#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

[tahdashi]

fluff ⊹ college au

as much as he hates to admit it to himself, osamu is struggling. 

he wants to be strong — someone you could depend on, someone you could run to when life’s wearing you down, someone you could simply feel content and safe with. his thoughts were plagued with the notion that he was anything but that someone to you. 

and that’s why he does everything in his ability to bring that radiant smile — the one he finds himself daydreaming about — to the curve of your lips. 

while his friends go out to dingy frat houses, singing at the top of their lungs as they celebrate their freedom and youth, osamu picks up the night shift at the diner by his apartment. he started working there his first year, hoping to make some extra money so his mom wouldn’t have to worry about him from miles and miles away. the owner was a sweet man, roughly in his 60s, often humming an incomprehensible tune as he chopped vegetables and meat. truthfully, osamu didn’t mind working extra shifts while his friends went out (they’d call him boring and a workaholic, but he didn’t care). in fact, he was happy to make extra money if it meant that he could take you out to a fancy dinner (a local ramen restaurant), buy you dessert afterward (a quick stop to the convenience store with a smile on his face as he watches the light from the freezer section reflect in your eyes), and surprise you with flowers to end the night (hand-picked from the field a couple miles off campus). 

perhaps he should be living like the rest — either catching up on assignments in the library or coming back home stumbling and slurring his words. perhaps he should start saving his money like you always tell him to, but he’s only twenty and feels no reason to. 

he’d much rather be here, at the silver counter at the back of the diner kitchen, experimenting with different sauces while the man next to him hums the same usual love song. this time, the aura’s a bit different. the man has a smile on his face, he’s chopping the green onion at a slow beat as if there’s a metronome playing in his head. 

“son, ya like cookin’, don’t ya?” 

“i do, sir,” osamu continues to add garlic to the simmering sauce in his pan, a sugary sheen glazing over it. 

“why not cook at home? bring that special someone ya keep thinkin’ about,” he jerks his elbow towards osamu’s arm. 

“i like working here. i like the people, and the food, and the sounds.” 

osamu also likes how you visit him every friday when your classes end. without a doubt, rain or shine, you’ll glide into the diner with a soft smile on your lips. he likes how you walk over to the counter and ask him if there’s a ‘samu around. he also likes how you look behind him, checking on the man who’s too busy tapping his wooden spoon against the pot to notice, before placing a gentle kiss to his lips. and in that moment, he lets himself close his eyes, relax a little, melt into it like softened butter. 

and when you pull away, you see the sleepiness in his eyes. you always wonder how he goes to class, comes to work, goes to the library to work on assignments, and then rushes back to the diner after he eats so he can work another shift. bringing your hand up to cradle his cheek, you ask if he’s okay. he leans into the warmth of your skin for a second before giving you a quick nod. 

“i’m almost done with my shift. wanna go out for somethin’ in a bit?” 

“we don’t have to eat out today,” you tell him, tugging on his sleeve like you always do when you insist on staying in. 

“not even ice cream? ya said ya wanted to try that shit-lookin' chocolate one.” 

“if your shit looks like that i’m a bit concerned for you,” you tell him, twirling his sleeve around your fingers. his teeth peek out from his lips in a dimply smile, one that has you swooning. "no shit-lookin' ice cream today."

"then what do ya wanna do? it's friday night, ya should do something fun." you notice the way he excludes himself from his words.

"how about we just chill at my place tonight? watch a movie or something? i still have those chips you like," you insist. "and my roommates aren't home. stay as long as you want?"

oh, how 'samu loves your place — the comfort of your bed, your sheets that smell like you. he can't help but nod a bit too eagerly, catching your hand in his larger ones.

he gets back to work as quick as he can, not wanting you to leave you waiting, but truthfully, you don't mind. you watch his back flex in his black uniform as he wipes down the counter. osamu can feel your eyes on him, and suddenly he has love songs blooming in his mind, wisps of a sweet melody coursing through his veins.

you're too good for him, he thinks. you don't mind his chaste kisses when he's in a rush, or when he decides to nap on your shoulder between classes.

he throws his boss a quick wave before throwing on his jacket, shoving his arm into the sleeve as he stumbles towards the front of the diner to see you again. you look up at him with something like ardor and solace swimming in your eyes. placing a quick kiss to the top of your head, osamu slips his hand into yours.

"sorry, babe, took me longer than usual to check inventory," he apologizes, squeezing your hand a couple times as the brisk air touches your skin.

"'s all good. i like watching you work. you're all focused in there."

"gotta be or that man's gonna throw me out. how else am i gonna pay for your expensive ass drinks?"

"all that for a matcha with sweet cream cold foam," you squeeze his hand back in appreciation.

"yeah, well, don't wan' anyone else buyin' those for ya."

osamu's cute like this — nose all red from the cold, a wrinkle in his brow at the thought of someone else surprising you with your favorite drink every morning. atsumu thinks his brother has it bad for you ("down so fuckin' bad, dude," he'd say), and honestly, osamu agrees. he never thought he'd be excited to wake up at the crack of dawn to pick up your favorite coffee before your 8 am, or watch you get distracted by online shopping when you should've been doing your assignment. if love is seeing you at the end of each day, kissing your lips even when he's covered in condiments and oil, holding your backpack for you after a long day, then osamu wants it all.

because even when he should be worrying about the quiz he has tomorrow and the fact that he hasn't slept properly in the past four weeks, he starts to hum that familiar love song when you unlock the door to your apartment (it's become familiar to you, too, because that tune escapes his lips whenever you're by his side).

reblogs n interactions are appreciated!

[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?” 

[miya-rin]

here are some small osamu boyfriend headcanons

he likes to sit with his back against a radiator, there could be several places for him to sit on a sofa or chair but he was always choose the floor

he gets really into those cheesy sitcoms, absolutely loves them but denies it whenever someone (apart from you) brings them up

he really struggles with tying his shoe laces, he knows how to do it but they always end up looking really shitty and falling out

he only sleeps in boxers and socks, he needs to have socks on at all times cause feet disgust him

he has really weak nerves in his hands, he always washes up with boiling hot water cause he cant tell what the temperature actually is

hates milk chocolate, lovesss dark chocolate

^^ however, hes not a very big chocolate fan, he likes sweets more and his favourite are red vines - he argues with anyone and everyone that says twizzlers are better

his favourite holiday is valentines day because its pretty much the only day he gets to spend with just you and no one else

he always loses his airpods and makes you do the find my phones thing at least twice a day

in high school he had a very bad habit of staring, mostly at you but also anyone that was around you. you actually thought that he didnt like you at first because he would burn holes into the back of your head with the most bitchy look ever just his resting face. he also didnt speak to you which only made matters worse

he cleans when hes angry and its so funny cause he’ll just be cursing under his breath while walking around with a pretty pink little duster

his favourite crisps are cheese and onion flavoured, specifically the mccoys ones

his printer is never not being used. it was one of those purchases that you had to convince him for months to get so now he feels like it would have been a waste of money is he doesn’t constantly use it

every morning you come downstairs to see him sat down at the kitchen table with the worst bed head you could ever imagine, it suits him so much but he hates it as it “takes like an hour to tame”

all my haikyuu boyfriend headcanons!

thankyou for reading! i hope you liked it!

[honeekyuu]

OOPS THE LOVE$ICK UPDATE FOR TOMORROW GOT VAGUELY SPICY

[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

[mellowmin]

Character Rant: Osamu Miya!

Disclaimer: this is only MY PERSONAL OPINION and my own takes on these characters, please do not interact if you don't like or agree with this 💜

suggestive (not really?), reader is referred to as 'baby' but is mostly gn

Okay, I've been in such a Samu mood lately it's crazy.

He's definitely my favorite twin, as much as I love Tsumu and his needy, clingy almost desperate way of loving; Samu just hits different and here's why

○ SAMU. IS. GREEDY. And he's not ashamed of it. When he falls in love with someone, he wants every bit of this person to be his. He becomes protective, sometimes possessive, and he makes it known that he's not happy with other people getting as close to you as HE is.

○ This boy is ALL about secret/private/exclusive stuff. He cherishes your little inside jokes and traditions (he would rather DIE than skip your weekly movie night) and the way he acts lmao. Sometimes it feels like y'all are doing something wrong with the way he sneaks around to go see you.

○ It may happen that you get it in your head that he's embarrassed to be seen hanging out with you, but upon bringing it up to him he's pretty quick to admit that he's only doing that so that Tsumu (and maybe Suna) won't get the chance to invade come along with you guys. If by that point you're not already dating him, his pout and red face make it very clear that he appreciates your company more than you could even imagine.

○ Something that I feel connects me to his character is his love for food (I probably relate to him because I'm the same way); I feel like he may not outright say what he feels but the way he acts around people and food tells a lot about his heart. Especially when it comes to sharing his food, and sharing in general.

○ So, as a twin, Samu's no stranger to sharing. He's shared with his brother for most of his life; from sleeping in the same cot as babies, to toys, rooms, snacks, clothes, etc. This is something that affects Tsumu as well, but I feel like it digs deeper with Samu, like he felt like he's never had something that truly belonged to him and only him-

○ Until he began to show interest in cooking. It was one of the best moments of his life; his mama told him that if he could make his own lunches for school, no matter what it was (as long as it was healthy), he could eat all of it without sharing with his twin. At the time, Mama Miya was only trying to kindle this new hobby, but little Samu saw it as life finally giving him a chance to keep something to himself.

○ So... that may have resulted in him developing a pretty... peculiar relationship with food. Over time, he realized that he didn't mind sharing his food with Tsumu as much as he liked seeing his dumb twin's face light up when trying his increasingly tastier recipes, and he could not ignore how full his heart felt when it was his mama or his senpais enjoying the food he made. Like that, food started to become more meaningful to Samu when it came to expressing his love.

○ On a few occasions, his fangirls would approach him with food, sometimes homemade and often storebought, but Samu almost always ended up giving them away to whatever pair of grubby hands was the closest to him at lunch (👀Tsumu👀). Especially when he started having feelings towards someone, taking those kinds of gifts (let alone give them back) felt wrong. He's nothing if not loyal.

○ That being said, as his s/o, he's your buffet lol. Take everything from him and he'll ask if you got room for dessert. This goes for food and in general, and I feel like he'd want to be with someone who's as horny greedy for him as he is for them. He also likes to feel validated in the fact that he belongs to you as much as you belong to him :')

○ So, imagine the scrunch, the absolute sneer on this man's face when some girl comes to him (when he's already dating you) and asks him to make something for her.

"Why would I do that? Who are you"

pfft yeah, no one is trying that again any time soon

○ When he's really whipped, you know you can trust him because you see the disgust on his face when he has to interact with someone who might have a thing for him. His friends tell you that he's whipped, you can see it, everyone can see it and honestly, he's not ashamed.

○ One time, he drunk texted you while he was out with friends, and before you could reply, he sent you a video.

Upon opening the video, you get a close up shot of your bf's hairy nostril before he pulls the phone away enough to film himself and his friends, all screaming nonsense like a bunch of lunatics. You giggle at their antics and pity the poor girl under Tsumu's arm; who is currently getting her left ear melted off by the blonde's yelling (also, knowing him, he probably stinks of beer)

○ However, you don't pity the random (quite gorgeous) girl who shoves herself into frame; wrapping her arms around Samu's waist while saying hi to the camera. The way that his face twists from drunk happiness to utter disgust is almost comical, he looks offended.

"Ewww who the fuck are you? Dontouchmeohmagad" Samu's words are heavily slurred but he doesn't stumble one bit as he shoves the girl away from him. "You're ugly, get away" He glares fiercely at the retreating offender.

The last bit of the video is him pouting and mumbling, presumably having forgotten the camera currently filming his chin from a rather unflattering angle

"I don't know who you are but you ain't ma baby n' I only want ma baby"

○ UGHHHH JUST SAYINGGGGGG you should put a ring on this man ASAP cuz

Osamu Miya is 100% pure husband material

[kingdaddydaichi]

Your breath hitches every time Osamu drives his cock into your squelching pussy, the lewd noises of your slurping cunt fueling his thrusts. His fists anchor him to the counter on either side of you; your wrists pressed pathetically between your titties as they drag across the stainless-steel surface.

“Fuck, yer fat pussy’s swallowin’ my whole dick, pretty girl,” he growls between clenched teeth. His pretty grey-brown eyes fluttering as they roll back in his head.

He fucks his needy cock into your greedy pussy a few more times before he pulls out and orders you onto your knees in front of him. “Open yer slutty mouth,” he commands. “Get ready to eat m’cum, sweet thing…”

You squeeze your naked tits together as he looks down at you, thick eyebrows knitted as he tugs on his angry cock. Without breaking eye contact, you stick your tongue out and begin flicking it along his dark, leaking slit. That seems to do the trick if the fact that he throws his head back is anything to go by. Wringing his swollen cockhead in his fist, Osamu’s first thread of hot cum ejects onto your waiting face.

“Fuck yeah, I’ma give you the prettiest facial. Keep that fuckin’ mouth open, babe!” His hot cum continues to streak across your face before he dips the twitching tip of his dick into your mouth. Squeezing one of his nipples between the fingers of one hand, he uses the other to wipe the last dribbles of his orgasm off onto your pliant tongue.

[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

[amarantoestrella]

Tobio Kageyama 😓

[emmyrosee]

Rintaro loves to pretend he doesn’t care.

There’s a nonchalance that carries around your man, one that comes from years of training of gaslighting the twins and making them turn against each other, or the scoldings from Kita-San that could’ve got so intense with his disappointment Rintaro could cry.

He’s gotten good at keeping a stoic emotion and making you act out. He loves to pretend he doesn’t care.

“It’s because he doesn’t,” Atsumu assures, playing with the strings of his hoodie.

You roll your eyes, “trust me, he cares. You just don’t see it.”

“And I never will. Because it doesn’t happen.”

You raise your brows in challenge, and he matches your brow raising. “Wanna bet on it?”

“Wager?”

“If I can prove to you Rintaro actually is a dork for my attention, I want a signed Kiyoomi jersey.”

He scoffs, “can’t you just ask Kiyoomi for one?”

“Komori tells me not to bother him after games.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes, “okay. And when he doesn’t show he’s a loser, I want all you can eat at Onigiri Miya and you pick up the bill.”

“….”

“What?”

“Osamu doesn’t naturally give you all you can eat?”

“No?”

“Oh…”

“Does he GIVE IT TO YOU?!”

You give him a cheesy smile and quickly move to grab your keys, his jaw slacked in betrayal, only for him to roll his eyes, “whatever. Either way, we’re going when I win. What’re the keys for?”

“You’ll see.”

You jingle your keys with a small smirk, making sure to do it loud enough for him to hear down the hall. Atsumu shakes his head in disbelief, only for his hand to cover his mouth as socked feet quickly become louder as Rintaro barrels down the hall.

A lanky frame fills the doorway, “where you goi-“

Atsumu and you let out a string of cackles, his hand smacking his knee while Rintaro scrubs his face with his free hand, the other one holding a controller for his, hopefully, paused game.

“Dawg I hate you for real,” he sighs, coming into the room to kiss your head. You smile and angle your head to kiss him for real, which he complies with happily and making Atsumu gag. His green eyes dart to glare at Atsumu, “I wish osamu was an only child.”

“Damn, bringing guns to knife fights,” the blonde snorts. “Not my fault you got caught in 4K, dickhead.”

“Not my fault you’re a single loser.” He leans down to kiss your lips, “where’re we going?”

“No where,” you hum happily. “Just wanted to make sure you were still obsessed with me.”

He beams down at you while Atsumu groans in disgust.

“Always.”

RINRINRINRINRIN

[luvmoonie]

me rn: 🫠🫠🫠

PUT MY LIPS TO SOMETHING ┊  MIYA OSAMU 

synopsis: after a string of terrible dates taking a break sounded ideal. then Miya Osamu happens, and you find yourself back at square one. foolish, hoping, and hungry.

tags: GN reader, post timeskip, (blind) first date, reader is a foodie (and has a big appetite), implied bad past experiences (ppl mean about said apetite), insecurities (not about weight), strangers to lovers, sharing food + feeding each other, flirting, romantic + sexual tension, first kisses, *slaps roof of kitchen* you can fit so much Love into this thing!!!!!!!

wc: 5K

The evening laid bare in strokes of colour. The air is tepid. People part around your inert figure as you stand to the side and watch, shifting awkwardly between each foot. You were ten minutes early. And it seemed so was your date.

You exhale, palm laid over your rapidly beating heart. You’re not sure what your expectations were after agreeing to let Saeko set you up on this blind date but Miya Osamu exceeded. A beautiful stranger. Tall, broad shouldered with dark hair and hooded eyes. The dress shirt he’s wearing is close to a second skin, drawn tight around his back and clinging just slightly to his soft middle, shirtsleeves rolled to the crook of his arms.

On a whole you trusted her judgment. Apparently he owned the small restaurant she and her colleagues frequent for their lunch hour. She promised that he was handsome, which was plain to see, and effused repeatedly that the two of you would work well together. Nevertheless you can’t help feeling cautious.

Dating has been… tricky at best. A game to some, a way to keep score. The search for validation. A means to an end. A fleeting cure to boredom. You don’t think you’re particularly bad at meeting new people, but it can’t be ignored that you don’t have much to show for it thus far.

You’re aware enough to discern the root cause. You loved food—that’s the long and short of it. You savoured meals to the very last crumb, seeking out the various flavours on your tongue to really get to the heart of the dish. Because that’s what food did: it loved back.

Dates often treated you like a different creature entirely upon witnessing your appetite. Poorly veiled embarrassment, or concern, or disdain as you sat across from one another and ate. Different in a lesser way, in a distasteful way, as though they were sampling fine wine for the flavour and you were just drinking for the sake of getting drunk, when it was quite the reverse.

Anyone would think you behaved like an animal. Your table manners were fine. You treated the staff with respect. You made conversation and asked questions, even when they made no effort themselves, and tried to make the best of the evening.

With every failed attempt at making a connection you were beginning to grow lonely. The presence of your loved ones and their families, their partners and their children, never truly filled that cavernous ache in your chest. Poured in like morning sun with hopes to warm you from the inside out, perhaps, only all that ever did was make the hole more obvious to you.

Taking a break from the scene sounded ideal. Then Miya Osamu happened to see a photo of you over Saeko’s shoulder, expressed his interest, and you found yourself back at square one. Foolish, hoping, and hungry.

There’s phantom heat around your fingers. The gentle squeeze of Saeko’s hands as she sent you off. “This one will be different,” she told you. With her words echoing in your thoughts, you pat down either side of your hips, ironing out the creases, and start toward him.

Osamu is leaning against the outer wall now, scrolling on his phone. A warm musk fills your senses as the distance shortens. Smooth notes of oakmoss and vanilla. He must notice your approach in his periphery, because he straightens up and steps forward, turning to face you with an apprehensive smile. The attraction between you becomes tangible before either of you speak a word.

"Hi," you smile back, oddly at ease to see that he is equally nervous. "Miya, right? I think I'm here to meet you".

The tension slips from his posture and from yours in turn. His smile grows and deepens the crinkles by his eyes as his gaze sweeps over you. Dawn casts the street in a peachy tint and it dapples across his cheeks in a  faux blush. "Sure hope so," he says. "Call me Osamu. Ya look beautiful, by the way".

Something rouses in your chest. You're warm now. His accent is unfairly charming, like the rest of him. "Thank you," you reply, lingering on the delicate silver chain around his wrist, and how the folded fabric of his sleeve strains around his forearm. "So do you".

"Beautiful?" Osamu echoes, brow arched with the teasing lilt in his voice.

You hum, drawn to the natural heat emitting from his body. "S'what I said, isn't it?"

"So you did," he murmurs, the low timbre settling over you like silk. When your eyes meet he rocks back on his heels, clearing his throat and gesturing to the restaurant he picked for tonight. "I made a reservation for us. Wanna head in?"

"I'd love to".

As if entering another world, the noise lowers into a pleasant din. You step through the tall latticed doors into what appears to be a bistro-style restaurant. All autumn pigments and harmony. Family owned, from what you recall after searching it up last night. The main dining area has a romantic ambience to it, balmy toned lanterns centred on each table and an open kitchen where the chef is lovingly making a yakisoba dish.

"Tanaka mentioned yer a bit of a foodie," you blink from your appreciative stupor and glance at Osamu. "Apparently they serve really good European food here so," he rubs at the back of his neck, a little pink and unsure, his shoulder jerking in a loose shrug. "Thought'cha might like it".

Your heartbeat floods your ears. "I really like it," you say, hushed, flustered at his thoughtfulness. Before he's able to respond a host has approached, young and dressed in a well pressed black vest, not a thread out of place. He bends into a perfect bow.

“It is a pleasure to welcome you this evening. Will it be a table for two?”

Osamu sidles closer. There's presence at your lower back, his hand lingering, and you decide to lean into it. “There should be a reservation for two under the name Miya,” he nods. The host brightens.

“Of course! Right this way".

The host takes off toward the rear dining area, hidden from view. Osamu encourages you forward and as you walk together he leans to whisper in your ear, "We haven't seen the best part yet".

You immediately understand what he's referring to as you're led through a pair of golden drapes and into a conservatory space that looks out on a lustrous bamboo grove and a small koi pond. Your table is right by the stretch of windows, offering a lovely view. It steals the breath straight from your lungs, “Osamu…”

Once seated the host returns to offer you a pair of damp towels on a tray. Osamu orders a drink while he wipes his hands, and then you do the same. You sink into the cushioned back of your chair. A shoe brushes your ankle and retreats to settle alongside it, just a couple of inches. The centrepiece gently breathes to life, illuminating the table.

Anticipation trickles back in as Osamu voices his gratitude and you realise you’ll need to order in front of him. His focus turns to you as the host departs, discerning your expression. “D’ya wanna order a starter first?” he asks, sliding a menu to you.

The menu is thick and glossy. You make a commiserate sound, thumb plucking at the corner of the card. “Everything sounds really good. I’ve never had carottes ra—âpées,” you murmur, skimming excitedly over the dishes and listing off the things that catch your eye.

A low chuckle interrupts your train of thought. Rather than underlying irritation, you’re met with amusement and curiosity. “Really do like yer food, huh?”

Heat floods your body, and you resist the urge to grimace. “Sorry, I can get carried away. Is there anything you want to try?”

“Thinking of getting grilled octopus and canola to start and the sea bream for main,” he recites, studying you in the low light. Muffled are the far off sounds of meat popping on the hot stove-top and you can smell a sweet, coconut-like aroma. “Don’t need to be embarrassed y’know. I’m a food lover too”.

You perk up noticeably in your seat and Osamu’s expression near melts into sheepishness. “You run a restaurant, right? Saeko mentioned”.

“Ah, yeah. Onigiri Miya. Nothin’ as grand as this,” he gestures to the surroundings offhandedly. Your eyes linger on the flex of his throat as he swallows, pride bleeding into his voice. “Won a Food Made Good award though, just last month”.

“No kidding. Congrats Osamu, that’s amazing,” you grin, instinctively leaning into his magnetism and resting your hands on the table surface. Osamu seems to mirror your movement without meaning to. “Have you always wanted to run a restaurant?”

“Never really thought about it. Up to the end of my second year I assumed I’d fall into somethin’,” he admits. “I sorta hit the ground running after graduating. My brother too—”

“Excuse the interruption. I have your drinks,” interjects a new timid voice. The server shuffles forward to set the glasses between you on the table and then fumbles for her notepad, clicking the cap down. “Are you both ready to order?”

Osamu recovers and recites his choice for starter and main, and you do so afterwards without second thought. It’s nice, being at ease. Sitting opposite Osamu feels natural. The glass is cold against your palm, ice cubes clinking softly as you bring it up your lips and drink. You nudged the conversation forward before it could wilt. “You were saying, about your brother?”

“Atsumu. He’s my twin brother,” Osamu begins with a small smile, poorly hidden behind the rim of his glass. He sets it down, watching the amber liquid ripple. “Played volleyball since we were kids, but he always loved it a little more than I did. So while I racked up every business permit and licence I could get and he dove first into division one”.

“You both sound pretty brave, in your own right”.

“Thanks,” Osamu grinned and you got the impression that you very much said the right thing. “Brave is a new one. We’re used to bein’ called reckless idiots”.

“Tomayto tomahto,” you tease, lifting an arm and crossing your fingers together. After another sip, “Gotta be a little bit of both, right?”

“You’re right about that,” he conceded. Mouth thinning as if to rein in his smile, he reached up to needlessly fix his hair. “How about yerself, what do you do?”

Attraction hung over the table, an incorporeal anticipant thing that swells as the evening unfolds. Darkness enveloped the bamboo grove and activated the small aureate floor lights placed between the culms. You fall into natural conversation over your starter dishes. You share laughter. Tender and succulent; you share food, too, leaning forward to pluck a sample from his plate, offering your own. Not a single grimace.

Every other first date pales in comparison.

Osamu watches you with a hooded gaze warmed by his second pint of beer. There’s a certain satisfaction to him, contentment. The tip of his tongue peeks out to catch an errant drop. He nudges his ankle to your calf again when the server returns to clear away your starter plates, and you don't move away.

“Can I ask why you’re single, and what you’re looking for?”

“Finally, the hard hittin’ questions”.

You laugh, “We’ve got to get over the boring first date spiel at some point tonight”.

Osamu rumbles his assent, rests his chin in his palm, casting an idle glance to the garden as he thinks. “Think my answer’s kinda standard. At first I never had the time ‘cause of the restaurant, didn’t think it’d be fair,” he  begins, and his mouth twists into a little self-effacing smirk. “When I thought I was ready I tried some’a those dating apps but nothin’ ever clicked for me”.

“I get it. Gauging chemistry is harder online,” you affirm softly, readjusting your seat as the server steps up to set down your main dishes, inclining her head in greeting but with enough grace not to interrupt. Osamu voices his gratitude, sliding his plate closer. The grilled tai is a beautiful fleshy pink colour, garnished with sprouts and hosta leaves.

“Ma says I’m a romantic,” he continues sheepishly, plucking up his chopsticks. “I’d prefer to meet someone naturally, face to face. To really feel it when ya click with each other”.

“Yeah?” there’s an ache blooming in your cheeks as you glanced down at your food. The plate is still hot to touch. You pinch your chopsticks and inhale the rich scent of saffron, garlic and onion, and beneath it all sharp notes from an open flame. “I think we’re doing pretty good on that front”.

“Better than I hoped,” he murmurs, supple and full of promise. The hair on your arms prickles. When was the last time anyone looked at you like that, you wonder. “Soon as Tanaka caught on that I saw your picture on her phone she was determined to appeal ya to me. Thought it might be too good to be true”.

You hum around your first mouthful, feeling much the same way. Saeko had worked hard to strong arm you into meeting him. The food falls apart gently on your tongue and suddenly your agreeable noise becomes a pleased crescendo, taken by the rich smoky flavours.

After swallowing you grow self-conscious; the weight of Osamu’s focused attention is heavy. Rather than embarrassment, the flush tinting his cheeks seems to be something else entirely. He has a chunk of grilled tai between his chopsticks, halted halfway to his lips. “Is it that good?” he teases, strained.

There’s no true malice or ill intent behind it. It’s lighthearted—you could even delude yourself into thinking he sounded fond. You kick your lips, inhibitions worn a fraction after a glass of liquor. “I’d say that’s obvious,” you smiled. “It tastes amazing. Thank you, for picking this place”.

“S’been my pleasure believe me,” he says, finally taking a bite of his own. Like him, you observe how his expression flickers as the flavour fills his senses. A flare in soft surprise, rippling as he chews and discerns the texture. His eyelids flutter closed, lashes fanning out over the high point of his cheeks, and open in the next breath to catch you staring.

“Is it that good?” you echo coyly. Osamu smirks, a glimmer in his eye. He picks up a small piece of the tai sandwiched with a hosta leaf and cups his hand beneath it while offering you a try.

“See for yaself,” he says. Energy simmers under your skin, all buzzing heat and jitters. You quickly sip your drink, rinsing your palate before shuffling closer to the table's edge and lean forward, lips eagerly parting to take the morsel into your mouth. A hitched breath. Osamu holds your gaze while you parse the hints of dashi broth and ginger.

“God. You weren’t wrong. The texture is perfect…” you stop yourself from rambling further and swipe your bottom lip as you recline in your chair, chopsticks poised like pincers. Pulse quickening behind your ribs you copy his actions, taking a sample of your dish for him to try. “Try mine too?” you offer, abashed.

Osamu struggles to temper his grin. Words aren’t necessary. He props himself onto his elbows and stretches forward, pink mouth wrapping around the end of your chopsticks. Closer now you notice the soft cupid’s bow on his top lip. He draws back with a soft groan as he chews—the sound ripples down your spine.

“Never tasted anything like that. Almost has a tangy bite to it,” he praised.

“Right? It’s amazing how they managed to marry earthy and briny together. I think it’s a Spanish dish, maybe,” you wonder aloud, eyes sweeping over the table. “How have I never been here before?”

“It’s my first time too, a friend recommended it. Heard they’ve only been open a year and some,” he tells you. Eventually the conversation slows as eating takes precedence. The server flits in and out to take your empty glasses, bringing refills. Sitting there, now with an empty plate and your third drink half full, a different spirit entirely sifts inside you.

Osamu admires you over the rim of his beer. “I never got to ask earlier,” he mused. “Are ya looking for a serious relationship or…?”

You scarcely hear him, preoccupied with staring at his other loosely curled hand beside the centrepiece. If he notices he doesn’t mention it. “I am. I’ve been trying. Any more than this I might actually fit the definition of a serial dater,” you admit, in an attempt to reciprocate some of his prior vulnerability. “But all I want is to settle down. Find someone”.

About to take another sip, Osamu's fingers slip slightly on the condensation around his pint. “Yer serious?” he baulks. His accent is thicker, rough. You wince at his tone. “Sorry, sorry. I just have a hard time believin’ nobody snatched you up yet”.

Feeling a little like a damn has broken in your chest, you nod. “Maybe I tried too hard. Somehow showing genuine interest only ever puts them off more,” a brittle bout of laughter breaks the delicate quiet, and you begin tearing at a napkin to distract yourself. “And most of them didn’t really… like my appetite. I embarrassed them sometimes, I think”.

Agitation on your behalf flickers in his expression; brows drawn taut, jaw clenched, it flies over his face and smooths out just as quickly. “That’s bullshit,” he said, sounding far calmer than he had looked. Warmth encompasses your hands and your fingers pause their repetitive motions. Osamu runs his thumb over your knuckles. “‘Scuse my manners. But ya not embarrassing in the slightest. There’s nothin’ more satisfying than watching someone eat well”.

A slow smile pulls at your lips. The napkin is in pieces. You sense his caution in crossing any boundaries, pressure alleviating as though to pull away, so you overturn your wrist and thread your fingers together. “I think so too,” you reply. “Not much better than good food and good company”.

“Guess we’ve covered all the bases,” he murmurs, squeezing until your palms kiss. “Feel like sharing some desserts with me?”

The hunger in your heart rears its head. Mentally you send a good word to Saeko, knowing you owe her more than a drink or two for this. “Can’t say no to that,” you return, voice a little thick. Whatever will prolong the night.

Dessert ends up being a beautiful burnt honey cake. It comes with a creamer of liqueur laced chocolate sauce that strays as you pour it. Osamu watches you clean a wayward thread of melted chocolate from wrist to heel with your tongue, grey eyes overcast with something heady. You feel a pulse of magnetised desire where there’d been none before as wet fingers popped free of your mouth.

It’s delicious, you're sure. You can hardly remember anything beyond the face he makes as he tries it.

The end of the date looms with dreadful finality. Osamu pays the bill in full despite your countless protests. You walk through the front dining area, busier than it had been, and in passing you bow your head toward the chef working behind the bar and the host at the entrance.

“Thank you very much,” he acknowledges politely. “Please come again”.

It’s jarring to step back out from the restaurant’s welcome embrace into the street. “Guess this is it,” you inhale deeply and move to Osamu’s side to sap him of his warmth, wrapping yourself around his arm. He pulls you closer and you yield like putty, partly the need to shield from the crisp, late night air and partly the desire to prolong your time together.

“Did you walk here?” he asks, rubbing your hip. Your hand is splayed over his chest, heat seeping through the fabric, heart tapping against your palm.

“I got dropped off,” you reply. “I’ll have a car pick me up”. Osamu dithers for a moment, visibly searching for the right words. He rubs at his neck—a nervous habit you’ve noticed.

Whatever you were expecting it wasn’t, “Are ya still hungry?”

Your mouth opens and closes. True, there’s no real physical ache of hunger but you would hardly describe yourself as full, or sated. “…I could eat,” you confess. Osamu grins at that, dark hair haloed by the streetlight. “Why?”

“My restaurant isn’t far from here. If yer comfortable with it, the cab can pick you up from there and I’ll make a treat for the ride home,” he says. He must take your brief silence to mean discomfort, because he continues on. “Ya can say no,” he murmurs, thumb stroking back and forth at your waist. “Just didn’t want the night to end yet”.

The offer strikes a chord within you, and you feel like you could burst. You want. Guided by fleeting impulse you press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. He startles and then moves as if to chase it. Your breath catches as you come together in a soft, chaste press of lips.

“I’d like that,” you rasp, patting at his chest and unwilling to part. There’s relaxed, padded muscle underneath. “What’s the address?”

After receiving the address you input it into your phone, scheduling the taxi to pick you up in around thirty minutes—at Osamu’s suggestion. As promised the restaurant is no more than a five minute walk, tucked away alongside a few other establishments. You notice the Onigiri Miya sign fixed above the door displaying his logo, but the shutters are down.

“Gotta head in through the side,” he explains quietly. You nod, clasping both hands around his forearm and letting him lead. The clink of his keys fills the silence, followed by a series of clicks. The door opens and he flicks the switch on. You squint at the intrusive light that floods the space, blinking to adjust, and make a low inquisitive noise as you meander through.

The interior errs on traditional, and it works well. Hanging along the accent wall is a banner of the shop name written in calligraphy, and other various artworks are littered throughout showcasing appreciation for the local agriculture.

Osamu disappears into the back amidst your exploring. You duck beneath the curtain draped across the doorway to find him. The kitchen is small, an obvious compromise to make room for more dining space. Food preparation is dedicated to the heart of the kitchen on an island-like setup, while dishwashing and such are pushed to the perimeter. Osamu embodies it comfortably and confidently.

Hands wrung against your stomach, you lean to get a closer look at what he’s doing. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Osamu stops, still poised to reach for the water bowl next to his workstation. There are multiple others set out, each seemingly with a different ingredient. His mouth pulls into a boyish grin. “Don’t worry about that,” he says, inclining his head to the stool opposite. “Just sit there looking pretty and I’ll feed ya something good”.

You bite the inside of your cheek and wonder if it’s possible for butterflies to hatch in your chest. A fuzzy giddiness that spreads to the tips of your fingers, and you want to kiss him again. “Promise?”

“Promise”.

Lowering onto the stool, you watch raptly as he wets his fingers and takes a pinch of salt to rub into his  hands. Skin glistens under the pale florescence. Osamu's visage wanes, and you're struck by how at home he looks.

“So,” you speak, if only to fill the silence—and to hear his voice again. “What made you fall in love with food?”

Osamu scoops the cooked rice from a nearby bowl into his palm and starts to shape it. He doesn’t pause in his motions, even with the contemplative tilt of his head. “Lots’a reasons, really,” he says. “Earliest one I can remember is when I made breakfast for my gran for the first time. Ma helped out, ‘cause I was only five or six, but I was real proud of myself”.

“That’s cute,” you murmur, a nascent fondness stirring inside your body at the imagined young Osamu that flashes through your mind. “Did it turn out any good?”

Deft fingers knead a shallow dip into the centre of the rice ball. “Course it didn’t, I used way too much salt. But she still ate it, and it made her feel better”.

“Because she loves you”.

Osamu meets your eyes. Outside, droplets stutter out a drowsy staccato against the windows, cohesive with the beat of your heart. The moment feels pheromonic, like when you know something is just right the second you find it. “Yeah,” he murmurs. His mouth curls up and he tucks some of the nearby ingredients into the rice. “See, yer getting it”.

That's what it is. Osamu likes to take care of people. Your focus falls to deft fingers, gently folding the rice over, as though tucking it in. He gives it a triangular shape, adorned with a slice of nori, and sets it into a small cardboard tray. Without preamble, he reaches to start another.

"Y'know, first time I ever confessed to someone it was with onigiri," Osamu tells you, unheeding of the wellspring he opened in your chest. "Made 'em that same morning, had a speech and everything. Never told anyone I was gonna do it".

You hum and scoot closer, folding your arms atop the island. It's cold ot the touch. Osamu appears to blossom further under your avid attention. He repeats the steps, pressing new filling carefully into the heart of the rice and admits, "Got rejected, though".

Your face falls. "I'm sorry, Osamu".

"It's fine. In the end I gave one of 'em to 'Tsumu, and I ate the other," he shrugs, looking rather happy for someone talking about their botched first confession. "Know what he told me?"

"What?"

"Looks me dead in the eyes and goes 'What the hell, 'Samu. Are ya holdin' out on me? These taste better than usual'," Osamu pitches his voice as he recites the memory, presumably mocking his brother. You laugh, and he ducks his chin to hide his grin. "I remember missin' three serves that day. He told me since I suck so bad at volleyball I should be a chef instead. Idiot doesn't even remember he said it, but..."

While he had meant his words to be light you heard the significance beneath it. You rise from your seat. Osamu tucks the third and final onigiri into the tray and lets his focus stray toward you. Featherlight strokes up his forearm, you rest your cheek against his shoulder. You peer through your lashes and look at Osamu's face, at a tentative beginning.

"And now you're here," you say, reaching to cup his warm cheek. He leans into it, lids fluttering as your thumb traces an arc beneath his eye. His ears are warm against the tips of your fingers. "You did it".

"Yeah," Osamu releases a shaky breath. "Is it—can I kiss ya again?"

Your answer comes with the tilt of your head. Osamu kisses you, solemnly sweet. You can faintly taste the beer he drank. He's warm, firm under your hands. You feel him smile against your mouth and smile back, nipping at his plush lower lip. The intensity grows as a strong arm coils around your waist, his wet, rice soiled hand held away from your clothes. Your fingers slip into his hair as his tongue dips into the seam, slides over your own and along the grooves in your teeth, drinking the whine right from your mouth.

"Osamu," you sigh, pushing harder, needing to be closer, and yet he is pulling further away. "Noo, come back".

"Greedy thing" he rasps. His voice is infused with warm laughter. You hum as he kisses you again, similar to the first. It's quick and chaste, and with too much finality for your taste. "I know. But I'm pretty sure that's yer ride waiting outside".

You sniff haughtily, following his line of sight to the car headlights filtering in through the windows. "Wait. Let me walk ya out," he mumbles, turning away to find a towel to wipe his hands on. Meanwhile you gingerly pick up the takeout tray of onigiri and cradle it to your front, as though something precious.

"Ready?"

The night is colder than you remember, and you'd only been out of it for a short time. Sparse raindrops pitter patter on the pavements, leaving dark little dots on the concrete. Osamu walks ahead to check with the driver and then waves you over, opening the door himself.

"What a charmer," you tease, turning into him once more and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, Osamu. I had a really great night".

"Good enough to see me again?"

The crinkles by his eyes are knowing, aware that he needn't ask at all. And the thought that you could be another person for Osamu to take care of—it satiates the ache.

"Maybe I can cook for you next time," you say as you climb into the backseat. Osamu bends, peering into the car.

"Promise?"

Loneliness is just another form of hunger. You realise that now.

"I promise".

[aciddrattboyy]

(dont) kiss me thru the phone

you were pissed that your boyfriend cheated on you and then had the audacity to ghost you after you confronted him about it. what better way to get that anger out than fucking his best friend

suna x f!reader ☆ smut ☆ 2.3k cw: fingering, dirty talk(?), penetration, cheating(?), cucking, phone sex(?), exhibitionism(?) a/n: all those damn question marks bc i cant tell if it would technically count anywho i dont condone cheating but like if someone told me they fucked their cheating bf's bsf i wouldnt judge also sorry for the osamu slander i was never a big fan of the miya twins bc i was too focused on suna so im sorry if i offend any miya stans </3

☆

you were pissed. you were beyond pissed actually. yeah, you were sad of course when you found out your boyfriend osamu had been cheating on you with some cheerleader from a neighboring college. but you were furious now that osamu had decided to ghost you after telling him you wanted to talk it out. it was pathetic and you were utterly offended. you were also upset with yourself, having not been able to see any signs that you had been dating scum of the earth. 

you know you couldve been the one to take the higher ground. just take his disappearance as the breakup and try to move on with the help of the people in your life that actually cared about you. but you just couldnt. he went low and you wanted to go much much lower. 

knock knock knock 

standing outside of suna’s townhome, you were growing a little nervous. there was a chance suna would push you away and go inform your cheating now ex-boyfriend. but you’ve seen the way suna looked at you. you weren’t stupid. everytime osamu dragged you to parties or hangouts with his friends suna always looked at you like he was fucking you with his eyes. you stood there, hands shoved in the pockets of your pajama pants as the cold night breeze swept over you. 

your body stilled when he opened the door, bare torso on display while a pair of grey shorts hung loosely at his hips. you could smell the faint scent of weed seeping out of his house. his hair was messy in the best way, green eyes narrowed at you slightly. you couldnt deny that he was attractive. but when you were still a loyal and doting girlfriend, no one else seemed as hot as your boyfriend. but things were different now. 

“hello?” sunas tone was indifferent, a bit raspy from whenever he was smoking. he craned his neck for just a moment, seeing if osamu was trailing behind somewhere. 

“suna i know you want to fuck me,” you blurted out, earning equally wide eyes from the man before you. he choked on his own spit, turning his head as he coughed. your face felt like it was on fire and for a second you regretted ever coming here. “im sorry i-” he was quick to put up a finger, silently telling you to wait as he got himself together. clearing his throat, suna stood up a bit taller with skepticism written all over his face. his eyes once again scanned over the area.

“are you confronting me?” suna had absolutely no clue what was going on. he half expected osamu to jump out of the bushes and knock him up just for not denying it. but he would be a liar if he did. it was true. he did want to fuck you and knew he could do so much better than osamu. but of course he didnt make any moves with the bro-code and all. 

“no im not,” you shook your head, sucking in a deep breath to try to calm yourself. “i have a um… proposal,” suna’s eyebrows quirked, the corners of his lips tugging into an intrigued smile. he crossed his arms, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. 

“well,” you grew self conscious now, rocking back on your heels as you stared at the doormat. “osamu cheated on me and is now ghosting me after i asked to talk about it and to be honest im really pissed,” suna had to manually keep his features stoic even though he was feeling a whirlwind of emotions. he was sad for you of course, no one wants to get cheated on. he was mad at osamu for cheating on someone like you. but there was also this sick sense of pride, that you came to him. suna always knew he could be better for you and now you were at his doorway. you took in another deep breath, getting ready to spew out the words before you could take them back. “i want you to call osamu because i think he’ll pick up… and if he does,” you took a hand out of your pocket, nervously running it through your hair. “if he does i’ll let you fuck me,” 

the silence seemed to drag on forever. after your word vomit both you and suna had to take a moment to process the words you just said. you looked at sunas ever bland face and had no way of knowing what he was thinking. 

“so,” suna started, not able to hide the smug smile on his face. “you want me to fuck you with osamu on the phone?” he watched as you nodded slowly and could feel his dick twitch in his shorts at the thought. he would effectively being ending their friendship if he did that and maybe others. but the thought of being inside you was oh so enticing. “thats a little kinky dont you think,” sunas smile only grew when he saw how flustered you were getting. it was almost hard to believe you came up with that idea.

“will you do it yes or no?” you asked instead of answering his question. because he was right. it did sound a bit kinky and you didnt feel like trying to make sense of it right now. suna did use words to answer, instead pushing off of the doorframe and motioning for you to head in. letting out a shuddery breath, you walked in. your heart was beating like crazy when suna closed the door behind you, turning on a warm lamp before flopping onto the couch. you took off your shoes, awkwardly standing by the doorway. 

“so run this little plan of yours by me one more time,” he patted his hand on the cushion next to him, watching you with now hungry eyes. you sat on the edge of the couch, hands in your lap as you laid it all out on him. you wanted suna to call osamu and tell him he was fucking some random girl. you wanted to know if osamu would stay on the line. you wanted to know if he had any remorse for what he had done to you. you told suna you didnt want him to reveal it was you. that you would do the honors when you were ready. suna listened patiently, nodding along as the tent in his shorts grew with each word that left your pretty lips. “well if you want to do this we cant exactly fuck with you on the other side of the couch,” 

excitement and anxiousness coursed through your veins when suna motioned for you to come sit on his lap. he wasnt trying to hide the obvious bulge in his shorts now and the size of it made you just a bit nervous. you straddled his lap with a shaky breath, looking down between the two of you as he called osamu. he put the phone on speaker, turning the volume all the way up and tossing it onto the cushion next to him. 

his hands found their way to your hips as you both waited for osamu to answer, sliding them up and down your sides. 

“hey whats up?” 

your breath hitched in your throat when you heard his voice. anger once again rising up over the fact that he was going out of his way to ghost you but picked up the phone for his friend almost instantly. 

“not much, got a pretty girl in my lap right now,” sunas tone made your body feel warm all over. he got bolder with his touches, his fingers playing with the hem of your loose fitting shirt. “said she was a freak ‘n wanted me to call you so you could listen,” 

the laugh osamu let out was evil. you both could hear shuffling on his end while sunas hands moved further up. 

“no shit really?”

you licked your now dry lips as suna slowly pulled your top off, a low whistling leaving his mouth as he eyed your boobs. he was quick to grab at them. one hand groping one boob softly while the other pulled and pinched at your nipple. 

“yes really, shes got pretty tits,” he was quick to suck your now hardened nipple in his mouth, hips jerking under you. your breath grew ragged as you fought to stay quiet. you wanted osamu to hear you but you didnt want to be loud enough for him to know it was you just yet. he pulled off of your now wet nipple with a soft ‘pop’, his hands traveling down to grope your ass. “nice ass too,” he mused softly, looking at you with mischievous eyes as he grabbed onto the back of your thighs and gently laid you onto the couch. 

you looked up at him with wide eyes, bottom lip caught between your teeth as he slipped your pajama bottoms off. something flashed in his eyes when he saw the pretty lace panties you had on. he wanted nothing more than to rip them off of you but he decided against it for now. 

“how wet is she,” 

“ ‘m about to find out,” your face cringed at osamus words for just a second. because in the next, suna was smiling at you wickedly while he pulled your panties to the side. a low groan left sunas chest as he slid a finger over your already glistening folds. for a second, he forgot all about your plan, looking up at you with wide, lust filled eyes. “holy fuck youre soaked,” you turned your head away, face growing hot with embarrassment. but suna was quick to gently grab your chin, turning your face towards him once again. “keep your eyes on me,” he said softly, licking his lips as he lightly pressed his finger onto your clit. 

the sound of shuffling on the other line was what brought suna back to the present and for a moment he felt a bit possessive, suddenly not wanting osamu to listen in anymore like a pervert. but he continued to play along.

“shes fucking beggin’ for it,” he said moreso to osamu as he slowly pushed a finger inside you. a soft hiss left his lips when he felt how tight you were, already clenching around him so well even if it was just one finger. at this point osamu wasn’t responding with words, his heavy breaths the only thing that could be heard. suna shrugged after a moment of waiting for a response, pressing a second finger inside your walls. you whined softly, eyelids fluttering as your hips twitched against him. he continued to work his fingers inside you, thumb rubbing over your clit in soft circles as the sounds of him fucking you with his fingers grew louder. 

“oh fuck i can hear her,” 

osamus voice was strained, no doubt affected by what he could hear over the phone. he was no doubt referring to the obscene noises coming from your dripping cunt while suna fucked his fingers into you. 

soft whines and heavy pants were all you could manage out, afraid of giving it away too soon. your hips bucked up towards sunas hand as he worked you closer to an orgasm. his dick was straining uncomfortably against his shorts and he was growing impatient. “shes about to cum all over my hand,” suna breathed out, it was getting hard for him to pretend he was enjoying transcribing what he was doing to his cheating friend. he didnt even know if he could call osamu a friend anymore. there was silence on the other end and suna’s brows furrowed when he thought he heard osamu moan. 

this was becoming harder for you to keep up, thighs trembling as you got closer and closer to release. you swore you were going to chew off your lip with how hard you were biting it. your eyes were screwed shut, hands clamping onto the couch and sunas arm. when he brought his thumb up to your clit, rubbing tight circles and pressing into it, it didnt long for you to come undone around him, a strangled moan escaping you as your back arched off of the couch. 

“fuck she sounds hot,” 

“she is,” that flash of possessiveness punched through suna again as he continued to slowly fuck you through your orgasm. something snapped in suna when he could hear what could be nothing other than osamu jacking off. he hastily pulled his cock out of his shorts, laying your thighs over his. his breath was ragged at he ran his tip over your slit, a groan leaving his chest when he nudged at yout fluttering hole. you whimpered, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth. 

suna was growing frustrated with each noise you suppressed, he desperately wanted to hear you. wanted to hear you get fucked on his dick. he grabbed onto your hips roughly, pushing inside you with a shaky moan. fortunately for him, you were also growing tired of forcing yourself to stay quiet. you wrapped your arms around sunas neck, pulling him flush against you. both of you moaned when he bottomed up and finally being able to hear you almost made suna cum right then. 

but osamu ruined it, letting out a loud moan through the phone. suna, who had finally had enough, sat up and grabbed his phone. 

“i’m fucking your girlfriend,”

“wait wha-” 

he hung up, tossing the phone to the side and looking back at you. your eyes were wide as you watched, cunt still clenching around him. suna put his hands on your hips, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, earning a loud cry from you. 

“fuck- ‘m glad thats over with,” he began rocking into you slowly, eyes glued onto the sight of his dick disappearing inside you. “now i can hear all your pretty noises,”

i hope you enjoyed !! reblogs/comments are very much appreciated <3

[yamsfrecklvs]

tits, ass or thighs?

ft. kuroo, iwaizumi, oikawa, bokuto, tsukishima, atsumu, osamu

warnings: i mean... the title speaks for itself i think! implied fem reader ; also not proofread

MDNI!!!

☆ kuroo : tetsuro is a simple man. there isn't a single thing he doesn't like about you. but the man absolutely adores thighs. put on a pair of shorts or a miniskirt and he'll fall to his knees. to be fair, he's a man of taste, so not only does he love thighs, but he's also a sucker for ass. can and will smack it whenever he can, not even in a strictly sexual way, but simply because he likes having his hands on you. ass and thighs will absolutely be used as a pillow, there's no debating it. he will also not so sneakily squeeze your thigh while sitting down or grip it while he’s driving and you’re in the passenger seat. hell, he’d die between your thighs if he could, because let me remind you, this man is an EATER. (just leaving this here)

☆ iwaizumi : i mean, have you seen him? ass. he physically cannot function if he sees you in tight skirts or pants and his hand can always be found in your back pocket if you two are walking together. definitely lightly smacks your butt to celebrate or tell you that you're doing a good job (throwback to him smacking makki's ass bc he scored a point). loves loves looooves to leave marks on it - fingerprints, bites, hickeys, you name it - and he will shamelessly stare at it in public.

☆ oikawa : i think we can all agree on the fact that this man loves tits. seriously. doesn't care if they're big or small, he just loves your chest. he will absolutely use them as pillows and/or slip his hands under your shirt while you're cuddling. loves to see you walk around the house without your bra on, bonus points if you're wearing his clothes. and if there's one thing that makes his knees weak it's seeing tan lines on your chest - one look and he's over the moon. he also probably has a thing for cute lingerie, especially cute bras - or rather, he has a thing for taking said cute lingerie off of you.

☆ bokuto : don't ask him. he genuinely cannot choose, it's physically impossible for him, especially because he's got his hands all over you 99% of the time. probably has a slight preference for ass but he doesn't even realize it. you definitely have his handprints all over your ass because he cannot for the love of god control his strength but he also profusely says sorry if he ever hurts you. either way, wear anything remotely tight or revealing and he's gonna lose his mind.

☆ tsukishima : he will never ever admit it, but tits. he says he doesn’t care and claims to love every part of you equally, but you’ll definitely catch him lacking if you wear anything low cut. of course, he isn’t the type to shamelessly stare at your boobs, we’re talking about kei after all, but you know him, and you can tell his eyes linger on your chest just a little more than usual. and also, they’re the first place he reaches for when cuddling gets a little spicier. probably likes leaving marks on your tits because they’re not as visible as your neck and because he swears that ‘hickeys are stupid’. he still does it nonetheless. again, doesn’t mind if they’re big or small. he just loves them.

☆ atsumu : take a good look at him and tell me this man isn’t a certified boob lover. seriously. bonus points if you have your nips pierced. he just loves boobs. back hug? his hands are finding their way on your chest. cuddling? his face is pressed between your tits. doesn’t give a fuck about looking like an idiot while gawking at them, either. he’s just completely enamoured with them, probably loves to suck on them too. also, i feel like he has a thing for girls with tiny waists, don’t know why. he too loves to spoil you with pretty lingerie and definitely loses his mind whenever he sees a bra strap peeking out of any of your shirts.

☆ osamu : now, hear me out. osamu miya loves to cook. he also loves a woman who EATS. for this reason i’m a firm believer of osamu being a man who loves thighs. loves having his face between them, using them as a pillow, biting into them. he will go insane for thigh highs and absolutely adores when they get bigger as you sit down. there’s nothing this man appreciates more than a pair of pretty legs showing up under a short skirt. he would gladly be crushed by your thighs, but he doesn’t dismiss ass either. generally, i think he likes everything - but thighs, they’re his utter weakness. expect many, many hickeys and marks all over them. and, just like kuroo, i just have the slightest feeling that osamu is a munch - make him suffocate and he’ll die happy.

@yamsfrecklvs

[4unnyr0se]

Could I ask for Akaashi, Osamu, Kenma, and Bokuto + them giving oral?

❥ til your teeth rot! | akaashi, osamu, kenma, bokuto

warnings: timeskip! characters, fem! reader, cunnilingus (duh), praise, degrading, overstimulation, face sitting, semi-public sex, osamu's accent, kenma is v lazy, fingering

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 1.8k

a/n: i wrote this when i was having tummy issues so i'm sorry if its awful

got a request? my ask are open!

❥ Keiji Akaashi | Slow and steady

Akaashi eats your pussy like it’s made of glass like it could break at any moment. Every flick of his tongue, every sucking motion on your clit is calculated based on your previous reaction. Did you mewl louder when he harshly sucked on your sensitive bud? He’ll apply more pressure next time, hopefully earning another one of your adorable moans. 

Just because he was calculated to give pleasure does not mean he was inexperienced or selfish. Absolutely not. He could never dream of denying you anything you so plainly desired. All you had to was flash him those beautiful, sparking eyes of yours, and you would be on your back, legs spread, and moaning like an amateur pornstar while Akaashi made you cum for the second time that day.

He never rushes you through your orgasm, he doesn’t think that being intimate with you is some kind of game. It’s a puzzle that he simply wants to solve. His tongue is achingly slow against your folds, making the most precious moments between the two of you last longer. He is savoring each bit of your sweet nectar, and he fucking loves it. 

K-Keiji!” you sobbed, your hands flying to his neat mess of dark curls, desperate for purchase. Your legs were wrapped around his shoulders, just in case he would try to flee. Akaashi fucking loved it when you trapped him between your legs, it made him feel like the two of you were the last people on earth. “Gonna cum!”

Akaashi smiled against your folds, his tongue pausing momentarily. “I know, pretty girl. Wanna fall apart on my tongue again? I love it when you do that.” he praised, diving back to make out with your core. His tongue slipped past your entrance, the tip of the wet muscle gliding in and out with ease. His soft hands squeezed the inside of your thighs, rolling the supple and soft flesh between his fingers. 

Your head was rested on the pillow beneath you, hair growing knotted and messy whilst your thighs trembled in Akaashi’s grasp. His nose rubbed against your clit so deliciously, the additional stimulation pushing you over the edge. Your orgasm washed over you as you cried in pleasure, his name leaving your lips over and over again. Akaashi purred at the sensation of your release coating his mouth and tongue, pulling away once your high had subsided.

“Amazing job, pretty girl. You did so well for me.” he praised, wiping your slick from his chin. He leaned down to give you a quick peck on the lips, lingering just long enough for you to taste your own release. “See how delicious you are, darling? So unbelievably perfect for me.”

❥ Osamu Miya | No time to lose

Osamu eats your pussy like he has somewhere to be at all times like he’s in a hurry. Being the owner of a popular rice ball spot keeps him occupied most of the time (as well as dealing with his pain-in-the-ass older brother), so when he finds a free moment to be intimate with you, he makes sure he makes himself efficient. 

Even though Osamu is the more relaxed and lazy twin, he’s never lazy in the bedroom. His usually tired and ‘over this’ attitude would melt away the second you two shared a longing kiss, his body being taken over by some kind of insatiable desire. He’s driven by his motivation to make you scream his name for the shop next to him to hear. His tongue lashes at your pussy like a man starving in the middle of a desert. 

If there’s a rare lull in customers entering and exiting his onigiri shop, he’ll change the ‘open’ sign to a ‘come back later’ sign and text you to be in the back of his shop ASAP. And, of course, you’re there in less than ten minutes, your skirt flipped up and your hands supporting your weight on the steel countertop as his tongue ravishes your cunt, drinking in your slick like honey.

“Stay fuckin’ still,” Osamu groaned into your heat, slapping the inside of your thighs. “I can’t make ya cum if yer wigglin’, sweets.” that was a lie. He was a liar. He could make you cum regardless of how much you were moving, he didn’t matter to him. But if you writhed around so much that it caused some ingredients to fall onto the floor, then it became a problem. 

“S-sorry ‘Samu! Fuck!” you moaned, your hands gripping onto the steel material of the counter for dear life as his tongue hungrily, your sweet nectar coating his tongue beautifully. It was the best alcohol he could ever wish to taste. “M’close!”

“Ya better fuckin’ be. I only got five minutes before those fuckers wonder why the shop ain’t open,” his words sent vibrations through your core, your clit painfully pulsating. The rough pad of this thumb swirled around the sensitive bud, pressing against it harshly. “Be a good girl and fuckin’ cum already, yeah? Gotta open up soon, sweets.”

Osamu finally flattened his tongue in the way that drove you over the edge, still swirling your bud with his rough thumb. “That’s it, good fuckin’ girl,” he groaned, lapping up your release eagerly. “Taste so fuckin’ good for me.”

He pulled himself out from between your thighs, wiping off his chin with the backside of his hand. Osamu stood up and pecked the top of your head, playfully slapping your soaked cunt. “Get outta here, I got customers to serve.” he also had to sanitize his countertop hard. 

❥ Kenma Kozume | Suffocate him

Kenma will only eat you out if you sit on his face. Not hover, not dangle, fucking sit on it. Despite being a CEO and a popular streamer, this man is lazy as hell. Typically, you do all the work during sex. Bouncing on his cock, sucking him off, etc. But on the rare occasion Kenma wants to eat you out, you still have to pull a heavy load. He is not getting up off his ass by any means, so you might as well cooperate with him. He’s stubborn as a fucking mule.

Kenma was a selfish lover, and he didn’t want to change that. He liked being taken care of and not putting much effort into it. He’s already so successful. Why should he do more work than he already is? That’s so exhausting. But how could he refuse when his pretty girlfriend practically paws at him to help get her off? He’s lying on the bed in a minute, gesturing to you to tear off those pretty red panties and take away his ability to breathe.

“Ride my fucking face,” Kenma groans into your core, squeezing your ass with hands as your hips buck into his mouth wildly. He loved it when you got like this, so desperate and needy for his tongue. His tongue plunged into your sobbing cunt over and over again, eliciting the cutest moans from your pretty lips.

“Fuck, Kenma!” you whimpered, your hands grasping the mahogany headboard like it was the last lifeboat on board. Your ground your clit onto his nose, mewling pathetically as his tongue lashed at your most intimate parts. Kenma savored your sweet honey, adoring how it nicely coated his tongue. Maybe he should make you fit on his face more often. 

His deep brown hair stuck to his forehead, the skin slick with sweat as the tip of his tongue traced meaningless shapes on your clit, occasionally nibbling at the sensitive bud. He knew you were close. The way your entire body was shaking was a dead fucking giveaway. That, and his name practically being screamed repeatedly, was also a good sign. “Gonna cum? Do it, princess. Make a mess on me.”

And you did, your orgasm spilling all over your boyfriend’s cute face. Your writing stopped, with Kenma slapped your ass, indicating that you should get off. You sighed and chose to straddle his lap, pecking his nose gently. “Thank you, baby, that was amazing.”

“Did you think we were finished?” Kenma groaned, resting his arms behind his head. “You got me really fucking hard, princess. How about you take care of that for me, yeah?”

❥ Kotaro Bokuto | Pure addiction

Boktuo fucking loves eating you out. Whenever you mentioned that you were horny, he would drag you into his bed and plunge his face into your thighs until he got you to coat your inner thighs with your release. He could never get enough of you and how good you tasted. How you would only crave his tongue and his fingers on your most imitate parts. 

He didn’t fucking care when or where you were horny, he was more than happy to make you scream in pleasure. Whispering to him in a cafe? He locked the bathroom and had you sitting on the sick, your dress bunched up at your hips, and your stockings ripped so your soaking cunt could be displayed just for him. Woke up at two in the morning from a wet dream? No problem, he had you riding his face while he jerked his fat cock to the sounds you made. Did you also wanna suck him off? No problem, baby! You were sixty-nining until the rooster screeched. Truly, Bokuto was addicted to eating you out. 

“Why are you covering your mouth, baby? I wanna hear your moans,” Bokuto groaned into your cunt, eagerly lapping up your slick like a man gone mad. Your trembling body was pinned against the bathroom door of your favorite restaurant, your skirt pushed upwards, and your soaked panties dangled off your ankles while Bokuto whispered pure filth into your cunt. “Don't you wanna let all those people out there know how good my tongue can make you feel?”

“Ngh, we’ll get in trouble, Kotaro!” you whispered, doing your best to keep your voice at an acceptable level while your boyfriend spelled his name with your tongue, eliciting a sharp squeak in return. “F-fuck, don’t stop!”

“Yeah? You wanna cum on my face in a public bathroom, hm? God, you’re so fucking hot. How’d I get so lucky?” he purred against your clit, swirling the tip of his tongue over the throbbing bud. “You taste so fucking good, holy shit. Way better than lunch.”

His index and ring finger bullied their way inside of you, curling at the spot that made you instantly cum all over his face. He didn’t stop sucking on your folds when your orgasm hit, his fingers still scissoring deep inside of your broken cunt. Your hand slapped over your mouth, covering out your molten cries of ecstasy.

“Good fucking girl, I’m so proud of you.” Bokuto praised, licking off his tongue as he stared at your ruined state. He pulled your panties up and your dress down, kissing your forehead tenderly. “Now, do you wanna go back home and cum again, hm?