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#miya osamu x reader
krystalgaia · 16 hours
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Even when you’re both running late for work, Osamu never fails to jokingly kneel on one knee and jokingly put an actual ring on your left ring finger.
“You’ll regret this when you propose for real,” you say, but your pulse drums against your temples. Your pulse always did, the traitor.
“I’ve always been proposing to you. For real.” Osamu gets up, grinning.
The ring he just put on you is one-half of a pair. The other half is in a box opened in his free hand. You take it out and flip Osamu’s palm face down, about to put this ring on his finger.
“And you always say yes.”
You roll your eyes. As you push the ring, the sun glints on the band, and you notice a carving on its inner surface. You freeze.
“What?” Osamu laughs, the kind of laugh he reserves for when he’s nervous. “You’re backing off now?”
“You’re the one who bought a new ring just to mess with me,” you almost shout, voice shaking. There’s a pit in your stomach that you never liked. He’s giving you hope again, just to snatch it away from you.
Osamu takes the ring you’re holding. Takes off the other ring on your finger. Shows the pair to you like you’re a child whose hands needed to be held.
“See? These are the stains from yesterday,” he says, reminding you that you’d both repainted the walls gray yesterday. He cradles the pair of rings, shadows dancing on his palms. “They’ve always been carved.”
You whimper, lips trembling. If your heart had a mind of its own, it would jump out of your body and off itself. But it doesn’t. It just rattles violently against your chest.
“Oh, no. I’m sorry,” he says, pocketing the rings, hugging you. “I wanted to be creative.”
You slide your arms around him, bunching up his shirt. “See?” You sniff. “This is what I’ve been telling you.”
Osamu breaks away. You keep your hands on his back. He cups your cheeks, wiping away your tears with his thumbs.
“Do it properly this time,” you pout.
Osamu smiles, the gentlest you’ve ever seen from him. Kisses your forehead. Takes out the rings from his pockets, checking whose is whose. When he finds it, he kneels down, looking at you. The crown of his head catches the soft orange glow of the spring morning. You rest your fingers on his palm.
Osamu says your name, as if it’s been bubbling in his chest for too long, and now he’s spilled it, coloring all the grays of the house with the color of your name.
He puts the ring on your finger, carved with, Will you marry me?
You kneel down, too. Tears have caked on your cheeks, flaking as you smile. You take the other ring from his hand. You put it on him, this ring answering, Yes, in all lifetimes.
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emmyrosee · 3 months
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Outside, the rain pours like no one’s business, the wind howling in frustration as it mingles with the tinkering drops against your roof and windows.
You, luckily, are curled happily under your blanket, scrolling through your phone with a nice cup of tea next to you, enjoying the sounds of a storm in nothing but your own company.
Until-
“Ah. You’re home,” you hum, flicking your eyes up at osamu, then back to your phone. His arms are filled with reusable bags that dangle from the bulky muscles, two large palms cradling the milk, and the fluffiness of his hair lays flat to his head. His shirt is soaked, you hear the squish of his shoes, and you hate how cute the wet-dog aesthetic is on your man.
You hear him pant softly, “it’s. Wet. Outside.”
You chuckle and shake your head, reaching for your cup of tea, “yeah baby, that’s why I’m inside.”
“You could’ve helped your strong, smart, talented, amazing boyfriend with the groceries.”
“I offered, you said you “‘got this’,” you hum, secretly glad your boyfriends chivalry knows no bounds and he’d rather get drenched in the cold rain than risk you getting drenched in the cold rain.
But he is a Miya. He’s going to whine just a little bit.
You hear him place the groceries down, “but now I’m cold. And my shoes are wet. And I was lonely.”
You click off your phone and shrug off your blanket, making your way towards him. He smiles as you approach, and when you use a warm hand to move his hair off his forehead, he nuzzles into your touch.
“Thank you for getting the groceries,” you say, leaning up to press a kiss to his cold forehead. “Go take a nice hot shower, I’ll put them away.”
“I only bought a few frozen things, so you can join me in the shower.”
You giggle, “as tempting as that is, I’d really like you to warm up.”
He smirks and, before you can process, he scoops you up in his arms and throws you over his shoulder, his freezing shirt soaking you as you writhe and scream at the playful action. “Osamu!”
“Now you’re wet too. Come shower with me, and wash my hair.”
“You bought dairy,” you manage between titters, “I have to put it away.”
“So let’s put it away together. Then we can shower.”
“You’re so clingy!”
“Oh I’ll show you clingy.”
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kitashousewife · 1 month
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“sorry ‘samu, i hadn’t gotten to those yet,” you sigh, looking at the now folded stacks of his clean laundry you had placed on the bed.
“why are ya apologizing?” he waves you off. he’s working on his socks now, pairing them up one by one. you decide to join them, and he throws a bundle at you. “these are mine anyway. i don’t mind foldin’, baby.”
you can’t help but smile.
“i’m serious though, i was going to do them,”
he shakes his head and snorts. putting the clothes away, he smirks over his shoulder.
“yer my wife, not my ma,” he shuts the dresser one last time, shuffling over to plant a kiss on your head. “we help each other. ya ain’t doin it all alone.”
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noosayog · 5 months
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002 get him back!
✧ wc: 4k
✧ warnings/content: miya osamu x fem!reader, sfw, fake dating au, angst to fluff,
✧ GUTS masterlist, regular masterlist
divider from @/cafekitsune
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It all started when Miya Atsumu said that you would never be able to find anyone who could put up with you. And you would have taken that with a grain of salt, if Miya Atsumu wasn't your ex who also happened to be a thorough asshole.
“Well you dated me didn’t you?!” 
“And we broke up, duh.” he says flippantly. 
You clam up at that. You know he’s just saying things. He doesn’t mean it and he’s a complete moron. But it’s been almost a year since the break-up and not a single man has even offered to buy you a drink. Are you going to have to resort to making a Hinge profile? 
“I don’t know why ya let him get to ya. He’s just a moron,” Osamu says. 
“You have to say that, he’s your brother,” you grumble. 
“True. But he is an idiot.” 
You plop your face heavily into the elbow resting on the counter and blow raspberries in one big exhale. 
“Don’t get yer spit all over where my customers eat.” 
You grunt, turning over to watch Osamu work behind the counter. 
“Do you think I’m unlovable?” you ask.
“Huh?” 
“There must be a reason no one’s asked me out on a date in the past 8 months, right?” 
Osamu sighs, dropping off a plate of food in front of you. “I’m not gonna answer that.” Then he turns with his back facing you to fiddle with something on the other side of the kitchen. 
“Why not?” 
He exhales through his nose, quiet, but you hear it. 
He doesn’t get the chance to answer because the door swings open to reveal Osamu’s twin. You jolt up, fixing your posture, self-conscious about letting Atsumu think his words are getting to you. 
And rightfully so because Atsumu acts like a shark that smells blood. His lips curl up into what he thinks is a smirk, but resembles much more of a snarl. 
“What’s up with ya,” he asks oh-so-innocently. 
You have no good response and feel your face heating up in embarrassment when Osamu swoops in. 
“Are ya gonna sit down or just block my door? ‘Cause I got people that actually pay to eat here.” 
Atsumu starts yelling something at Osamu but simmers down into the seat next to you and mumbles something to himself, no doubt some choice words for his brother. It gives you momentary reprieve from Atsumu’s provocation which is the last thing you need right now with your self-esteem in the dumps. 
The break is temporary though, because like a true creature with short-term memory and a propensity for being a prick, Atsumu circles back to the topic when he’s done eating. 
“So, found a guy to take you out?” 
“What makes you think I’d answer that question,” you bite back. Weak, but it’s all you have. 
“Hah,” he scoffs. “I knew it. Ya can’t find anyone.” 
You feel the irritation boiling like a witch’s cauldron inside of you, brewing a mix of resentment, mortification, and the tiniest streak of competitiveness. Atsumu not shutting up for the rest of the night is the final ingredient that makes your red hot concoction boil over. It goes a bit like this: 
“Tell me if ya want me to set ya up with someone from the team. Might be the only chance ya get at this rate,” he teases. 
“No thanks,” you hiss. “I’ll have you know that I’m dating Osamu, widely known as the better Miya.” You point smugly at Osamu whose back is currently to you both. 
“What!” Atsumu yells. “Osamu? And you?” 
With Osamu’s back to you, you can’t see his face, but all your fingers and toes are crossed that he’ll play along so that you don’t burn up in a gas of complete humiliation. 
When Osamu turns around, his eyes go to you first. They search yours for something – what, you don’t know. He apparently finds it because he blinks away and tells his brother to mind his own business, neither denying nor validating your claim. 
It might as well be confirmation though, because Atsumu squawks in indignation, sputtering his disbelief. Osamu continues to bicker with his brother, keeping him occupied enough to not realize that he was slowly being backed out of the restaurant. 
When Osamu slams the door on Atsumu and twists the lock in a dramaticized show of finality, Atsumu finally gives up, yelling a muffled “I’ll be back.” through the windows. You could laugh at the duo if Osamu didn’t turn around and fix you with a look, similar to that of a responsible older brother scolding a child. 
“Now yer turn. What was that about?”
“Osamu! You heard the way he was talking to me. I just can’t stand it!” 
“Have ya thought this through? How’s this supposed to end, huh? We break up and Atsumu goes back to making fun of ya?”
You open your mouth to beg, because it’s always worked with Osamu. He always gives in. But he’s not done, apparently. 
“‘Least ya could’ve done is ask me out, not use me to get through yer petty grudge with ‘Tsumu.” 
That shuts you up. When you look at Osamu, he’s not looking at you. His eyes are downcast, distracting himself by wiping up the counter. It’s so brief that you convince yourself that you imagined the hurt in his voice. 
“‘Samu…” 
“Forget it. I’ll do it, but ya better have it thought out because I’m not helping ya anymore than this.” 
It should be a win and any other time, you would wrap him up in a bear hug and shower him with thanks, but the defeated way Osamu concedes makes you solemnly finish your meal. It feels unfitting to say thank you. 
Your first stint as Osamu’s girlfriend comes in the form of a friend’s dinner party. Since the night you forced Osamu to be your boyfriend, you have been back at Onigiri Miya to hang out, but have painfully tiptoed around the topic. The thought has occurred to you that you and Osamu should agree upon a backstory, but you haven’t had the courage to breach the topic after the way Osamu reacted. 
He had just nodded when you asked him to attend this dinner party with you. And with that, he had dutifully picked you up at your apartment, perfectly on time. You had expected a stone-faced Osamu all night, but he had surprised you with a sweet smile, one that you’re used to being on the receiving end of. But it somehow feels different tonight. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s supposed to be smiling at you as your lover tonight. It was easy, the way he had held out his arm for you, no awkwardness in sight. 
At dinner, Osamu makes no move to let go of your hand, going as far as to intertwine your fingers under the table. When any one asks how the two of you began dating, he squeezes to tell you he’ll handle this. You’re grateful and you feel undeservingly spoiled as you watch him. He looks around the room, drifts his gaze back to you where his lips flicker upwards for the tiniest second, then looks back at the crowd to flash a mysterious, close-lipped smile. You can barely hear the dinner table go wild with jeers and Atsumu squawking as you gawk at Osamu’s act.
And it goes on. 
As you eat, he keeps your fingers clasped between his, laid on his lap. Atsumu gives you two the stink-eye, questioning why Osamu was eating with his left hand. You’re pretty sure your eyes are bulging out of your head at this point, because Osamu flushes. Osamu is blushing as he reluctantly lets go of your hand, making a show out of placing your hand back on your own lap and mumbling a heavily-accented apology at no one in particular. 
When dinner finally ends, the party migrates to the living room. Osamu doesn’t need to ask, perfectly picking your favorite after-dinner drink of choice as he chooses a beer for himself. He has once again claimed your hand in his. His grip is tight and when you try to slip your hand out to get some space, he holds tighter. 
You lean up to whisper in his ear, “Osamu, my hands are sweaty.” 
He leans down to hear you better, but stands back up when he registers your comment. He ignores you, only squeezing twice, as if telling you to behave for him. Your head spins; you’ve never dated like this before. 
Being with Atsumu was like living in a comically unrealistic sit-com, like you were constantly finding yourself in situations and having conversations that belong in a Tom and Jerry episode. He argued with you about everything, had an ego, and a temper. A particularly memorable moment was when he was still courting you, trying to convince you to date him by saying, “I’m six foot two.” 
“Dude, nice try,” you had said. 
But somehow, right now, with Osamu standing by your side and towering over you, you think that if this younger twin used that line on you right now, you’d fold in half for him. As if you wouldn’t with all the sweet nothings he’s lavished on you in this one night. 
He only lets you get away when you embarrassingly whisper to him that you need a bathroom break. 
“I’ll walk with ya.” 
“No!” you exclaim. You lower your voice when he stares at you. “It’s okay, ‘Samu. I’ll be right back, okay?” 
He backs off and you finally get away from his orbit. 
Finally alone, you barely pull yourself together. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, slapping your cheeks lightly to pry the strange daze from your eyes. You can’t get carried away here. Osamu is doing you a favor, one he isn’t fond of. You can’t get used to Osamu treating you like this. It’s borrowed time. 
You splash water onto your face, waiting until the chill seeps into your cheeks that have been painfully hot since Osamu picked you up tonight. 
As you exit the bathroom, Atsumu is there waiting for you in the hallway. 
“I’m onto ya,” he starts. 
You scoff, immediately putting your facade back on. It’s easy with Atsumu. “Oh please, Atsumu. You’re just jealous.” 
It doesn't phase Atsumu the way you hope. “Such a weak comeback. Sounds like something you’d say to disguise the fact that yer playin’ my brother.” Your brother is the one playing me.
“Whatever, Atsumu,” you say, walking away, taking Osamu’s advice to not let Atsumu get to you. 
“I bet ya forced my brother to pretend to be yer boyfriend. I know my brother and I know you. Just admit it.” He smirks. “It’s okay that no one wants to date ya. Nothin’ to be ashamed of.” 
The fact that even Atsumu, even all of his stupidity, sees right through you makes you feel hot. You’re grateful that you’ve already turned away from him because you could not take much more damage tonight. Nothing would end you in a worse way than Atsumu seeing that he could make you cry.  
Or maybe it’s the fact that Atsumu doesn’t, for one second, believe that someone like his brother could fall for someone like you. Maybe no one does. Maybe everyone here just thinks that you’re making this up and they’re playing along to help you save face. 
It takes everything in you to keep your steps and breathing even as you take the walk back to Osamu to compose yourself. 
It’s useless apparently because Osamu seems right through you. He immediately offers to take you to the balcony, explaining to everyone that you need some fresh air to cut through the alcohol you’ve had. 
His silent understanding makes it worse because it makes it clear that you’re an open book. The act you put on is completely pointless because no one believes you anyway. 
Osamu guides you to the balcony and shuts the door behind him, leaving the two of you alone. 
He joins you at the railing, draping his jacket over you. You know he knows that you want to avoid looking into his eyes, just as much as he knows you want to avoid having this conversation altogether. He sighs. 
“Why do ya let him get to you like that?” 
You look back at him, eyes widening at the tone he rarely takes with you. His eyes are fixed forward, arms still dutifully wrapped around you, ever the dedicated boyfriend. But as his gaze flickers to you momentarily, you catch the weight of his question in his eyes. 
“Who?” you mumble. 
But Osamu’s not in the mood. He stays silent, letting the question hang in the air. 
“I don’t know… I just…” 
“Are ya still in love with my brother?” 
“No,” you answer honestly. 
Osamu raises his brows. 
“No, but I’ve known him for so long now.” You feel the need to explain. “He just gets under my skin. You of all people should understand – he’s your brother! You guys fight all day long.” 
“He’s my brother. We shared a womb. We were born to fight.” Osamu sighs. “You, though... Why can’t ya just let it go?” 
“I don’t know! I just…” you trail off. 
He continues to stare at you, not even knowing the effect he has on you. His earnest gaze pulls the truth out from under your skin. 
“I wanna get him back,” you admit. 
Osamu’s eyes go dark at that statement. His expression shutters.
“Not like that!” you quickly amend. “Not like I want to get back with him, I mean like, his face just pisses me off!” 
“Huh?” 
“I just wanna punch him in the face but I don’t think anything would give me more satisfaction than proving him wrong you know. And honestly, Osamu, you-” 
“Ya think that I’m the perfect person to piss him off for ya. ‘Cause I’m his brother and there’s no one else who would get under his skin more than if I replaced him.” 
You hear the disappointment heavy in his intonation. 
“Osamu…” 
“Am I wrong?” 
He’s not wrong, but you feel an urge to tell him how he made you tingle at dinner. It was in the way he catered to your whims, covered for you, and held your hand in secret. It was in the way he, as your not-boyfriend, made you feel loved and desired much more so than any other boyfriend you’ve ever had before. 
But when you look at his side profile, face now turned away from you and hidden by the shadows of the night, it doesn’t feel right to say any of that. Even in your mind, it sounds like an excuse. Because the bottom line is that he’s right. Your original intentions had been to use Osamu. And the fact that you might have developed a slight crush on him in the process doesn’t make you feel any less shitty and certainly doesn’t make Osamu feel any less used. 
His question goes unanswered. 
– 
The rest of the week goes by uneventfully. Actually, it goes by too uneventfully because Osamu doesn’t call or text once. Not that you’ve made an effort, but after how that last conversation with Osamu ended, you can’t find the courage to face Osamu. 
It doesn’t make you miss him any less. 
You can’t recall if you used to miss Osamu like this, think about him and wish he’d reach out even if it’s only been a couple of days since you’ve last met. You only know that right now, you wish he’d make the first move because you can’t muster up the nerve to see him, even if it’s all you wanted. It also makes you realize that Osamu has been spoiling you long before that night and long before he agreed to be your fake boyfriend. The reason you never had to miss him is because he is always the one who makes the effort to call, text, bring you lunch, pick you up from work, drive you around. 
The realization only made you feel worse about yourself.
And after days of mulling over realization after realization, each making you guiltier and guiltier, you made your decision. 
That’s how you end up running to Osamu’s apartment, late on a Thursday evening. Without pausing to compose yourself, afraid you’ll lose your momentum, you knock. 
The door swings open to reveal a very tired-looking, very handsome Osamu. He has his cap off, but his hair is unruly, as if his fingers have just recently run through it. His eyes are slightly bloodshot and his t-shirt is wrinkled. The urge to rub your thumb over his eyelids and smooth your other hand over this shirt is a sudden one you shove down because Osamu’s opening his mouth. 
“Hey, what’cha doing here so late?” 
There’s a momentary disappointment that strikes your gut. He asks you so normally, as if he isn’t plagued with thoughts of avoiding you. As if the couple of days that have gone by without any interaction between the two of you isn’t even a thought that occupies headspace.
“Uh,” you stutter. 
“Actually,” he sighs and glances behind him. “Now’s not a good time. Can ya-” 
“I don’t care about Atsumu,” you cut him off. It sounds like he’s preparing a rejection. Or he just doesn’t want to talk. Neither of which are favorable outcomes, so you barrel through to say what you need to say. 
“I don’t care about what he thinks. Not anymore and definitely not that night. I was actually thinking about you the entire time and Atsumu, well, he’s just-”
“Just wait a minute, okay-” 
“He just gets under my nerves because of the shit he says and I know he’s just saying stuff to rile me up and I’m a hothead, okay? He gets me because we’re like the same person sometimes, but I’m not doing this to get back at him anymore. It’s actually your fault because-”
“I knew it!” a voice yells from behind Osamu. 
You crane your neck to see around Osamu and curse Osamu’s big frame for taking up the entire doorway and blocking your view of the apartment because there is the older twin, grinning widely and walking up to where you’re both standing.
You instantly feel the panic rise in your system. 
“Atsumu,” Osamu begins in a warning tone. 
Ignoring his brother, Atsumu continues on. “I knew it. I knew the two of ya couldn’t be dating just like that.” 
Your nervous system goes into overdrive. Even you know how this looks. 
You barged into Osamu’s place randomly at night and picked the time when Atsumu coincidentally is here as well.
Your wide eyes meet Osamu, willing him to believe that you didn’t come to make a scene for Atsumu’s viewing. You didn’t come to confess that you might have a crush on him with this exact timing so that Atsumu would fall for the act. 
When Osamu refuses to meet your eyes, it brings your attention back to Atsumu, who continues to gloat about his victory. 
Your face burns in mortification as you take slow steps away from the twins, making room for your getaway. As Atsumu gets closer and Osamu continues to avoid your gaze, your courage wanes and the last bit of pride you’re holding onto propels you to turn away instead of retorting as you always do. 
“Aww, really let my words get to ya, didn’t ya? I knew all along-” 
Before you can start running, Osamu grabs your arm and pulls you into the apartment, the other arm shoving Atsumu out. 
“Hey, ‘Samu!” 
“Shut the fuck up, ‘Tsumu. Now that my girlfriend’s here to spend the night, get out.” Osamu shuts the door in his face. 
Atsumu’s protests fall on deaf ears, the sound of Osamu referring to you as his girlfriend echoing in your mind. He had taken your side, chosen to take the course of action that would embarrass you to least despite not having confirmed what your intentions were. The thought fills you with hope. 
He pulls you further into the apartment, sitting you on the barstool. After situating you on the chair, he makes to step out of your personal space, but you lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him close. Your eyes start to sting in frustration that Osamu could somehow believe that this was all just another incident you had orchestrated to get back at his brother. This has all gotten so hopelessly messy. 
“Osamu,” you sniffle into his neck. “I didn’t come over here and say all that because I knew Atsumu was listening. I just-” missed you. 
He rubs soothing circles into your back, gently enough to make you want to cry more because you don’t deserve this but want it so badly. 
“You just…?” he prompts. 
The words won’t come out and your tears soak into his shirt. You want to tell him so badly that you’re not crying to garner his sympathy; you’re crying because you’re so angry with yourself. 
Osamu patiently strokes your back, letting you cry before quietly telling you, “Oh, baby. How long do ya think we’ve known each other? I know yer not the type to set up this whole complicated scenario just to show up my stupid brother. I believe ya.” 
His other arm is now holding your head to his neck, fingers running lightly across your scalp. “So can ya finish what you were about to say for me?” 
His words and his actions do what they always do to you. They fill you with so much hope that there’s no room to mistaken his intentions. They fill you with the courage to tell him. 
“Missed you,” you whisper. 
Finally, both of his arms wrap around your back to push you tight into his chest. He squeezes, gentle enough to keep you safe but firm enough to tell you he wants you there. It pulls the confession out of you. 
“And I like you so much, Osamu.” 
He chuckles lightly into your ear. You can feel the vibrations echo in his chest. When you squeeze back, he trails his arms down to your legs to guide them around his waist. He carries you with ease to the couch and sits you down to cry in his lap. 
You don’t know how long the two of you sit like that for, but when you finally calm down, you keep your arms wrapped around him and quietly ask, “why did you do all this for someone like me?” 
He stops stroking your hair. 
“What, ya don’t like it?” 
You pull away to protest, already too comfortable with him spoiling you again, only to find the corner of his lips quirked up in a smirk. 
He’s teasing, you realize.
You smack his face weakly and wind your arms back around him. 
You snuggle back into his neck but he’s the one who pulls you back this time. 
“Hey, seriously though,” he says. “Is this okay?” 
You nod shyly. 
“I need to hear it, sweetheart.” 
“I want it.” 
“Alright. C’mere then.” 
You oblige. 
“Can I tell ya a secret?” he murmurs into your neck. 
You nod. 
“There isn’t a man out there who’d do all that for someone he doesn’t love, ya know that?” 
It makes you flustered, but much of what Osamu does does that to you. His tenderness makes you want to try harder to meet him in the middle. 
“Can I do something?” you ask, taking a leap. Your face is incredibly hot and your heart is beating embarrassingly loudly against his. “Is it okay if I kiss you?” 
It’s easy when he responds, “You can do anything ya want to me.” 
You intend for it to be an innocent peck, your form of an apology. But he holds the back of your neck, the other arm wrapped almost all the way around your torso and doesn’t let go until you’re panting against his open mouth. 
He’s nonchalant when he shrugs. 
“You can do anything ya want but I’ll be doing the same from now on.”
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aesthetxcimagines · 4 months
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haikyuu!! p links
author's note: i think i just uncovered something with all of them😭 (tit sucker!osamu, head pusher!atsumu, etc...). all characters aged up/happens after the time-skip if you're under 18, pls skip this. enjoy<3
warning: these are all twitter porn links!!!
characters: miya osamu, miya atsumu, kozume kenma, and suna rintarou
masterlist -> haikyuu!! masterlist -> haikyuu!! p links
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miya osamu
'samu sucking on your tits after a long day at the onigiri shop😓
tit sucking/biting
osamu playing with your tits while he fucks you
tit sucking/biting, p-in-v sex, riding, moaning
coming in your panties🙀
clit stim, grinding with panties on, moaning, wet noises
fucking you in the kitchen
p-in-v sex, moaning, wet noises
miya atsumu
tsum-tsum making you work for his cock
p-in-v sex, riding, moaning, tit groping
fucking you in the showers after volleyball practice
p-in-v sex, shower sex, tit groping, moaning, wet sounds, kissing
atsumu fucking your throat
blowjob, face fucking, moaning, drool, wet sounds, head pusher!atsumu agenda
playing with your pussy over your panties
kissing, moaning, tit groping, clit stim, clit stim over panties
kozume kenma
mating press with kenma, but you're on top
p-in-v sex, riding, mating press, tiiiiiny bit of butt play (just circling, no penetration)
teasing a whiny!kenma
handjob, covering mouth, whimpers
sucking kenma off while he games
blowjob, wet sounds, moaning, kind of exhibitionist?
MAID KENMA MAID KENMA MAID KENMA
maid outfit, handjob, blowjob, moaning, whimpering, kissing, wet sounds
suna rintarou
rin filming you sucking him off
handjob, blowjob, head pushing, moaning, wet sounds, spanking, forehead kiss
suna showing you just how much he missed you😁
handjob, moaning, cum
rintarou eating you out from the back
pussy eating, wet sounds, kissing, moaning, handjob, p-in-v sex, creampie
help, stepbro! i'm stuck😿
(no incest, just "being stuck" kink), p-in-v sex, moaning, creampie x3, wet sounds
playing with your messy cunt
fingering, wet sounds, moaning
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kinokomoonshine · 10 months
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Theres two types:
The ones that will carry you and your high heels when your feet hurt everywhere you need to
- Steve Harrington, Akaashi Keiji, Kuroo Tetsurou, Bucky Barnes, Dick Grayson, Derek Hale, Osamu Miya, Remus Lupin, Elijah Mikealson
And the ones who will swap shoes with you and definitely struggle and fall on their face many times while trying to walk in heels, each time they fall/almost fall let a frustrated "fucking heels"
-Eddie Munson, Bokuto Koutaro, Kuroo Testuro, JJ Maybank, Sirius Black, Suna Rintaro, George and Fred Weasly, Carl Gallagher
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Masterlist
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moonswolfie · 5 months
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When you lose your wedding ring
Ft. Various haikyuu boys🤭
decided to try my hand at these little texting scenarios hehe
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KUROO, Osamu, Suna
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Bokuto, LEV, Hinata
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Iwaizumi, SUGAWARA, Aran
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KITA, Ushijima, Akaashi
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Tsukki, Oikawa, ATSUMU
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lowkeyremi · 4 months
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Osamu is the type to ruin your tiktoks and insta reels.
You could be minding your business reviewing a new product and that mf is behind you mouthing what you're saying with hand gestures.
Then at one point you notice him and slap him on the chest bc of course on top of messing up your video he's not wearing a shirt.
"Samu!! Stoppppp, you're messing up the video." You push him away with little force and it shows.
"Samuuuuu stoppppp you'reee messingggg upppp my video-uhhhhhh." He mocks in a whiny voice to replicate you.
"Osamu Miya."
"Oh shit." he mutters, you only call his full name when you're serious.
He leans in to give you a peck on the lips. For some reason you actually fall for that one and once he gets close enough he grabs your phone and starts running.
"Heyyyyyy guys. It's the hot owner of Onigiri Miya. Stop by and get some food!!!" he grins, you're close behind yelling at him.
---
That tiktok got over 200k likes and a bunch of comments about how cute you guys are and some were asking if osamu got his ass beat.
a/n: i've been having samu fever lately just a lil drabble of my boy
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teamatsumu · 5 months
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kinktober 2023 -> day 22
knot - miya osamu x reader
word count: 1988
warnings: alpha!osamu and omega!reader, a/b/o dynamics, swearing, knotting, mentions of heat and rut
kinktober masterlist
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You knew you would regret this. God, the amount of stupidity that was going into your decision right now would make you hurl later. But right now, you could give less of a shit.
It was with teary eyes and choppy, difficult breaths that you messaged Osamu. SOS. Come over ASAP. Your fingers trembled as you typed, and your vision was a mess, swimming, things going in and out of focus. Once you had sent the message, you dropped your phone somewhere out of sight, flopping back onto the bed, your sheets damp with sweat.
It was Day 6 of your heat, and even though normally things would start calming down by now, you were nowhere close to that. Instead of slowly cleaning up, like you often did during this time, you were still motionless on your bed, breathing hard and heavy, sweaty all over, and core clenching so painfully it made you cry fresh tears every few minutes. You had finally accepted that no amount of warm water bottles or silicone dildos could get you through this. Your body was craving an Alpha’s knot. And your heat was too stubborn to go down without it.
Hence the text to Osamu.
Osamu had been your friend for a few years now, ever since he opened his first ever branch of Onigiri Miya. Your personalities had gelled extremely well, so it was no wonder that you both made room for each other in your lives. Osamu was someone you trusted completely. He was kind, very caring, very perceptive, and very protective. He was the perfect Alpha, and of course, your little Omega heart had fallen head over heels for him. You were convinced however, that he didn’t feel the same for you. Osamu didn’t seem interested in courting at all, with anyone. He had briefly mentioned to you how focused he was on expanding his business, so you were sure he had no desire to be tied down with a mate at the moment. And so, your feelings remained boxed up, grateful to be part of his life in any way, even if it was platonic.
But biology could not be ignored. Even if you had gaslit yourself into believing you were fine being his friend, the Omega in you craved him. Desperately. Ardently. So no wonder you were still here, still in the very depth of your heat, with no signs of it stopping anytime soon. No wonder your Omega had taken over, mind blanking as you texted Osamu to come to you. You had lost to your Omega in your vulnerable condition, and you had beckoned the Alpha to you. Now you lay there, anxious, not knowing what you would do. All you knew was that you wanted him so bad you would do anything to get him.
The banging on your door startled you, and you heard Osamu’s muffled voice call out your name. With the last remnants of your strength, you stumbled out of your room and to the front door, clad in nothing but your tiniest shorts and skimpy crop top. The banging continued, even as your shaky hands unlocked and unchained the door. When you pulled it open, you nearly crumbled.
Your bloodshot eyes met Osamu’s calm, gray ones, his hand held up mid-knock. You saw the exact moment your scent hit him, his face scrunching and entire body stiffening, eyes widening in realization.
“You’re- you… Y/N, you-” His hand shot up to cover his nose, taking a step back. You abruptly shot forward, hand fisting the front of his shirt so he wouldn’t go any farther, tugging so hard that he stumbled towards you. You took advantage of that and pulled him further inside, shutting the door behind him and locking it.
Osamu groaned behind you, and you turned in time to see his eyes wandering over your almost bare body, your clothes leaving nothing to the imagination. His chest heaved, and a faint sheen of sweat was already forming around his hairline.
“Y-ya need to let me leave.” His voice was low, words muffled behind his hand. You almost moaned at the sound.
“Can’t.” You choked out, eyelids fluttering as you took in great big breaths of air, reveling in his wonderful scent, which was heightened by your sensitive nose. You stepped closer to him, knees buckling. He immediately stepped back. You whined in protest.
“Ya don’t want this.” He continued to reason. “Yer in heat. Yer not thinking straight.”
You shook your head furiously. “Always- always wanted you, Alpha.” You breathed. “Wanted you for so long. But you,” your lower lip wobbled. “You didn’t want me.”
Osamu’s eyebrows shot up, eyes widening in shock. He remained frozen in place as you moved closer to him, until you were right before him, standing on your tiptoes to nose at his neck, right on top of his scent gland. You heard him release a shaky exhale, hand dropping from his mouth as he finally breathed in your scent.
“Fuck.” His voice was strained, not protesting or stopping you as you moved forward, body pressing to his. Your tongue lapped over his neck, scenting him with fervor now that he wasn’t stopping you, and the Omega in you purred in satisfaction when your scent started mixing with his. And he was letting you.
“Omega…” His protest was weak, hands already brushing over your bare sides, fingers flexing as if he was holding himself back. So you decided to give him one final push.
“Why do you think my heat won’t go down?” You mumbled into his neck. “My Omega needs you, ‘Samu. Needs your knot. Give it to me, Alpha. Need it so bad.”
That’s all it took.
Osamu bent his head until his lips met yours, hard and rough. You keened into his mouth, one hand reaching up to tangle tightly in his hair while the other fisted his shirt to pull him even closer. Osamu’s hands were running wild over you, your waist, your hips, running down your back until they squeezed your ass. You arched into him, sighing when his fingers brushed over your clothed slit, groaning low.
“Yer soaking.” He whispered, voice low and thick with want. He pushed the crotch of your shorts aside, immediately shoving two long, thick fingers inside you. You cried out at the feeling, clenching desperately around him.
“What’d ya use?” He asked, his other hand gripping so tight at your waist it almost hurt. “Dildo? Vibrator? Tell me. What’d ya stuff this weepin’ cunt of yers with?”
You moaned at how filthy he sounded, at how prominent his accent got when he was turned on. You mumbled your answer into his neck, clinging to him as you ground your hips down on his fingers, trying to prolong the relief his fingers brought. He chuckled.
“Dirty little ‘Mega. Ya want me this bad? Look at ya, yer drippin’ down my whole hand.”
Your knees buckled again, and this time Osamu didn’t stop you. Instead, he lowered himself along with you, until you were sprawled right there, on the floor of your living room, legs spread and welcoming Osamu as he fit snugly there, his tongue running wildly over your entire neck, nosing at your scent gland. His throbbing erection pushed into your thigh, his fingers still working into you at a leisurely pace. You whined.
“Alpha, please.” You choked out, pleading with him through teary eyes. “Please.”
Osamu pulled away from your neck to look down at you, and you noticed how flushed he was. His hair was a mess, face red and eyes wild. His lips were swollen and bruised, and through his open mouth, you could see the faint beginnings of his canines. They were elongating. Your eyes widened.
Was your heat triggering Osamu’s rut?
You didn’t have it in you to think about it further because Osamu was sitting up, undressing quickly and doing the same to you until you were both bare before each other. You moaned at the sight of his cock, hard and throbbing, flushed to an angry maroon shade. The base was already a little swollen and your mouth watered at the sight. Your Omega keened. There it was. His knot. And you needed it inside you now.
Osamu seemed to be on the same page, because moments later he was pushing into you, taking advantage of the copious amounts of slick you were producing to slide straight in, groaning loud when his hips met yours, buried into you to the hilt. Your jaw went slack, immediately feeling your body temperature go down and the pain in your core settle slightly. Your Omega preened and settled, finally getting what it so desperately craved. Your Alpha on top of you, stuffing you full of his cock, the promise of getting his knot soon.
(Of course, he wasn’t your Alpha. You were pointedly ignoring that fact.)
Osamu was quick to set a punishing, fast pace, ramming his cock into your wet hole with all his might. You gasped and shook under him, eyes rolling up in your head at the feeling. It felt divine, after days and days of wanting exactly this, finally having it felt like an out of body experience. Your cunt was fluttering in delight, so happy to get what you wanted, and you felt your whole body sing at the feeling. You watched as Osamu smirked a little, smelling the shift in your scent.
“Feel good?” The question was rhetorical. How you were feeling was written all over your face, evident in the way your scent sweetened. Yet you still furiously nodded.
“So good, Alpha.” You whined, arching up off the floor, your breasts bouncing with each harsh thrust. “Fuck. Wanted this so bad. Wanted your cock in me for so long. God, need your knot. Please. Please.”
Osamu groaned, broken and shaky, cursing under his breath as he lifted your legs up to your chest, pressing down until you were folded into a mating press, his pace becoming even more rough and sloppy. You cried out at the feeling, eyes widening at how suddenly his demeanor had changed. You eyed Osamu curiously through your wet eyes, watched the gold specks appear in his eyes, watched his canines elongate until they were reaching below his bottom lip.
Osamu had just started his rut.
Your back arched up as your orgasm hit you full force, legs kicking and flailing as much as they could in Osamu’s bruising grip, feeling wave after wave of electricity zip through you. Osamu’s cock was swelling rapidly at the base, indicating how close he was to finishing too, the size of it catching on your abused hole with every thrust until he was moaning loud, pressing forward with force to make sure he could bully the knot into you. You cried out at the stretch, gasping when Osamu stilled and his cum started pouring into your cunt. He twitched and shook above you, riding out his orgasm as you ran a hand over his back, coaxing him through it.
All was silent except your heaving breaths. Osamu slowly lowered your legs until they were wrapped around his waist, knot still snug inside you. You sighed and wrapped your arms over his broad shoulders, eyelids fluttering shut. He carefully nosed at your neck.
“Feel better?” He asked, voice hoarse. You hummed and nodded in reply.
“What about you? I think I triggered your rut.” You looked down at him sheepishly, eyeing the sharp canines now prominent against his lips, and Osamu sighed, mouth twitching up into a smile.
“Ya did.” He relaxed into you even more, cock shifting inside you slightly. “Can’t say I’m mad about that. It was totally worth it.”
You giggled, leaning your cheek against Osamu’s hair as you both waited for his knot to go down.
“For what it’s worth, Y/N, I’ve always wanted ya too.”
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Taglist:
@bxbyyyjocelyn @thisbicc @lazuliquartz @dreamayy @kuroosluthoe @true-form-hoe @akumakitsune21 @cham0mil3-and-h0n3y @samisfunky @universal-s1ut @msbyomimi @dohwaesu @leothesquishy @n0tmykays @tsukiran @reyofsunshinelol @bleach-your-panties @galaneiaeris @leyra-giovanni @erenspersonalwh0re @peachesncats @soapsoftheworld @iwannabecamiloshovel l @vintagevict0ria @smithieandy @moonlit-mizukage @snazzyturtles @argwein
A/N: For those whose tags arent working, im sorry! I tried and for some reason, your names wont show up in the mentions :( another way of being notified is to turn on my blog notifs for @teamatsumufics . I only reblog my fics there so it serves almost like being in a taglist!
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sugawarassoulmate · 5 months
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who am i kidding, bully!osamu is also the kind of boyfriend/whatever that has a vice grip on your hand at all times
he says it's because you get too distracted whenever y'all are out
but reallys it's to deter other people from talking to you
some guy from your class tries to spark conversation about the most recent lecture? here's osamu pulling you away, barking that he doesn't wanna stay out too long
a "helpful" employee at the store you're in spends too long trying to assist you? "we're good," osamu says, practically materializing by your side as he drags you to the other side of the store
the easiest way to piss him off is by somehow getting out of his grip and wandering off or worse purposely removing your hand from his.
"the fuck?" osamu says, the second he can't feel the soft touch of your skin
he immediately yanks you back. "don't fuckin try that again," he warns.
"samu, i was just—" but he's not trying to hear your excuses. "wherever you go, i go"
in response to this post
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belleetoiles · 8 months
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nsfw below the cut. minors dni. all characters 22+
content: afab!reader (but no pronouns used), cunnilingus, overstimulation, humiliation, rough sex, established relationships, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart, baby)
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your boyfriend is so mean.
you had only come to him because of a bad day. it was as simple as that: a craving for his warmth and comfort after experiencing misfortune today. it wasn't unnatural for you to climb into his bed with him at times like this, and he was always so welcoming and sweet.
he was evil in that way, luring you in with milk and honey pouring from his lips. promises to make you feel better — an ache only he can fix. he loved toying with you until you forgot about your woes, making sure to take his time having you fall apart beneath him.
he liked to bully you, teasing until your brain turned to mush and you couldn't do anything but ramble on and on about how much you need him. and when he finally rewards you with a dip of his fingers into your over-sensitive cunt, he nearly groans at how greedily you suck him in.
he is unceremonious in the way he eats you out, messy and embarrassingly loud. there's a stain of your arousal and his saliva pooling onto the bed right below him as it drips down his chin. the worst part is that he refuses to waste even a single drop, so he's hungrily lapping it all up much to your dismay and humiliation.
"look at you, makin' such a fucking mess right now. so filthy, sweetheart, such a pretty pussy..." you can't tell if he's trying to degrade or praise you for this, but the thought instantly dies in your mind when his palm delivers a harsh smack to your clit.
"gonna help you feel better baby. don't worry," he coos, and for a moment you think he's going to be gentle with you. but then he's inside, filling you so full that his name is the only thing on your lips.
he is deliberate in every movement, every press of his thumb against your most sensitive spot, the angle at which he fucks you. each sloppy rut of his hips drags another gaspy breath from you and it drives him crazy, somehow spurs him on even more.
he's your love — it's his job to make fuck you so rough that you don't have time to think about anything but him, just the way he likes it
blue lock: BAROU, sae, oliver, KAISER
haikyuu: OSAMU, tsukishima, ATSUMU, iwaizumi, ushijima
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© BELLEETOILES 2023 — do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my work to other platforms.‏‏‏‏‎‏‏‎
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heich0e · 5 months
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“Miya-san!”
Osamu’s head swivels towards the sound, and he spots you right away even though you weren't the one who called for him.
You’re a few metres down the road, sitting on a bench in front of a bustling restaurant, slumped over onto the shoulder of your junior who seems to be doing everything he can to keep your head tipped up against his arm. Kimura, the name Osamu had once been introduced to him as at one of the events your company held, has blushy cheeks when the older man approaches—he seems flushed due both to being flustered and a little tipsy, and the knot of his tie is loosened at the base of his throat.
“Kimura-kun,” Osamu greets him with a dip of his head as he approaches, his eyes scanning your seemingly sleeping face. “She asleep?”
“No,” you slur in reply, but your eyes stay closed. Osamu’s not certain it’s the truth, and even less certain you realize he’s the one who said it.
“I-it’s all my fault,” Kimura squeaks, looking increasingly like he might burst into tears. “They were trying to make me drink more, but Senpai kept switching out our glasses when the other section leads weren’t looking.”
“Yeah, that sounds like somethin’ she’d do,” Osamu replies with a fond but exasperated sigh.
“I’m sorry for contacting you so late,” Kimura says, flinching as you slump away from him unexpectedly in your drunken stupor. Osamu is quicker to react than the younger man, stepping in and catching you in the crook of his elbow before you can go toppling off the bench onto the sidewalk. He keeps you steady.
“Don’t apologize, I appreciate ya callin’ me to come get her—and thanks fer lookin’ after her,” he says down to the younger man, who seems relieved now not to be responsible for keeping you upright. “Tell her to bring ya by the shop for a meal sometime as payback. She owes ya one.”
Kimura’s eyes widen and he shakes his head like he couldn’t possibly accept, but before he can decline the offer Osamu turns his attention back to you. With an arm wrapped around your waist, he gently pries you from your seat.
“Up ya go,” he mutters encouragingly as he eases you onto your feet.
Your eyes flutter slowly open, looking around blearily for a moment as you take in your surroundings.
“Samu?” you ask, his name slurred on your alcohol loosened tongue. You perk up noticeably in his arms once you realize just who’s holding you. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to take ya home, Cinderella,” he says with a light laugh as your fingers twist into the material of his sweatshirt against his chest. He looks to Kimura again, who’s also risen to his feet now. “We’ll be off, then.”
“Thank you, Miya-san!” Kimura bows deeply forward, a nearly perfect 45 degree angle at his waist.
He’s a sweet kid, Osamu can’t help but think, even if does follow you around like a puppy.
Osamu helps you down the sidewalk towards his waiting truck, then up into your seat on the passenger’s side. He makes quick work of buckling you into your seatbelt even as you squirm counterproductively, then he jogs swiftly around to his own side of the truck and climbs in behind the wheel.
Kimura waves from outside the restaurant as the truck pulls away.
“Seems like ya had fun tonight,” Osamu remarks as he drives in the direction of your home. You hadn't even wanted to attend this work gathering, but had been forced to by your director. Now look where it had gotten you.
You’re fiddling with the controls of the radio, stations crackling in and out as you switch rapidly through the channels. 
“Drank too much,” you complain, settling on a talk radio station (of all things) that seems to be midway through discussing prefectural bylaws.
“Don’t I know it,” Osamu quips in reply and you swat at him harmlessly over the centre console with a laugh.
You’re turned in your seat, your body facing in his direction, watching him as he keeps his eyes on the road. He can feel your gaze tracing over him, but doesn’t glance back.
“Hey,” you whisper, something conspiratorial in your tone. “Wanna know a secret?”
“Sure thing,” he plays along with your antics, fighting back a grin.
It’s silent for a moment—only the voices on the radio discussing trash collection to be heard. Osamu pulls up to a red light, and finally looks over to meet your gaze.
Your eyes are glassy and a bit unfocused, but they’re bright with affection.
“I have a crush on you,” you tell him with a giggle.
Osamu’s chest pangs.
The light turns green.
“Well,” he remarks, returning his gaze to the road ahead and proceeding through the intersection. “That’s good.”
From the corner of his eye, he sees your shoulders slump dejectedly. 
“I’m being rejected,” your next words are positively morose. You turn away from him and lean your body over to the side. He hears a loud thump as your forehead head hits window on your right.
“Hey!” Osamu chides you in concern, reaching out and grabbing the collar of your blouse to tug you up a little straighter. It’s not the most elegant motion by any means, but he’s fairly limited with his other hand on the wheel and his eyes still on the road.
“Owww,” you complain, rubbing your forehead weakly. You bat the hand he has clutching the collar of your shirt away. “You’re so mean.”
“How’m I mean?” Osamu guffaws beside you.
“I just confessed my love for you, and all you had to say is ‘that’s good’!” You turn your body in your seat to waggle an unsteady but judgemental finger at him. “A woman’s heart is a precious, fragile thing, y’know!”
“There’s nothin’ fragile about ya,” Osamu mutters under his breath, thinking about how much you had to drink that night as a prime example of this fact. “Yer tough as a brick wall.”
“Mean!” you jeer at him again, your mouth agape in the wake of his words.
Osamu flicks his turn indicator on before he pulls his truck over to the curb, putting it into park. You’ve stopped outside a convenience store, and when he turns to look at you, the fluorescents from inside the shop bathe you in a backlit halo where you sit in the passenger seat.
He grabs your hand. The one you still have lifted to point at him.
“D’ya see this?” he asks, holding your hand up in front of your face. The ring on your fourth finger catches in the glow of the convenience store lights.
Your eyes widen.
Osamu holds up his left hand where there’s a ring that matches your own.
“I said it’s good y’got a crush on me ‘cause we’re married, dummy.”
Your lips form a surprised little ‘o’ as your eyes flicker rapidly from the band on your finger to his own and back again. 
After a moment you grin, your eyes squeezing shut with how high your cheeks lift. “What a relief!”
Osamu is quick inside the store, just popping in to buy a vitamin drink for you and a pack of cigarettes for himself. He doesn’t smoke as much these days—you’d nag him incessantly if he did—but every so often he gets a craving, and tonight is one of those instances. 
The two of you sit side by side on the curb in front of the shop, the truck parked a little ways down the road. 
Osamu takes a drag of his cigarette, sighing in contentment with wispy plumes of smoke slipping from his lips. He peeks over at you from the corner of his eye. 
“Ya feelin’ better?” he asks.
You’ve got the little bottle of vitamin drink cradled in your hands, working your way through it slowly. You hate the taste of them, he knows that, but you’d regret it more tomorrow morning if you didn’t force it down tonight. You nod a bit, and seem to have sobered up in the time since Osamu arrived to take you home.
“This reminds me of when we first started datin’” Osamu laughs to himself. And he means it. Everything about it. Being out so late. The taste of the tobacco on his tongue. The way you keep creeping a little bit closer to him unconsciously, as though his space isn’t already yours to freely take. “I can’t believe ya forgot we’re married.”
You groan in embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”
He bites back a grin, trying not to revel too much in your misery.
“And I’m sorry I made you come pick me up,” you mumble after a moment, taking another sip from the little bottle in your hand and wincing against the bitterness. “I planned to just take a cab.”
“It was that little junior of yours who contacted me,” Osamu laughs, lifting the cigarette to his lips and holding it there while he rifles in his pocket for his phone. He holds the device out so you can see the conversation where your subordinate had commandeered your phone, remorsefully messaging Osamu asking him to come and collect you from the bar. He’d even used a funny little sticker of a bunny with tears in his eyes bowing apologetically—it bears a striking resemblance to Kimura himself. 
“That kid,” you sigh, shaking your head lightly as you rub your temple. Your eyes suddenly widen and your face snaps towards your husband. “Wh—“
“Tsumu’s there watchin’ ‘em,” Osamu laughs, reaching up and plopping a hand down atop your head. “Not that there’s much to watch since they’re in bed. He was still at the house when Kimura-kun messaged me.”
You lean into Osamu's touch as you think of your twins at home, tucked up in the little bed they share, and it makes your heart ache a little bit. You wonder if you’ll be able to creep in and give them a kiss goodnight when you get home without waking them. 
You go terribly quiet for a moment, and Osamu finishes his cigarette. He stamps it out on the curb beside him and then slips the extinguished stub back into the pack to throw into an ashtray later.
“Samu?” you call to him, your voice quiet.
He glances over at you, and sees the way you’ve wrapped your arms around your knees. The anxious posture worries him.
“I didn’t forget you, I promise,” you whisper. “It’s just… sometimes I think this is all too good to be true.”
Your husband watches as you admire the ring on your finger that reflects the streetlight overhead.
Osamu smiles to himself, scooting closer to you on the curb.
“I know,” he reassures you, wrapping an arm around your waist and tucking you into his side. Your head naturally falls to his shoulder. Familiar and instinctive. “I was just teasin’ ya.”
You smell like alcohol. He’s sure he smells like cigarettes. You're in rumpled business casual, and he's dressed in the sweats he planned to wear to sleep. He reaches over and takes your left hand in his own—your wedding rings overlapping. And for a moment, in spite of all the ways the two of you have changed over the years and all the ways that life is different now, everything is exactly how it’s always been.
He tilts his face and presses a lingering kiss to your temple.
‘I’ve got a crush on ya too, by the way.”
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emmyrosee · 2 months
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“Do I have a cute butt?”
“Excuse me?” Osamu asks at your question, popping an eye open as he chuckles. You giggle at your matched silliness, gently patting his chest.
“You know.... like, is my butt cute?” You ask again, traveling your eyes to look. Your leg is hooked over his waist, his large hand running along your thigh sweetly.
Osamu sighs sleepily, “is this one of those scenarios where if I answer, you’ll hit me?”
You giggle at him, “depends on your answer.”
“Then I think you have, single handedly, the cutest butt in the world, sweet love.” His large hand travels down and gives your ass a gentle pat, almost like you were a baby.
Well, you are his baby, as he always assures.
Your heart flutters wildly at his words, they always have an effect on you, and you can’t help but nuzzle into his chest further to hide your face.
“Awww,” he teases. “Did I make my angel girl all shy?”
“Shut up,” you mutter, shoving him lightly. He chuckles lowly before shoving his hand under your hip and pushing you up, guiding you to straddle his waist. He gently caresses your sides and thighs, dopey, loving smile on his pink lips.
“I think every part of you is the cutest, my love,” Osamu whispers, making you roll your eyes.
“Oh yeah?” You challenge. “Like what?” He raises his own brows, “everything.” He gently takes your hand in his, “I love these small, sexy hands of yours.” He plants a kiss to each of your fingers before closing them, placing a final kiss to your knuckles. You bite your lip, brushing the fallen locks of hair out of his eyes.
“They’re not small,” you protest. “Yours are just massive.”
“Either way,” he continues. “I love these hips, and these legs that everyone stares at when you wear shorts,” he gently digs his fingers in your thighs slightly, leaving lightened prints before transforming back to your original skin tone.
You avert his gaze, “they stare because my hips come up to your thighs. Tall freak.”
“They stare because you’re hot,” he says, putting extra emphasis on the ‘T’ and grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “They stare because somehow, your stunning ass got stuck with me."
“I love being stuck with you!"
“I love it too,” he assures, smiling as you laugh. “That’s another thing,” he says. “That sweet laugh of yours.”
“Oh, you mean the dolphin mating call?” You scoff, crossing your arms.
Osamu shakes his head, “no, you brat. I’m talking about your laugh. Your sweet giggles. Your scoffs. The way it goes silent when you laugh really hard. It the fucking best.”
“No it’s not,” you groan. “You’re the only person on planet earth who could find a walrus being assaulted with a crowbar cute.”
“There’s nothing wrong with finding your little giggles endearing.”
“Yeah, right.”
“But you know what I love most about you?” He asks, cupping your ass and hips in his massive hands.
You quirk your brow, “what’s that, oh Prince Charming of mine.”
“My absolute biggest weakness about you, dollface, is...” he squeezed harder. “Messing with you.”
You can barely process what he said before he bucks his hips up against you, bouncing you up and down. You scream out in laughter, planting your hands to his chest. His own laughter mixes with yours, his thighs continuing to bounce you like you’re a rider on a horse.
“Okay, okay!” You manage between giggles. “I get it!”
“Don’t,” bounce “think,” bounce “you,” bounce “do.” He grins as he stops bouncing, sitting up to wrap his arms around you, pulling you flush to his chest as you both flop back down.
“You’re so bad,” you giggle, running your hands over his chest. Osamu chuckles, planting a kiss to your head.
“What can I say,” he sighs dreamily. “I'm a man of poetic genius.”
"If that's what you want to call it."
Immediately, hands dart under your arms to tickle you viciously, smirking as you shriek and clamp your hands to your sides and laughter pours out of your lips.
It truly was his favorite sound.
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kitashousewife · 6 months
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“are ya usin’ that?”
you pull the headphones away from your ear, glancing up at the man in front of you while you try to psych yourself up for this set.
“yeah,” your jaw just about drops on the floor when you see your gym crush, who you’re sure is named osamu, is staring right back at you. “i just started.”
he grins.
“can i swap in with ya?”
you nod quickly, not wanting to get too distracted. when you start at the cables, pulling the weight down, you can’t even begin to focus on the task at hand. not when there’s a six-something, absolutely built man right behind you.
after your set you step to the side awkwardly, not wanting to bother him too much. you’ve seen this man for months now, and based on his physique? he means business. hidden underneath the loose sweatshirt and joggers he’s got on today is rippling muscle, something he rarely shows off.
and today must be your lucky day.
as soon as you adjust the weight, osamu pulls his sweatshirt off to reveal a very tight, very thin white tank top. you get through your set, barely, and avoid eye contact when you let him take over once more.
you watch his entire set set like a hawk, eyeing his triceps as they flex with each downward movement. his back tightens, his jaw squeezes with the effort he’s putting in. you almost faint when he looks back at you.
“yer up. last one, right?” he’s slightly out of breath, and you feel the same way.
“yeah, then i’ll get out of your hair. i’ll try to make it quick,” you give him a polite smile, adjusting the weight quickly and getting in position to do your final section. after this, you can go home, shower, and lounge around.
“i don’t mind switchin’ with ya, it’s been nice.” you hum in response, focused on the task at hand. “i’ve seen ya around for a little while. glad i finally got to talk to ya.”
thankfully that was your last rep, because the bar just about slipped out of your hands.
osamu, the man who you’ve been eyeing across the gym has apparently been looking at you too. your face heats up for a moment before you find the words to respond.
“oh!” you wrack your brain for something, anything to spit out. “you as well, our paths have never really crossed until now i guess.”
he chucked, eyes lazy and a wide grin playing at his lips.
“i might need a spotter tomorrow. ya down to help?”
you nod quickly. he laughs.
“see ya tomorrow, then. i’ll be lookin’ for ya.”
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doingitforbokuto · 1 month
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Osamu x female!reader
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Osamu does the leg thing and it drives you insane. At first, he is subtle about it, just testing the waters. He slowly moves you with your back to the next wall while he kisses you, one hand on your shoulder, the other on your hip, guiding you to where he wants you. His kisses are slow and deep, sensual in a way you never knew was possible. It makes you feel loved, it makes you feel wanted and when your back hits the wall and his hands start to wander across your body, it makes you feel so undeniably horny.
Small moans and whimpers are muffled by Osamu's lips and tongue, still keeping his composure. But when he feels your hands needily grasping onto his broad shoulders, trying to get him closer to you, to feel more of him, he can tell how much you want him. So, very gently, he moves one of his legs, parting your own, and lets it slip in between your thighs.
You gasp when you feel the muscles in his thighs flexing against your core and, without even thinking about it, you push yourself down, against his leg, enjoying the delicious friction that has your head swimming.
You're already overwhelmed by how his hands feel on your body, how one travels from your shoulder over your throat, tracing your pulse point before moving over your chest to one of your nipples, his fingers finding the hardened peak beneath your clothes. The other one moves from your hip to your belly and the heat that comes off of his palm is almost too much for you to handle. But his leg is what sets you off.
He presses it harder against you when he feels you starting to get yourself off on him, he starts flexing his muscles in sync with your thrust. One of his big hands moves to your belly, putting pressure on the spot where you wish his cock was right now. He brings his other hand down to your hips to help you keep a steady rhythm. When he feels your thrust getting a little erratic, he tightens his grip on you, his fingers digging into your fat.
“Be a good girl and keep going,” he whispers against your neck, where he was leaving open-mouthed kisses just a second ago. “Good girl. Keep going. Come for me, sweet girl."
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kaiijo · 10 months
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AUDACIOUS — MIYA OSAMU
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pairing: miya osamu x fem! reader content: timeskip! osamu, fluff, comedy
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you had already told your sister that it was a bad idea but she begged and pleaded with you, and you’ve always had a huge soft spot for her. when you were little, you’d let her play with your toys, would cover up for her when she broke curfew, and played wingman on more than one occasion. all she has to do is give you her big, round puppy dog eyes and a jutted lip and you’re putty in her hands. Really, if you had a stronger constitution, this could all have been avoided.
because, right now, you’re sitting in your dining room, your husband across the table with his arms crossed. he’s eyes are narrowed and he asks, “so, what do ya have to say for yerself?”
you fiddle with your fingers, refusing to meet his glance. “I had no other choice, ‘samu.”
“bullshit. ya did and ya know it.”
“babe—”
he holds his hand up. “i don’t want to hear it. i expected better from ya.”
you head shoots up and you throw your hands up, exasperated. “i’m sorry, ‘samu, i already apologized a million times!”
he huffs, “sorry’s not gonna cut it. you broke my trust.” there’s a beat and then he looks you squarely in the eyes. “was it worth it? worth it to break my heart?”
you can’t contain the snort you let out. “really, babe? i thought you left the dramatics to atsumu.”
“s’not dramatic when you cheated on me!”
you roll your eyes. “you did not just say that to me. all i did was go to onigiri empire!”
osamu makes a sound of disgust. “don’t make it sound so casual! ya directly patronized my main competitor!”
“my sister wanted to try it!”
“oh, so if yer sister jumped off a cliff, ya would to?”
“oh my god, it’s not that deep, ‘samu!” you rub your temples but when you glance at osamu’s scowling face, you cross the room and stand in front of him. placing both your hands on his shoulders, you say carefully, “i’m sorry i ate at onigiri empire, baby. i won’t do it again, promise. even if my sister begs me to go again, i’ll say no. can you please not be mad at me anymore?”
you take a page out of your sister’s book and give osamu your best pouty, puppy dogs eyes and you see how he immediately softens. if there’s someone who’s more whipped for another person than you are for your sister, it’s osamu for you. he lets out a long breath and says, “i’m sorry i overreacted, sweetheart.”
osamu stands and opens his arms, which you eagerly step into, and he wraps them tightly around you. he tucks his head into your shoulder and murmurs, “as long as ya didn’t like theirs more than mine.”
“how could i? i know yours are made with love.”
he chuckles and presses a kiss to your cheek.
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a few days later, when you come home, osamu calls you into the kitchen. you cock your head in confusion; osamu hardly ever invites you to the kitchen. you’ve been banned from it ever since you nearly burned it down trying to make your husband breakfast in bed for your first anniversary seven years ago. hanging your coat up, you cautiously creep into the kitchen.
osamu’s standing at the kitchen island and he perks up when you come in, beckoning you over with a wave of his hand. you eye his suspiciously as you walk over and he pecks the crown of your head. “how was yer day at work?”
“good, mitsubishi was annoying as usual.” you glance over his shoulder, where two onigiri sit on different plates. you ask, “did you make a new recipe?”
he shrugs and just pushes both plates towards you. “try a bite of each.”
“you’re acting weird, ‘samu.” you pause and say, “you’re actually acting like you did when you and atsumu made me guess which one you were.”
he gives you a look. “just try them.”
you sigh, “okay, okay.”
you take a bite on the left onigiri, savoring the sticky rice, seaweed, and kombu — your favorite flavor. you take a bit of the right one and it’s also kombu. you look at your husband, perplexed. “these are the same flavors, baby, and you already have kombu in the store.”
“which one did you like more?”
you blink. “what?”
“which one did you like more?” he repeats.
you contemplate and then point at the left one. “this one has a fuller flavor, i guess? ‘samu, what’s this—”
osamu lets out a whoop of victory and scoops you into his arms, lifting  you up and spinning you around. he cheers, “my baby knows my onigiri’s better!”
ah, you think with a fond roll of your eyes, so that’s what this is about.
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