Miya Osamu takes his time to look up from the pot of pork belly he’s stirring over the stove. “Ya sure yer yellin’ at the right Miya, doll?” he asks, with a playful smirk that only serves to fan the flames of your anger.
“I’m pretty sure your brother didn’t knock me up cos’ I would’ve remembered that”, you spit, bunching up the hems of your shirt in clenched fists, watching with sick satisfaction as Osamu’s face blanches white, wooden spoon falling to the floor.
This is all his fault. His fault for being so ridiculously alluring and handsome that you couldn’t resist taking him into bed even though you were on antibiotics that night. His fault for peppering kisses down your neck in the morning and making you completely forget about popping by the pharmacy that day.
“Sweetheart”, he breathes as he folds you into his arms, tucks you firmly against his chest. “You’re pregnant?”
You sniffle, knocking your fists half-heartedly against the planes of his chest. The truth is - even though you’re married and you’ve always wanted kids, it’s a frightening prospect to confront. Osamu’s busy with expanding his business, you are settling down at your job, it doesn’t feel like the right time to suddenly be saddled with the responsibility of keeping a tiny human alive.
“I’m scared”, you admit, drawing comfort from the warmth from his skin, the steady beat of his heart.
He tilts your face up to him, wipes your tears away with gentle thumbs.
“So am I”, he says quietly. “But if you wanna keep it, I’m in.”
You consider it.
You imagine a world where Miya Osamu straps your chubby little baby adorned in onigiri print onesie onto his back as he serves his customers. You imagine a world where he teaches your child how to slice and dice, their expressions mirroring each other, tongues poking out in concentration. You imagine a world where you and Osamu create a life that’s half his and half yours, a miracle of its own.
Your heart swells. Your fears wither and die.
“I’m in too”, you whisper, laughing with joy as he picks you up and twirls you all around the kitchen.
a/n:as requested by jenny @fail-big. also PSA from grandma nikki: please use contraception and be safe, kids!
a/n: i know i promised y’all atsumu fluff, and it will be served eventually, so hope you like some osamu fluff and a reminder to indulge in self-love in the meantime
‘Yer not finishin’ yer food?’ Osamu asks with concern as he watches you play with the remaining food on your plate listlessly, a pained look in your eyes.
‘I’m not hungry’, you lie, getting up and clearing your plate.
He only frowns.
It all makes sense when he catches you staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror, top pulled up to reveal your belly. He watches you pinch the soft plush of your belly that he loves so much, watches your face darken as you measure your waist, watches you wince as you slap your own butt, sighing as it jiggles as butts are wont to do.
‘Do you think I’m ugly?’ you ask, catching his eye in the mirror, voice small.
‘Of course not’, he replies immediately. ‘Yer the most beautiful girl in the world to me’.
But he can see the echoes of doubt in your eyes, the disbelief as you purse your lips in a tight line. It makes his heart clench. He loves you, all of you - soft belly, round cheeks, crooked smile, and just wishes you could love yourself as much as he loves you too.
‘What brought this on, darlin’?’ he asks, wrapping his arms around you, tucking you firmly against his chest.
You shake your head at first, refusing to give him an answer, but he refuses to relinquish his grip on you until you do, so you admit shakily – ‘I spoke to my mum today, and she said I’m looking a little chubby’.
He exhales a sigh. ‘Do ya want me to call yer mum and give her a piece of my mind?’
You shake your head harder this time. ‘She means well’, you say weakly, but your fingers are still pinching your belly hard enough to leave red, angry marks behind.
Osamu peels your fingers away, unfurling them one by one with care. ‘Hey, look at me’, he says, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze in the mirror.
‘I mean it’, he nuzzles his nose into your hair, breathing in your scent. ‘Yer my bestest girl, and there’s nothin’ about yer that I would change’. Then he pauses, a mischievous smile flickering on his face.
‘Except maybe yer habit of not finishin’ yer food’.
You laugh at that, turning around to poke his cheek playfully. ‘But if I finish my food from now on, you won’t get any extras’.
His laughter bounces off the walls. ‘Darlin’ that’s a sacrifice my stomach’s willin’ to make’.
