#Osamu

[haikyu-mp4]

Passion – Osamu x reader wc 378 – gn!reader

You slumped down into the first free seat you saw at a random restaurant that seemed eerily abandoned. A voice greeted you in the distance when you entered, but the frustrated tears were already pushing at your lashes and you barely registered the owner’s words.

Resting your face in your hands, you silently let the tears flow. Sure, you could write a more general master thesis in marketing, but you wanted to write one on the process of helping a real business. The problem is, no businesses wanted you.

A plate with two onigiri was placed in front of you, and you looked up to see a handsome young man. Hastily and a bit embarrassed, you wiped the tears off your face as best as you could. “Thank you.”

��It’s on the house,” he assured you before turning away and heading back to the kitchen. When he left, your eyes made contact with the poster on the wall, a poorly made commercial poster you had seen hanging around the city and frowned upon.

Glancing down at the food you were given, the smell finally hit you. Heavenly, it was.

Taking a bite of food, you kept looking around the restaurant and using everything you’d learnt in the past four years of your degree to make an assessment.

The food tasted even better than it smelled, and you decided right then that this would be your master project.

Taking Onigiri Miya from rags to riches.

Your eyes now zeroed in on the chef who hummed along to the radio in the kitchen, seemingly making onigiri for no customers.

It all starts with him.

“Miya,” you said a bit loudly, hoping that was his name like it said on the sign.

His head snapped to you curiously. “How can I help ya?”

“I’d like to be your marketing agent, free of charge.”

He scoffed but there was a glint in his eyes, like he recognised the same drive he had for food in you. “Don’t like my posters?”

“You obviously have a passion, or at least talent, for food. Those onigiri are the best I ever had. Marketing, on the other hand, is my passion. Together we could be unstoppable.”

“Sit back down and we’ll discuss the details. I’m… interested.”

masterlist

[jay72664]

Insomnia

TW: Suggestive. (Dazai’s in it, of course it’s suggestive.)

Dazai trailed patterns with his finger on the skin of Chuuya’s stomach, unable to fall asleep.

Chuuya turns to face him.

“Can’t sleep either, huh?” Dazai asks.

The ginger shakes his head in reply. “What’s keeping you up?”

Dazai shrugs. “Hell if I know, you?”

“Don’t know either, just can’t sleep.”

They laid in silence for a bit, before Dazai spoke up again.

“You know what would tire us both out?” He asks suggestively, his hand trailing to Chuuya’s waist band.

Chuuya slaps his hand away. “I’m already tired I just can’t sleep.”

The detective sighs melodramatically. “Chibi is no fun.”

The ginger rolls his eyes at his husband’s antics.

“Can’t I at least get a kiss?” He pleads, pulling Chuuya closer by the waist.

“God, you are so clingy, fine.”

Chuuya presses a kiss to the brunettes lips, and Dazai kisses him back with fervor.

Chuuya attempts to pull away, but Dazai’s hand had moved to the back of his hand to keep him there, and though if he really wanted to, he could out strengthen his lanky husband, he found himself wanting to stay like this, if only for a moment longer.

Dazai did eventually pull away, having to breath, though more so just not wanting to suffocate his husband than caring about his own lungs.

“Satisfied?” The shorter man teases, already knowing the answer.

“No, but it’ll do for now.” He moves to nuzzle his face against the crook of Chuuya’s neck.

The blue eyed man pressed a kiss to the top of his husband’s head, threading his fingers through his hair.

“I love you.” He says quietly, knowing full well they’d both still be awake for a while yet.

Dazai hums. “I love you too.”

[bokutoko]

osamu didn’t really have a favorite color.

it wasn’t until he saw you after school one chilly autumn day, your face lighting up with the question, “is that jacket new, ‘samu?”

he nodded—he didn’t think too much of it when he got it for his birthday, so he surely didn’t expect anyone else to notice. “a gift from ma.”

“i like it, it’s my favorite color,” you took in his full appearance, your eyes looking him up and down, “it suits ya.” a cackle escaped you at osamu’s flustered face, only growing louder with him grumbling, “shaddup.” osamu’s biggest tell was always his accent thickening, and you knew it.

as winter came, osamu found himself wearing that same jacket to and from school every day, ignoring atsumu’s relentless “whadda simp” comments, as a part of him hoped you’d one day be chilly enough to need his coat.

and when that day came, with his jacket hugging your figure as you nuzzled in his leftover body heat, osamu found it hard to breathe.

in that moment, he realized he’d found his new favorite color—yours.

a/n: sorry osamu if reader’s favorite color is pink😔 bro’s looking like pepto-bismol.

masterlist | navigation

please do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bokutoko 2024.

[kitasuno]

with you, i'm first | miya osamu x reader

in which miya osamu is used to coming second to his brother. but with you, he's always first.

wc: 1113 | gn!reader | fluff

Miya Osamu is used to coming second. 

It starts with Atsumu, like most things do. October is cold and gray and Atsumu comes first, a small body with a large presence that fills the warm hospital room. His cries are loud and he’s a little underweight, but with him comes the sun. 

Atsumu is born under a partly cloudy sky but the nurses swear he was shrouded in sunlight. 

Osamu comes twelve minutes later. His parents are crying and his Ma is close to passing out. If he thinks really hard he can almost feel her warmth, Atsumu’s sobs, and a mumble of prayers that October has safely brought Atsumu and then Osamu.

He asks Grandma one day what the weather was like when he was born. She says, with confidence, it was foggy.

Atsumu doesn’t get along with his classmates. He is too loud and too rash and lacks social cues, and Osamu is angry because Stupid ‘Tsumu cares too little: and he wants everyone to know Atsumu like he knows Atsumu.

They fight and they yell and they argue until Atsumu says, 

‘Samu, I don’t care about ‘em. Why do ya care so much? 

And Osamu throws him across the room. The argument ends there, he says sorry, and Osamu lies awake that night thinking about his brother. Atsumu is hotheaded. And an idiot. A loud snorer, too. But he turns on his side and curls into a ball because he knows it was sunny when Atsumu was born and all of a sudden he really wants to be his brother. 

Atsumu dyes his hair first: it’s a shitty box dye from the pharmacy down the street, and it looks terrible. It’s a little yellow and a little neon, and Osamu laughs until his sides hurt when Atsumu shows him. 

But Atsumu is proud, and he is confident, and he goes to school with a hundred watt smile and a group of girls trailing after him. 

Osamu goes to the pharmacy that night and buys a box of gray, cloudy dye. Atsumu helps him bleach his hair under their bathroom sink with the faulty tap and tells him he looks like the moon.

His Ma says that Atsu is hot and Samu is cold after the two have a particularly bad fight. Atsumu is gleeful and smug as he gloats that he was born to be hotter and warmer and better, and Osamu punches him. 

He remembers his Ma sitting on the porch, an arm around his shoulders as he pouts. 

“‘S not fair,” Osamu had said, his chin in his palm. “Why’d ya name Tsumu that?” 

His Ma had laughed, quietly, leaning her weight into his side. And she had held his cheeks between her palms and told him with a fire in her eyes that Osamu means To Rule. 

He meets you for the first time in February. 

You were standing in front of him, a little sheepish, with a box of chocolates in your extended palms. He remembers feeling something heavy in his chest. Because, yeah, Atsumu was definitely going to accept your confession. 

You had said, IReallyLikeYou, and Here’sSomeChocolates, and Please Accept Them. 

You were shorter than him, and your hair was done nicely, and you were blushing and nervous. And you were really fucking cute. But Osamu is used to coming second, so the only thing that comes out of his mouth is, Why? And then, Tsumu’s in tha next classroom ov’r. 

He doesn’t remember what happened next, only Atsumu’s laugh and the slap echoing through the halls. You leave with his cheeks stinging and hot. And Atsumu had teased him the next day, behind his mountain of chocolates and confessions, because Osamu’s face was still red twelve hours later. 

He sees you a lot the year after. 

You’re in the same class as him and ‘Tsumu, and you smile every time you see him. You sit two rows in front of him and you’re not very good at tying your uniform. Every lunch, Osamu watches you pull out the same gray bento with a wrapped onigiri on the side. He tells you one day that he really likes onigiri. And then, Osamu watches as every lunch, you pull out the same gray bento with two wrapped onigiris on the side. 

With you, it’s always Hi Osamu, first, and then, Hullo Atsumu. With you, it’s an onigiri dropped on his desk when the lunch bell rings. With you, Osamu thinks back to a conversation with his Ma on a porch. 

Osamu means To Rule.

The menu is this: Tuna mayo on Mondays and Thursdays, Ume on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Friday is plain. You don’t ever bring onigiri for his brother. 

He asks you, on a hot night in June, what your favorite type of weather is. You had your knees tucked to your chest, a sparkler in hand, and then told him cloudy. Cold. Foggy. Winter. Snow is nice, too. You say it all with no hesitation. 

Osamu kisses you for the first time that night. 

It’s New Years and you’re cooking Ozoni on the stove. The curtains are open, it’s snowing outside, and Osamu wakes to the smell of miso and the sound of carrots on a chopping board. He gets out of bed, padding to the kitchen with half-lidded eyes and a stifled yawn, and then he thinks his heart stops when he sees you. 

Because what Miya Osamu is not used to is this: coming first and having something unequivocally his. 

But you’re bent over the counter, fiddling with the oven as you read the instructions on the back of the packaged Yakimochi you bought the other day. And you’re wearing his shirt, it falls right below your thighs, your hair is still messy from using his chest as a pillow, and you look beautiful. 

“Mornin’ ‘Samu, come help me with this.” You say, looking back at him with a smile, pointing to the fresh pot of rice on the counter. “You’re in charge of onigiri.”

He hugs you instead, his arms around your stomach with your back to him. 

“But I like yer onigiri,” He says, his chin on your head. His eyes are watering and it must be from the steam of your boiling dashi. 

“‘Samu,” You complain, giggling as he presses kisses into the crown of your head. “I made enough for ya in high school.” 

It’s cold outside and snowing, and Osamu knows he’s going to make the onigiri. 

He also knows that if his name means To Rule, he’s okay with coming second if it means you’re by his side.

[makkir0ll]

private chef! osamu x ceo!reader.

you hired him because you had little to no time to make healthy meals, living off of microwave ramen most of the time. incredibly unhealthy so you hired a private chef. you didn't see him often, only in the morning for a couple of minutes as you ate your breakfast and occasionally he would stand across the counter preparing your lunch.

you can't deny that he's cute, brown hair and big biceps that are constricted from his black compression shirt, the way his muscles are flexed every time he moves. his cooking skills are an added plus. you thank whatever angel is watching over you to give you such a hot man who can cook your meals. but obviously, you had to keep it professional but that doesn't stop you from ogling at him and he doesn't notice either so there’s no harm. (he has noticed.)

and he's not one to complain either. he particularly likes it when you come home late. hair in a messy bun, the first couple of buttons from your work shirt unbuttoned a little bit and at certain angles he can get a peek of the lacy black bra you decided to wear that day.

but his top favorite is when you come out of the shower on those late nights, dressed in your victoria secret silk pajama set, hair wet, and cheeks red from the heat of the shower. you smile softly at him as you take a bit of the dinner he cooked that night and he always falls to his knees weak at the sight of your smile rather than the usual scowl on your face due to the annoying people you have to deal with at work.

and when you fall asleep on the couch as he cleans up the dishes he freezes, he's never seen you so peaceful. would it be breaking boundaries to carry you to your bed? no he thinks, i mean you back would hurt if you slept here all night he justifies as he slowly picks you up and places you softly on your bed.

one day he will get to do that and sleep with you in his arms. but right now he had to plan out your breakfast for tommorow.

@cottonlemonade bc it’s infesting my brain

[nickolashx]

Eastern Mind: The Lost Souls of Tong Nou (1994)

Eastern Mind: The Lost Souls of Tong Nou is an unnerving 1994 point-and-click adventure game by Japanese artist Osamu Sato.

Rin wakes up to find that his soul has been stolen by a living island known as Tong-Nou. In his quest to restore his soul, he reincarnates as several different creatures, fulfilling their respective lives.

[sun4r1nnity]

miya osamu x reader drabble

osamu hates it when someone else is in the kitchen with him.

he personally thinks its a hassle and slows down the work when there are more than one person in the kitchen. whenever someone offers help, he immediately declines, insisting that he can do it on his own. one time he got super grumpy because atsumu is too stubborn to leave him alone in the kitchen and fucking up the chopped vegetables. thats why he prefers to cook alone.

you, however, he doesnt mind. not that he lets you help him though, but he needs to feel your presence in the kitchen, " 's moral support," he said. he lets you yap while hes cooking, and will give comments and reactions to your conversation. 'oh d'you know about that old lady two houses across?' , 'i think im actually good at cooking, 'm just lazy,' , 'can we go to the ramen diner some time? heard it was good,' , ''m getting fat if you keep feeding me with your cookings,' . you may be quite the conversationalist, but osamu enjoys listening to you.

miya osamu may not enjoy others in his kitchen space, but for you, he would make an exception. even if you poorly chop the ingredients or botch the sautéing by overheating, he'll let it slide.

[toastyyjams]

may i suggest girlfailure fem dazai

[iinoruu]

sweet summer🍒

[cottonlemonade]

Pancakes After Sex

warnings: suggestive, mdni

Pancakes after sex have become somewhat of a staple for you and your husband Osamu. It started off as a weird craving when you began dating. That first time it ever came up was around 2 a.m. and you lay happy and satisfied in his strong arms while he played with your hair and brought your hand to his lips. His fingertips drew lazy patterns over the soft rolls of your hips and tummy and he wished he had as much stamina as he used to in high school to go on further. You were about to drift off to sleep when his stomach growled loudly and once your giggle fit had subsided you offered a short excursion to your kitchen to see what you could scrounge up for your ever hungry caterpillar of a man. Nothing. Not even a stray expired pack of ramen in the back of your pantry.

So Osamu whipped up some pancakes since milk, flour and an egg was at least available. You leaned on the counter, laughing softly and feeding each other bites before heading to bed for a good night’s sleep.

Now you watched your husband in his grey sweats whisking the batter, letting your eyes roam appreciatively over the rippling muscles in his back, so very glad he left his shirt on the floor where you’d tossed it a few hours ago.

Osamu makes the best pancakes and he is always happy to serve you a midnight snack.

[shoyospikes]

I hope the haikyuu fandom never dies

that's all thanks for coming to my ted talk goodnight everyone

(⁠◠⁠‿⁠・⁠)⁠—⁠☆

[qquibb]

yeahhhhh haikyuu hyperfixation coming back. smiles like a maniac . i have a ton of drafts of them being gross bc they're very winter couple to me so look forward to that

[jay72664]

You called me

TW: Use of alcohol.

Okay, maybe Dazai was a tiny bit jealous.

But he wasn’t like, that jealous.

In fact, he was more upset by the fact that he couldn’t go to sleep.

After all, he’d probably have to pick up his drunk ass husband any minute now.

He tries to focus on the TV.

Any minute now.

Yeah, he was impatient, he had run out of things to do and just wanted to cuddle, and maybe annoy, his Chibi husband.

But no, Chuuya wanted to go out drinking with friends because he needed free time.

He was probably just annoyed with him.

He was awfully clingy.

And tended to actively try to annoy him.

Not to mention he was way overtly affectionate, even in public.

Wait, what if Chuuya met someone at the bar he was drinking at?

What if he loved them more than he loved Dazai?

Dazai’s phone rings, and he checks the number before putting it to his ear.

“Hello.” Dazai says to his husband through the phone.

“Heeey.” He mumbles, words slurred.

Dazai can’t help but chuckle.

“Are you drunk?”

“Mh-hm.” He hums, though it was quite groan like.

“I’m coming.” Dazai promises softly. “I love you.”

He already knew which bar Chuuya had gone to, because he had told him before he left.

So he got in the car and headed there.

When he got to the bar Chuuya was slumped over the counter sobbing, Tachihara was awkwardly patting his back.

Dazai almost laughed.

“Why’s he crying?” The brunette asks mafioso.

“I’m uh, not sure.” He says awkwardly, not really know how to talk to the detective. 

“I’ll uh, leave him to you.” He flashes a tight smile and gets up to head out of the bar himself.

“Chuuya.” He taps his shoulder to get his attention.

“S-Samu? You’re back?” He slurs sitting up, though he nearly falls over, and slumps his head against Dazai’s chest.

“You called me, of course I came, silly.” He coos teasingly.

“You left me all alone.” He mumbles, there were still tears streaming down his cheeks.

“What are you talking about Chibi? you’re the one who...” He hesitates at the end realizes what the ginger was talking about, as he wiped away his tears with his thumb.

“Come one, let’s go.” He offers his short husband his back, who climbs on, his arms falling over his shoulders, as Dazai’s arms slip under his legs to keep him up.

“Where are we going?” Chuuya asks, hiccuping as he speaks.

“We’re going home.” The lanky man explains, stifling a laugh at his husband’s stupor.

“Oh.”

Dazai drives Chuuya home, the later nearly falling asleep on their way home, and so when they get home, Dazai just guided him to their, taking off his shoes, and socks, and his hat and coat, before tucking him into the sheets, and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Unable to sleep himself however, Dazai goes and sits on the couch, replaying the interaction in his head.

You left me all alone.

He knew Chuuya forgave him for what happened.

He knew it.

Yet found himself doubting it.

He knew he couldn’t have stayed in the mafia.

Knew he wouldn’t be happy.

Doubted he would have married Chuuya.

Yet he stilled felt guilty whenever he thought of it.

Of Chuuya being betrayed yet again.

Of him being the one to doing it.

Of bringing him such pain.

He made Chuuya cry.

And he hated himself for it.

[onnie-giri]

flat tire 🚲💢

[haikyu-mp4]

Top ten anime betrayals

word count; 541 – f!reader

Atsumu opened the door, a frown permanently etched on his face ever since he found out you invited your new boyfriend over for dinner. Osamu followed right behind him, eyeing the bat you had stationed behind the door.

Apparently, your mother already met their little sister’s boyfriend while he was sneaking out of the house, and she hadn’t told the twins. And being a Miya, she invited said boyfriend over to dinner to meet the family.

On the other side of the door stood Suna, dressed up in a white shirt and jeans, the top shirt buttons left open in typical lazy fashion. Your brothers sighed, disappointed. “We can’t hang out today, Sunarin.”

Osamu’s eyebrows furrowed as he noticed the two bouquets Suna held in one hand. “You brought us flowers, man?”

“They’re not for you, dipshits.” Suna pushed past the twins with a smug smirk that turned sweet the second you came running around the corner and into his arms.

The twins gasped in perfect synchronization, Osamu covering his mouth in horror and Atsumu clutching his chest in shock. “Suna’s your boyfriend?!”

As you pulled away from the middle blocker, completely ignoring your brothers, your eyes turned to hearts as Suna handed you one of the bouquets. Adding salt to the wound, your mother also arrived on the scene and thanked Suna very much for the other bouquet.

“You’ve always been a charmer,” your mother cooed, squeezing Suna’s cheek before taking the flowers from you to ensemble everything in vases.

The twins took each of Suna’s arms when your mother was out of sight, pulling him backwards into the hallway and then their room, slamming the bedroom door shut in your face as you tried to follow.

“Is this a prank?” Osamu asked, crossing his arms and frowning.

“There is no way you’re dating our baby sister,” Atsumu added.

“She’s not a baby, she’s one year younger than us.” Suna typically slouched but did his best to straighten up and use those few extra centimetres of height to his advantage. “And I think she’s really cool. And smoking hot.”

“Obviously, she’s a Miya,” Atsumu mumbled, only to get a slap in the back of the head from his brother.

“Our mom said you were sneaking out of her room the other day, you dirty pig.” Osamu stepped closer, poking a harsh finger into Suna’s chest.

“Ouch, enough with the name-calling.” Suna sighed, whipping his phone out of his pocket and swiftly unlocking it to find his camera roll. “What we do in private is none of your business, but here-” he said and held up the phone to show the twins a picture of you and him on a date, where you smiled joyfully at the camera and Suna watched you with ridiculously sweet eyes.

The twins looked between the picture and Suna’s face suspiciously a couple of times, before turning around and whispering to each other in an attempt to reach a conclusion.

Suna rolled his eyes, taking the time to text you about what was going on and let you know he’d be out in a second, but put his phone away as the twins turned back.

“We will allow it but you’re on thin ice, Suna Rintaro.”

masterlist

[bedcchem]

been on an osamu kick recently, so i’ve been stuck on the idea of a date night with him… he makes you your favorite dish, and he buys a nice bottle of red wine for you both to share.

with that nice fuzzy feeling in your minds as you sit together on the couch, glasses in-hand, one thing led to another, and suddenly, you’re looking down at osamu on his knees, right in between your thighs. his mouth hovers over you, his tongue just barely darting out to give the wet spot on your panties the faintest kitten lick.

“‘samu,” you breathlessly chide, your mind already a mess, “don’t tease me tonight…”

his eyes shift to you from his spot between your legs, his tongue still poking out as he dares to give you another little lick. “hm?” he asks coyly, “but that’s the best part, darlin’.”

gently pulling your panties down your legs to discard on the floor, he’s staring. hard. it’s a ritual at this point—he knows he’s done this many times before, but he also knows he’ll never get tired of seeing that pretty pussy of yours…

taking the last swig of wine from his glass, he licks a fat stripe from your entrance to your clit, listening for that little gasp from your lips that quickly turns into the faintest moan. every time.

delving into your folds, so wet and inviting, he relishes the delicious mixture of alcohol and your essence on his tongue. his hands grip your thighs, his fingers digging into the plush skin, as he holds them up and spreads them to get that perfect angle.

“s-‘samu!” you cry out when his tongue swirls around your clit, slow and steady; your hands move to his hair and tug, like clockwork, and he lets out a low groan, feeling the vibration pulse through your body. you feel like you’re on fire in the best way possible.

your head falls back against the couch as he alternates between suckling on your sweet little clit and tongue fucking you, and, as always, his pants suddenly begin to feel so painfully tight. he’s so messy with it, with your juices dribbling down his lips and chin and his cock throbbing in his boxers.

“‘sa—‘samu, oh my god—“ you gasp out, feeling that all too familiar coil winding up in the bottom of your tummy, “‘m close, please…”

you can sense the smirk on his face as he pushes you further into the couch cushions, letting out strangled, muffled moans of, “ya taste better than the wine, darlin’” and “so fuckin’ good…”

when you come on his tongue, he’s always there, licking up every drop. his eyes are closed, on another planet completely—absolutely pussydrunk from the taste of you.

“fuuuck, baby, that’s it. good girl…” he groans against your folds, making sure he’s cleaned you up nicely and to his liking.

and so every week, osamu asks you what you want to do for date night, fully knowing where it would always lead to…

and he loves it.

a/n: wow this was not meant to be this long ANYWAYS

enjoy my masterlist!

mdni. do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bedcchem 2024.