ya? Want me to pump ya full, knock ya up again? Gave me a strong boy already, but maybe this time we’ll get a girl. A sweet little girl with yer smile, clingin’ to her mama.”

The words made your chest tighten, your pussy clench around him so hard he groaned. He thrust a little deeper, a little harder, but still kept that slow, steady rhythm, dragging it out, making you feel every inch.

“God, the way yer squeezin’ me,” he muttered, forehead pressing against yours. “Yer body knows me, darlin’. Knows what I’m here for. Made to take my cock, made to take my seed, made to give me babies.”

His pace shifted again, the steady rhythm breaking into harder, hungrier thrusts. Each snap of his hips slammed you deeper into the mattress, the pillow under your hips keeping you tilted just right so he hit that tender spot inside you over and over. The room filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, your moans mingling with his ragged groans until it felt like the walls themselves would remember you.

“Fuck, darlin’—ya feel that? Yer milkin’ me already,” Osamu rasped, his forehead pressed against yours, sweat dripping down his temple. He grabbed your thighs, spreading you wider, rutting into you with a pace that left you gasping. “So damn tight, so damn perfect for me. This pussy knows who it belongs to.”

You sobbed out his name, clinging to his back, every nerve in your body sparking from the way he filled you. Tears slipped down your cheeks from the overwhelming mix of pleasure and love, and he kissed them away, never slowing.

“Look at ya,” he groaned, hips pounding into you, his voice breaking with reverence. “Carried my boy, gave me a family… and still, yer squeezin’ me like this. Strongest woman I know, most beautiful thing I ever laid eyes on. Fuck—I can’t hold back, not with ya lookin’ at me like that.”

His thrusts grew brutal, each one forcing a sharp cry from your lips. He angled his hips slightly, the head of his cock dragging against the spongy spot inside you until your legs shook uncontrollably. His hand dropped to your clit, rubbing fast, in time with his relentless pace.

“Cum fer me,” he demanded, voice low and desperate, his thumb circling hard as he fucked you into the mattress. “Cum fer me first, darlin’. Wanna feel ya break apart on my cock. Give it to me—show me how much ya need me to breed ya.”

You tried to hold back, tried to catch your breath, but the combination of his thrusts slamming into that spot and his thumb on your clit had your body unraveling too quickly. “’Samu—oh god—I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, that’s it,” he growled, fucking you even harder. “Cum fer me. Let me feel ya—fuckin’ take it all.”

Your body arched off the bed, your climax ripping through you with a violent force that left you screaming his name. Your walls clamped down on him so tight he nearly lost it, your whole body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure tore through you.

Osamu’s body was relentless, hips pistoning into you with a rhythm that felt more like claiming than fucking. Every thrust drove the air from your lungs, every slap of skin echoed sharp and wet in the room. His grip on your thighs was bruising, keeping you pinned in the mating press as though he needed you bound and spread just for him.

“Fuck, hear that?” he growled, teeth gritted as the obscene squelch of your soaked pussy filled the room. “Yer gushin’ all over me—greedy little thing can’t stop milkin’ my cock. This is what ya want, huh? This is what ya been beggin’ fer?”

Your answer was a sob, your nails clawing down his back, eyes rolling as your body jerked with another violent orgasm. The pressure burst inside you all at once—you came hard, squirting again, the gush spraying across his stomach, wetting the sheets beneath you.

Osamu’s eyes widened, his rhythm faltering as his cock twitched at the sudden flood. “Fuckin’ hell—ya just squirted again. Look at ya, darlin’, makin’ a fuckin’ mess all fer me.” His thrusts turned ragged, wild, as if he was chasing the sight again and again. “Yer perfect—fuckin’ perfect—made fer breedin’, made fer me.”

He bent over you, folding you tighter into the mattress, his weight crushing you into the bed as his hips slammed faster, deeper, the head of his cock punching against your cervix with every rut. “Ya feel that? That’s me hittin’ ya where I need—knockin’ ya up again, puttin’ another baby right where he belongs.”

Your walls clamped down, fluttering so tight he let out a strangled shout. His body stiffened, thrusts erratic now, hips grinding hard as he bottomed out with everything he had left. “Fuck—fuck, darlin’, I’m cummin’—”

He spilled hot and thick into you, groaning your name brokenly as his cock pulsed deep inside. His whole body trembled with the force of it, his voice cracked and guttural. “Take it—take all my cum—fuck, don’t waste a drop. Gonna fill ya so full ya’ll be drippin’ fer days.”

But he didn’t stop. Even as he finished, Osamu ground his hips slow and deep, rolling against your overstimulated walls as though forcing every drop higher. His cock twitched with aftershocks, still leaking inside, and he held you wide open, refusing to let any of him escape.

“Stay like this,” he rasped, sweaty forehead pressing to yours. “Don’t move, darlin’. Gotta keep it all in ya—make sure it sticks.” His hand slid down between you, pressing flat against your belly possessively. “Right here. Gonna give me another—maybe a girl this time, hm? Bet she’ll look just like her mama. Fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your legs trembled against his shoulders, tears slipping down your temples from the sheer intensity, but his eyes softened at the sight. His thrusts slowed, gentled into a grind, his lips brushing over your damp cheeks, kissing the salt away.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered, still buried inside you. “Took me so good. Gave me everythin’ I needed. God, yer beautiful—yer everythin’.” His arms wrapped around you, lifting you just enough so he could hold you close, still keeping you locked on his cock like he couldn’t bear to pull away.

Even as his breath evened out, his body refused to let go, his hips giving lazy rolls just to keep you full, to remind you of what he’d just given you. The heat of him seeped deeper with every grind, your body trembling under the weight of his presence.

“So full, Samu,” you moaned, the words spilling out broken and hazy as you felt his cum already spilling over, slick warmth dripping out despite the way he pressed so tightly against you.

His chest rumbled with a low chuckle, his lips brushing over your temple. “Well, we need ya full for our new baby, darlin’.” He kissed you sweetly, almost at odds with the filth of his words, before lowering your trembling legs down gently from the mating press. His hands smoothed over your thighs in slow, reverent strokes, easing the ache, grounding you after the storm.

He didn’t pull out though—not yet. Instead, he shifted just enough to press his weight into you, deepening the kiss. His mouth was warm and tender, coaxing you to relax against him while his hips gave another lazy roll, grinding his cock deeper, like he was sealing himself inside you.

“You feel that?” he murmured against your lips, breath heavy but steady now. “That’s me, darlin’. All of me. Right where it belongs.” His hand trailed down, resting over your stomach again with quiet possession. “Yer already the best mama, but I wanna see ya glow again. Wanna see ya carryin’ our girl this time.”

Your heart twisted at the words—part raw, part tender—as his thumb rubbed small circles over your lower belly, coaxing, dreaming out loud.

You kissed him back, your hands slipping up his damp back, clinging to him as though he was your anchor. And he let you—let you hold him, let you feel the weight of his devotion as much as his body still buried inside you.

When Osamu finally eased out of you, your body clenched desperately around the sudden emptiness, a whimper breaking from your throat. He stilled, gaze dropping between your legs just in time to watch his cum spill in a slow, messy trail down your thighs. His chest rose and fell unevenly as he swiped a finger along the mess, lifting it to your lips before his eyes flicked back to yours.

“Tsk, darlin’,” he muttered, tone rough with reprimand but softened with adoration. “Yer leakin’ already. How the hell are we supposed ta get another baby in ya if ya can’t keep me inside?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but he was already shifting, strong arms wrapping around you as he rolled you onto his lap with effortless ease. Your knees pressed into the sheets, thighs shaking as you straddled him, and his big hands smoothed over your hips like he was handling something precious.

“C’mere,” he coaxed, pulling you close. His cock—still thick, hard again despite just filling you minutes before—pressed against your folds, slick and heavy with both your release. The sight alone made your breath stutter, your chest pressing tight.

Osamu kissed you then, slow and deep, his tongue coaxing yours as his thumbs traced soft circles into your waist. He guided you up slightly, then eased you down, the blunt head nudging your swollen entrance. The stretch burned just a little, but he held your gaze the whole way, grounding you with the weight of his love.

Inch by inch, he filled you again until you were seated fully on him, his length buried to the hilt. You gasped into his mouth, trembling, and Osamu groaned low in his chest, hands gripping your hips like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Yer so warm… so tight… like yer made only fer me. Always takin’ me so perfect, darlin’.” He leaned his forehead to yours, eyes half-lidded but burning as he tilted his hips, just enough to let you feel the weight of him deep inside.

Your arms looped around his neck, nails scratching lightly at his damp skin as you clung to him. His scent—warm, musky, familiar—flooded your senses, wrapping around you as much as his embrace did.

Osamu let out a shaky laugh, soft and tender, his lips brushing your ear. “God, yer beautiful. Look at ya sittin’ on me like this. I swear, I’ll never get enough of it.” One of his hands drifted lower, palm flattening against your belly. He rubbed slow circles, humming under his breath. “Gonna see ya round here again soon, darlin’. Gonna give me another. Maybe this time… she’ll have yer pretty smile. Or yer laugh. Or them eyes that drive me crazy.”

Your throat tightened, tears pricking the corners of your eyes, but you smiled into his shoulder, pressing a kiss there to ground yourself.

He noticed, of course—Osamu always noticed. His grip gentled, his lips finding the crown of your head. “Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he murmured, rocking you slowly against him so you could feel him still seated deep inside. “Ain’t nothin’ scary about it. It’s just us. Always been just us. Me, you, and our boy. And if we’re lucky, soon a little girl too.”

You let out a soft sound, half laugh, half sob, and Osamu kissed your temple, the salt of your tears brushing his lips. “Shh… that’s it,” he soothed, voice low and husky. “Ya don’t gotta think about nothin’ else. I’ll take care of everythin’. All ya gotta do is stay right here, keepin’ me inside ya. That’s more than enough, darlin’.”

He shifted then, reclining back against the pillows, keeping you in his lap. His hands slid to your lower back, anchoring you as your weight settled over him. His cock twitched inside you, reminding you both of the claim he’d just staked, the promise he intended to keep.

Osamu’s eyes softened, his thumb brushing absent circles over your hip. “Night ain’t over,” he whispered, kissing you again, slower this time, reverent. “Not ‘til I’ve made sure yer full of me… not ‘til we’re certain there’s a little girl on the way. We’ve got all night, darlin’. All night to make it happen.”

And as the waves outside lapped against the shore, you stayed there, clinging to him, your body joined with his. Osamu held you like he’d never let go, his cock still seated deep, his heart steady beneath your ear—a promise of more to come, of a love that would never end.

© 2025 yukkigiri ☾ creations by luna — please do not repost, copy, or translate without permission.

Your face grew warm at the words — at this stranger whose face you knew but otherwise couldn't recognize. You knew Osamu had a twin, had filed it away with all the other arbitrary facts you'd collected about him. You just never considered the fact that you might actually meet the guy, what with his tapered joggers and MSBY t-shirt and brand-deal athletic shoes.

Amused by the fact that you were very evidently weirded out, Atsumu asked, "This yer first time meetin' twins, or what?”

Frowning, you said, "Feels like I'm staring at an optical illusion."

His laugh was louder than Osamu's. More garish.

"That's a new one," he told you, shucking his empty cup into the nearest trash can before extending his hand out. "The name's Atsumu."

"Y/N. My daughter is in Kina's class," you supplied, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. "Osamu's told me a lot about you."

"Yeah?" The corner of his lips tilted into an easy smile you'd only ever seen on Disney princes. "Hopefully all good things?"

"Eh." You shrugged. "He may have mentioned wanting to eat you in the womb once or twice."

"Ha!" Atsumu's brown eyes glinted as he laughed. "Ya know, when Osamu told me he'd made a new friend at Kina's school, yer not exactly what I had in mind."

"Oh, yeah?" you asked, folding your arms across your chest. "And what did you have in mind?"

"I dunno. Someone borin'. Pushin' fifty."

"Well." You gestured down to your business casual, the glossy work heels that hurt like hell to walk in. "Sorry to disappoint."

The sound of antsy parents and their electric cars filled the silence between you.

"So how does all this work?" Atsumu asked, gesturing toward the school gates like they might fly open at any second. "Do I need to sign her out or somethin'?"

"Osamu should have put you on Kina's pickup form. Though I'm sure your face is confirmation enough," you joked. "Their teacher will bring them out here once the bell rings. You can check in with her then."

"Got it."

You studied his expression — the slight concentration there.

"Trust me, you've done way more complicated things as a D1 athlete. I'm sure you'll be just fine."

"Oh?" He looked pleased. "Ya know who I am, then?"

You hummed. "I work with Kuroo Tetsurō at the JVA. So I've watched a couple of your games."

"Well, would ya look at that." Atsumu folded his hands behind his neck and smirked. "Always a pleasure, meetin' a fan."

You shrugged. "I root for the Adlers, personally."

Before Atsumu could open his mouth to retort, the bell rang.

"UNCLE TSUM TSUM!" Kina bellowed, having escaped the single-file line now teetering from Miss Yuki's classroom. She ran up to the gate and pushed her face through the bars. "Ya remembered to pick me up!”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling as another parent shot Atsumu a disapproving glare.

“I — of course I did, ya spawn!” He palmed her face back through the gate so that she wouldn't get stuck. “And what is that on yer shirt — is that blood?”

“It’s ketchup."

“Of course it is,” Atsumu breathed. You reached into your work bag, retrieved a packet of baby wipes, and held it out to him.

"Ya know," he began, fishing out a handful with his fingers. "If you've got any free time tonight, ya should stop by this charity thing we're hostin' at the stadium."

You shucked the packet of baby wipes back into your purse and watched it disappear into the abyss of receipts, hair ties, and Chipotle napkins.

"I would! But then I wouldn't have anyone to watch my daughter."

"Right. Right," Atsumu chuckled, shaking his head. "Kinda a full-time job, huh?"

You smiled at him politely. "Afraid so.”

"Well." Atsumu lifted the wipes in thanks and glanced at the teacher now beckoning Kina to get back in line, please. "Suppose I'll have to convince ya to root for MSBY some other time, then.”

Between the bars, Kina shot her uncle a suspicious frown as you chuckled.

"I'll see you around, Atsumu."

"Oh, I'm countin' on it."

You watched Atsumu jog toward the entrance to the gate, surname and jersey number flexing across his back like a badge of honor. Meanwhile, you made a mental note to text Osamu good luck on the catering gig. You hoped he wasn't too stressed about it.

"Mommy, who was that?" Misa asked, brow scrunched in confusion as you crossed the parking lot hand-in-hand.

You fished for your car keys in your bag but were only met with another handful of Chipotle napkins. "That was Osamu-san's twin brother."

"Twin brother?"

You nodded. "Their mommy gave birth to them at the same time. Can you believe that?"

Misa's face twisted in thought as you unlocked the car, flung her backpack into the trunk, and hoisted her into her carseat.

"Is that why they're the same?"

You carefully considered your daughter's question as you buckled her in, the clicks and zips of her carseat filling the otherwise quiet vehicle.

"That's why they look the same, yes," you told her, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. "But as for their personalities, they couldn't be more different."

Misa's expression bloomed with fascination as you kissed her forehead, closed her car door, and climbed into the driver's seat.

"Ya didn't tell me she was hot!"

Osamu rolled his eyes from the industrial-sized refrigerator he'd been organizing for the past hour. "Could ya not resort to callin' women hot? Pick another adjective."

"Fine. Beautiful, gorgeous. Distractingly pretty — "

"Who are ya even talkin' about?"

"Yer friend, dumbass." The stadium’s kitchen door swung closed as Atsumu stormed inside, leaned against the stainless steel worktable, and grinned. "The one from Kina's school? I tried invitin' her here tonight, but she looked at me like I was stupid."

"Yeah, probably because she has a child."

"You have a child!”

"Yeah, and I've got dumbasses like you who can pick her up when I get busy!” Osamu snapped. "Not everyone gets that privilege."

He shut the refrigerator door and began flipping through his inventory lists for that evening's event, agitation etched into every crease on his face. Atsumu merely frowned at him from across the kitchen, fingers working at the bow tie his publicist had forced him to wear.

"Someone's prickly today."

Osamu dragged a hand down his face. "Yeah, well, I didn't get much sleep last night, I've got staff comin' in thirty, and I’m pretty sure I’m down five pounds of onions. So sorry if I’m not in a more chipper mood.”

"Ya know what ya need?"

"Five pounds of onions?”

"Someone to calm ya the fuck down," Atsumu answered. He adjusted the knot of his bow tie and huffed. "When's the last time you've been on a date?"

“I dunno,” Osamu grumbled, the question alone making his ears turn red. “Since before Kina was born, maybe?”

“Seriously?” Atsumu’s eyes bulged out of his head. “Ya mean to tell me the last time ya got laid, it resulted in Satan’s spawn?”

“Would ya quit referrin’ to my daughter as Satan’s spawn?”

“No wonder yer so wound up!” Atsumu cackled. He rounded the worktable and clapped his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, Samu. After tonight, I won’t spring any more last-minute gigs on ya.”

“Is that so?” Osamu winced as his brother shook him back and forth like a vending machine.

“I’ll even set ya up with one of my friends.” Atsumu waggled his eyebrows. “Or better yet, ya can ask out yer pretty friend over at Kina’s school!”

“Okay,” Osamu drawled, writhing out of his brother’s grip. “Relax. She’s just a friend.”

“I dunno. She seemed pretty disappointed when I showed up today.”

Osamu shot his brother a flat stare. “I think that’s just yer effect on people.”

Atsumu’s face split into a cheeky grin — the same, scheming kind he wore when they were kids.

“Lemme call Kita and tell him about the missin’ produce. In the meantime…just think about it, okay?” Atsumu poked his twin brother in the ribs. “Ya deserve to be happy, too.”

Osamu could write a laundry list of reasons as to why he couldn't do that. His five-year-old daughter. This catering gig from hell. The way his skin crawled whenever he thought about meeting someone new.

Hi, I'm Osamu. Business school dropout. Twin brother to Miya Atsumu. Oh, and did I mention I have a kid?

He loved being Kina's dad. Loved learning her humor, what fruits she liked and didn't like. He loved showing her things she'd never seen before and watching her grow into herself, little-by-little.

But he also didn't expect anyone else to understand that — much less sign up for an entire lifetime of it. Why choose him when there was an easier, blonder, childless version of himself walking around?

Ya deserve to be happy, Atsumu had said.

But as Osamu watched him pace outside the door to the kitchen — phone pressed to his ear, tux glinting beneath the stadium lights — he figured this could be his version of happy. Seeing his daughter grow up, his brother succeed. It was enough. It had to be.

His phone pinged in his pocket before he could think about it too deeply.

Good luck on the catering gig today! you'd texted. Manifesting for you the biggest donations and the best sleep of your life. Lmk if you need anything.

Osamu blinked back at the messages. The series of motivational gifs you'd sent along with them. Some of them were so absurd, he found himself laughing at his phone like an idiot.

"Yer in a better mood," Atsumu drawled when he returned from the hallway.

"Am I?" Osamu hummed, pocketing his cell phone. A hint of a smile grazed his lips. "Just saw somethin' funny, is all."

The first of his catering staff walked into the kitchen before Atsumu could question him further.

"You're back." You smiled at Osamu as you approached the school gate the following day.

"Yes, ma'am," Osamu drawled, holding out a plastic bag of leftovers he'd prepared for you the previous night. "Who else did ya expect?"

"Honestly, I was half-expecting a secret third triplet to appear," you joked, taking the bag into your hands without objection. "How was the event last night? Did you raise a trillion yen?"

"Maybe not a trillion, but enough to make the lack of sleep worth it," he chuckled. "I, uh...I packed some extra short rib as a thank ya for wishin’ me well last night. Really boosted my morale."

"Well, I know how much you wanted to do right by Atsumu.” You hugged the bag close to your chest, the scent of caramelized vegetables and freshly made rice filling your nose. "It was the least I could do."

You tilted your neck toward the sky as a gentle breeze swept across the parking lot, the afternoon sun on your skin only amplifying the warmth in your chest.

"...he didn't bother ya too much yesterday, did he?"

You paused at Osamu's expression. The slight unease there.

"Who? Atsumu?"

"Yeah." Osamu shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know he can be kinda a flirt. Unless yer into that, I mean — "

You laughed as a blush rose into Osamu's cheeks.

"Don't worry. I've met athletes like him before, so they don't faze me." You nudged him in the side with your elbow. "Besides, I'm glad to have you back."

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Yeah?"

"Of course! I can't gossip about the kinder group chat with your doppelgänger. It's not the same."

Osamu's shoulders shook with laughter. "I guess not."

The sound of the bell cleaved your conversation in half as students flooded into the courtyard.

"Oh! I almost forgot," you blurted, reaching into your work bag. "I meant to give this to you yesterday."

You shoved a manila folder into his hands and hoped to God it wasn't too wrinkled.

"Misa has an eye doctor's appointment at four, so I gotta run to beat traffic. But take a look and let me know what you think!"

Before Osamu could open his mouth to respond, you were already jogging toward the school gate in your high heels. How you managed to do that, he had no idea.

"We'll catch up more tomorrow!” you promised him, waving the plastic bag. “And thank you for the food!"

Blinking back in confusion, Osamu peeled back the flap to the envelope and slid out the papers you'd tucked safely inside. His jaw slackened once he realized what they were.

Several mockups you'd designed of a new sign for Onigiri Miya — plus contact information for a signage company you worked with at the JVA.

He thought you were kidding when you'd offered to make one several weeks back.

A small gift for all the hard work you've put in, you'd written into the margins with a felt-tip pen. And a thank you for feeding me and Misa.

Osamu had long since accepted his version of happy. Had drawn a neat circle around all he permitted himself to feel, to want.

But as he stood there in the courtyard of Kina’s school — holding this kind, thoughtful gift you'd spent hours working on — he felt that circle widen, if only for a moment.

The feeling was enough to make his head spin as he tucked the envelope beneath his arm and went looking for his daughter.

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Most fathers would be pleased by the information— not yours, he’s a little more… strict. He already doesn’t like him from a joke made over a decade ago, suggesting you’d make a fine concubine, which wasn’t taken lightly. 

Your father threatened to usurp the throne, sending a chill running down a then 21 year old Zuko’s spine.

There was no way in hell he’d hand you off to the imperial palace to become a concubine. You’re the only child of his that inherited firebending. If your father had it his way, you’d be a warrior, for fucks sake. 

Lord Zuko may have a dry sense of humor at times, but you have your doubts about how much of a joke that statement was, especially with how much he likes to bug you throughout the day.

Perhaps another conflict should erupt— the man has too much time on his hands. Maybe then you’d fulfill your fathers wish of finally working in the military— put your talents to use, as he’d say. 

But would Lord Zuko allow the gentle hands running through his hair to commit such violence? Or would that be when he’d draw a hard line with the aggressive strategist? 

As progressive as he is, you sometimes wonder just how much it extends to you. Even as children, he’d go easy on you during trainings. He’s only grown softer with you as the years passed. Despite not being a concubine yourself, you wouldn’t be surprised if he saw you as one of the flowers in his garden— one he’s not allowed to touch. 

You slide the hair stick through his headpiece, securing the top knot he had you redo. It looks the same, but you hold off on making a comment. “Is that better?” 

“Much better.” His eyes meet yours in the mirror, lips curving into a sly smile. “Now— what are we doing today?”

We. You hate how much he likes to emphasize that at times. 

“Well,” you sigh. “Aside from the usual council meeting, nothing much. Perhaps you can visit one of your concubines today… for once.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Are you saying I don’t fuck my concubines enough?” 

“Precisely,” you say almost mockingly. 

It’s all they ever complain about, and honestly, you’re sure you would, too, if you were one of them. Having to wake up and sit around all day, waiting for a man who never comes. And on the rare occasion that he does, he doesn’t stay long. He’ll show up, fuck the shit out of you for a couple rounds, then leave right after. Allegedly. 

“Don’t you want an heir?” you ask. 

“Depends,” he hums. 

With the way he’s looking at you, you can already tell what it depends on, and it has nothing to do with his current concubines. Lucky for you, he never gets the chance to actually say it because he gets interrupted right after, putting a conversation you’d rather not have to a screeching halt.

“The council is waiting for you, my Lord.”

—

The silk district was notoriously known for two things: brothels and bandits. It was the wild, wild west compared to the other districts in the capital due to high crime and the growing wealth gap. The governments always kept a watchful eye on it, which was never enough in your opinion. 

Are you surprised to hear that an entire brothel, including the madame, was discovered to be slain and robbed in the early hours of this morning? Absolutely not. 

“Send more military officers to patrol the area,” the chamberlain says without hesitation. “We’ve been too lenient with them. If they want bloodshed, we’ll give them bloodshed.”

Yikes, he wants to rule the area with an iron fist when they’re already clearly struggling. You can’t help but think of how much of a dictator this guy would be if he were in Zuko’s place. 

You make eye contact with the lord, who’s sitting at the end of the table right next to you. In that brief moment, he notices the concern in your eyes and gives you a subtle nod. 

“Perhaps we can send more public aid?” you suggest. “They’ve been testing out a new rehabilitation program in Republic City as well. I’m sure the Silk District could benefit from—“

“Nonsense,” the chamberlain cuts you off, wondering why you’re even here right now— he thought you only assisted in matters within the court, not outside of it. “I-“

“Careful,” Zuko interrupts the man rather playfully as he continues to read through the scroll. “That’s the military strategist’s daughter you’re speaking to.” 

The comment makes you nearly roll your eyes, knowing the only reason why he said it was because you’re having to constantly remind him yourself when he gets too close. 

The chamberlain, however, straightens up immediately. You have no idea why it took him this long to realize it. He’s been here for nearly over a year, but at least he knows now. The chamberlain can be quite rude at times, you wouldn’t want him to slip up with your father in the room. Not only would that earn him an earful of insults that are as creative as they are hurtful, but it’d also be embarrassing on your part. 

That old man embarrasses you enough when he’s around. Following you around like a lost puppy after meetings, asking if you’ve eaten and if your superiors are treating you right, while side eyeing the fire lord himself. You’d agree so yourself that he has too much power in the court. He enjoys holding it over everyone’s head even more. It’s sickening, really.

You look at the chamberlain, who is now pouting, and offer an apologetic smile. “May I continue?” 

“Yes, of course,” the old man nods, struggling to hide his shame.

Always one for games, Zuko finds himself suppressing a laugh, which in turn makes the chamberlain’s slouch worsen. He’s grown to find more and more amusement in his daily tasks, a trait his father would definitely disapprove of— good thing he’s not here anymore. 

The rest of the meeting went by as smooth as it could be, with the fire lord, of course, praising the chancellor in the end for being so well behaved, pretending to wonder what could’ve changed his usual demeanor. The usual teasings, all while you once again found yourself thinking of how light he’s become. Even after receiving such upsetting news, he stayed calm while finding a solution. 

A humane one.

No longer the grumpy, angsty boy you grew up with. He’s actually quite charming. But you keep that to yourself.

The palace grounds are empty, as they should be during the afternoon. Everyone’s off either eating, napping, or tending to duties such as cooking or cleaning. It’s quiet, surprisingly peaceful. Your footsteps echo throughout the breezeway as Zuko defies the basic etiquette of walking ahead of you as a ruler should. Instead, the bastard walks a little slower than you. If given the opportunity, he’d turn it into a mini competition of who could walk the slowest, up until you both come to a full stop, with him looking at you all smug. 

“Your chambers are this way,” you remind the said bastard as if he’d already forgotten. 

He doesn’t bother to look back as he responds, walking down a gravel path leading directly to the flower garden. “How about we take a detour today, hm?”

You watch him for a moment, waiting to see if he’d stop. He doesn’t, and you shouldn’t be surprised by it. You’re able to catch up with him in just seconds given his slow pace, this time not bothering to walk behind him as he’s clearly in the mood to be extra stubborn today.

You’re all alone and away from the hearing distance of anyone else, yet you still choose to speak quietly as you start to gently tease the man. “What a surprise to see the king taking some time to enjoy his garden.” 

He lets out a soft laugh that fades into a hum. “Only around a select few.”

“Oh, wow,” you pretend to be impressed. “How charitable.” 

“It’s an honor that you think so,” he says, placing a hand over his chest to add to the theatrics, trying not to laugh once again. “Tell me, when was the last time you walked through here?”

You hum as you walk further into the sprawling garden filled with wooden arches covered with green vines and flowers in full bloom. “Can’t say I actually remember when.”

“That’s a shame. I had the gardener plant new rose bushes,” he murmurs. “Wanted to ask what you thought of them.” 

“I think they’re lovely,” you admit, softly pinching a petal, rubbing your thumb over the velvety skin.

He smiles. “I figured.” 

They were your favorite after all. 

Why is he like this? The garden’s already filled with enough flowers. A new section wasn’t needed. 

Again, he’s just bored.

In an attempt to keep the conversation from getting any more personal, you change the subject. “Are you looking forward to your trip to Republic City?” 

At the end of the meeting, it was decided that he’d visit with the purpose of getting more information about the new rehabilitation program the city was rolling out. While the chancellor wanted to take a more aggressive approach, he decided to take a more peaceful route. It’s admirable how hands on he’s chosen to be since taking his father's place. 

“Mhm. It’ll be nice catching up with some old friends while I’m there—“ he cuts himself off and looks at you with slight suspicion, “you’re going, right?”

You never said you would, nor did you want to, honestly. It’d be nice to take a break. “I’m sure you and some of your subordinates can handle it.” 

“Weren’t you the one who came up with the idea, though?” his tone slightly clips as he reminds you. 

“I was,” you respond tentatively, taking back your thoughts from earlier as you look him in the eyes. 

This man looks like he’s about to throw a fit. 

Zuko opens his mouth again, already knowing he shouldn’t be this pushy towards you, of all people, but he is far from perfect. 

So with a forced smile and all the resolve in the world, he murmurs, “you’re going.” 

You smile back despite feeling an annoyed heat creep up your neck, heart starting to pick up. “Alright.” 

—

Imagine being the fire lord, a literal ruler, and getting the cold shoulder from your own advisor. Every answer is so curt and clinical, and it’s going to drive him up the wall. 

Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord. Apologies, my lord.

Give him a fucking break.

As if you weren’t punishing him enough, you went ahead and had two of his concubines “accompany” him on the trip. It’s not like he can say no to that, either, since it’s considered to be one of his duties. Not to mention they both come from high-ranking families that would not be very pleased to hear of their neglect. 

So now he has to deal with two spoiled, pent-up brats hanging on him during the entirety of this flight, all while trying not to glare at the biggest brat of them all— you, as you sit directly across from him, reading probably what’s some pathetic romance novel.

This is fucking ridiculous. You haven’t looked at him once since you first sat down.

You’re no better than him. There was a strike of lightning in the direction you walked off in, and given how it was a perfectly sunny day, he’s pointing his finger at you for the damages done in the east wing, despite keeping his mouth shut on the matter. Complain about being dragged to Republic City all you want, but you still have it better than most. If you really did have it that bad, you would’ve been punished for such an offense. 

Like, seriously? Blowing shit up, like a fucking child— a terrifying one, to be frank, you are absolutely your father’s daughter— just because you had to do your job? Grow up. His grandfather’s statue was shattered in the midst of it all, thanks to you. You’re lucky he never liked the bastard.

In protest, you’re dressed like a noble's daughter rather than a member of the court. Wearing the finest silk and adorned in gold imported from the Earth nation, quietly refusing to represent your actual nation as you claim to be representing your clan— proof that you have enough power on your own to be acting like he’s actively denying you of basic human rights.

As if he even cared about your attire. Be his guest! You look fucking hot. Someone might even mistake you for one of his concubines, and he might just not correct them, since you think you’re more petty than he is.

Zuko gets pulled out of his thoughts when Concubine Aika speaks, still leaning against him and rubbing on his chest. She asked what book you were reading, which is when you finally looked up from it. 

“It’s sort of an adventure novel.” You look at the cover, speaking to her with a certain warmth you’ve been depriving him of. “It’s about a girl escaping an abusive orphanage once she turns 18 and follows her journey for the next 10 years.”

So now you’re fantasizing about leaving him? Good luck with that. 

“You look troubled, my lord,” the woman to his right, Concubine Saiyo, says. She’s leaning against him as well, now tracing her fingers along his jaw. “Are you alright?” 

“M’fine,” he murmurs, trying to fix his face as he takes a sip of sake. “It’s been a long flight.”

“There’s a private cabin you can retreat to, if you’d like,” you suggest, going back to your little book, missing the way you just made the lord’s eye twitch. 

“I know,” he says. 

It’s his airship. 

Without warning, he gets up from his seat. Was it a little rude? Perhaps. But surely the two women beside him could understand what feeling hounded could do to someone. They don’t, they do their jobs and get up as well, which he understands. However, Zuko’s not in the fucking mood right now and waves a dismissive hand. 

“No need,” he curtly says, making his way to the back of the airship. “I just want to close my eyes for a bit.” 

. . . . . .

The trip starts off strong with a banquet being held in honor of the fire lord's arrival. 

Contrary to Zuko’s wishes, nobody’s stupid enough to mistake you for one of his concubines. At least not within the circle of people you’re mingling with tonight, who all recognize your family's crest engraved on your hairpin. 

They were an ambitious bunch that spread all over once Zuko came into power— reaching amongst the highest positions within the military, medicine, and even education. 

Funny enough, your position in the court was nothing special in comparison to some of your relatives’ achievements. Some are even bothered by the fact. Being the first of all your cousins to master the art of firebending, being your grandfather's favorite solely for bending lightning with the same grace as he did in his prime, all while excelling in your studies. 

All of that potential, just wasted on being the lord’s “pet”. 

You don’t have much of an opinion on the disappointment some of them have expressed in the past, though it would’ve been nice if their words had stayed behind closed doors. You didn’t want to hear any of it. If you truly wanted to make use of that said potential, you would’ve worked directly under your father as his subordinate. 

Maybe it was the result of growing up feeling like you were enough. You have nothing to prove, and quite frankly, you’re content with having a role that really only requires you to share your opinions with a ruler that shares the same ideals as you… for the most part. 

If only he’d also agree that you two spend way too much time together. 

Luckily, you’re not required to be by his side tonight since you’re attending the banquet as a representative of your clan— something Zuko had no clue about until the moment you stepped onto the airship, which had him looking like he was about to blow a fucking gasket. He absolutely sucks at masking his frustrations. You’re surprised his concubines still had the courage to cuddle up with him. He looked like he was 2.5 seconds away from throwing you off the ship mid-flight. 

Zuko would never do that, by the way, but you’re sure he was daydreaming about it. 

But even then, with all the distance between you tonight, you can still feel his eyes on you. Just watching and waiting for you to do something he didn’t like. Very masochistic considering how he wouldn’t confront you if you did end up doing something wrong in his eyes. 

You spend the entire night avoiding eye contact, which isn’t too hard given how all you’ve done is catch up with old peers from school and relatives who’ve decided to move here to start new lives. 

The relatives you got along with, that is. 

You were enjoying yourself. Truly. Until Sokka called you over to their table. 

Funny how Zuko wasn’t looking at you then and was instead stuffing his face with spicy dumplings, then downing it with whatever liquor was in his cup. 

You walk over with two thoughts running through your head— please don’t let this man be as drunk as Sokka and Aang, and don’t let this be a conversation about how work was been. Sokka tends to ask those things at the wrong time, despite his heart being in the right place. 

This time around, it’s not Sokka.

“How’s our flaming hot lord treating you?” Aang asks, throwing an arm around a very drunk Zuko, who’s laughing his ass off over the avatar’s words for once. 

Your lips may have twitched a little, as well. Only because Aang gave even less fucks when in an inebriated state. 

“Oh, you know— the usual.” You let out a lighthearted laugh, and only you notice the way Zuko’s face momentarily drops. 

The air around him quickly screams ‘don’t fuck with me’, then settles back into something more suitable for someone who’s already had half their water weight in alcohol. 

“C’mon, you can do better than that,” Zuko forces out a laugh, leaning back in his seat. 

You laugh a little harder. “Can I?”

“Yeah, you can.” 

Sokka lets out this weird, giddy gasp because he loves drama, and cuts in. “Are you two fighting?”

“No.” 

“No.”

You and Zuko look at each other after shutting down Sokka’s question at the same time. The fake smiles you’re wearing are not helping your case at all. 

“Where’s Katara? I’ve been wondering where she’s been this whole time,” you ask in an attempt to keep the energy between you from getting any more awkward than it already is

Aang grows a little pale— the instant karma feels nice. “She’s a little sick tonight.” 

There’s a bit of fear in his voice. She’s totally pregnant. Not that you say that. Instead, you just point in some random direction behind you. “That’s terrible— my cousin actually just mentioned a bug going around. I hope she feels better soon.” 

“Thank you,” the man lets out a sigh of relief, allowing himself to be delusional for just one more night. 

“What about Toph?”

“Home. Asleep.” Sokka rolls his eyes. “She’s like a little old lady now. You’ll see her tomorrow, though, she’s been volunteering at the center.” 

“Volunteering or beating everyone into submission?” Zuko murmurs, and they all erupt in laughter. “She probably runs that place like the military.”

You find yourself starting to zone out as the conversation moves on to a different topic. You’d like to blame some of the wine you’ve been sipping on throughout the night for that. Everything starts to melt together— the live music, the endless chatter in every which direction. The only thing that pulls you out of it is seeing another one of your cousins who had just arrived, waving at you, and you don't shy away from taking that as an opportunity to excuse yourself. 

Aang and Sokka were as kind as usual when you said your goodbyes. Zuko, on the other hand, was harder to read through the pathetic excuse of a smile he gave you. One only meant to save face. 

If only he knew just how much worse he makes things sometimes. Although they’re rare, this isn’t the first fight you two have been in. Perhaps you have been a little petty towards the man, but it’s not you who grows so frustrated at someone’s anger that you begin to hold a grudge yourself. 

You arrive back to your room in the early morning with the regret of not cutting yourself off from the drinks sooner than you did. You wouldn’t say you were drunk, but you were definitely tipsy as you started to shed layers of clothes and jewelry to get in the hot bath that had been prepared prior to your return. 

Aang may be childish at times, but fuck was he a great host. Or maybe it was Katara who had all of these amenities set up for you. Candles and bath salts— you could die a happy woman right now as you settle into the stone tub, taking deep breaths, letting your muscles relax. 

Twenty minutes in, you hear rattling and heavy footsteps that seem to hit the ground with more confusion than the determination an attacker would usually have. It forces you to leave the warmth of your bath, slipping on a robe. Getting hit with annoyance rather than fear may be a little foolish. Overconfident, even. But there’s still alcohol running through your veins, and you aren’t the pride and joy of your clan for no reason— you can absolutely hold your own in a fight. 

When you walk out of the bathroom, you come face to face with exactly who you were thinking of.

“Fuck,” he looks away for a moment, regretting his decision thinking it was okay to just walk in. 

Zuko didn’t think you’d be bathing, for some odd, stupid reason. Judging by the fact that he’s still wearing his usual day clothing and his hairs not up in a bun, it’s safe to assume he went straight here after leaving the banquet. 

You let out a long sigh. “God— what are you doing here?” 

You don’t even sound mad— just disappointed that you have to see him once more before you lay your head to rest, which slightly hurts the man’s ego. Truth be told, he came here to argue with you, but even in his drunken state, he’s finding it quite difficult to do so since he looks like a fucking pervert now. 

“Your comment from earlier— what the hell was that about?” Zuko sounds more wounded than anything right now. 

You cross your arms, leaning against the door frame that connects the room to the bathroom. “What comment?”

“The usual,” he says with air quotes. “Do you not like me anymore or something?”

“You’re seriously asking me that right now?” Your face twists, just dumbfounded at this point. “You ask me that as if I don’t work for you?”

He scoffs. “So what, you’re saying I’m not your friend now?”

“I mean, yeah— you are, but I’m still your subordinate at the end of the day,” you attempt to spell it out for him, trying to get it through his brain that he can’t just act like you two are a pair of besties. 

But he just continues to argue with you. 

“Really? ‘Cause last time I checked, people don’t fight their superiors.” 

No, they do not. You’re not sure why you even tried to make that an argument, the line between you has blurred a long time ago. 

“You know what, just— forget it.”

The thing is, you're not the best at taking accountability. Most of the arguments you’ve had with him have been swept under the rug after a while. Zuko's not having that right now, though.

“Hm— actually, no— I don’t think I will,” he stubbornly says. “You have been punishing me for fucking weeks now and now you just want me to forget it?”

Punishing him?

You roll your eyes, muttering “oh my god” under your breath, not even bothering to look him straight in the eyes anymore as you walk to the nightstand and pick up a small jar of body cream. 

“We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow,” you say dismissively, rubbing the jasmine-scented cream into your hands. “I need to go to sleep, and so should you, honestly.”

It doesn’t matter how well he can handle his alcohol— he reeks of it. 

“I’m trying to talk to you right now so I don’t have to deal with your attitude tomorrow,” he says, as if he hasn’t had an attitude himself the last couple of weeks. 

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to,” you murmur back. 

What feels like minutes pass after your pathetic attempt to settle your issues with him. At first, he just lets out a sigh, trying to keep his composure, but then he laughs under his breath. 

“So that’s it?” he asks in a condescending tone. “We’re all good now?”

“Yes. Goodnight, Zuko,” you hum. 

More silence follows after. You can just feel his eyes on you despite still facing away, now reaching for some hair oil, waiting for him to leave.

He never does. Even after working the product into your hair, you have yet to hear the door to your room close, making you grow wary. 

There are many things telling you not to turn around at the moment— your blurred mind and tensed body. But even you make mistakes, lots of them with Zuko, and so you finally turn around. 

His lips are on yours. 

You don’t know how long he’d been standing directly behind you, you never even heard his footsteps. All you know is his hands are snaked behind your neck and he’s kissing you and you’re letting him.

It takes you a moment to realize you’re kissing him back— too focused on how soft his lips are, how his tongue glides across your lower lip before slipping inside, so commanding yet so gentle. 

Then you sober up— pressing your palm flat against his chest and pushing him back so you two can look at each other, eyes wide and filled with instant regret.

“What the hell was that?” you try to snap at him, but the sharp edge was dulled from the start, already fearing what’ll change between you from this moment forward. 

“I— fuck,” he stutters, taking another step back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Immediately, you cut him off. “No, you shouldn’t have and you know that.”

“I know.” It sounds like a plea coming from him as his chest tightens. “I’m sorry.”

Even you start to look apologetic, which breaks his heart a little since you did nothing wrong. The one who crossed the line was him, after all. “You should go. You’re drunk.” 

He opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it shortly after. There was nothing to say. 

And so he slowly nods and turns around, still in shock by his own actions as he begins to walk away, leaving you to deal with the aftermath of what the fuck just happened on your own. 

This was going to be the longest work trip of your life. 

notes: i hope u guys enjoyed this first chapter!! this was supposed to be a oneshot but then ideas kept popping up in my head and i thought, why don't i just turn this into a longfic like defiance lol. the plan is to follow these two around throughout a couple arcs, with the first one being them trying to navigate their feelings and attempting to go back to normal while trying to fix the shit show in the silk district.

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