Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
the weight of expectations ☆ hirugami sachirou x reader
synopsis: many times, you've found yourself torn about your career choice. on one bad afternoon, you find yourself making the choice between honoring your feelings or the expectations of those around you. sachirou is more than ready to help you arrive at the right decision. (long author's note at end of fic!)
details: romantic/platonic childhood friends ┊ dialogue-heavy, emotional hurt/comfort ┊ vet student!hirugami and gn medtech student!reader ┊ ~1.3k words ┊ part of @d1strict99's tea party event
When Hirugami Sachirou comes back to your shared apartment one afternoon, the words come bursting out of you.
“Sachi, I can’t do this anymore.”
He stops in his tracks, setting his bag down and rushing over to your spot on the couch.
“What?”
“I feel like this isn’t for me.”
“What isn’t- wait, what happened?”
A tinge of guilt hits you for springing this onto him so suddenly, but you genuinely cannot hold it together any longer.
“Studying to be a medtech.”
His weight causes the couch to dip in his direction, and he immediately embraces you. “You wanna quit?”
“Maybe. But how do I…”
Tears somehow build up again, despite having cried your entire afternoon away. Your eyes hurt. Your head hurts. Your heart hurts. Everything just hurts.
“I spent all of high school working my ass off to be good at math and science. And now I just feel like I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if I’m being overdramatic or if it’s just a phase, but getting out of bed feels harder. Going to lectures or the laboratory doesn’t excite me like it used to. I feel like I’m just disconnected and rushed to do things.
“Maybe it’s a me problem, because most people seem fine despite the stress and difficulty. It’s practice and repetition, there are systems and theories, but…it just sucks, Sachi.”
He sighs. “I thought you were just tired, but there was more to it, huh?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Was today the last straw? I remember you left early today for a practical exam.”
You look up at him. “Yeah. Fucked up big time. Proctor told me I failed.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“I made a stupid mistake. There was a specific protocol and I fucking forgot it during her station because I panicked.”
“That must have been frustrating…”
“And the worst part? That specific proctor that graded me happened to be one of the senior professors who knew my parents personally.”
Sachirou nods in recognition. You’ve told him about her before, and how unnerving it has been to be in her presence. Just a month ago, she went off on you for asking a simple question, as if you were the dumbest person in the room.
“She told me that she expected more from me. She couldn’t understand why I didn’t know what I was doing when I both of my parents are actual med techs. Even worse, my parents were some of the best in their year. Then here they are with a fucking kid who is barely passing!”
The floodgates open, and you don’t care how horrendously whiny you sound.
“And she told me that at the first station, so it just dominoed from there because I got all shaky and started questioning myself during the other stations and then- I don’t know! I just tried to calculate my grade and I’m here trying to accept that I’ve fucked it up, and I don’t know if I can save it.”
You cough for a moment, overwhelmed by how much you’re saying. The physical sensation is horrid—it’s like your thoughts, voice, mouth, and breathing aren’t working together.
It’s exactly how you feel. A disorienting, conflicted, confused, heavy mess.
“I don’t know, Sachirou. I feel like I’m going nowhere. I’m not happy and not just because of what happened today, but in general. I was good at solving and memorizing but I feel like nothing’s working. I don’t know how to tell mom and dad, they were so happy that I wanted to follow in their footsteps. I don’t wanna tell them I failed. I don’t wanna tell them I hate this.”
For a few moments, there’s silence; all you can hear are your unsuccessful attempts to steady your breath.
Still, you wait. You know Sachirou needs to a moment to think about everything you’ve told him—and a part of you also recognizes how your feelings touch on the very thing you’ve helped him through before.
Eventually, he speaks up, stroking your back gently and pulling you closer to him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Mhm.”
“For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve said that your dream was to help people.”
“Yeah.”
“Being a medical technologist is one of the many ways to help people. But, what exactly interests you, or makes you happy?”
Sachirou’s question makes you pause. What makes me happy?
“I-I don’t know,” you respond, sniffling. “I didn’t think about that just yet.”
“Hmm. Say, even if you were having a bad week, what were the moments you looked forward to? Or, anything that fulfilled you.”
“Mm…I liked the opportunities to talk to patients when we had to do supervised extractions. Slow days were good. I hated when we were rushed and could barely get anything past a ‘hello’ and ‘I’m sorry if this hurts’.”
He nods. “You value deep conversations with people. That’s true.”
“I suppose. I mean, every person I meet has a whole life.”
“That’s right. And believing in that is your strength.”
“What?”
“You’re always so eager to unravel the layers of a person. Your final judgments are never based on first impressions or the things you’ve heard about them. You like getting to know people as they are, and you always find some way to do something special in their lives.”
You turn to look at him. “I…really?”
“You did that with me when you insisted on calling me Sachirou. You helped me realize that I was more than just a Hirugami who was expected to play volleyball.”
Oh.
“You were always there for me whenever I struggled with the sport. You got me through times I felt like I could no longer tough it out. You had my back when I told my family I wanted to quit. You supported my decision to pursue what I wanted to do with my life. I will never forget those acts of kindness. You changed my life for the better, so I think you deserve to give yourself more credit.”
“Sachirou…”
With a whisper of his name, he gives you a quick kiss to your forehead.
“You’re more than what people expect you to be.” He mutters into your hair. “What do you want to be?”
Your mind scans through hundreds of memories in your senior year. Nights of studying for the entrance exams, pamphlets from various colleges, discussions with your family…then it hits you.
Filling out application forms took a long time because you had to come up with a list of ranked courses. Medical technology as your first choice was a no-brainer. It was the path you were “sure” you wanted. However, the second choice was the hardest one to decide on. That was your fallback if things didn’t turn out how you expected.
Your parents didn’t care as much for what you put there, reasoning that you could always shift into medical technology if your grades were good enough. Still, you were careful about your decision because you didn’t want to be assigned to a random program.
So, you read through the college website, narrowing it all down. Fourth choice filled, third choice filled, second choice…
“Psychology,” you blurt out. “That was my plan B.”
Sachirou chuckles, and you can feel the deep vibrations through his chest. “I definitely think that suits you.”
You remember reading through the program curriculum. Psychology was something you’ve had some interest in, but you never had the chance to delve into it, too focused on your main dream.
“Thanks. I remember thinking that it was the course I would have taken in my second life.”
“Well, what’s stopping you now?”
You huff in amusement. That was the exact question you asked him when he opened up about wanting to be a veterinarian.
“Hey. You’re sneaky, Sachirou.”
“Thanks. I learned from the best” He snickers, bumping your shoulder. “But seriously, don’t tie yourself to something that’ll make you unhappy for the rest of your life. Your parents cannot force this dream on you.”
The corners of your mouth lift. “Yeah, yeah.”
“The semester’s almost over. Finish whatever you have to and talk to your program adviser about everything. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Thank you for telling me how you felt.” Sachirou gives you a brief peck on the cheek. “And if it happens again, I’ll listen. You and I both know how heavy the weight of expectations are.”
Additional Notes:
I wrote the conversation/dialogue during a very hard time of my uni life. The referenced professor is real, including the incidents I talked about. Thankfully, for this subject where I failed my return demonstration, I pulled it together for my finals and other written exams, and passed with a better grade than I had anticipated.
Initially, I had written this fic to be based on my experiences as a speech-language pathology student; but ultimately, I did not want to quit, even if the option was there. I still wanted to graduate and become an SLP despite the immense struggle. That is why I shifted the career/course for reader to medical technology. Continuing with an SLP student!reader felt contrary to my positive realizations about my future in speech-language pathology.
Fun fact, there was a time I thought to myself that I should have just chosen medical technology instead of SLP because I thought I might've been able to play to my strengths more (especially as an introvert). But after pondering the what-ifs of medtech, I realized it was not for me. And, this fic is NOT medtech bashing! It's more about the reality of what aspects of a job match with what a person wants.
Another fun fact, psychology was actually my first choice in another university. I still think it's an interesting field and I do have some background in it because of child development, but in this life, I'm grateful that I get to do speech therapy with kids now! :D
By the way, I know this fic is very ranty, so perhaps there wasn't much Hirugami characterization coming through as you might've anticipated. Still, I chose him because he is the perfect listener for someone going through a degree/job crisis.
Hirugami knows what it's like to have to choose between his dreams and the dreams others have for him. It was though his friendships with Hoshiumi (and childhood best friend reader, in this fic) that he realized he had a choice, and an option to quit. He reminds reader of this, because sometimes, people don't follow their advice (or realize that the same can apply to them).
Anyway, this fic was a way for me to process my feelings (about quitting vs. persevering). While I didn't end up quitting, it still felt nice to explore the "what if I did?" and remind myself that I always have an option to dictate what I want to do with my life. That's why it's heavy on the dialogue because what I really wanted was a conversation to myself.
This fic been in the drafts for such a long time, but thank you D99 event for prompting me to revisit and continue this one. A part of me wasn't sure about how I felt about it, but the point is to write to your heart's content, right?
A special thank you to @seumyo, my beloved, for giving me the insights on what it's like to be a medtech student (sometimes, experience beats a google search lol!). Thank you for hearing my idea out and really understanding what I was going for. I hope you're doing well! <3
Corresponding TEA99 Order: mixed wild berries tea in a red cup, and a smoked salmon sandwich!
fem!reader. brief mention of vomit and menstrual blood. reblogs appreciated.
— osamu miya is a gross man. don’t get his business and pleasure confused, though. his restaurant is clean as a whistle. he’s not unhygienic, either (except for the abysmal stank of his socks). no, what you mean by “gross” is that osamu is more than willing to be it.
your first introduction to this is in the middle stages of your dating life. take this notable instance: you make yourself a bowl of fresh noodles and promptly burn twenty million taste buds off your tongue.
“ow! ugh…” you wince as you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth. osamu shuffles over from the living room. “mm, lemme see,” he says, leaning on the counter and taking your chin in his hand. “‘samu, it’s the same color as it always is,” you protest, weakly opening your mouth to let him examine. “wait, stick it out,” he tells you, eyes narrowed in concentration.
you stick out your tongue, and you don’t even get a chance to try to move before osamu darts in to plant a kiss on it. “ooh, chili soy,” he muses, licking his lips. you sputter. “EW! OH-THAH-MU! WHUH THUH HELL??” you shriek, not quite knowing what to do with your mouth.
“i kissed it better,” osamu replies matter-of-factly, looking way too smug. you glare at him. “c’mon, don’t act like we haven’t done worse,” he says, sticking out his own tongue. “you love me.”
you give him a wordless noise of agony in reply.
you learn later on in your relationship that if you throw up, osamu will catch whatever doesn’t make it to the toilet with one hand and use the other to pull your hair back. if you’re not sure if you smell right after a workout, osamu will stick his nose into your sweaty armpit and take a whiff. if you don’t have a tissue to wipe your boogers, osamu will hold out his arm and let you stick it on him. “there’s a thing called soap and water, babe,” he tells you, unamused at your repulsion. “that’s what i use to get it offa me.”
“but that’s so— nasty!” you argue. “it’s nastier to have it just hangin’ from your fingers like that,” he counters. he shakes his exposed forearm. “soap ‘n water. i’m tellin’ ya.” you grunt at the audacity to call you nastier, but reluctantly swipe your fingers on his skin and give him a dubious glance in your peripheral.
you think that maybe osamu is really just that gross. eventually, you conclude that there’s simply something fundamentally off about him. he won’t even tolerate atsumu’s accidental spit droplet on him in the fervor of his ranting about another teammate, but lets you bite, lick, and slobber all over him unsolicited.
for heaven’s sake, you burp in his face while making out one time and he laughs and kisses you again. meanwhile atsumu will sneeze in the vicinity of your kitchen and osamu will tell him to wear a mask. it’s just you. he’s just gross with you.
it only escalates more when the two of you get married. your husband will lick the drool off your cheek in the morning. your husband will help you pass gas. your husband will literally go down on you in the throes of your period!
your husband will open his hand for you to spit out something so he can taste it, too. “this sandwich is kinda dry,” you remark, dabbing the corner of your mouth with a napkin. osamu glances up from the counter and holds out his hand. “spit it out.”
you comply, because the sandwich isn’t all that great and for some reason, you think your husband is about to do something rational, like throw it away for you. instead, he tosses your chewed-up sandwich bolus into his mouth and swallows. “yeah, i make a better one…what?” he asks, genuinely puzzled at your look of abject horror. “we kiss all the time.”
and right when you think you’re used to it, to the limits of his grossness, osamu barges into the bathroom while you have the biggest poop of your life since infancy to shave his face. “osamu, get out!” you yell, tossing a hand towel at him. he catches it with one hand and picks up his razor, completely unfazed.
like an absolute freak, he breathes in a ridiculously deep breath. you think he’s about to start floating the way he closes his eyes and leans in towards you. “that’s a good one, babe,” he says approvingly, taking no heed of your scandalized expression from the toilet. “means i feed ya right.”
you groan.
osamu miya is a gross man, if that wasn’t…grossly obvious. he’s disgusting. he makes you wipe your snot on him. he lets you hold it while he pees. he shaves his face in the same bathroom that you’re actively taking a shit in.
but osamu miya also goes dumpster diving if you drop something in there. osamu miya washes menstrual stains off your clothes. osamu miya cleans out your earwax. god, osamu miya would wipe your butt for you if you asked.
he wants to take care of you. he’ll kiss you better (no matter where it is). he’ll let you cough and sneeze on him (because if you’re going down, he’s going with you). he’ll eat your leftovers (in whatever form they come in).
osamu miya is willing to be gross because he wants all of you. even if that 'all of you' means stinky farts and morning breath and all the gross things that people shy away from.
062825. IWAIZUMI HAJIME. your favorite waiter of all time.
this is bad—terrible. horrifying
wait. lets rewind. oikawa had been a good friend. no, is a good friend. needless to say that you’re one of his favorite people; ready to pull an all nighter with you, lends you his laptop one time when yours decided to blow up and out of your ass, had basically took up for himself the role of cupid for you sometimes.
(you’re convinced it’s just out of pity, though hyping you up on social media never fails to work its wonder, gifting your face a smile, says it always looks good on you.)
but this is not the time for playing cupid. in fact, you’re going to strangle him and reduce the remains of his lifespan once you’re out of this diner that iwaizumi hajime, his best friend (part-time) works on. a one good looking (borderline distracting) of a waiter.
the first time oikawa suggested taking you out on this very specific diner, you’re a little apprehensive, mainly because iwaizumi in his catch-up stories are just about as intimidating as the first time you’ve finally see him in the flesh.
slate-black apron, rolled up sleeves, his voice—a deep and firm kind of low that pricks your skin the first time you’ve heard it. eyes that couldn’t help itself but indulge in the sight of his forearms as he drops off your water. but that’s not the dead giveaway, no, no— it’s how you poorly managed yourself from stammering as your fingers scramble where to land on the menu, when he leaned in to look at what you’re pointing, you dreaded over the possibility that he could smell your plain aberration.
because you’re sure as hell oikawa does.
“uh, this one.”
he nods, polite. then he casts oikawa a side-glance, his face subtly flat and impassive. “the usual?”
oikawa hums, almost non-committal. he’s grinning wide and smug and staring at you across the table as if he’s about to drop a bomb on your upcoming plate. a very mischievous, carefully-curated bomb that’s going to throw you off for days. “you know me so well, iwa-chan.”
iwaizumi doesn’t dignify that with a response, only tears off the slip from his notepad and walks off, the pen still tucked behind his ear. you track his retreating figure before you realize what you’re doing and drive your focus away from any evidence, heat rushing up your neck.
“okay.” you face oikawa, glaring and hissing through your teeth, voice an angry whisper, “you set me up. you said you were hungry!”
“i am hungry!” he held his arm up in mock surrender, “hungry for a successful love story starring you and my best friend.”
exasperated, you groan.
“oh come on, what’s the worst that could happen? he says you’re cute!”
“i beg your pardon?”
“swear on my moisturizer. i showed him your IG.”
“i don’t trust you.”
“you don’t have to, sweets.”
now, lo and behold, is the aftermath of your said aberration. from forcibly agreeing that this encounter would only be a one-time thing, to becoming a regular where waiter-staffs could probably draw your face by memory. same order, same seat, same routine. and—same, yet insanely different result, where your shitty resolve has finally cracked its surface.
no, this is still your dear friend’s fault. you love oikawa tooru, truly you do.
but you also want to grab him by the collar and slam him into the wall. lovingly, with intent. because this—this unraveling inside you that stirs every time iwaizumi hajime so much as glances your way—is no longer just some stupid crush.
you need the follow-up water asap, humid air’s getting to you. you pretend to work through your backlog on your laptop, ignoring the misspellings and half-hearted sentences you inserted in. you dart between the screen and iwaizumi, who’s rushing from table to table, sweat trickling down his temple, biceps flexing with rolled up sleeves that’s much messier than usual.
he looks good.
so good it’s actually criminal.
graceful, that’s one word you could think of in the way he moves. in that focused, no-nonsense way of his. a towel slung over his shoulder, that same damn pen still behind his ear, his brows knitted as he calls out an order to the kitchen. he glances up, once—just once—and you’re quick to play the act of adjusting your screen brightness, as ungraceful as you could be.
“you’re so obvious,” oikawa mutters from across the table, lips barely hiding his smirk behind a forkful of omelet rice.”
“i’m typing,” you say, offended. “i’m literally working.”
“deleting and retyping the same sentence for the past eight minutes. yeah, working”
you scowl. “i need to revise.”
“you need to admit that you’re thirsting.”
you reach over and jab his forearm with the blunt end of your spoon. sighing, you press your knuckles to your burning cheeks. “i hate that i’m still here.”
“well,” oikawa says, chewing slowly, “good thing he likes that you’re here.”
the glare in your eyes is not something to be taken lightly. “don’t do this to me tooru.”
he raises a brow, setting his utensils down like he’s ready to go full monologue. “you think i didn’t notice he always brings your order himself? that he stands here at our table longer than anyone else’s? that he remembers your drink order down to the last cube of ice?”
“that’s just good service!”
oikawa snorts. “yeah, okay. let’s see what kind of service you get today, since i’m done eating and i have to go.”
your eyes widen. “what?”
he’s already slinging his bag over his shoulder. “i’ve got to meet someone in ten. don’t worry, i paid. just… stay here. do your fake work. and drink your water.”
“i haven’t gotten my water—”
“exactly,” he grins.
and just like that, he’s out the door with a wave.
you sit there, mouth slightly agape. you hear your laptop’s infuriating warm humming, the chatters start to buzz, and for a second you consider leaving too. maybe save yourself from further embarrassment. but before you can plop your bag on you lap and pull in your things—
“here.”
you look up. the voice could have startled you into slapping someone, if not for the familiarity. iwaizumi stands there, a tall glass of water in one hand, a fresh lemon wedge on the rim. a slight, imperceptible crease in his brow.
“sorry it took a while. it’s a bit hectic today.” he sets it down in front of you, or that you think he had to because you’re rendered incapable of lifting your own hand and take it yourself.
…you didn’t even ask for water just yet.
“no worries.” you try—you really do—to keep your hammering heart in check. lift your cheek in a smile that doesn’t look too forced. when he mirrors one of his own, though polite and stiff, is still as charming as it could be.
then, without warning, he eyes your laptop. lingers in a way you’ve secretly hoped he would, asks you awkwardly, “are you…working?”
you blink, “s-sort of.”
you see the pause in his face, another smile emerges, but one good look had you noticing the faint dimple curving his left cheek. when he says, “i can give you a refill if you want to stay longer.” he sounds relaxed, or less tense now than he is seconds ago.
you blink once more, pleasantly surprised than anything, “wait, really?”
he nods. “yeah. i mean. if you’re writing or whatever. i’ll make sure you’re not disturbed.”
your stomach makes a flip, you give him thanks before he walks away. and when you watch him go, it’s when you lift your curses saved for tooru and replace it with a million blessings. you make a mental note to thank him later.
so, yes, you stay for another thirty minutes (took more orders and refills.) forty, tops. not because you’re waiting for anything—absolutely not. you’re being productive. you even manage to fix two paragraphs and stop the spell-checker from crying blood. that’s worth something.
your phone thats buried deep in your bag vibrates from a notif. it’s definitely your dear friend.
when iwaizumi walks by again, you can’t help but smile, “you’re still here.”
“am i overstaying? i can go—“
“no,” he says quickly. then, more level, “you’re fine, just noticed. ‘is all”
but you’re not really good at small talk, and maybe you are overstaying, maybe tooru’s gotten sick of waiting and your phone exploding shows that. you look back at your cursor and feel like it’s accusing you. you clear your throat, “i’ll um, pay now.”
“oh,” or maybe you’re too far gone, because something kind of flickers on his face. something like hesitation, “i’ll get your receipt.”
when he returns, he places the small folder down. “here you go.”
you offer him a polite smile and open it—
—and promptly short-circuit.
because tucked neatly beside the receipt is a small folded napkin. written in scrawled, slightly slanted penmanship:
you’re here a lot.
if you ever wanna come when i’m not working,
i’d like to see you properly.
0XX-XXX-XXXX
when you lift your head up, he’s gone.
he’s definitely not at the counter. not wiping tables. not walking anywhere within your line of sight—he fled.
you finally fished out your phone and immediately started typing.
help.
he asked me out.
it takes four seconds before your phone combusts.
ITS OINKS TIME:
i am a god.
this is my best work
asffhjhjgkbvyruioqhdf
send me photos from your wedding
no wait i’m the maid of honor tf
you’re too busy grinning like an idiot, staring at the number on the napkin and wondering how in the world you’ll survive a proper date with iwaizumi hajime.
spoiler: you won’t. but you’ll love every second of it.
ROSES ARE RED, VIOLETS ARE BLUE, THE WITCHES OF 99, CORDIALLY INVITE YOU…
Dear beloved writers, it seems like you’ve been invited to a tea party—RSVP ASAP! At our buffet, we will be serving a variety of snacks and you will have the exciting option to make your own tea. Of course, if you’re feeling indecisive, the ever-so-gracious witches have premade specials for you. And surely, we shall go beyond tea-making and chatter as we also have various activities prepared for your arrival. Come on in when you’re ready!
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Our tea offerings (prompts) are highly customizable and we’d love to see what you all come up with! Following the build-a-fic format, different ingredients and pastries will correspond to different fic components. Each section will specify whether these are required or optional, and allow only one or multiple choices. If you have trouble deciding, we also have some premade sets and staff specials. The choice is yours; go ham!
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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synopsis: when your favorite restaurant closes down after a long day of work, samu makes sure your cravings are satisfied.
details: fluff┊romantic/established relationship┊timeskip!osamu┊~1.9k words┊gn!reader┊dedicated to @sodaneko, happy birthday lalove! :D
You have had enough of your tight button-up and pants. Long days at work sucked.
It was a labor of love, as you had taken on extra hours at your office job to help Samu. You were both saving up for the large amount of money he needed to finally open Onigiri Miya’s first physical shop, and your earnings are getting you there, albeit slowly.
But honestly, it’s days like this that make you wonder how much longer you can stare at those darn spreadsheets. You wouldn’t mind doing this for your partner, but alas, you were stuck with this random, boring corporation for the meantime.
As you look out the window, you realize that it’s gone dark out. You sigh, continuing to clear out the rest of your table before clocking out.
You pass by other officemates who have stayed behind for overtime, greeting them goodbye. Internally, you felt a little pity for those who were already snoozing on their desks.
When you make it out of the office building, your stomach growls. Right, your last proper meal was lunch and a bunch of random vending machine snacks scattered throughout the afternoon.
Now would be a good time to look for some comfort food. It’s Friday, after all.
As you think of where to eat, your phone suddenly rings. A quick glance lets you know it’s your beloved calling.
“Hi, baby!” Samu’s voice immediately fills your ear when you answer.
You can’t help but smile at the nickname.
“Hey, Samu,” you respond. You try your best to sound a little more enthusiastic, but the hunger and lack of energy have definitely gotten to you. He notices immediately.
“Is somethin’ wrong?”
“No, no. Just tired. I was thinking of eating at one of the nearby cafés for a little pick-me-up.”
“Aw.” You can hear the pout in Samu’s voice. “I can pick ya up, though.”
“Pfft. I don’t doubt it. But, it’s alright, you don’t have to.” You refuse, despite hearing Samu shuffling around. He’s had a long day too—the pop-up market stalls are not easy.
“You need to get all the computations done by tonight, right? For the investor’s report?”
You hear a loud groan. “Stupid report. Can’t he just taste the damn onigiris for himself?”
“I wish it were that simple,” you chuckle. “But yeah, you’ve got a deadline to meet, love. And you had a hard day at work, too. I can take care of myself for now.”
“Mmm, are you sure?” He whines.
“Yes, love, I am,” you smile. “Promise. I’ll go for the teriyaki chicken doria at that nice café, then I’ll be taking the next train home.”
“If you say so. But if anythin’ happens, text me, yeah?”
Man, you love him.
“Will do, Samu. Love you!” You make a smooching sound, which is immediately followed by an excited yell from the other end of the line.
When the call ends, you realize that your cheeks hurt.
Shaking your head fondly, you start your short walk to the café you’ve been thinking about.
You mentally run through their various menu options, but find that you still return to your main craving.
And well, if you get to end the day like this, it means all that hard work is all worth-
Wait.
You stop in your tracks, confused.
Where is it?
You are a hundred percent sure you aren’t lost; you know this area by heart. All the surrounding restaurants and stores are here, but the café?
The bright signage is gone. In fact, the only sign remaining is the large paper taped to the window, with FOR RENT written on it.
“It closed down last week.” The security guard of the clothing store next door tells you with a frown.
“What?” Your jaw nearly drops. “How did I not know about that?”
He looks at the empty establishment and sighs, shaking his head. “It was really sudden. I heard it had something to do with rental fee problems.”
“Aw. I see.”
Internally, you curse at your predicament. It’s horrendous timing for the day, not to mention the yearning you’ll have for their dishes for the rest of your life-
“The only good news I have is that they’re planning to relocate, though I have no idea where yet.”
Oh.
Bowing, you thank the guard for letting you know about the situation. You start making your way to the station, your annoyance growing at the sensation of your feet hurting. On the way, you decide to send Samu a quick text.
Throughout the train ride home, you try your best to keep it together. It’s one thing to be hungry; it’s another to have an unsatisfied craving.
In hindsight, maybe you should’ve bought a small bite at the nearby bakeries or konbinis. But, well, you’re not you when you’re starving.
At least Samu’s making dinner already.
That’s the thought you hold on to until you reach your stop.
When you arrive at your shared residence, you waste no time kicking your heels off and dropping your coat to the floor. For a moment, you stand there in the entryway, taking a deep breath.
You’re home. You’re finally home.
And, as anticipated, something smells good.
“Oh! You’re here!” You hear Samu call out from the kitchen. There’s a rapid clink of plates and utensils before his footsteps pad over to you.
He finally comes into sight, and you can see a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
“You good?” You smile, endeared by his effort. Something about seeing him again rejuvenates you.
“Yeah. Yeah. ‘Course I am.” He wipes his face with his forearm. “I should be askin’ ya that, but I think we both know the answer. So, come on, leave your stuff and come eat.”
You stare at him for a few seconds, trying to etch this memory in your mind. Also, he looks hot-
“What?”
“I do not regret buying you that apron.”
He looks down at the garment you got him as a birthday gift. “Kiss the cook? Yes, you’ll get that in a bit. Let’s goooo!”
Samu pulls you by the arm, threatening to carry you over his shoulder if you don’t start walking any faster. The two of you stumble through the hallway, playfully bumping into each other.
“Okay, okay-” Your eyes land on the dining table, and you freeze.
“Samu? Is that what I think it is?”
He gives you a cheeky grin. “Your craving.”
“Where- Wait, did we even have mozzarella for a doria?”
“Uh, nope. I ran down to the store to get some.” He admits sheepishly. “Gave myself a leg workout. Worth it, though!”
You don’t know if you want to cry, scream, or laugh. All three, maybe. “Samu…”
He pulls out your dining chair. “Sounds cruel, but it’s the one time I hoped your travel wouldn’t go by that fast. Only ‘cause I wanted to make sure I got the taste right before you arrived.”
“And, did you manage?”
“Based on that one bite you only let me have a month ago?”
You swat at his chest.
“Hey! But, yes, I think so. With five minutes to spare.”
“Oh, is that so?”
He shrugs and gestures at your plate. “Be my guest.”
You huff in amusement as you grab the utensils at the side. Samu momentarily leaves to grab you a glass of water, something he had forgotten in the rush of getting everything ready for you.
Wispy trails of steam rise from the teriyaki chicken doria. By the looks of the kitchen commotion, it had just come out of the oven. Sometimes, it makes you feel guilty when Samu pulls out all the stops to surprise you like this, but time and time again, he has reminded you that the best way to repay him is to enjoy what he makes.
And so, you do that. You dig your spoon into the cheese and rice, managing to get a little bit of the chicken for the perfect bite. The inner kid in you rejoices as you test the pull of the mozzarella.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Samu says when he returns to the dining table, taking a seat next to you. “That’s how the cheese looked in the café ad. Glad I did it justice.”
When you finally place the spoonful in your mouth, it’s almost like the last few hours never happened. You couldn’t remember how annoyed and hungry you were before this. Incredible.
“So?” He props his head up on his arms, and he stares at you like he’s a little—no, scratch that—incredibly lovesick. “How is it?”
“Samu, you are a godsend. There’s a reason I think of this as comfort food, and you just,” you raise your hands in the air, “took it to another level.”
“Mission success?”
“Yes! A thousand times, yes!” You put your face into your hands. “What did I do in my past life to deserve you?”
Samu ruffles your hair. “Something really good, for sure. Anyway, eat up. I’ll do the talking.”
“Ha.” You nudge his foot under the table, then reach for your glass. “Go ahead.”
For a few seconds, he remains silent, seemingly pondering the next topic of conversation. Just when you sip your water, he makes a sudden announcement in a dramatic, overly formal voice:
“Did you know the first doria was an improvised dish in the 1930s?”
You nearly spit the water out at his abrupt attempt at humor. “Wh- Samu?”
“Oh god, are you okay?”
“You could have waited ‘til I swallowed,” you say, clearing your throat. “Also, a history lesson, huh?”
“Yep. Kinda memorized it after all those recipes I read through.”
“Fair,” you respond, nodding. “Do continue, Mister Historian.”
“Pfft. So, it turns out this Swiss Chef, uh, Saly Weil made it for a guest at Hotel New Grand.”
You pause to comment before eating another spoonful. “Oh, that hotel in Yokohama?”
“Yeah! The guest was sick, so they asked for a dish that was easy to swallow. So, the Swiss Chef ended up making shrimp doria, and people loved it so much that it became part of the hotel’s menu item.”
“Really?” You raise your eyebrows. “So that’s where it all started, huh?”
“Yep! And honestly, after lookin’ at all the pictures online, I might just become a fan myself.”
“You’re a fan of anything you eat, let’s be real.”
“You-” Samu purses his lips. “Well, of course. I live to eat.”
“Exactly.”
An hour passes before you know it. In that time, Samu recounted his cooking process to you enthusiastically, sharing his joy at how making teriyaki chicken already felt like second nature to him.
(Meanwhile, you point out that doria is the perfect dish that the two of you can make together in the kitchen, and he already looks giddy at the thought.)
“Love?” He asks with a playful lilt in his voice.
“Yeah?”
He scoots his chair closer. “Mind if I taste a little?”
“Huh? What-”
Samu captures your lips without warning. When he pulls away, you just gawk at him.
“Samu, if you wanted a kiss, you could’ve asked-”
“Didn’t quite catch the flavor.”
He goes in for one more kiss.
“There. That’s more like it.” He licks his lips when he finishes.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” you shake your head, unable to contain your smile.
“Here, just eat the damn thing.”
You shove the last spoonful in his direction.
“Thanks for the taste test!” He sends a wink your way, and you roll your eyes at him.
while haikyuu has shown us how to celebrate the different kinds of leaders and captains that exist, i also thank it for giving us the stories of those like michimiya yui.
in high school, i prided myself on my ability to hold leadership positions in class. however, i knew that i could only allocate so much of myself to leadership, especially for extracurricular activities. i cared more about the wellbeing and overall harmony of my classmates, rather than being that common picture of "leadership" where i'm getting people to work at maximum efficiency and whatever.
being made an organization head in college for a year took everything out of me. i was made the face of the organization when i wasn't ready for it. i told myself it was fine, because nobody was willing to step up to the position, but i lacked the "teeth." i couldn't tell people what they needed to hear, out of fear of being inconsiderate.
it was a bad time in general, coming from a year of transition of online to in-person class. our organization was relearning how to plan for non-virtual events. everyone was also in survival mode, prioritizing their academics over extracurriculars, and we all struggled to adjust to the increasing difficulty per semester.
all in all, there were multiple factors that affected how everything turned out; but in the end, i finished junior year carrying the guilt and shame of being unable to make use of the potential my organization had. did the circumstances suck or was i just a bad leader? i guess it was both, as i was a cup running on empty when the school year started. i'm just thankful that i still maintain good relationships with everyone i worked with (and to be fair, everyone was in a similar boat; many of my fellow juniors didn't even want to participate in organizations anymore)
so, hearing michimiya's late realizations of "i should have done more," "i should have tried harder," or "i wasn't strict enough" hit hard. it hurt a LOT when i saw her hold it together for her team, then cry over their loss at qualifiers. how did she feel to be friends with daichi, who succeeded in turning karasuno's male volleyball team around?
for all the smiling and cheering she did at karasuno's games, i knew she was carrying more hurt and regret than she let on. it's the worst kind, where you know it's your fault. there was time. there were so many opportunities. it was all there, but you were unable to make the most out of it.
still, i've tried to be kind to myself about it lately, considering how much my mental health and self-concept has fluctuated since then. also, this is just one of the few leadership failures i've had. i've had my fair share of successes, too. i'm trying to relearn where, how, and why i want to be a leader. for now, it's in small creative fandom spaces, such as a staff member in a writing network. in the future? i'm not entirely sure, but i'm open to changes. all i want is to view leadership as something fulfilling once more.
anyway, i just hope michimiya can do the same; she deserves to be kinder to herself and have someone to talk to about all of it. (of course, that's what fanfiction is for :P)
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(timeskip era, fluff, soft romantic caretaking)
│ written in celebration of ennoshita chikara’s birthday (december 26)
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ennoshita wakes up the way he always does — slow, quiet, gentle.
the kind of man who doesn’t stretch dramatically or groan at the morning; he just exhales softly, runs a hand through his hair, and sits up with that sleepy, calm expression that makes you want to kiss him before he even opens his eyes.
he doesn’t mention that it’s his birthday.
of course he doesn’t.
he never celebrates himself.
never asks for anything.
never wants to be a bother.
which is exactly why you planned everything before he even woke — quietly, carefully, the same way he loves.
when he walks into the kitchen, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, he freezes.
the table is set.
breakfast warm and fragrant — miso soup steaming softly, rice perfectly fluffed, his favorite grilled fish resting on a small ceramic plate.
sunlight spills over everything in a warm, golden wash.
“good morning,” you say softly, turning toward him.
“happy birthday, love.”
his face goes pink immediately.
not embarrassed — just overwhelmed.
“you… didn’t have to do all this.”
you walk over and kiss his cheek, lingering there for a second because you can feel him melt beneath your lips.
“i wanted to.”
he sits down slowly, almost carefully, as if afraid touching anything will break the spell.
you watch the way his shoulders drop when he tastes the first bite — a soft tension leaving his body.
you spend the morning with him.
not doing anything extravagant — just existing.
you sit with him while he reads through birthday messages on his phone.
you kiss the back of his neck while he pours tea.
you laugh when he shyly asks if you’ll sit on his lap for a few minutes because “it’s my birthday, i’m allowed to ask for something… right?”
time moves gently around him.
he’s relaxed in a way he rarely lets himself be.
after breakfast and a slow morning on the couch — your legs draped over his, his thumb tracing lazy circles into your ankle — he finally decides to shower.
he stands, stretching lightly.
“i should get cleaned up,” he says softly.
“go ahead,” you smile, “the bathroom’s all set.”
he doesn’t question it.
he just nods and walks down the hall, opening the bathroom door—
and stops.
the lights are dim and warm.
candles flicker on the counter, casting soft shadows.
steam drifts lazily into the air.
the bath is drawn perfectly — water shimmering a pale gold, scented lightly with cedar and vanilla, his favorite soothing combination.
there’s a folded towel.
fresh clothes waiting.
your touch in every detail.
he stares.
“i—” he starts, but the words die.
he swallows, trying again.
“you did this?”
you step behind him, sliding your arms around his waist, chin resting between his shoulder blades.
“you take care of everyone,” you whisper.
“today, i want to take care of you.”
his shoulders tremble — just barely — with a quiet, emotional exhale.
“thank you,” he murmurs, voice thick and soft.
you help him undress, gentle and slow, your fingers brushing over his skin like warm breath.
he steps into the bath, lowering himself into the water with another soft sigh, head tipping back as the warmth sinks into his muscles.
you sit on the little stool beside the tub, dipping your hands into the water before running your fingers through his hair, massaging slow circles into his scalp.
his eyes flutter shut.
his lips part.
and for a moment, he looks like a man who finally remembers what peace feels like.
when he gets out — skin warm, hair damp, expression impossibly soft — you guide him to the table again.
lunch is ready.
comfort food.
gentle flavors he loves.
something warm simmering in the pot, the scent filling the kitchen like a soft embrace.
“you’re really spoiling me,” he whispers, sitting down, cheeks flushed with gratitude he doesn’t know how to hide.
“good,” you say simply.
the afternoon drifts by in quiet bliss.
you curl up with him on the couch, your legs tangled, your fingers tracing gentle patterns on the inside of his wrist.
you kiss his jaw.
you press your forehead to his temple.
you hold him through long, quiet moments where he doesn’t say anything —
but his breathing tells you everything.
as the evening settles in, you bring out a small wrapped gift. nothing flashy — just something personal, thoughtful, chosen with intention.
his hands tremble slightly as he unwraps it.
he looks at what you gave him.
then at you.
then back down.
his breath catches.
“i… i don’t even know what to say.”
his voice is barely above a whisper.
“you don’t have to say anything,” you murmur, brushing your thumb over his knuckles.
“just let yourself be loved today.”
he sets the gift down carefully — reverently — before pulling you into his arms, holding you like he’s afraid the moment will slip away if he doesn’t keep you close enough.
“this is the best birthday i’ve ever had,” he whispers into your hair.
“i didn’t know it could feel like this.”
you smile against his chest, warm and steady.
“get used to it,” you murmur.
“i plan on loving you like this every year.”
his arms tighten around you, his breath warm against your neck, and for the first time in his life, ennoshita chikara lets himself be held without guilt, without hesitation — completely, wholeheartedly cherished.
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i forgot to schedule this one it was sitting in drafts not queue :( happy belated birthday ennoshita
i meant pfp change yes whoopsies hi how are u i must confess im ur departed friend (?) but i missed u so i came to stalk ur account then i saw that then Etc Etc hi
OMG?? tbh i have a lot of "departed friends" on here and i miss you all so dearly too waaaa <3
thank you for checking in on me! am doing better and moving forward with my life goals :] i hope all is well for you too <3
