#atsumu and osamu

[hitoshi-yuuto]

Angry Atsumu storming down the hallway

Sakusa : uh oh.

Osamu : What?

Sakusa : i see an angry boyfriend heading our way.

Osamu : yours or mine?

Sakusa : does it matter?

Osamu : if it's mine, there's a chance we'll live, but if it's your's, we're dead.

[theyre-the-same-picture]

[mania-sama]

a murder of crows in the lowlight off boston

Halloween - Noah Kahan

➼ information ❧ Haikyuu ❧ Pairing: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu ❧ Addition Character: Miya Atsumu and Miya Osamu's Mother ❧ Tags: ghost! atsumu, poverty, good sibling! osamu, past character murder, angst, blood and gore, a smidge of body horror, this is my formal post for the spooky month of october ❧ Summary: Atsumu is dead. Osamu lets him go. ❧ Word Count: 1,696 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own ❧ Original post date: 2 October 2024

The Miya household consisted of one woman in her early thirties and two twin boys, aged sixteen as of October, cramped into a two-bedroom trailer in the deep countryside. The size of their abode meant that constant noise was able to be heard from all available corners, mostly coming from the twins’ tumultuous bickering and the small cable television their mother loathed to shut off as it provided news updates, the weather, and her favorite true crime programs. There’s barely enough room to exist most days, much less cook, dance, and have rowdy fights that end up knocking over a lamp or two, but they manage all the same.

Now the Miya household is down to one mother and one son. The home expands as wide as the endless paddy fields west of the trailer park, and it takes twice as long to reach one end of the house from the other than it does to travel that half-mile distance to the rice farm. 

The only noise Osamu can hear is his own breathing, shallow and ragged yet barely audible all the same. His lungs freeze and thaw every second, and he wonders what would happen if his lungs failed to melt. The fantasy of his chest stilling and organs collapsing dissolves into the stale, heavy air as his nose continues to push air in and out of his body despite the crippling silence of the place he’s supposed to call home.

The bunk bed above his is empty. Osamu stares at the black wired bottom of the top bunk as though it will somehow magically bring his brother back. He counts in his head to ten, emits a cough that echoes like a bomb in his shared bedroom, and anticipates his brother to lean over the wooden railing to make a scathing comment at Osamu’s expense.

Nothing. Of course, there is nothing. He does this time and time again every day, repeating the action like a broken clock attempting to move forward but is forced to tick back into the place it was a second before.

A sound cuts through his fogging mind and sightless eyes, scaring him into an upright position and almost cracking his head on the top bunk. His brother’s name is already forming on his lips, a desperate plea and hope that he’d begun to leave behind.

But—

“Osamu, please help me.”

His mother, from the living room, a thousand miles away.

Osamu has lost weight, he knows. He hasn’t been to school, cooked, or played volleyball in a month. He rarely makes the daring journey out of his bedroom into the hallways, finding the trek to be more treacherous than a tightrope walk across a yawning ravine. Forcing himself off of his bed is hard enough as it is. The navy blue sheets and thin, threadbare mattress have curved to form a perfect mold around his body, leaving a perfect cast for him to settle into on the days when he, no matter how hard he tries, cannot move and can hardly bear to breathe.

At his brother’s predictable silence, Osamu calls with a rough, unused voice that cracks upon the first word, “I’m coming, Ma.”

He can’t recall how he and his brother could reach the living room in two and a half leaps. It takes him twenty, thirty, forty shuffling steps. His socked feet barely make a sound against the ugly brown carpet, and he walks alone across deserts and oceans and hellfire to simply make it to the kitchen. From there, he can see his mother, standing in front of the mute, blank television. Laying on the floor by her feet are a thousand shards glimmering with the reflection of her grief-stricken face.

Kneeling in front of her is a boy vainly attempting to pick up the broken glass. His head snaps up when he hears Osamu approaching. The boy stands, grimaces thinly, and says, “Oh, ‘Samu, thank God! Ma’s been ignoring me! And she just knocked this glass all over the carpet, and I don’t know why, but she’s about to cry. Never seen this before. Think it’s an heirloom?” His gaze flickers back Ma. “Please stop cryin’, Ma. I’m trying to help.”

The boy has a knife sticking out of his abdomen at the very end of a long, open wound across his stomach that explodes his pink entrails, and blood drips grotesquely from his lips. When he speaks, his mouth flashes thick, clotting maroon against pearly white teeth. The pale skin down his neck and arms are streaked in the same fluids.

The boy’s name is Atsumu, and Osamu knows this because they share the same face.

Osamu reaches the living room in three quick steps, the walls of the trailer suddenly shrinking in on all sides. He meets his mother’s red, puffy eyes, then squints at Atsumu who shrugs and points to the mess on the floor.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t— I didn’t mean to,” his mother hiccups, one hand reaching up to cover her trembling lips. “I don’t know how to fix this. I can’t.”

He leans down, brushing his fingertips against the glass and carpet. Rough, sand-like particles stick to the pads, cling to the undersides of his nails, and leave ashy fingerprint marks on the clear shards.

“It’s okay, Ma. I promise,” Atsumu comforts, his voice soothing the rush flooding Osamu’s ears.

“His urn is broken,” Osamu whispers. It’s a shout, an ear-splitting scream with his brother standing next to him. The sounds of his brother’s murder case play from the television in his mind so clearly he nearly convinces himself of its reality.

“Whose urn?” Atsumu gasps, his hand reaching out to touch Osamu but entirely falling through. Osamu tilts his head to look up at him. If Atsumu notices the way his entire form flickers, becoming transparent enough to see the black television behind him, he doesn’t show it.

His mother cries more, and Atsumu tries to hug her by wrapping his arms around her shoulders, but she doesn’t react. “What do we do?”

Osamu doesn’t know.

The living room becomes brighter as a cloud moves out from under the sun, sending warm rays beaming across the floor and highlighting Atsumu’s ashes. Simultaneously, Atsumu becomes harder to see, as if the light itself is melting away his body.

His face is still clear, standing at a height that protects his head from the sun. The color of his lips is impossible to make out behind the heavy coating of his blood, and his yellow hair is tousled and matted with dried bits of flesh and gore.

Atsumu stares at him with hazel eyes that look terribly, horribly, sickeningly alive.

For the first time in a month, since the day the police knocked on their door with the devastating result of their search-and-rescue hunt for his missing brother, Osamu feels like he can breathe. He takes in the crisp filtered air, smelling the faint traces of his brother’s scent from his spot on the ratty old couch. His throat cools and eases oxygen in and carbon dioxide out, as it was always meant to do.

“We get the dirt devil vacuum,” he says. His chest tightens, squeezing around his heart as bile crawls up his throat. “Get all of the ashes out and into a new urn.”

He’s killing Atsumu again, he knows. He knows it because Atsumu trembles, his head shaking and bright eyes betraying his hurt.

“You’re ignoring me, too! You’re both ignoring me! What did I do? Why are you doin’ this?” Atsumu cries. Despite the anger lacing his words like poison, Atsumu’s words lay over Osamu like a thick, warm blanket.

He missed his brother. He missed how he took up all of the space in a room, how he let his voice boom over everyone else regardless of the warnings he’d previously received. He missed his volatile personality that barely masked how much he cared for his family.

But his brother is gone.

Osamu covers his face with his hands and presses the heels harshly into his eyes, scattering thick black dots across his vision. 

There is a knife sticking out of Atsumu’s ghost.

He ignores his brother’s burning remarks shot at the back of his neck and picks out a blue plastic cup and napkin from the kitchen. While his mother sobs, he scrapes a large clump of the gray remains into the cup and covers it with the thin white napkin. He watches as Atsumu bleeds out from his view, slowly, like the blood coming from his mouth and flowing over his orange shirt. His faint outline remains, and his noises — formless, wordless sounds — are no louder than the shutter of the wind against the bushes that brush against the outside of the trailer.

Quietly, so quietly that only his brother could hear it, he leans in close to the cup, pressing his mouth against the napkin, and says, “I love you.”

Atsumu never would have made it across the ravines, oceans, deserts, and paddy fields that overtook the trailer. He would have wondered why Ma could never respond to him. He would eventually figure out that he couldn’t touch anyone, couldn’t feel their warmth, couldn’t play volleyball, go to school, or do anything, really, ever again.

I love you, he said, because he loves his brother enough to let him leave the static television that doesn’t run the news, weather, or crime channel anymore, and let him leave the house that kills all noise like a blackhole crushes all matter.

Osamu misses him more than anything.

He returns to his bottom bunk, later, after the cleaned dirt devil sucks up the remains and out into the blue plastic cup. He tapes the sides of the napkin to the cup with duct tape and sets it in his room for safekeeping. The mattress welcomes him back, the human mold folding over him and hugging him tightly.

When he breathes, he does so slowly. His lungs are raw from freezer burn, but they do not freeze, and they do not thaw.

He simply breathes, and the top bunk remains empty.

[kittysdarkcloud]

some Tsumu n Samu chats<33

Dunno maybe this gonna be a new thing I do? 🏃🏃

[kkumri]

redraws from the olympics! 🏐🏅🤺🤸🏻‍♂️

[4unnyr0se]

Haikyuu characters catching you masterbating ?

❥ caught ya! | haikyuu guys catching you pleasuring yourself

warnings: timeskip! characters, fem! reader mentions of masturbation (duh), jealously, fingering, teasing, voyeurism, toy usage, lewd language

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 650

a/n: hopefully i assigned the characters correctly

got a request? my asks are open!

❥ They think it's cute

He walks in on you, knuckle-deep in your soaked pussy, panties hastily pushed aside as you plunge your fingers into your dripping heat over and over again. You were too preoccupied with fucking yourself on your fingers that you didn’t even notice how the door to your bedroom closed, your boyfriend crossing his arms in amusement as he leaned against your dresser. He observes how his name falls from your lips like a broken prayer, your nose sniffling pathetically as you try too hard to rip an orgasm out of you. But sadly, your fingers were no match for his own, and they never will be. You squealed in delight as you finally hit that sweet spot that you so craved, only to have your moment of bliss interrupted by your boyfriend's gentle cooing.

“Did my baby miss me while I was working, hm? Don’t worry, sweet thing. I’ll just stand here and watch. Go on, try to make yourself cum without my help. You’re so fucking adorable, my precious angel.”

SUGAWARA, kuroo, yaku, ennoshita, UKAI, semi, hanamaki, kenma, OSAMU, kita

❥ They think it's stupid

He hears your oh-so-familiar moans behind your shared bedroom and busts in without a second thought. Who the hell was ripping those perfect noises from your pretty lips without his permission? Why, was it you, of course! A bullet vibration practically danced on your throbbing clit while your legs were spread like a slut, your slit drenching the innermost part. Your perfectly manicured hand squeezed your breast, your thumb rolling over your nipple whilst your pearly whites bit down on your bottom lip, hips bucking into the air on occasion. His eyes filled with fury as he ripped the vibrator off your clit, earning an annoyed moan from your slutty mouth.

“What the fuck is this, hm? You seriously couldn’t wait for me to get back so I could fuck you? Who the hell needs this stupid toy when you have me? That’s it. Get on all fours. Right now, don’t fucking test me.”

kageyama, TSUKISHIMA, kyoutani, IWAIZUMI, atsumu, suna, sakusa, ushijima, daichi

❥ They're completely starstruck

Oh, fuck. They have absolutely no idea what to do. He’s fantasized about this so much, and it’s finally fucking happening. He caught you bouncing on a dildo you had bought yourself, whimpering as the silicone head hit every spot so perfectly deep inside your gummy walls. His eyes landed on your pretty fingers, desperately swirling your clit, beads of sweat flying off your forehead. You looked so fucking ethereal, he had to say something. He just had to let you know how fucking pretty you looked!

“Holy fuck, you look so fucking pretty. Can you keep going for me, please? I wanna see you cum over and over again, please, baby girl. I’ll fuck you as much as you want, just put on a good show for me. God, you’re perfect.”

HINATA, yamaguchi, asahi, GOSHIKI, oikawa, akaashi, takeda, TANAKA

❥ They join you

His ears perk up once he hears you mewling in pleasure from your bedroom, eagerly slamming the door open to reveal your hands fucking a vibrating bullet in and out of your weeping cunt, the sheets beneath you a filthy mess. He smirks and practically pounces on the bed, not even bothering to shut the door as he peppers your face in a million kisses. You always look so pretty when you wanna get yourself off. What if he fucked his fist in tandem with you? That's the best idea ever.

“Shit, don’t stop just for me, baby. Let’s cum at the same time, yeah? You wanna fuck yourself with that cute bullet I got you while I fuck my fist to the sight of your pretty tits? C’mon, don’t say no! It’ll be fun, I promise! Then I’ll fuck you nice and good afterward, okay? Thank you, pretty baby.”

nishinoya, BOKUTO, konoha, matsukawa, TENDOU, terushima, yamamoto, lev

[kurooh]

MIGHT LET YOU MAKE ME JUNO ! — HAIKYUU

⊹₊˚. featuring timeskip! miya atsumu, miya osamu, kuroo tetsurō, iwaizumi hajime, & suna rintarou tryin’ to knock up their pretty wife !

warnings ★ 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, breeding, cuddlefucking, doggy, talk of kids & pregnancy, fluff, creampies, shower sex, minor cockwarming, squirting, full nelson, mirror sex, mention of lactation, mating press, cum in panties (offscreen), not proofread.

xoxo, juno ★ my namesake?! hehe, cheers to the surviving haikyuu fuckers on my blog <33 ty for your patience!! as always, send in some asks/reblog if you enjoyed, i love reading comments/tags

— MIYA ATSUMU

“go ahead ‘n slut yerself out all over my cock, baby.. fuuuck, jus’ like that.”

atsumu’s lips part around a needy moan, jaw hanging slackly in some kind of disbelief. after such a lengthy, tiring day, he found himself trudging into your shared bathroom to greet you.

he’d gotten hard in seconds, seeing your tits pressed against the glass door as well as your face, lidded eyes and cute pout enticing him to come join you. when he got onto his knees to get you ready, you’d bent over and tossed him a knowing smirk over your shoulder.

“lemme see that ass move again.. shit, ‘s perfect. yer perfect.” you giggle, throwing your ass back onto his cock, eyes rolling back when his tip kisses your cervix just right, sending sparks of pleasure right through your veins.

“tsumu, this isn’t all that fun,” you huff, the wild need for him to truly ruin you growing by the second. “wan’ you to fuck me, and make me yours.”

“baby, yer already mine,” atsumu lands a slap on your wet asscheek, startling you enough for your legs to spread further. “good girl,” he praises, hushed and under his breath. he reaches upwards and pulls the shower head down, pushes it into your hand and changes the setting.

“use this on yer clit, ‘kay? when yer feelin’ like ya wanna cum, don’t. hold it ‘n we’ll cum at the same time, yeah baby?”

you nod, and he smacks your ass hard, leaning backwards. atsumu pushes a hand through soaked gold strands, chuckling lowly although his voice has a serious edge to it. “‘s not how we say yes, is it?”

“y-yes, tsumu. at the same time.”

he draws his hips back, then finds himself advancing forward brutally. he doesn’t think about anything beside you — you, you, you. with the scent of your body wash tangling in the hot air, the beautiful curves and slopes of your body, the noises you make for him only.

your chest heaves when the steady spray of the shower head soon reaches your clit, immediately proving to be overwhelming and intense paired with him fucking you.

“so god damn tight,” atsumu hisses, nails digging crescent moons into the plush skin of your hips as his own collide with your ass. the bathroom is full of steam and the rhythmic clap of skin against skin — it’s hard to keep from trembling with how good everything feels, all over.

frantic panting cuts through the sound of your whimpers as atsumu feels himself nearing his peak. it’s nasty, downright filthy, the way your nails drag down the wall tiles as you desperately hump your ass back into him.

gasps of your name and affectionate nicknames fall from his lips like a sacred prayer, blending into a whiny harmony as atsumu’s thrusts grow rougher.

“baby,” he chokes, voice tight. “ya better be close, can barely last.”

“tsumu, cum inside me,” you beg, skin burning and pussy squeezing uncontrollably, squelching growing louder. “p-please, i can’t— i’m gonna cum, ‘m gonna—” your body tenses, and the shower head falls to the floor with a clunk that neither of you register.

luckily atsumu looks down at the right moment, sees you squirt, pussy gushing onto his pelvis. as if your back arching and your clenching pussy wasn’t enough, he ends up cumming too hard, ribbons of white gushing deep into your awaiting pussy.

“fuckkk,” he groans, overstimulation setting in way too quickly and causing him to pull halfway out of your fluttering cunt.

“no, tsumu,” is all you can heave out, pushing back hard enough to send him into the wall behind him, muscled back hitting the tiles as he lets out a startled oomph. “wanna keep it inside, feels so good.”

— MIYA OSAMU

“samu,” you mumble into his lips, tossing a leg over his hip. he grunts, nose nudging your cheek as he pulls back. “yeah? what’s on yer mind, angel?”

“had a dream about a baby,” the words are spoken softly, and osamu’s fingers lightly graze your chin as he makes you look up at him. “i know it’s kinda stupid, but it was so..” your voice trails off sheepishly and there’s a pause before you admit, “you were such a good dad, samu, ‘n so sexy too.”

your bare bodies are bathed in the morning sunlight, warm and comforting as it peeks in through the curtains. this is the perfect moment with him, skin to skin, his cock still inside you as you kiss and talk about dreams of the future.

in his chest, feelings stir and ideas come to life in his head; osamu presses his hips forward with a hushed moan.

“well, i’ll give ya a baby, angel,” large hands smooth over your hips as he helps you turn away from him; then they pull you close, grabbing at your tits and tugging your nipples between his fingers.

“samu,” you sigh, words fading into a content moan as you feel his hips draw back, then advance forward, against your ass. “i want you to fill me up, give me everything.”

“only if ya take it all,” osamu huffs, tucking his face into your shoulder and closing his eyes as he starts to fuck his cock into you deeply. the thick tip kisses your sweet spot over and over, and if that wasn’t already overwhelming enough, your hand wanders towards your swollen clit.

somehow, osamu’s faster than you, releasing one of your tits and swatting away your hand before he’s finding your clit with his index finger and rubbing it in messy circles.

“s-samu, fuck— jus’ like that, don’t stop!”

your back arches against him, hips twisting as a heat spreads through your veins, fiery and intense in the best ways possible. the movement of your body and then the frantic clenching of your pussy is too intense for him; sharp whines escape his throat, muffled as osamu bites into your shoulder desperately.

“i-i— shit, ‘m gonna fill you up,” is all you can make out from his rushed mumbling, and you turn your head quickly, desperate for his lips.

“kiss me, samu. kiss me as you cum inside, please.”

it’s as though the words break him — his face twists as he kisses you, whole body tensing. he presses his cock deep, thickening and throbbing before he’s gushing cum and can’t seem to stop.

“ah, fuck,” he tosses his head back, fingers scrabbling at your nipples as his chest heaves against your back, heart pounding steadily.

you cum with a whine, grinding down on his cock in an effort to get him impossibly deeper. as you ride out your highs together, trembling deliciously, he can’t help but dissolve into giggles of pure happiness.

“angel, ya got that baby for sure, jus’ like ya wanted, hm? ah, i can’t wait for a mini-me or a mini-ya. yer gonna be the prettiest mom, swear.”

— KUROO TETSURŌ

“fuck, babe. you’ve got no idea about what i saw today,” tetsurō huffs, warm breath fanning over your tits as they bounce, controlled by your bra.

spices clatter as tetsurō sweeps his arm across the kitchen counter behind you, clearing the space so you can lean back a little easier. his grip on your thighs doesn’t waver, nor does the ruthless tempo of his hips.

“tetsu, what’d you see?” you gasp, tears threatening to pour over your waterline.

“well, i saw this family,” he grunts, thrusting into you particularly hard now that he’s recalling the memory. “the dad had their kid on his shoulders, and the mom was pregnant. they looked so happy, and it made me think of you.”

“is that so?” you ask, spreading your legs impossibly wider as an invitation. you bite your lower lip, rolling your hips against his in an effort to get his cock deeper.

“tetsu,” he raises his eyes from the mess between your legs to your face, earnest and flushed. “kiss me, baby.”

tetsurō obliges, lets you tug him forward by the chin, mesh his lips with yours. it’s warm and sweet, the aftertaste of the dessert you’d been making as his surprise for when he’d come home. your tongue slips between plush, parted lips and moves with his gently, quite a contrast from the rough way he’s fucking you.

“ah, shit,” he moans, struggling to kiss you back when he feels your sticky walls clenching down on his too sensitive cock.

tetsurō leans forward and buries his flushed face in your shoulder, kissing the tender skin a few times before nipping it and then finally biting down into your shoulder.

he practically loses it when you wrap your legs around his back, heels digging into muscle as you push him forward. in a hushed tone and into his ear, you say sweetly, “tetsu, fuck a baby into me.”

“oh, i fucking will, princess.”

although, despite his rough words, he’s wheezing and whining every now and then into your shoulder, hoping it muffles his sounds.

your hand slides up his neck and tangles into dark tufts of hair, pulling tight as your own orgasm approaches. your pleasure mixes with his own, and just before the knot in your belly snaps, you feel a strong pulsing deep within your pussy.

he groans loudly, burying his cock deep just as it starts to gush, painting your walls white. your nails dig hard into his scalp and the sting of pain only seems to make him get a little more vocal.

tetsurō pants into your neck, trying to find his bearings now that his limbs feel like jelly.

“hold me?”

— IWAIZUMI HAJIME

“h-haji, this was a good call..”

“oh yeah?” hajime’s voice rumbles in his chest, strong and steady against your back as he keeps your legs wide open. “have we ever tried this one?”

“i don’t think so, but we definitely will in the future.”

“feels that good, princess?” hajime chuckles, eyeing your reflections in the mirror mounted across the bed. for a moment, he considers the two of you puzzle pieces — he sees that his cock fits snugly inside you, and the thought that you may be made for each other briefly crosses his mind.

“of course it does,” a sheen of sweat glimmers on your face, skin glowing beautifully in the mirror. “god, hajime, y-you’re so deep..”

he notices your eyes falling shut, head tipping back, and he raises his hand to lightly smack your cheek. “mm, princess, gotta keep watching. i want you to see yourself cum, alright?”

“fine,” you huff, feet dangling in the air and bouncing every which way as he fucks into you, heavy balls smacking your pussy with each stroke.

“what made you wanna try this?” you ask, knowing you should save the question for later, but you’re too curious not to ask. why would your husband come home someday and randomly want to try a new position you’d never heard of?

“well, you know..” in the mirror, you catch the flush on his tanned cheeks. “we’ve both caught the fever recently, and this is a solid position for makin’ babies.”

you gasp sharply when hajime turns his hips ever so slightly, and the resulting sensation causes pressure to build in your pelvis. “shit— right there, haji, just like that..”

he grunts, body stiffening as he tightly holds you in place and fucks into you like it’s the last time you’ll ever be like this together.

“wanna get you pregnant,” hajime groans, abs flexing with the effort of maintaining his merciless pace, “i wanna—shit—wanna breed you.”

“you want it that bad?” you breathe, just barely keeping your eyes open and focusing on your bouncing reflection. “fuck me full, then, haji.”

hajime doesn’t question it, thinks of you with a swollen belly and milky tits all for him to hold and take care of. you, with your glowing skin and beautiful body from all the pregnancy hormones.

the idea of it all is too much to bear, not to mention cumming deep inside your cunt, this time with the intent to breed.

he can’t even muster the words to warn you that he’s cumming as hard as he is; after a choked, tight groan, he falls silent and rocks his hips into you.

“fuck it deep, haji,” you whisper, on the edge yourself. obedient and too far gone in his fantasy, he does exactly what you ask, whining very quietly from the sensitivity.

shaking on top of him and watching the reflections in the mirror, you cum hard, dissolving into unmatched pleasure. and you’re thankful you keep your eyes open, moaning at the very sight— hajime doesn’t even pull out, he’s still pushing his cock in and out of you, but cum races from your cunt in thick white rivulets.

“i’m trying,” he huffs, sensitive when he glances up and notices how intently you’re watching the mirror. his cheeks flush lightly when you both notice that most of his cum ends up dripping down his balls and out of you.

“don’t worry, princess. i’ll cum however many times it takes, sound good?”

— SUNA RINTAROU

“you want a few brats? oh, i just felt your pussy squeeze up. ‘s what you want, huh?” rintarou bites, harshness of his thrusts drawing whimper after whimper from your kiss-swollen lips.

“i want it, rin,” you feel one of his palms smoothing over the plushness of your lower stomach, just above your pelvis. “w-what’re you doing?”

he laughs at your stutter, keeps your legs steady over his shoulders. rintarou draws his hips back, leaving just his tip inside your quivering pussy. then, he presses down on your lower stomach and slides in, adding more pressure with each inch.

“rintarou!” you wheeze, jerking your hips to the side in a pathetic attempt to run away from the overwhelming pleasure he gives you with every movement, big or small.

“nuh uh, pretty girl,” his free hand grabs ahold of you tightly, tugs you towards him and then settles to rest on your neck. rintarou’s fingers are loose on each side of your throat, hand placed there in a demonstration of control. but what’s the point of that, when he’s already made it clear by hoisting your legs over his shoulders and folding you in half?

“you’ll take it, all of it.”

“but ‘m sensitive, i’ve cum too many times,” you can’t even recall a number or remember how long he’s been fucking you like this.

you’re both sticky with sweat, your thighs stained white with dried cum from previous rounds and marked with love bites he’d given you in his excitement to get a taste of your pussy.

it’s so fucking messy because rintarou’s the one who can’t stop asking to eat you out and push the cum back inside; you always say yes, then cum until you’re dizzy and can’t see straight.

you taste yourself from earlier on the corners of his lips when he bends forward and gives you a chaste kiss. “l-last time, okay? i’ll give you your brats, pretty girl.”

the sweet pout on your lips that’s quickly replaced with something else and wail of his name that leaves you when he starts jackhammering your pussy turns him on to the max.

incoherent babbling of what he’ll give you and how good you feel blend together, and before you can fully register it, rintarou’s folding forward with a deep groan. “shit, i’m gonna cum so fucking hard, i—”

he shuts up and gives you a few more thrusts before he’s pushing deep and cumming — he’s not done when he pulls out and covers your pussy in cum.

“r-rin, keep it inside,” you whine sadly, watching as he collects it on his tip and then plunges it back inside.

“jus’ needed some extra lube,” he says coolly, but he really just wants to cum all over you. “how’s it feel inside, pretty baby?”

“like i need some more.”

rintarou laughs at the way you turn away, cheeks hot in embarrassment because you were the one who wanted a break. “we are going out later, hm?”

your nod makes him smile, green eyes crinkling at the corners. “how about i cum in your panties and you walk around with ‘em?”

[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.

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

[caelivir]

“are ya sure yer not dating (y/n)?” osamu suddenly asks his brother during a quiet lunch between the two of them.

atsumu chokes on the grains of rice in his mouth, coughing violently and punching his chest. when he finally settles down, he throws a glare at his brother. “what the hell, ‘samu?”

“that’s not an answer.” osamu continues to press.

“we’re not!” atsumu answers, picking up a piece of chicken katsu with his chopsticks. “i don’t like them like that. they don’t like me like that. we’re just friends.”

the bright red-pink of his ears speak otherwise. you see, osamu knows his twin better than he knows himself. he knows that whatever comes out of atsumu’s mouth is a load of crap. just friends? yeah fucking right.

osamu has never seen his brother look at anyone the way he looks at you, starlight and pure adoration swirling in his irises. he acts as if your every word were an earth-shaking prophecy sent by the heavens. his honey brown eyes stare, and he smiles so gently that it makes him sick.

friends aren’t touchy in the way you guys are. you hold each other’s hand like it’s nothing. with interlocked fingers, atsumu will trace his thumb down the back of your hand for no apparent reason. when you’re bored, you’ll take atsumu’s hand into your lap and play with it, bending his fingers, comparing hand sizes, and running a featherlight touch across the expanse of his palm to see if he’ll react.

osamu notices how you never miss the opportunity to find a seat on his brother’s lap. whether there are no seats of available or ten open ones, you will always choose atsumu. and it’s not like he’s complaining about it. in fact, osamu thinks that he waits for it because atsumu would never want to miss the chance to secure his arms around your waist and whisper into your ear amidst a loud conversation.

and you can’t forget the cuddles, and the hugs that linger longer than they should, and the way you’ll cup atsumu’s face, and the way you play with his piss blond hair.

you’re the one person atsumu lets wear his jersey to his game. he ensures you get the best seat to watch him play. osamu doesn’t miss the way his twin looks at you before every serve or the way you cheer the loudest when he scores an ace.

osamu doesn’t think that someone who “doesn’t like you” would be thinking about you every time they shop. “(y/n) likes this snack”. “(y/n) would love this shirt”. “oh hey, (y/n) showed me this”. “‘samu, should i buy this for (y/n)?”.

osamu has never seen two people so madly in love before. he doesn’t know how you guys haven’t realized it yet. and he can’t keep playing along because atsumu’s katsu looks really good right now.

“right…” osamu chooses to answer, dipping his chicken into the tonkatsu sauce. “i sure hope they’re gonna have fun on that date they have today.”

his brother’s chopsticks clatter onto the table before rolling onto the floor. the sight of atsumu’s open mouth filled with rice is unsightly, and osamu has to suppress his laugh.

“they didn’t tell you?” osamu raises an eyebrow.

“no?!” atsumu suddenly stands, slamming his palms into the table.

“yeah, i think they’re gonna leave soon.” osamu lies easily. there is no date. but of course, does ‘tsumu really need to know that?

the blond twin practically bolts away from the dining table and out of the house. when the door slams shut, osamu grins to himself, reaching for the unfinished plate in front of him.

“he can thank me later.”

atsumu brainrot never ends. something short and sweet bc school is kicking my ass.

[plagalkey]

late night takeout (street racing au)

[akiisks]

Foxes 🦊

[hitoshi-yuuto]

Atsumu : I’m so happy my two favorite people are getting along now!

Suna : Uh, Samu and Sakusa are not getting along.

Atsumu : They’re not trying anymore to kill each other.

Suna : You may have a point.

[wttcsms]

influencer reader who is live reviewing a lip product and you press your lips to the back of your hand and say “look! no transfer!!” your boyfriend is walking past and you’re excitedly telling him and out of nowhere, he just leans down and kisses you casually before examining himself in your camera. “yea, no transfer. really cool, babe.” and then he walks off like you two didn’t just make out in front of your viewers. the comment section is going insane right now and the product is sold out within minutes.

[figgolu]

HAIKYUU x SOUL EATER

[onnie-giri]

STRIKE EM DOWN OSAMU !!

(if yall are wondering where this is from it's this collab:)

[dfsdgaefh]

🦊