#osamu miya the man that you are

[nobrain-onlysteven]

Timeskip Osamu Miya with compression sleeves got me feeling some type of way I ain’t even gonna lie

[emmyrosee]

Whenever osamu gets you guys fast food or something, he always orders three fries- one container for you, one for him, and one to eat on the car ride home for him to eat.

It’s a win win for him- he gets his own container of fries to eat nice and hot on the way home, then he gets to watch your eyes shine with excitement when he says he’s done with his and gives the left overs to you.

[bluemotifofsleep]

Appetite

suna rintarou x reader

- and when he’d kissed you that first time, with all of the hunger of a man at the end of the world indulging in his last meal, you should have seen it as the sign it was.

content: alcohol consumption, swearing, slight dub-con but very slight, smut, unsafe sex, corruption kink, size kink, choking (oops) , plot what plot, inappropriate amount of use of the word “baby” , not beta read

this came from a very decrepit part of my mind, enjoy.

~

“ya look real stiff, ya know. loosen up.”

for atsumu to tell you those words was like asking a fish to breath air. it was wholly against your character to “loosen up”, especially at a party like this one.

you’d been dragged here by the twins, both arguing that “it’s collage! yer gonna miss out on all the fun if ya stay in yer room readin’ books the whole time.” and for the first time, you’d had nothing to negotiate with. you had no upcoming assignments, no papers due to otherwise busy yourself with. and so you’d been dragged.

it was not your scene.

the bustle of the party jostled you every now and then in the unfamiliar kitchen you were standing in. the bass of the music loud enough to drown out your own heartbeat in your ears, the rush of blood that started when you’d entered the place and hadn’t stopped since.

you felt like a dolphin dropped into the sahara desert. a lone imposter amongst the other students your age. the people shouting and frat-flicking and on a completely different planet than you were. you feel entirely alone in your predicament.

you really, really shouldn’t be here.

and it’s not your first party, but most others were small hangouts, things that probably wouldn’t even qualify as parties at all. this one was huge, the sheer number of people making you feel claustrophobic in the small student apartment you were all crammed into. your only saving grace was the twins, who you’d made promise you they wouldn’t ditch your side the whole night.

the twins who are currently bickering on over who can make a better cocktail, even though you’d assured them you didn’t want it regardless. but now atsumu is shoving a red plastic cup smelling strongly of vodka that’s somehow already sticky on the sides into your hands and telling you to “drink up!”.

you… really shouldn’t. last time you drank with the twins all three of you ended up taking turns puking into your toilet, and the hangover the next day was something for the ages. you really shouldn’t.

but alcohol gives you the promise of drowning out this buzz under your skin, the need to hide from all these prying eyes. it’ll ease your tensions a bit, make your mouth looser and enable you to have a decent conversation with someone without the fear of saying something wrong looming over you.

alright, you’ll just have one drink. just one.

well, four cups later and you’d already forgotten your quota. it’d been a while since the last time you drank, so the alcohol made quick work of fucking up your system, leaking into your muscles and making your eyes droop. your thoughts were little clouds floating across your skull, not sticking around long enough for you to worry about them at all.

maybe the music was getting louder, or maybe you just started paying attention to it better. it felt like the bass traveled up through your feet and into your skull, rattling your nerves and adding to the buzz your whole body put out.

you vaguely register that the twins are fighting again, something about grey goose or absolut tasting better. all of it tasted like trash, you wanted to say, but the words got stuck like peanut butter to the roof of your mouth as a chill went up your spine.

someone’s staring.

even in your inebriated consciensness, you can feel eyes on you like a dagger in your back. it manages to slither in before the alcohol can subdue it, tickling up your spine like a snake.

before you can turn around to find the culprit, atsumu is lighting up and yelling “sunarin!” over your shoulder, way too fucking close to your ear in your opinion.

and more like a wild animal than a man, suna rintarou creeps around the side of you and into your vision, and you realized that the feeling of being watched never left.

“where ya been? haven’t even seen ya all night.” it’s osamu speaking now, and you notice that his words are slurring slightly. it makes you feel better that your not the only one fucked up.

“me and gin just got here, i like to show up later to these things.” his voice is like honey in your ears, and for some reason it reaches through your drunkenness and scratches at something gooey inside of your chest. you can’t tell if you like the feeling or not.

“this is sunarin, he’s on the volleyball team with me n’ ‘samu.” atsumu slurs to you, and you want to say “i know, dumbass. i watch you guys all the time” but the words get caught in your throat when suna turns to you, looming over you like a predator.

“i’ve seen you before, in the stands.” the thought of him picking you out of a crowd of strangers scratches at that weird thing inside you, and it makes you feel a bit trapped for some reason.

all that comes out of your mouth is your name, a poor introduction but one nonetheless. the alcohol is making it hard to form thoughts, or maybe it’s just the way suna is looking at you.

when he repeats your name, your ears light up bright hot, blood rushing to your head and making you feel dizzy with his voice.

“oh yeah? sunarins noticed ya.” atsumu waggles his eyebrows stupidly at you, and you didn’t notice he’d put his arm around you but he jostles you side to side like a prize to be won. you want to punch him in the gut.

“ah, there’s gin. let’s go say hi ta him.” osamu says, and then both of your safety blankets are leaving you with this man that you barely know who does weird things to your stomach. you have half a mind to shoot your hand out and grab at osamu before he gets away but you’d feel like a baby if you did, so it says shock still beside you.

when you look up at suna, he’s already looking at you. something you can’t name in his eyes. if you saw it on a wild animal in the woods you’d think you’re about to be eaten alive. but on him? you don’t know what it makes you think. maybe that you should have grabbed osamus arm when you had a chance.

“hey, you doing okay? you look a little out of it.” his words ring out in the space between you, and there isn’t a trace of genuine concern in his voice. it sounds smug to your ears, something too sharp for your drunk brain to register. somehow it feels like a warning. a bright neon sign saying “turn back now” or “wrong way”.

it’s just you, you want to reply to him. it’s just him making you sway slightly from side to side, it’s just him causing the buzzing under your skin, it’s just him clouding your thoughts and making it hard to open your mouth and reply.

“i think i, um, might need some water.” comes out instead, and he smirks like he’s been waiting for you to say that, like you’re a bug that just crawled under his shoe.

“i’ll get you some.” and then he’s gone, taking with him his suffocating presence that had been slowly squeezing you tighter. you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your shoulders sinking with it.

who is this guy?

he returns with a glass of water before you can answer your own question, but when you reach for it he just shakes his head.

“i’ll do it, so you don’t spill all over yourself.” you want to reply im not that drunk, then you realize that your hands are shaking, and you wonder if it’s the alcohol, or if it’s-

the cup in his hand descends towards your mouth before you can finish your thought. against your better judgment, you part your lips so he can fit the cold rim of the glass in between them. he puts his hand on your shoulder to steady you, but his thumb creeps upwards towards your neck, dangerously close to your throat, thumbing at the soft skin there. the touch makes tingles shoot out from the point of connection, and you almost forget how to swallow when the water touches your lips.

when the first rush of cold water enters your mouth, you gulp it down greedily. this is normal, right? he’s just helping you, making sure you don’t ‘spill all over yourself’, there’s no other intention behind his actions. but when you look up and meet sunas eyes looking down at you, you almost choke on the water in your throat.

the look is something you can only describe as hungry. you feel like you’re looking into a black hole, something with no end. something you could fall into and never reach the bottom of, free falling with your stomach in your throat, and you can’t tell if your leaning towards it or away from it.

you feel dizzy, partially from a lack of oxygen and partially from his gaze washing over you in a flash of heat. goosebumps prickle up from your skin, an accute awareness in where his hand is sitting on your shoulder.

you grab at his wrist and tug to get him to pull the cup back, because it didn’t seem like he wanted to stop anytime soon, like he was trying to fucking drown you. you gulp the air into your lungs greedily. the feeling in your head gets doubled, a whirling feeling like you can’t tell up from down. luckily his hand is still on you stabilizing you, or you embarrassingly might’ve have fallen.

“all better?” and fuck, you’d missed his voice in the few minutes since he last spoke. the shivers running down your spine are getting addictive, the rush of adrenaline awakening something inside you that’s been dormant for years.

you want to tug him down into you and show him just how much better you’re feeling but you hum out a conformation instead, the vibrations flowing through you and adding to the buzz your feeling.

he gulps down the rest of the water you’d left behind, and you watch his throat swallow greedily. you want to reach out and drag your fingers along it, feel his pulse and confirm he is human and not something sent down from heaven to test your resolve.

he doesn’t break eye contact while he drinks, looking at you parched as if he isn’t drinking water at all. the cosmos’s that are his irises threatening to drink you instead, merge you into one.

it’s getting harder to say that you don’t want that, too.

the only break you get is when he places the empty glass on the counter, and then his gaze is eating you up again, clawing at your nerves. when he breaks eye contact, you realize it’s just to get a better look at you, the whole of you. it feels like you’ve suddenly stripped naked in from of him, shedding your skin and muscle too. giving him unlimited access to your nerves, your heart.

“you sure? you still look out of it.” his words are goading, trying to convince you as much as himself; trying to wriggle into your mind and turn off the switch that lets you have your own thoughts, trying to take control. “you want to go somewhere quiet?”

as normally innocent the words would be on their own, the look he’s giving you indicates it’s a very important question. life, or death. up, or down. will you sink, or swim?

will he drown you?

just like you took that first sip of alcohol that night, you slip your hand into his waiting one. you choose the path you shouldn’t, but it’s tugging you down regardless.

the face he makes when you do, though, almost makes you regret it. it’s something just past the point of hunger, something a predator makes before they pounce. before you have time to reconsider, he’s dragging you down the dark hallway into a room along the side of it, shutting the door behind you. you can’t tell if he locks it, a thought that tingles along the back of your spine in trepidation.

“you should sit down.” it’s worded like a suggestion but his voice falls flat. instead of waiting for you to make the decision on your own, he backs you with his tall frame and wide shoulders until the back of your legs hit the matress. unfortunately, you don’t have the balance to stay upright so your ass lands on the bed with a bounce, causing him to loom over you even more than he already did.

this entire situation feels like a game of chess, analyzing his moves, but you don’t know if you want to win or lose. should you concede? flick your king over so he can advance?

you dont have to, he’s already moving in. you dont need to give him permission, spread your legs to make room for him, he’s bending down and making room for himself.

kneeling in between your legs, he doesn’t look any smaller, and it’s an insane thought. he’d tower over you laying down.

“i’ve noticed you, at every game you’ve been to.” his hand is reaching around your throat, somehow dwarfing you again in a new way, tilting your head up towards him. “fuck, how could i not.” then he’s squeeeezing his hand ever so slightly with his words, and your eyes are almost fucking crossing at the pressure, the feeling between your legs changing from an ache to a throb.

“with your cute little skirts, barely even covering your ass.” he’s flipping the skirt your wearing now up, flashing your panties and making your cheeks warm even hotter.

“and the way you congratulate the twins after every win, almost makes me jealous.” there’s that feeling again, something hot in your chest that makes you want to run out of here before you lose yourself completely to him, before you get swallowed whole.

he’s leaning his mouth down to where he has your chin tilted up with his thumb, so even if you wanted to run, your legs turn to jelly underneath you, useless.

and, ah, this is where those hungry gazes come to fruition. because if you thought his eyes were eating you alive, his mouth was devouring you.

your head tilts back against his onslaught despite yourself, your neck losing the ability to keep your head up properly, but he’s squeezing your throat to keep you in place. his other hand makes its way from your thigh to the back of your head, giving him the power to deepen the kiss into something even more decrepit and dangerous.

he licks into your mouth, and it feels like he’s exploring your mind with it, and you fucking mewl.

the kiss is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, not that you had much experience to begin with. should it feel like this? he licks along your gums, unable to get enough of your mouth. should it feel like drowning?

when his hand moves from your neck, it slides down your body. you almost think he’s reaching for your skirt again until he goes back up, under your shirt.

the first squeeze of his big hand on you causes your lips to open against his and you breath a moan into his open mouth. he sucks it in greedily.

“fuck, baby. so fucking sensitive, huh?” just to prove his point, he reaches a thumb under your bra to flick at your nipple, and all you can do is squeeze your legs around him and whimper into the air between you.

he groans, something deep and guttural, and it washes over you in another wave of heat. you want more. you want to hear what other sounds he can make.

all you can express outwardly is another whine when his mouth descends onto your neck. he’s sucking on the skin there, and you feel devoured again. especially when he ads his teeth to the mixture of pleasure, dragging them against your fragile skin while his hand that used to hold the back of your head drops to your panties.

the first swipe of the thumb against the outside of your underwear has any remaining thoughts slipping from your mind. your spine threatens to give out completely underneath you, and you teeter against suna before you fall backwards into the matress.

you make it as far as one breath full of air before he’s following you down, climbing over you and lifting beneath your armpits to slide you further up the mattress, pressing one of his legs in between yours.

when he leans back down to kiss you again, your moan has no where to go while he rubs his thigh against you, his hand still shoved up your shirt.

fuck, you feel overwhelmed. his presence shrouds over you and overrides your nerves, making your limbs feel useless and liquid beside you. when he pulls back to look over you again, he smirks at what you only can imagine is the image of a disheveled mess.

“suna,” jesus, since when does your voice sound so whiny? you can’t worry about it much when you need his mouth back on you, you need his hands everywhere. “please.”

he grins like he’s caught you, something wide and full of teeth.

“please what, baby?” you can feel his hand dragging back up your front, tugging your shirt up with it and letting cold air onto your steaming skin. “need me to go get you some more water?” but he looks like you’d have to drag him off you, no intention of leaving, his question coming out teasing instead of genuine.

fuck, how can you explain what you need from him? need you everywhere, you want to say to him, but he’d probably take that as an opening to tease you again. instead of words, you’ll show him what you need.

despite you arms feeling numb, you drag them up your torso and start unbuttoning your shirt with suna’s hand still tucked underneath. unfortunately, you’re too drunk (yeah, you’ll blame it on the alcohol and not on him) to get the buttons out. fortunately, suna takes pity on you.

not before smirking wolfishly at the blatant display of what he was doing to you, of course.

he makes quick work of your shirt and then his own, tossing them somewhere you scarily cant see and then giving the same treatment to your bra. when you’re bare except for your skirt and panties, he doesn’t give you time to be embarrassed before he’s leaning down and kissing you again.

suna kisses like a man fucking starved, his tongue finding places in your mouth you didn’t even know you had. it makes you so delirious you don’t even realized he’s pushed aside your panties with two fingers. so when he sinks those same fingers into you, you bite down on his lip, hard.

all he does is groan again, in that same deep way that makes you feel a bit lost inside him.

“fuck, baby, you’re sucking me right in.” why did he have to have such a filthy mouth? you want to cover your face with your hands, hide from his hungry gaze. but he’s right, you can hear yourself over the sound of your whimpers, the thick squelch that tells you his fingers are finding no resistance at all against you.

“suna, i need- ah!” before you have the chance to tell him to fucking move he’s curling his fingers expertly against you, finding a spot inside you that makes pleasure shoot out into your arms and legs, causing you to moan unabashedly into the air while your spine arches against him.

fuck, you hope he locked that door earlier.

“you look so good like this under me.” his words don’t even register to you when he starts pumping his fingers in and out, the drag of them against your walls something delicious and addicting.

your eyes are slipping shut in pleasure, your head dipping back against the pillow behind you, but a hand grabs at your jaw and tilts it up again.

“nuh uh, sweetheart.” he does something particularly wicked with his wrist that has your eyes shooting open and a filthy moan falling from your mouth. “good girl, keep your eyes on me. i’m going to make it all better, okay?.”

make what better? make this fire inside your gut go out? yes, please, you want to say, but all your throat seems capable of doing is whining brokenly.

when his fingers pull out of you, you almost feel like you’re going to cry from the loss. then you hear the sound of his pants unzipping and you don’t have the brain power to miss his fingers when his cock is pressing against your entrance.

when he slides home, it feels like an epiphany. an “aha!” moment that you can’t help but feel tracks back to that first moment you’d felt eyes on you, like this was bound to happen. the second he’d seen you, he’d set your future in stone.

he groans like he’s just tasted water after hours in a desert, like the feeling of your pussy wrapped around him was something he needed to survive.

it feels like he’s hitting ground zero inside you, striking up the nerves deep inside and causing fireworks to explode in your stomach. you can’t help but let out a gasp when he pulls out half way, and slams back into you twice as hard. you grip onto his shoulders just to feel grounded, just to have something to tether you back down to earth, and he gasps when your nails dig into his skin.

then he’s pulling back, and fucking into you for real. hard thrusts that make you see stars every time they connect, hitting that point inside you that threatens to shatter you in two.

“fuck, baby, this what you needed?” you’re moaning, whimpering in agreement to his words. “that first time you looked up at me, ah fuck, this is what you were begging for, right?” but his words are lost on you, because he’s reached his hand down onto your throat again and starts squeezing.

there’s something devastating building up inside you, something so powerful you feel tears threaten to spill down your cheeks. the pressure on your throat is limiting blood flow to your head, causing a floating sensation that just ads to the fire building in your core.

he reaches down and kisses you again, and you’re fucking gone.

it’s absolute oblivion. something that feels like it tears through you and leaves nothing behind. all you can do is dig your nails harder into his back and chant suna, suna, suna against his lips.

he groans like your cunt clamped down on him hurts, but he just thrusts harder into you, chasing his own end.

when he does, he moans into your mouth, and in your post-orgasm dazed brain you think it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever heard. he thrusts one more time, hard and deep into you and then he collapses against you.

you’re spent. your limbs are limp against the mattress, your breathing stuttered, your heartbeat fast and fluttering against your ribcage.

you can vaguely register his lips kissing your collar bone, but your consciousness is starting to leak out of you. a result of your epic comedown, an adrenaline crash that sucked the life right out of you.

just as your eyes flutter closed and the darkness fades in, you hear suna one last time.

“knew from the fucking second i saw you, baby,” and your brain is leaking into oblivion, your thoughts a slew of darkness seeping across the inside of your skull. “that i could make you mine.”

~

[mechsangel]

husbento , ft. miya osamu

miya osamu makes you the cutest bento boxes to take to work with you. seriously, he draws cute little ketchup faces onto your tamagoyaki & shapes the rice balls into the form of a cat. if he adds skewers to the bento, he makes sure to use the ones that have hearts or little animals as designs on the top. he always makes sure to pack you something sweet for desert as well—whether that's some chocolate bars, something homemade or some goldfish. he gets up at ass o'clock in the morning just to make the bento for you and puts all his love in it. <3 sometimes he'll even leave you little notes. they'll always say something really generic like ‘you've got this!’ or ‘i love you!’ but it's the cutest thing ever (even if you're not entirely sure he doesn't google some of the things he writes on them).

he will literally never let you go hungry, ever. if you come home late one night after a stressful day and tell him you aren't hungry and you're too tired and just want to sleep, you best believe that this man will get up and make you food. he'll even feed it to you in bed, you won't even have to lift a single finger! <3 but he just cannot let you skip a meal under any circumstances.

to him, food is love. and he wants to share food with you because he loves you. plus, you need to eat to stay healthy and have enough strength to get through tomorrow.

just imagine waking up to find osamu miya in the kitchen, wearing nothing but an apron with a stupid quote on it. he is probably listening to the radio, humming the tune as he's frying the shrimp to put in your bento box. ♡

[starrysamu]

inevitably.

osamu x reader

words are a little difficult for this set of roommates.

warnings: alcohol mention

“where … are you going?” 

the streetlight flickers through the window. you should close the blinds.

“out,” you say quietly, tugging at your skirt.

osamu pauses. “where?” 

you shrug, rolling your lips under your teeth. “downtown,” you mumble, then blurt - “i’m meeting kiyoko and yachi.” 

the tv hums. when harry met sally.

he nods, averting his eyes to the book in his lap. his rimmed glasses slide down the bridge of his nose. “you need me to drive you?” 

your stomach dips when he looks away. 

“no.” goosebumps line your skin. you shift on the balls of your feet. “i called an uber.” 

“okay,” he says and you watch his chest fall. “will you text me when you get there? and call me if you need a ride back?” 

why?

“i’ll be fine,” you say too quickly, too dismissively. “don’t stay up or anything.” you swallow hard, words thick and heavy from your tongue. 

when he says okay, a sliver of your hopes he doesn’t mean it. 

you turn to grab your keys off the counter and slide them into your bag. “night,” you call over your shoulder. 

when the door shuts, you lean against it for a moment - you tell yourself it’s because you’re still waiting for your uber, but you press a heavy hand against your chest and hope your heart rate comes back down.

“i thought you weren’t coming tonight,” yachi yells over the music. 

“things are weird at home,” you yell back. you don’t need to clarify that ‘things’ mean you and osamu have been weird at home. 

kiyoko bumps her shoulder with yours. “wait, catch me up.” 

“i don’t know,” you sigh defeatedly, head hanging. it’s true - you really didn’t know what was going on. maybe you need another drink before you can pull up the play-by-play in your mind. 

yachi beats you to it. “they finally kissed.” 

her voice carries louder than you had expected and you know it’s just because the music is too loud but it sure feels like she’s airing your dirty laundry to everyone and their mom at this club. 

kiyoko’s mouth hangs. “wait, why didn’t you tell me?” she yells back.

“we kissed the other night when he came home from his trip but we haven’t talked about it since.” 

your face burns at the admission, partly because you feel embarrassed to say it out loud and partly because you can still feel his lips, gentle and needy against your own. 

uninvited stills flash in your mind. his low-lidded gray eyes and flushed cheeks. your palms pressing against him, his arm burning against your waist. 

you exhale for a long, long moment. 

in your entire year and a half of living with him, you’d never seen him like that before, let alone even guess that this would happen. 

“i’ve been waiting,” yachi says giddily, “i’ve always been rooting for him.”

you down the rest of your glass. had you been playing the long con? had he been playing the long con? 

“so how was it?” kiyoko leans in, only a touch quieter than yachi a few minutes ago. 

really good. 

you’d do it again in a heartbeat. 

“good,” you mumble. “i need another drink.” 

yachi holds onto your arm when you move to get up. “not so fast, you have some more explaining to do. was it everything you thought it was going to be?” 

“that’s quite a dramatic question,” you say, suppressing a smile. “that’s a huge expectation for a man.” 

“but it’s osamu. it’s your roommate.” 

“that doesn’t make him any less of a man.” 

“that’s the point!” yachi says. 

“this is getting really confusing.” you bury your head in your hands, your muscles starting to loosen.

kiyoko slides a glass towards you and you reach for it like you’ve been parched for days. 

“so what now?” kiyoko asks gently, watching as you slump back against the booth. “you said things were weird at home.” 

they’re weird because this is new territory. they’re weird because maybe you’d been hoping for this, waiting for this, but now that it’s here, you don’t know what to do or how to act or what he’s thinking. 

“i’m not sure,” you say tiredly. “i feel like he’s avoiding … it.” 

you think about him offering to drive you and pick you up. 

your mind feels fuzzy when you hear yourself say, “shots, ladies?” 

you’re not much better at saying what’s on your mind, when you really think about it. 

you don’t come back home until you know you’ve sobered up.

the lamp in the corner of the living room is still on. 

osamu hasn’t moved very much, but instead of sitting upright, he’s stretched his legs out on the couch, head resting against the armrest. his book is shut, sitting on the coffee table next to the tv remote. 

he’s almost asleep. 

his drooping eyes lift when he hears you double lock the door. 

“hi,” you whisper. 

“hi,” he mumbles sleepily. “you have fun?” 

“yeah. why are you still up?” 

“i wasn’t sleepy.” 

“sure you weren’t.” 

“i really wasn’t.” 

“you were literally asleep when i walked in.” 

“i was literally awake.” 

you hum, setting your keys bag on the countertop. his eyes watch as you walk towards him. 

your skin burns. you want to look away - you want him to look away - when you say, “do you wanna talk?” 

“what an ominous opening statement.” his voice is just a notch louder. 

when he looks up to you expectantly, you squat in front of him, shins pressing against the bottom of the couch. he props himself up on his elbow, meeting you eye to eye. 

you look at him for a moment and watch the tips of his ears fade into pink. you fold your arms over your knees and nestle your chin in the crook.  

“hi again,” you finally whisper. 

his head tilts. you’re inches away, close enough to feel his warmth through the blankets. 

“hi again,” he whispers back, the corners of his lips lifting. 

you suck on your lower lip nervously. “i think,” you start slowly, “i hope the other night wasn’t a mistake.” 

it comes out as a question more than a statement. 

his pupils grow a fraction of an inch. “did you think it was?” 

“no,” you say too quickly. “i was hoping you didn’t think so. i don’t know. i’ve just been thinking. i just, we just haven’t talked about it since - ”

he waits for you to finish that thought, but you never do. 

“i think this is the first time we’ve both been home at the same time since then, right?” he asks softly, peering at your averted eyes. 

you frown. has it? have you just been in your head about it for the past 48 hours? surely you’d seen him at some point since then - you live together. 

he sweeps a finger along your hairline, gently tucking your loose strands behind your ear. 

“so,” he says, “what’d you think about?” 

you look at him through your eyelashes. you, you want to say. instead, you choose, “this is all very new to me.” 

“i can’t say i do this quite often with a roommate either.” 

“stop,” you grumble, lips losing to a laugh. “i mean, do you wanna do it then?” 

“do what?” he teases, his smile growing by the second. 

you roll your eyes and tilt your head back in frustration. you lose your balance and feel your weight fall back until osamu reaches for your elbows. 

“you still drunk?” 

“no,” you say hotly. “i sobered up before i came home.” 

“and why’s that?” 

“no reason,” you huff. “can you just answer my question?” 

his fingers are still gripping you tightly. he pulls you forward again, but instead of balancing you, you’re teetering on the balls of your feet. 

he leans forward, hands moving from your arm to your chin. when he’s only an inch away from you, he whispers, “can i kiss you?” 

before you can even finish saying yes, you’re pulled in quickly, his lips pressing against yours hard. fireworks set off in your gut, creeping up into your chest until you feel like your heart is going to burst. 

when he pulls away to breathe, you swipe your thumbs against his lips. 

“i got lipgloss all over you,” you mutter. 

he grins. “strawberries.” he tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at him. “does that answer your question?” 

[flyingwargle]

watch party for japan vs. argentina men’s volleyball match tonight @ 8 pm!

osamu doodles jerseys in the corner – his brother’s #11 and his boyfriend’s #20. he stands to admire the sandwich board, startling at the voice behind him. “not #18 fer aran? that’s disrespectful of ya.”

“kita-san!” he whirls around to greet him, bowing slightly. “i know, but i have a feelin’ if i don’t put ‘tsumu’s number, he’s gonna blame me fer givin’ him bad luck.”

kita’s smile is slight, amused. “an’ suna?”

“that’s my boyfriend that yer talkin’ ‘bout.”

“yes, yes, as if i’d forget. i’m comin’ by later, so save me a seat, please. let’s talk more then.”

he watches him continue along, likely to visit the other shops on the block, and then ducks back inside his restaurant. it’ll get busy, if the tokyo olympics set any precedent, especially with how vital this match will be. after losing to germany, they’ll need to win, and then perform well against usa. only then will they qualify for the quarterfinals.

inside, the decorations have changed. the jerseys on the wall, once msby and ejp, are now their olympic counterparts. although the photos still show onigiri miya’s humble beginnings, he added a few taken with the team, including one where they’re all holding his onigiri. it pained him being unable to watch any of their games live, but he wouldn’t change it for the business it gave him.

for the rest of the day, he and his staff work to serve their customers, fulfill takeout orders, and prepare for the watch party. about half an hour until eight o’clock, he tunes into the sports channel, where subtitles of analysts discussing japan’s performance and future odds appear on screen.

there are two tvs – one on a shelf over the bar and the other in the corner of the seating area. he has a tablet set up behind the counter to watch whenever there are orders, but the livestream is still on standby. he turns the screen off as the door opens. “welcome back, kita-san. ya want the usual?”

“yes, please.” he takes the empty seat directly across from him, the same where any of their friends would sit whenever they visit. “are ya expectin’ a full house?”

“yeah, it’s usually busy. i imagine it’ll get busier once japan qualifies.” osamu takes a handful of rice and begins molding it. “they’re under a lotta pressure. ‘tsumu was almost in tears when he called.” it hurt that he couldn’t physically be there, relegated to phone calls and video calls, but if listening helped air out frustrations, he’d gladly sacrifice his sleep.

“the world is expectin’ a lot from them after they placed second in the vnl,” kita agrees. “hopefully, they’ll be able ta get it together tonight.” the two of them watched their friends and family compete mere months ago, bringing their nation to the podium, and consequently, to the top of the world. it’s natural to assume it’ll happen again, but so far, it isn’t easy as it sounds.

the clock strikes eight, and the broadcast starts with official warm-ups. atsumu and kageyama are setting to their players at the net, jumping to spike. it changes to serves, the players taking turns to warm up. osamu watches suna, who spins his ball as part of his pre-serve routine, and then tosses it for a jump floater. it isn’t as fast as atsumu’s, nor as deadly as kageyama's, but it’s earned them aces in the past. he hopes it’ll happen again.

the teams line up to sing their countries’ national anthems. a solemn silence falls over the restaurant as everyone follows along, osamu included. the camera zooms in on their faces, strict with determination and focus. suna looks into the camera when he’s in frame, and osamu whispers a voiceless prayer to him.

atsumu is the starting setter, along with ushijima, sakusa, aran, suna, and hakuba. yaku is their libero. the others stand on the sidelines. “must be goin’ fer heavy hitters to blow past argentina’s blocks,” kita comments. osamu nods in agreement.

oikawa tooru is argentina’s starting setter. the whistle blows, and the match begins.

c’mon, guys. i know ya’ll can do it.

the first set doesn’t start off well. japan falls behind in the first half, falling short to argentina’s clean sets and spikes. hakuba is rotated to the back, and suna steps on, hands in front of him. he gets a hand on the spike, and sakusa receives it. atsumu sends it down the middle, suna jumping and rotating his torso to get around the block. japan gets the point.

his customers cheer. osamu hides a small fist pump under the counter. he shares a smile with kita. the commentators are just as excited as he is. “what an unbelievable spike from middle blocker suna rintarou! he’s known for his flexibility and game sense. will this give japan the push they need to get ahead?”

and he does. japan matches and overtakes argentina. kita claps at atsumu’s clean set to ushijima, who slams it down in the opposite court. the team huddles for a cheer and then take their positions. suna is back at the net, hands in front. his eyes widen at the camera pointed at him, and he rotates his fingers to form a heart, mouthing a message. he turns away at the whistle, but that’s enough for the world to see and wonder exactly what he said.

only osamu knows those words by heart.

japan takes the first and second set, but argentina comes back for the third. however, japan takes the fourth, after switching in hinata, and they cheer in celebration. argentina looks devastated, oikawa most of all, and osamu doesn’t miss how japan’s athletic trainer, iwaizumi, pats his arm off-court. he’s sure there’ll be more gestures once the cameras are turned away.

the customers begin to call for their bills and shuffle out. osamu gathers their dishes, kita helping despite osamu's protests, and it isn’t long before they’re the wiping tables clean. they listen to the post-game interview with the players, starting with aran, the captain, and then atsumu. finally, they talk to suna.

“you did an interesting gesture in the middle of the first set. would you like to explain what it means?”

osamu turns to watch. suna has a towel around his neck, hair unruly after the match. his voice doesn’t waver when he replies, “there’s a certain someone that i know is watching, and i wanted to let him know that i appreciate his support and love him.”

“is that related to what you said to the camera? fans are dying to know what you said, by the way.”

“yes, but that’s between me and him.” suna winks, turning slightly to face the camera again. “and if he’s watching – i know he is, by the way – i want him to know that i couldn’t have gotten this far without you.”

the broadcast ends. osamu smiles to himself, adding his rag with the others. he’ll lock up, head home, and text the team his congratulations. atsumu will probably call him in the middle of the night, again, to put him on video as they celebrate. osamu will lose sleep, again, but it’s worth it, seeing his brother happy, seeing his best friend glowing, and of course, his boyfriend living his best dream.

watch me, 'samu.

osamu will never take his eyes off him.

---

inspired by this fanart of suna's gesture and osamu's reaction! <3

[kuroowo]

A gentle twirl in the night. Your loving hand in the palm of his. The moonlight’s glow blankets your very being. Heaven’s halo in the way your hair moves, the way your smile saccharine, the way your laughter chimes — Miya Osamu’s world titls, and he is more than enchanted.

He can’t wax poetry on how your presence graces those beside you with blessings. He can’t sing melodies that seem to follow your every kind gesture. He can’t capture the essence of your soul in art his hands are incapable of making. Alas, perhaps just a little regrettably, it wasn’t in his repertoire. Not that you care in the slightest, though. No, never. Not when sincerity pours from every word he speaks to you. (How could he not?). A warm, affection thorough in the way he looks at you, regards you, takes you in as if you’re the only one in his world. (You are.). Clumsy, yet sweet, reliable, in the way he stands by your side nonetheless. And why wouldn’t he? You, who has taught him the delights in the littlest things. You, who has shown him tenderness in every depress and every mundane. You, in all your glory before him, choosing him to dance in the arms of. So otherworldly. So charming. So—

“Beautiful.”

[seiwas]

every time i read a hot osamu fic my brain short circuits and all the neural connections feel like they’re rearranging and reigniting

[emmyrosee]

EMMY NOW THAT I KNOW YOUVE WATCHED GMM. HEAR ME OUT. DAD!ATSUMU AND UNCLE!SAMU TRYING BREASTMILK AND HAVING THE SAME REACTION AS RHETT AND LINK.

FIRBDODNDOD NO BC THEY SEE YOU DAB AND LICK THE MILK OFF YOUR WRISTS AND COMPLETELY FREAK OUT

“Can you drink that?!”

“What does it taste like?”

“Why do you do that?”

“Is it warm?”

You snicker at all these questions and nudge the bottle towards atsumu, “taste it and find out, baby.”

And atsumu winces, but inevitably takes the warm bottle of milk in his hands, eyes flicking between you and Hisako and the bottle. “Are you sure this is safe to drink?”

“It’s breast milk for our baby, not rat poison,” you scoff. You make a grabby hand for it, “look, if you’re not going to try it, give it back so we can feed our child?”

“I’m gonna try it, but I need to work up the courage first.”

“You’re literally a professional athlete.”

“Here, can I try it?” Osamu asks, and while you nod, Atsumu looks at him incredulously.

“You’re asking me if you can try my wife’s breast milk?”

“It’s not like he’s suckling straight from the teat,” you giggle. “Just- here. Try it. It’ll bring you closer to your niece.”

Osamu dabs a little on his wrist as his brother did, and the twins look at each other before licking it off of their wrist, and you cackle as you watch their face go from curious to straight up disgusted.

“Ohhh dear god.”

“That’s vile.”

“That came out of you?!”

“Oh- that… that’s actually disgusting.”

“Babies got it bad, brother.”

“Is it expired?”

“You two are so dramatic,” you snicker, grabbing the bottle back and popping it in Hisako’s mouth. “It’s just breast milk.”

“Have you seen the way she cries for this stuff?” Atsumu says, shocked. “Babies have no taste buds, I’m going to start giving her protein shakes instead.”

“You absolutely will not be doing that, actually.”

[jellychannie]

this is so cute holy hell

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.

[killpy]

“I’m going to marry your sister.”

atsumu looks at suna like he’s grown another head.

“why the hell would ya wanna do that? she’s a girl… girls are gross,” he wrinkles his nose in disgust. his ten year old friend shakes his head, staring as at the older miya who had accompanied them to the park.

“she’s the most beautiful girl in the whole world,” suna declares confidently.

atsumu snorts and bounces the volleyball he’s holding.

“my sister? nah she’s ugly like a troll,” he giggles at his insult. at thirteen, you’re too busy scrolling through your phone to even pay attention to the boys. before suna can retort, osamu is running up to the two of them and grinning in delight.

“look at this frog i caught!”

their attention is captured and suna forgets about the conversation completely.

until atsumu reminds him. suna’s best friend and best man, standing on a small platform in front of friends and family, grinning with a microphone in hand.

“sunarin here must’ve been a’ prophet or somethin’. because one day he walked up to me all confident and says ‘i’m gonna marry your sister’… and he did just what he said he was gonna do.”

the audience, including you, laughs. you look at suna, eyes crinkling, smiling widely. he smiles back, thinking that you’re still the most beautiful girl in the world.

“rin, y/n’s a suna now, but she’ll always be a miya at heart.”

the crowd awes and suna looks to see his new in-laws sniffling.

“which means, ‘samu and i are gonna give you hell for the rest of your life and worse if ya ever hurt her.”

you snort, reaching over and lacing your fingers with your new husband. he grins, squeezing them gently.

they all know they have nothing to worry about. there had never been anyone else, only you. no other crushes or dates, no one else could ever imagine himself holding hands with.

he brought your palm up to his lips, brushing along the knuckles softly.

“i love you mrs. suna,” he whispers and on the inside, he knows his ten year old self is bursting with joy, even though it took him twelve years, he finally got to call you his.

“and i love you, mr. suna.”

[emmyrosee]

ONE CHANCE BRO ONE CHANCE

[3:47 pm] ft miya osamu

wc: 700

--

When you slam open Atsumu’s bedroom door and plop yourself onto the carpet next to him, he barely looks up from his phone. 

“Ever heard of knocking?”

You lay belly down on the floor and scream into the worn fuzz of the carpet. 

“Gross. You know our bare, unwashed feet walk on this floor right?” 

He offers you a pillow and you take it, squishing it between the floor and your face. Atsumu waits for your breath to run out. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Atsumuuuuu…” you bemoan. “I’m going through a crisis.” 

He says nothing, continuing to scroll on his phone but you can tell you’ve garnered some of his interest. 

“I have a secret. Like one that I can’t tell anyone.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s so shameful. I’ve been keeping it to myself for, like, ever.”

“Yeah, I bet I couldn’t guess what it is.” The sarcasm is completely lost on you. 

“Yeah. You’d make fun of me. It’d be material for you to tease me for a lifetime,” you pause, take a deep breath. “I-

“-have a big fat crush on my brother?” 

You gape. “What?” 

He looks up from his phone. He blink at you, like you’re any simpleton. “You,” he says slowly, punctuating each word, ”have a big, fat, embarrassing, crutching, debilitating crush on my brother.” 

“I didn’t even realize you knew so many big words-”

“What?” 

The two of you freeze up. 

“‘Samu!” Atsumu exclaims. “Thought you weren’t gonna be back until later tonight.”

“I wasn’t.”

He gives no other explanation. You stay still, hoping that if you don’t move or breathe, he won’t notice you. The silence stretches.

“Ohhh.. kay. Well, I better go. You kids-”

You jolt awake at that, in disbelief that Atsumu would flee alone after what he’s done.

“I’ll go with!” You turn and run, making monumental efforts to avoid a dark eyes trained on you. 

You’re about to squeeze past when a hand slams against the doorframe, arm now blocking off your exit. Osamu stares hard at you while your gaze stays glued to the exit beyond, though it’s more like you’re staring at his bicep which is now stationed at your eye level. 

“I’m just gonna go…” you hear Atsumu mumble, ducking under Osamu’s arm barrier, stealing your escape route. 

“Jackass-” you mumble.

“Hey.” 

The low voice comes from right above your head.

“Osamu,” you greet, still staring at his arm. “I gotta go. I have plans-”

A finger comes up to lift your jaw. It’s careful, but still forceful. When your eyes finally meet his, the one finger turns into two which grip your chin in place. 

“Was what Atsumu said true?” 

It takes a lot for you to hold back a stutter. “Sounds like you heard him loud and clear to me,” you say, ready to slap his hand away. 

“I did.”

“Then why are you still asking-” 

“If it’s true,” he leans down, talking slowly. It makes you start to hyperventilate. You need a paper bag or something. “I don’t wanna hear it from my stupid brother.” 

His eyes are mesmerizing, captivating. Not even the many, many years of knowing him dulls the effect of his straightforward gaze on you. You think you hear someone concede, “it’s true.” 

“What’s true?” he whispers. He’s so close you feel his words ghost your mouth.

Autopilot talks. “That I have a big fat crush on you.” 

He eats up the next millimeter of space. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs against your lips.

Suddenly, his neck is caged inside of your arms and you’re licking up his familiar minty breath and surely this all isn’t your doing because your brain is still catching up. 

His smile widens against your lips and you can feel the smugness radiate off him. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have interrupted, then.” 

That clears the fog. You shove his shoulders away and try to ignore the fact that he doesn’t go very far.

“Why?” you demand. 

He kisses you again. “‘Cause my brother’s got a big mouth.” 

You tilt your head in confusion. Osamu takes it as an invitation to slot his face better against yours. 

His kiss almost makes you forget your train of thought, but that’s okay because he answers your question anyway. 

“And he probably would’ve blabbed that I have a big fat crush on you too.”

[amarantoestrella]

Tobio Kageyama 😓

[katescorner]

suna "we're just friends" rintaro who's actually in a secret relationship with you, but feels the need to keep it a secret until it gets more serious because he's scared. except the miya twins have caught on, and they have a running bet going for who's going to spill first. atsumu thinks suna would rather keel over than admit to them he's dating someone, but osamu is smugly convinced that his friend's resolve is weaker than yours. so they decide to put it to the test.

it starts off . . . weird. osamu is putting moves on you, and you have no idea what to make of it. he's asking to walk you home and tells you that you should come to watch them practice. he even shoves atsumu out of their usual seat in the cafeteria to invite you to sit next to him. he seems really interested in you, and you don't want to be mean, but you also can't lead him on.

you're too focused on osamu's strange behavior to notice that he only acts this way when suna is around. so you don't see the way your boyfriend clenches and unclenches his fists when he overhears osamu wanting to walk you home after school. you don't hear the huff he lets out or how he slams his locker door a little harder when osamu invites you to watch them play with a well practiced smile. and you certainly don't realize the sheet white paleness that grows on his face when osamu shoves atsumu off the bench to make space for you.

suna doesn't blame you. his friends are idiots and getting on his last nerve. but everything comes to a screeching halt when osamu puts his arm around your shoulder, and suna absolutely loses it.

"we're dating!" it's the closest he gets to yelling without actually, but it's loud.

"damn it!" atsumu shouts, but suna doesn't hear. he practically has tunnel vision, zeroed in on where osamu connects to you.

"we're dating," he repeats through gritted teeth. "so get your grimy slimy spiker little hands—" he stalks over to osamu with surprising speed to knock his hand off of you, "off of my—"

"rintaro," you scold softly, and the twins try not to react when their usually unbothered and finicky middle blocker . . . listens?

"he—you're my—i'm—" he erupts in an aggravated groan and quickly decides to pull you to his side, away from osamu.

suna starts mumbling things under his breath they can't hear. his words are clearly reserved only for you, but the twins watch quietly anyway as you smooth away the worry lines growing on his face from his furrowed eyebrows and press a soft kiss to his cheek that has leaves them dusted in the slightest pink. he's whipped, and suddenly the only thing the miyas could think of was—how the hell did they not notice sooner?

yes i'm a soft lovesick sunarin truther. that man is a simp and i take no arguments

[oxytxn]

your man loves to eat.

with your plush thighs around his head, practically crushing him, he can’t help but think that this must be heaven.

but he also loves to tease you.

he loves to use the tip of his tongue for everything—using it to dance on and around your clit, watching the bucking of your hips and hearing the gasps escaping your lips.

you whimper his name, but it’s no use.

“let me do this, angel,” he groans into your pussy, intentionally barely licking your folds, barely letting the tip dip between them. him and that damn tongue—

“stop teasing me,” you huff, your thighs slightly shaking, and he only flashes a small grin.

“yeah? tell me what you want. use your words, baby.”

after several more painstakingly long minutes of him teasing you, you finally relent and tell him exactly what you need. and oh, he’s more than happy to oblige to your request.

your hands tug at his hair, pulling him closer to your cunt, near to the point of smothering him. good thing he can’t find any better way to go out than to die between the legs of the one he loves.

and when you start grinding against his face, all because you just can’t help yourself but want more? you needy little thing. with his nose now bumping your clit from your stuttering movements, he pushes your thighs back against your chest to open you up to him. he needs to have his fill, after all.

seeing your pretty folds on display, just for him, he can’t help but dive back in for more, relishing your absolutely lewd whines, determined and almost desperate to make you cum for him.

hq ⟡ MIYA OSAMU, kita shinsuke, OIKAWA TOORU, kuroo tetsurou, BOKUTO KOUTARO, miya atsumu, KYOUTANI KENTARO, sugawara koushi, SHUGO MEIAN, sawamura daichi, your fave.

jjk ⟡ gojo satoru, NANAMI KENTO, choso kamo, TOJI FUSHIGURO, geto suguru, HIGURUMA HIROMI, ino takuma, your fave.

to @scaredy-katts, i have seen the light with kyoutani…🕊️

masterlist

mdni. do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©oxytxn 2025.

[luvinazaki]

Im literally gnawing giggling kicking and everything !!!,&/&;’s

Currently thinking about Osamu who despite being extremely athletic for most of his life, is slowly not working out as much in his recent years. Between planning your wedding, opening Miya Onigiri, and welcoming your first child, he hasn’t had the time nor energy. All this combined he's slowly growing softer around the edges, and man does it drive you crazy.

You were relaxing, reading a book on your shared bed when he walks in after having showered. Towel wrapped around his waist, his figure on display. He was still wet, water droplets slowly creeping down his chest. His belly was starting to poke out a little, and you loved it. He was very broad, still some muscle left, and combined with the chub he was looking quite tempting.

You start squealing and hide your face in the pillow, kicking your legs. He laughs and walks over, still getting the floor wet. “The hells up with ya?” You giggle and peek from behind the pillow. 

“You’re way too hot. I can’t handle it.” As soon as you say that you burst into giggles again, and he raises his eyebrows in surprise, a slight smirk on his face. 

“Ya think so? I noticed I’ve put on some weight and was thinking of hittin’ the gym-” 

“No! Please! I love it!” He hums and leans over you, nearly pressing against you.

“Well, if you insist.”

note: gnawing on the bars of my enclosure…..