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bakuroo-writings · 3 years

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Self Ship September Day Seven: MIya Osamu x female!reader, heart dividers made by @doinmybesthere

Warnings: female reader, swear words, petty/petulant arguments, kinda angsty cause Osamu is a jerk a little bit but ends fluffy, Osamu briefly in a dress for kicks and because why not?, time skip spoilers for Osamu’s job, no beta we die like men, I am ignoring any and all spelling or grammar errors there might be because I do not care right now, i think that’s everything?

18+ MINORS UNDER 18 AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT (i.e. like, reblog, follow). YOU WILL BE BLOCKED.

word count: 2767

“Shit!” comes out of your mouth as you try to quickly clean up the red sauce stain on Osamu’s white Onigiri Miya t-shirt. “Why do I always cook in his white shirts?!” You think as you scrub furiously to no avail. Thankfully, dinner is almost done and, then, you can pretreat it. The last thing you want to do is add to Osamu’s plate, since he had a rough day. He called you on his break to vent – and to explain why he had to cancel your date tonight since he’d be home late.

“I’m sorry, doll. I know you were looking forward to it tonight.”

“Hey, Samu, it’s okay. I understand. We can just reschedule for this weekend, okay?”

“Thank you, doll. I swear hearing you say that is the best thing to happen today. It’s like everything that could go wrong today did.”

“I’m sorry, baby. Want to talk about it? Or just rant?”

“Yer amazing, you know that? First, Hana sprained her ankle then Kevin called out then Jacob, spilled a whole container of freshly made rice. Which I then slipped in – do you know how slippery rice is?” You hear the sigh come down the line and you can imagine him, in his office, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “I wish you could be here right now.”

Your heart breaks at his defeated tone. You wish you could make it better for him.

“Baby, I’d be there in a heartbeat if I could.”

“I know. And I love you for that. I just can’t wait for this day to be over so I can just come home and be in your arms.”

Knowing he probably didn’t get a chance to really eat so, wanting to have a home-cooked meal ready for him, you were going to surprise with a semi-late night candle light dinner date. You were going to try a new Italian restaurant so you brought out a red and white checkered tablecloth you found hidden in the back of the closet and decided to make spaghetti and French bread and were almost done when the sauce spilled on your – well, Samu’s – shirt.

You were about to go change and pre-treat it when you heard the door open and saw Samu in the door. A smile lit up your face when you saw him and you immediately went to hug him, not noticing his zeroed in on the stain.

“What the fuck is that on my shirt?” is the first thing out of his mouth and you glance down to where his eyes are staring. You open your mouth to answer when he cuts you off, “For fucks sake, y/n, these are my work shirts – is it so hard not to wear them, especially when you constantly spill something on them?”

Not liking how this started or his tone, you reply, “Want to walk out the door and try again? I know you had a bad day but that’s no reason to take it out on me.”

“What I’d really love, after a long, hard day at work, is to not see that you had stained yet another one of my work shirts. I am tired of having to constantly tell you not to wear them and of you constantly not listening and wearing them anyway. Can you really not process it through your pea brain?”

Taken aback, you don’t even dignify that with a response and he stomps to the bathroom, muttering a “I’m just gonna shower then get some food” and you still say nothing.

You know he had a rough day so you’re trying not to take his words personally, but they still hurt, still made you angry. “He has the next two days off. Hopefully, that puts him in a better mood,” you think as you enter the laundry room, removing his shirt at the same time, and, clad in just your bra, you work on pre-treating the stain and finish at the same time you hear Osamu leave the bathroom.

You hear his footsteps move past the room and, as he calls your name, you simply leave the laundry room to head to your bedroom, slamming the door shut so he knows, not only where you are, but, also, that you’re mad. Even though you’re not mad at all; you’re hurt. And, now, all you want to do is give into your exhaustion and sleep so you climb into bed after putting on one a new t-shirt – one that is actually yours. A few tears run down your face but, thankfully, you succumb to slumber quickly.

Back in the living room, Osamu lets out a deep sigh just after he heard the door slam. He knows he fucked up and went too far – it was just a shirt and he wasn’t even mad you. It was just the stress of the day and he took it out on you. He calmed down in the shower and intended to apologize the second he was out but, then, you slammed the door and he thought he’d give you some space, heading to the kitchen to get some dinner. . . when he saw the tablecloth, the unlit candle, table settings for two, the spaghetti in the middle with a basket of cut French bread.

Seeing all that you prepared, his stomach drops and he feels worse, his guilt eating him up inside. Dinner can wait a little longer –he has to make this right to you now. Ignoring his growling stomach, he pads down the hall to your bedroom, twists the door open, and walks in to see. . . your sleeping form.

Sighing deeply, he exits the room as thinks, “I’ll just apologize first thing in the morning, then. And thank her for the meal she prepared.”

Sitting down at the table, he spoons some spaghetti onto his plate and grabs a slice of French bread, his guilt only worsening with every bite.

“She didn’t deserve me to snap at her. I’ll get up early to get her favorite flowers and pick up some croissants from her favorite restaurant.”

With his plan finalized and his belly full, he packs up the leftovers in the fridge, puts the dishes in the dishwasher, and pads down the hall so he can fall asleep next to you. Having climbed into bed, his muscles finally relax and he sets an alarm so he can get the necessary things to show you how sorry he is. Turning over, he pulls you to him, spooning you as he wraps his arm around your waist.

He doesn’t know how many hours it’s been when he wakes with a start and finds you missing, your side of the bed made. He clambers for his phone to see it’s just after noon and races out of the room in search of you when he spots a neatly folded white shirt on the corner of the bed, a note resting on top.

Sorry about your shirt. Got the stain out and washed it for you. I’ll be sure to not wear your clothes again so this doesn’t happen in the future.

Y/N

“Fuck, she’s still mad,” is the only thought running through his mind. He didn’t think you’d never wear his clothes again; he loves seeing you in his clothes. Not only did he fuck up last night, he fucked up today, too, by missing his alarm. He rushes out of your shared bedroom, hoping he’ll see you on the couch but you’re not there. He checks every room and it’s not until he collapses on the couch that he sees the other note you left.

Made plans with f/n’s. Don’t know when I’ll be back, might stay there tonight so don’t wait up.

Y/N

And that’s when he feels his heart drop out of his chest. He rushes back to the bedroom and picks up his phone, fingers already on your contact pressing call. He holds the phone to his ear, just for it to be sent to voicemail so he shoots you a text.

Osamu: Hey. Saw your note. You having fun?

You: Yup.

Osamu: Still mad?

You: Nope. I’m fine.

And that’s how he knows he really did fuck up and that you’re actually still mad.

Osamu: Doll, I’m *sorry.* I’ll give you space until you’re ready to talk but can you, at least, tell me where you are so I don’t worry?

You: I’m at f/n’s house. We’re baking.

Osamu: Have fun. Will you come home tonight?

You: . . .

You: Yes.

He fist pumps the air at your answer; he still has a chance to make it right today, just much later than he wanted.

Osamu: I’ll see you later, then. I love you.

You: read 12:17 pm

Though his heart hurt a little at that, he can’t exactly blame you. With no time to dwell on it, he rushes to take a quick shower and gets dressed, rushing out the door to your usual grocery store and the nearest florist.

He gets home an hour later and checks his phone to see if you replied yet.

“Nothing,” he thinks and can’t help but feel dismayed. Pushing those thoughts aside, he puts the flowers he got you in a vase, cutting off the stems a little, then immediately gets to making you your favorite ravioli and French bread from scratch.

With the bread in the oven and waiting for the water to boil, he moves onto setting up the table like you did last night with one difference – he adds the flowers he got you. By now, the food is done and on the table so he checks his watch – almost 6. Perfect timing. He heads to the bedroom to put on a button down shirt and wait for you to come home.

Only you didn’t come home. Well, you did but not until after nine when Osamu had already had everything packed up in the fridge. Hearing your keys jingle, he jumps up to greet you.

“Doll! You’re home!” He rushes to you, holding you tightly in his arms.

You freeze for a moment, not expecting this reception, before you answer him, “Uh, yeah, Samu, I am. Sorry for being gone all day; F/N’s and I were just having so much fun.”

“That’s fine! I’m glad you had fun. Did you eat? Are you hungry? I can reheat dinner for you.”

“Whoa, Samu, slow down. I’m not going anywhere. But I did eat already, sorry. And I’m exhausted so let’s just go to bed, okay?”

You walk down the hallway, Osamu following behind you after a few seconds and sees you opening your dresser drawer, pulling out a shirt and shorts.

He rubs on a hand around the back of his neck when he speaks, “I have a shirt you can wear. . . if you want.”

“No, thanks, Samu. I’m good with my own. Wouldn’t want to make a mess of yours,” you say, smiling brightly at him before disappearing into the en suite to change. When you leave the bathroom, you start to head to your side but are stopped when a hand grabs yours and Osamu turns you to face him. Your eyes meet his, guilt and sadness swirling in them in a never-ending abyss, making your heart just break.

Pulling him to your chest and lifting your arms up, you wrap them around his shoulders, rubbing his back and leaving a hand to rest on the nape of his neck in comfort. His hands wrap around your waist tightly, almost as if he’s afraid that you’re going to disappear completely.

“I’m so sorry, doll. I shouldn’t have taken my bad day out on you and snap at you over something as ridiculous as a stain on my shirt and getting mad that you wear them. I actually love to see you in my clothes.”

“No, baby, I’m sorry; I knew it was just cause you had a bad day and that you didn’t mean any of it. I shouldn’t have dragged it out for so long. I should have talk to you instead.”

He pulls away to look at you with puppy dog eyes, “So am I forgiven?”

“Of course. Am I?” You ask after placing a peck on his lips and he breathes out a sigh in relief.

“There’s nothing to forgive, doll,” he replies, pressing a kiss to your neck then presses his nose into the crown of your head, inhaling your scent. “I’ve missed you so much. I’m gonna take you out tomorrow to make up for being a dick.”

Burrowing your nose in his chest, you let out a muffled, “You don’t have to, Samu.”

“I want to. Doll, you deserve to be given the world. I love you so much. I’d do anything to show how much you mean to me.”

A devious smile forms on your lips as you ask, “Anything?”

He sighs deeply and speaks, “I know that tone of voice and bet your smirking right now. But, yes, anything. So what do you want? What are you plotting?”

“Well. . .” You pause then continue, “I was thinking we could do a clothes swap tomorrow! You know, like, when we’re out, I’m in your clothes and you’re in mine.”

“I think I’m gonna regret this but. . . fine, let’s do it.”

You clap excitedly, smiling brightly at him as you do, and he gives you a smile and forehead kiss in return. . . before he quickly picks you up bridal style, causing you to let out a yelp, and walks towards the bed. He kicks the covers back and deposits you on the bed before clambering in behind you, pulling you flush against his chest, and your eyes droop as his breathing evens out.

The next day, you’re out for your date and you can’t help but giggle at Osamu. While you are in one of his signature Onigiri Miya t-shirts and a pair of leggings, he’s wearing one of your dresses with one of the most displeased looks on his face. Until he looks at you and sees how happy you are and the laughter dancing in your eyes and he knows it’s worth all the looks he’s been getting.

But he’s also glad when you’re both safely back at your home. He immediately heads to the bedroom to put on his own clothes – a pair of grey sweats and a black Onigiri Miya t-shirt. He’s pulling the t-shirt on over his head as he hears you shout out an “Osamu!” and he races to you, heart beating fast. He sees you – unharmed, thank God - standing in front of the fridge, holding the Tupperware from last night, and he tries to slow his rapidly beating heart.

“Ya dam near gave me a heart attack, doll,” he drawls out as he saunters to you and presses a kiss to your head.

“Sorry, baby,” you say, sheepish look on your face, then continue on, “But what the hell are these?!”

“Well,” he starts, rubbing his neck nervously, “it was the apology dinner I made for you last. Your favorite ravioli and French bread from scratch. Even got you your favorite flowers.”

You pout sadly as he admits this, feeling bad that he worked so hard and you missed it because you were being petty and petulant, when his thumb presses along your lower lip, “hey, now, stop pouting. Don’t feel bad, doll. You didn’t know – I wanted to surprise you.”

“But. . .”

“Nope, none of that. I did it because I love you. It was supposed to make you happy, not sad.”

Your frown only deepens and he sighs.

“How about this? We can reheat it and curl up on the couch, catch up on our shows and I get to hold you in my arms, like I wanted – and still want – two days ago. And you promise that the only clothes sharing we do from now on. . . is you in mine, okay, doll?”

You agree, breaking out into a smile and kissing him before pulling off the lid and sticking the food in the microwave, setting the reheat time as Osamu gets plates and eating utensils. That night, dishes on the coffee table, you in Osamu’s arms, your back against his chest, you can’t help but think of how lucky you are to have such a kind, wonderful, and thoughtful boyfriend. Sure, there are ups-and-downs and arguments but you’d rather have arguments with him than a perfect relationship with anyone else.

General taglist: @chibishae34

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x female reader #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu x female reader #osamu x reader #osamu x female reader #🦊.onyx's writing #🍨.September Sweetheart Sundae

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