#onigiri miya
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flower shop girl. miya osamu x fem!reader
+ tags & warnings; not proofread
+ a/n; i wrote this at 2am last night as the idea came to me as i tried to sleep so keep that in mind </3
“Just go give him some flowers Y/N it doesn’t have to be in a romantic way, just a nice neighbourly worker gesture!” Your coworker, Emi suggested.
“I’m pretty sure Osamu-san would take it the wrong way, Emi…”
“But Osamu-san brings us onigiri all the time! So it’s not weird unless you make it weird, Y/N.”
You couldn’t deny your feelings towards Osamu have grown since you started working at the florist. It started with you going to get some lunch and wanting to try “Onigiri Miya” which was located across the road from your work. All your coworkers could only ever speak positively about Osamu’s onigiri. And after trying it you could not blame him. The onigiri was a masterpiece, it was a perfect triangular delight that fit perfectly in the palm of your hand. The outer layer was crafted from expertly seasoned sticky rice. The rice was perfect, not too dry nor too mushy. When the nori seaweed wrapping peeled back a symphony of flavours unfold. It felt as if Osamu had crafted a masterpiece with something as simple as Onigiri.
However, it wasn’t just the onigiri that stirred something within you; it was Osamu Miya himself. Osamu was fine. More than fine to be honest, he himself was like a Greek god. His physique from his volleyball days had slightly decreased since quitting and pursuing the store, but he was still in beautiful shape. The black Onigiri Miya shirt hugged his body just right. His hair was always slightly messy when he came over to the florists from the Onigiri Miya hat. Not only was he hot, he was funny. Everytime you would see him he would crack some jokes that never failed to put a smile on your face. Not only that despite his more dead-pan face, Osamu was great with his customers. He knew them like the back of his hands, he cared, was passionate and he was funny. God, the true triple threat.
“Plus if Osamu finds it cute, maybe your little crush will go further~.” Emi teased.
You gave her a nasty side-eye in return to her snarky comment. “Okay fine, I’ll bring some flowers to Osamu-san after my shift, if that will make you shut it.” Emi’s face lit up at the comment, “BUT. There is a catch. I get to tell Osamu-san it is a gift from the store for all the onigiri he gives us. Deal?”
“Fine, deal.”
“So… Emi… What flowers do I give Osamu-san?” You say awkwardly.
“Well I would recommend tulips - pink tulips in particular if you don’t want it to be romantic. They convey good wishes, yet non-romantic love and affection. Or maybe some daffodils! To celebrate new beginnings and goo-” Emi rambled.
“Y’know what Emi? I think I’ll just make a bouquet myself…” you mumble as you walk off.
You loved Emi but god she could get on your nerves.
You begin taking your time putting together a bouquet for Osamu. Nothing romantic, but also beautiful enough to put the wrong idea in Osamu’s head. It wasn���t supposed to be romantic, just a nice gesture. Despite your admiration for Osamu, you barely knew the guy. He could have a girlfriend or even worse a wife. And you were no home-wrecker. You had finally decided on a bouquet with pinks and whites, with pink carnations, white roses and baby's breath flowers. It was simple, effective and didn't give Osamu the wrong idea, perfect.
“Emi-chan I’m clocking out now~” You call out to your coworker.
“Don’t forget your bouquet, Y/N-san! I’m sure Osamu is going to fall head over heels for you and you two will have like the cutest romance story ever! And I Can say I planned it ALL and I better be a bridesmaid and-”
“Yup, okay Emi.” You say giving her a weak smile and a wave as you walk out.
You crossed the road and walked into Onigiri Miya, the bell jingling as the door opened. Osamu raised his head to greet the customer who entered.
“Welcome! Ho- Oh, it’s one of the flower shop girls. What can I do for ya?” He smiled.
“Oh Osamu-san! I have a gift for you from m- us over at the flower shop because your always so nice to us and bring us onigiri and stuff and we just wanted to say thank you and-”
He cuts you off from your awkward mess of a speech, “Thanks flower shop girl.” He said walking over to you, grabbing the flowers from your hand. “And don’t ya worry yer pretty little head about it, sweetheart.” He examined the bouquet in front of him, looking at the array of flowers. “It’s beautiful…?”
“L/N Y/N.”
“It’s beautiful, L/N-san. What flowers did ya use?” Osamu asks out of curiosity.
“Oh well I used white roses which you can obviously see, and some baby’s breath. The pink touch is some pink carnations, my personal favourite flower! They also express gratitude and stuff… so it’s cool I guess…”
“Well I am super grateful for the gift, L/N.” Osamu smiled.
“Oh uhm… You’re welcome! I have to get going now, Osamu-san!” You say waving as you speed walk to the door. Osamu just waves in confusion in response to your awkward actions.
“God Y/N, why are you so awkward?” You silently cuss yourself out as you walk away.
Days have passed since your very awkward flower delivery to Osamu. The interaction still haunts your mind like a bad dream, that’s what you wished it was. As you care for the flowers towards the back of the door, a familiar figure walks in. Osamu Miya. Just your luck, you gave him an awkward smile before continuing your work. Osamub slowly walks over to your coworker, Maki.
“How can I help you Miya-san?” Maki asks.
“Just wondering if you have any bouquets of pink carnations?” Osamu says, looking around the store, attempting to find some.
“Oh we just got some in before, they are a popular choice at the moment. Y/N sells them quite well, they are her favourite after all.” Maki smiles.
“Well Y/N has some good taste then, they are also a personal favourite of mine.”
“Really! I would not expect that from you Miya! You give off like jasmine vibes.” Maki laughs.
“I only recently found out what carnations are, a very pretty girl said they were her favourite and they just remind me of ‘er.”
A red blush swipes over your face at Osamu’s comment. Were you , the pretty girl? Surely not. Carnations are a common favourite flower and Osamu must know lots of pretty girls, I mean just take a look at him.
Osamu continues his chat with Maki, checking out for his bouquet of flowers. “Thanks so much Miya-san!”
However, Osamu doesn’t leave the store, his steps bring him towards you. He holds the bouquet out towards you, “here flower shop girl. Heard ya like ‘em.”
“Oh really?” You sarcastically respond.
“Yeah, a friend told me.” He jokes back, “a friend also told me I should ask you out on a date, pretty girl. So whatdya say?”
“I’d love to, Osamu.” You smile shyly.
“Tomorrow night at 7pm. Are you free?”
“For you? I guess I could make some time…”
©slut4msby.
#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu#hq x reader#haikyuu smut#lea's stories :3#slut4msby#osamu#osamu x reader#miya osamu#osamu miya#miya twins#onigiri miya#osamu miya x reader#osamu fluff#haikyuu angst#miya osamu fic#miya osamu x reader
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taking a walk, past somewhere familiar and warm.
i turned 25 this week and life keeps on moving. still in the hustle and bustle of my twenties, and every once in awhile i’d seek comfort in familiar people and warm spaces. may this year bring us all peace and solace 🤍
#haikyuu#haikyuu!!#haikyuu fanart#art#illustration#akaashi#akaashi keiji#onigiri miya#there is comfort in the simplest of meals 😭#my comfort meal is rice soy sauce and egg
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🍙🎂 Happy Birthday to Osamu Miya (28) , owner of Onigiri Miya! Aka the better twin! Aka the best thing since sliced bread!
#ハイキュー#haikyuu#Osamu#miya osamu#Onigiri Miya#miya twins#not joking btw#i love him so much#look at him#he's so cute#my heart#haikyuu fanart#hq!!
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When your card declines in therapy so they bring out the fact that you will always be a wasted potential in their eyes just because you chose what you wanted to do :)
-I am a Osamu kinnie for a reason :)
#haikyuu!!#haikyuu#miya osamu#miya twins#haikyuu fluff#osamu miya#osamu#hq#haikyuu manga spoiler#haikyuu movie#msby#onigiri miya#hq angst#haikyuu fanart#haikyuu headcanons#haikyuu spoiler#haikyuu drabbles#therapy
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pov onigiri miya sponsors a beach volleyball tournament
#miya osamu#osamu miya#osamu#onigiri miya#haikyuu#hc that he got that farmers tan helping kita out on the farm every now and then#idk what else to tag this lol#my art
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A Show of Gratitude
PAIRING: timeskip!Miya Osamu x fem!reader
GENRE: wee bit of angst/comfort | smut (18+)
Minors DNI
TAGS + WARNINGS: nipple play, light manhandling, masturbation (m and f), fingering, oral (f receiving), cum eating, praise kink, size kink (kind of)
Let me know if I missed anything.
WORD COUNT: 7.1k
SUMMARY: As a thank you for shining a spotlight on Onigiri Miya, Osamu invites you over for dinner (and dessert). All characters are 18+
© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify
Osamu raises a brow at you, though more out of amusement than cynicism. It suits him even, the somewhat teasing lift complimenting the blank expression he usually carries. His lips form a subtle pout—it’s cute, you think. It sends heat to your face, and you clear your throat before smoothing down your skirt. Who knew someone with a large build and resting neutral face could juxtapose all of that with a miniature shift in expression—
It’s been quiet for too long, you realize.
“I’ve only tried a handful of things on your menu,” you begin with a stammer, “but I still plan on trying some of the other stuff to add some suggestions for the readers. Plus, if you don’t mind, I could interview you. I’m sure you’re busy with getting everything in line, so whenever works for you works for me. You’ve only recently opened up your shop, so I’m sure me writing a piece on it could gain some attention, and—”
“Sure,” Osamu says, adjusting his cap. Your mouth snaps shut, the warmth returning, setting fire to your face as you wish nothing more than for the ceiling to crash down on you. “I already figured it’d help the shop, but I’m not too sure when I’ll be available for an interview.” He pulls his phone out from his back pocket and holds it toward you. “If yer fine with giving me yer number, I can message ya when I’m free.”
Your focus seems to care more about his Kansai dialect than his words, and you blink that pulling magnet away.
“Right, yes,” you reply as you hastily take his phone and add your number to his contacts. Your hands find each other as soon as you return the device to the handsome shop owner, twiddling thumbs dancing an anxiety-induced tango.
“Great,” Osamu nods curtly. It doesn’t help when he glances down at his screen, and the corners of his lips twitch upwards. His hooded eyes meeting yours seem to glue your feet to the ground as your knees threaten to buckle. “Ya should hear from me soon. Thanks, (L/N).”
With a mix between a nod and a bow, you leave in a hurry, teeth digging into your bottom lip to block the embarrassed squeal trying to come out.
Most would know to introduce themselves first, regardless of their profession (or lack thereof). You know this. You have done so before. But not every potential interviewee you’ve met has broad shoulders to dig your nails into or large biceps that you wouldn’t mind holding you in a chokehold or pecs that could replace both of your pillows or a slutty little waist—
Professional, you call yourself. Bullshit.
But it’s a little too late to go back and delete your contact information from his phone. Your blog, a little something you do on the side, consists of new spots in your area you’d recommend your viewers to check out. Onigiri Miya opened not that long ago, and after finishing your umeboshi (and then ordering the tenmusu, katsuobushi, tarako—you get it), your stomach achingly sent your brain the message that the shop needed more recognition.
You only caught sight of him after you asked one of the very few employees to fetch you the owner. Tired of making you more food than your wallet would appreciate, they offered a nod before heading to the back and returning with a towering figure dressed in all black, the uniform tee doing its best to remain in one piece as it hugs his body.
You didn’t notice the rice grains stuck to your cheek until he casually pointed it out. The exchange between you two after that involved more ogling than conversing on your end. And you didn’t give him your name until he gave you his phone.
Dumbass.
All of this replays in your head as you attempt to come up with questions for him. And if you manage to shake the embarrassment away, you wonder if you’ll be able to avoid making a fool out of yourself when you interview him.
Your eyes trail down to your phone on your desk. You could apologize for your behaviour, telling the ravenette something about having a lot on your plate that wasn’t his food. Maybe you should make up some excuse to back out before leaving the country with a completely new identity.
These anxieties disappear like a popped bubble when the soft vibrating of your phone interrupts your spiralling thoughts. Fumbling to grab the device, you turn it on to see you’ve gotten a text from an unknown number.
Unknown until the message lets you know it’s the handsome shop owner from earlier that day (not verbatim, of course). With your heart in your stomach and throat at once, your thumbs do a jig above the keypad as you try to come up with an answer. You didn’t have to, at least not yet, as the ellipses appear on his end, and he gives you a time and day to interview him.
After agreeing with him (and using too many exclamation points), you exchange your goodbyes.
Those interview questions can wait: you need to scream into the void. A pillow will do, you suppose.
“For the love of God, do not make a fool out of yourself.”
You stand before Onigiri Miya’s entrance, muttering and clutching your notepad for dear life. Convincing yourself that being several minutes early was necessary resulted in you showing up about half an hour before the planned meetup. Waiting outside with your eyes glued to what’s visible of its interior makes you feel like a stalker. Truth be told, you want to see him again, catch his accent again, taste his food again, have his eyes bore into your nervous frame again—
“Yer early.”
A shriek almost escapes your throat at the voice, and your head snaps to follow the familiar sound. Osamu pokes his top half from around the shop's corner, lips pursed and brows slightly raised in curiosity.
“Ah, Miya!” You stammer, straightening your posture and adjusting your notepad. “Hi! I–uh, I know I’m sort of early. I guess I thought I’d take more time getting ready this morning than I actually did.”
The smile you offer him is supposed to be an easy-going one. Though, it’s difficult being convincing when your bottom lip occasionally wobbles and the corners of your mouth twitch at every pause. Some excuse, really: he probably doesn’t believe you. You don’t believe you.
Regardless, he nods. “Sorry for scarin’ ya. I was just takin’ care of some stuff out back. Feel free to come in. Might as well start early, if yer fine with it.”
You mumble a soft verbal agreement, too afraid your voice will betray you should you say anything more. Osamu approaches the entrance to his shop, waiting for you to enter first. With a deep breath, you do so, the owner following you soon after.
It seems that the gods were on your side, even if momentarily. The interview went as well as any other one, with the exception of your not-so-subtle ogling. He’d tell you about his love for food and how he realized his passion for it over volleyball, as well as his relationship with his twin. Every bit of information you’d get, you’d fit perfectly into a mental draft, ready to type it all once you got home. Even so, your genuine curiosity didn’t shy away as he shared his story, admiring his dedication and pleased to hear about the support he received.
When everything is finished, you exchange your thanks and let him know when the piece should be ready.
“Feel free to message me if you have any questions,” you tell him as you both make your way to the exit.
Osamu nods, offering you a half-smile that’s still enough to fluster you. “Will do. Thanks again, this could really help ma shop.”
You returning his expression with an even wider grin is only natural with the flattery he throws your way. While one of your hands subconsciously picks at the strap of your bag, the other waves him off. “Well, let me publish the piece before you go saying all of that.”
“Nah,” he hums, adjusting his cap. “I read some of yer work to see what I was gettin’ m’self into. Yer gonna do this place proud, no doubt.”
Your shoes become your source of interest. You can’t let the ravenette see how his words affect you: not unless you want the poor man to call the ambulance. Two sentences had your heart trying desperately to claw its way out of your chest, pounding in your ears and face melting from the heat.
Still, when you straighten your back and look at him, you give him a smile and a nod. “That means a lot, thank you.”
Oh, look at that: you’re getting better at this.
Osamu copies your actions. “Yer blog just got a new fan. Keep up the good work.”
Nevermind. You need to leave. Like, now.
The next time you show up to Onigiri Miya is about a week after you publish your piece on it.
After doing everything in your power to not embarrass yourself, you found the writing process to be the easiest part of the entire process. Not only because you had more than enough information at your disposal, but you also got to isolate yourself in your apartment, free from distractions and attractive shop owners. Being honest about the well-prepared food and best recommendation depending on one’s tastes came easy when you tried a good portion of the menu; of course, you would do the place justice. (And, of course, you made sure you weren’t kissing too much ass in your piece during your editing process.)
Despite the shop being far busier than when you first arrived, your eye catches its owner before anything else. Behind the counter, Osamu sports Onigiri Miya’s uniform as he prepares an order, large hands moulding rice into a triangular shape with precision that shows his experience. It’s a silly detail to catch, but after the interview (and the countless ones before that), you know better than to dismiss their work as “just food.”
Your feet carry you to where the ravenette works his magic, and you’re about halfway there when he notices you.
“Ah, (L/N),” he greets, offering a half-smile as you settle onto a stool.
“You seem busy,” you quip lightly, trying to return his energy. At the very least, you deserve points for eye contact and not letting your voice waver.
Osamu’s smile morphs into a smirk as he momentarily looks away to wrap the nori around the neatly-shaped rice ball. “All thanks t’ya.”
His words have you taking in your surroundings, barely having done so when you entered the shop. It’s more or less packed, for sure, the stool you’re sitting on being one of, if not the only vacant spot for you to take. A variety of customers flood the interior, with some more peeking in from the outside: a group of high school girls seated in the corner, giggling about god knows what, a mother and her son sitting only a few seats away from your spot, a few men in suits sitting by the windows seemingly gaining energy from their food. Not a lot of people you would assume to read your blog, though you wouldn’t exactly say you had a target audience in mind based on age or gender. Regardless, the compliment feels far-fetched, somewhat undeserving.
You turn back to face him. “You’re too nice.”
“I dis’gree,” he counters nonchalantly. “I read yer work. You did this place proud.”
Heat returns to your face; if you didn’t know better, you’d assume you were getting sick.
“My blog is just a little something I do on the side for fun,” you explain. “It’s not famous or anything. Besides, you’re the one making the food here. Give yourself some credit.”
Osamu finishes the last rice ball before placing it on a rectangular plate, and an employee–a new one, you presume–takes it to bring it to a young couple sitting near the entrance.
“I do make some pretty good food,” he muses, removing his cap to wipe his forehead with his forearm.
“That’s what I’m saying,” you chuckle. “If I’m not careful, my diet might solely consist of your onigiri.”
The ravenette huffs a laugh, wiping his hands with the white cloth on his shoulder before resting his arms on the counter and leaning closer to you. “I’m not just talking about rice balls.”
An innocent correction, really. But with the small distance between you two and how his voice dropped an octave, your palms growing clammy as you gulp deeply is beyond your control.
Your fingers instinctively return to fiddle with the hem of your shirt as you attempt to find your composure. “I don’t doubt it.”
The former wing spiker pulls away with a satisfied smirk. “Great. I’ll cook for ya.”
You blink in confusion, brows slightly furrowed. “Huh?”
“Consider it a thanks for writin’ about ma shop,” Osamu explains as he gets back to working on another order. “Lemme make ya a nice meal. Not sure when it won’t be busy in the upcomin’ week, but I’ll let ya know and plan ahead.”
You don’t fully process his offer until he draws his attention to a customer. The scream that threatens to explode from your throat gets swallowed in time before you make a fool of yourself. He’s just returning the favour… to your favour… which isn’t how it works, but you’re certain he’s just being friendly. He loves food, and from what he’s seen from your blog, he knows you’re in the same boat as him. And with the soft yet genuine smile he gives to each customer he greets as they enter or as he prepares their orders, it’s tough to convince yourself his offer is anything more than one out of kindness. A tad disappointing, but it should ease your nerves for when the time comes.
“All right,” you grin shyly. “I’ll take you up for it.”
Osamu pauses from wrapping the rice around the pickled plums to face you. He beams, quickly finishing his current rice ball to place away before returning to you.
“Perfect,” he almost chirps before checking on the rice cooker next to him. “How ‘bout I make ya somethin now? Ya liked the tenmusu best, yeah?” Surprised he remembered your favourite, probably from your blog, you nod bashfully. “Great, it’s on the house.”
He winks at you before drawing his focus to your order. If you weren’t sitting down, your knees would’ve failed you.
Oh, you think, subconsciously smoothing down the skirt of your dress. You’re doing this.
Indeed, you are. And you showed up at a reasonable time (by that, you actually got there early and decided to drive around the neighbourhood for a bit until it was appropriate to park and enter the apartment complex).
It took a few days before Osamu finally texted you, letting you know when he’d be able to close up shop early to have you over. Since then, you’d keep your phone on you or nearby more often than usual, every single notification catching your attention. You almost don’t care how quickly you responded, letting him know the time and day would work for you without even checking your own schedule to confirm. (You did so afterwards: you’re good, honey.)
Getting ready seemed to surpass all that on an anxiety-inducing level, you’re pretty sure. Dinner at his place sounds like a date, yes. But he never said it was a date. You can only interpret so many social cues, and trying to recall his body language and tone as you raid your closet for something appropriate to wear does no good to your sanity. You settled for a floral summer dress in the end; not the best for the nearing autumn weather, though it’s nothing a jacket can’t fix. Words of encouragement don’t do much convincing on your end as you do your makeup and assure your reflection that it’s not too much, but it gives you something to focus on.
Those same words of encouragement, while they do make you knock on his apartment door, don’t fill the action with the enthusiasm you desperately need. Though, before you can redo it for something louder, the door opens, and there stands Osamu at his entrance.
“Hey,” he greets, a subtle upbeat in his tone. You’re not used to seeing him out of his uniform: the simple baby-blue button-down with rolled-up sleeves and black slacks combo on him does a number on you. Not a complete 180; he still appears in his element regarding comfort and accessibility for cooking. It doesn’t hurt that it hugs his torso and arms deliciously. And without his cap, you get a clearer view of his face. A full head of dark hair swept to his left, and his eyes, while a greyish colour, still carry an enticing glimmer you struggle to look away from. “Yer just in time. Food’s gonna be ready in a few minutes.”
Osamu moves aside to let you in. His home seems cozy, you think upon entering. Maybe less clean and more empty; a couple of couches and a coffee table with nothing but a tissue box on it, plus a dining table with four chairs. The kitchen seems to have most of the attention, not that it surprises you. It all makes sense for someone living by himself. He probably lives at his shop, you figure. This place is just a backup.
You thank him when he offers to take your jacket after you remove your heels.
“Ya look lovely, by the way.” His tone remains its usual steady tone, and you almost think he’s telling you what’s on TV. He’s glancing over his shoulder and placing your jacket in his closet as he tells you this, the corners of his lips tilted upwards and adding sincerity to his otherwise flat manner.
“Oh,” your eyes struggle to meet his in fear of showing how much his words affected you. “Thank you. You look handsome as well.”
You don’t get to scold yourself for sounding ridiculous because Osamu tells you to follow him to sit at the table. A deep breath: calm down, enjoy yourself, don’t stare at his ass–not even a glance, damn it!–and follow him.
The table seems mostly ready, with dishes splayed across it carrying a variety of fresh food. A traditional Japanese dinner: nothing fancy, though with the intimacy of having dinner with a handsome acquaintance (client? Either way, handsome), you’re not complaining.
“Hope this is all right with ya,” Osamu says from the kitchen. “Wanted to surprise ya with something ya’d like, but from yer writings, ya don’t seem like much of a picky eater.”
You shake your head, only to stop when you remember his back is to you. “It looks great, really. If it’s you making it, I’ll gladly eat all of it.”
He turns around with the last couple of dishes in his hands, a smile plastered on his face.
“Means a lot t’hear that,” he hums, placing the teriyaki salmon with the rest of the bowls. Once he’s settled in his spot, you both give your thanks for the meal and dig in. You don’t hesitate to grab whatever your chopsticks soar towards, from the goma-ae to a generous chunk of salmon. Only when your mouth is full do you remember you aren’t alone, and your eyes slowly trail up to meet a grey pair. Osamu’s in no better condition than you, his bowl of rice half done with a couple of drops of soy sauce stuck near the corner of his lips. Even with his natural resting face, the stark contrast between his cheeks full of food with the hint of amusement in his gaze is nothing short of adorable. “Keep eatin’ like that an’ yer gonna choke.”
You swallow in one large gulp, much to your esophagus’ dismay. “Not my fault you make good food.”
Osamu chuckles. “Gonna add my home cooking to yer blog?”
You immediately shake your head. “I’m keeping this for myself, thank you.”
“Oh, so you want me to make you food more often?”
Your eyes gradually widen at his words, your hand mindlessly twiddling with your chopsticks. Your gaze switches from the dishes on the table to your date, who doesn’t keep his eyes off you as he continues eating his food. Even with his cheeks stuffed with food, he sports a smirk, one you don’t miss.
You clear your throat before offering a nervous laugh. “Don’t put words into my mouth.”
He swallows down his bite. “So, no dessert afterwards, then?”
“I never said that,” you pout. “You’re enjoying teasing me a little too much, Miya.”
“Osamu.”
You stop yourself from bringing your glass to your lips, giving him a puzzled expression. “Hm?”
“I invited ya to ma home for dinner,” he states in between a large bite of the salmon. “No need ta be so formal with me.”
Several moments of silence are followed by you sounding out each syllable of his name to yourself. You suppose he makes a good point, though the intimacy that replaces the formality makes you fidget in your seat. If Osamu notices, he doesn’t comment.
You meet his gaze. “You do the same for me, then.”
He smiles. “Deal.”
A natural conversation flows from thereon, from you explaining how your blog came to be to him sharing embarrassing stories about his twin. Even with each tale carrying a complaint about his brother’s behaviour, you don’t miss the fondness in the ravenette’s tone as he recalls the memories. He’s seemingly the calmer one of the two, yet he doesn’t fail to make you giggle at the expense of his counterpart. (“Don’t worry, ya can laugh,” he tells you when he catches you biting your lip.) The laughter soon evolves to commentary and jokes and entertaining stories of your own, and you don’t even realize how much more relaxed you are until you’ve both finished everything from your bowls.
You exhale in satisfaction, placing a hand on your belly. “If I were rich, I’d hire you as my personal chef.”
Osamu smiles, picking up some of the bowls and motioning for you to sit back down when you move to follow his actions. “I’d gladly take the job.”
You feel guilty as you watch him move back and forth to clean up, but with every shake of his head, you find yourself obeying and keeping yourself glued to your chair.
“Because I’m your favourite customer, right?” you quip as a distraction.
“That,” he takes both your cups, “and ‘cause ya’d be rich.”
Your date peeks over his shoulder to find you fidgeting with your fingers under the table. He hears you nervously chuckle when he returns to focus on cleaning the dishes.
“So, does your brother know you use him to impress your dates?” The inquiry was more of a joke than anything else, but Osamu catches a detail you don’t seem to realize you added.
“We’re on a date now, are we?” he muses.
Silence; it puts a smirk on his face. Seeing your reaction is more than tempting, but so is dragging out the tension. The former wing spiker doesn’t remember the last time he enjoyed teasing someone like this (aside from his brother, but that’s more taunting than anything else).
He only glances over his shoulder once more when he hears you pull your chair back. You stand next to the table, seemingly wondering if you should approach him or not. Osamu has to hold back his grin.
“You didn’t answer my question,” you state, glad your voice doesn’t wobble.
“Ya didn’t answer mine,” he counters not a moment later, though the humour in his tone is evident enough. Your date turns off the faucet before removing the rubber gloves from his hands, plopping them onto the kitchen counter before striding towards you. He catches you clench your jaw, but you don’t budge. “Got a pretty sharp tongue on ya for someone so nervous not that long ago.”
You subconsciously straighten your posture as you inhale sharply. “Not gonna finish cleaning up? You were pretty insistent on taking care of things by yourself.”
He stops a foot away from you. “Nothing I can’t deal with later.”
His dark eyes bore into yours, though you’d hardly call it a staring contest. Not when your gaze would occasionally flicker down to his lips. Of course, nothing he misses.
Another step forward. He places his index finger under your chin.
Another step forward. He tilts your head up ever so slightly.
Another step forward. He leans in, stopping mere inches away from your face.
No more steps for him to take. You barely catch the sound of the faucet dripping the occasional water droplet over your heart echoing in your ears. Can he hear it, too?
None of that matters as he takes your statuesque frame as a sign to pull away. You panic; grabbing onto his shirt, you yank him towards you to meet your mouth with his.
The subtle taste of dinner lingers on his tongue, not that you can complain. Your hands find their place on his cheeks while his own wander down to your waist. A lazy hum of satisfaction buzzes out from his throat, leaving a light tingle on your lips and causing your heart to pound in your ears.
You pull away for air and from the shock of what just happened, your wide eyes meeting a droopy, lust-filled grey pair.
“Look at ya,” Osamu pants, one of his hands sliding down to your thigh. “Yer real cute, ya know that? Couldn’t stop thinking about kissin’ ya for days now.”
Your lids fall to match his expression while your thumb mindlessly caresses his face. Your mind speaks before you can stop it. “Just kissing?”
That familiar glimmer returns in his gaze, and he gently squeezes your thigh. There’s a pull coming from his hold; nothing forceful, just light enough to give you a chance to withdraw. With little-to-no room left between you, you can only press your chest against his.
“I’ve got a few other things in mind,” he hums as if pondering. “Wanna give 'em a try?”
You nod absentmindedly, your hands sliding down to wrap around his neck and play with his hair. “Please.”
His lips curl into a satisfied smirk before they reattach themselves to yours. He’s got you mewling in a matter of seconds, your fingers swirling around his locks and occasionally tugging them. Osamu groans, lightly grinding against you and making you gasp.
The hand on your thigh disappears to slide your dress straps off your shoulders, and the ravenette pulls away to tug the top of your number down to expose your breasts. His mouth attaches itself to one of your nipples while his fingers tweak at the other bud, further drenching your underwear while your grip on his hair tightens. Your body feels hot, your hips rubbing against his bulge in desperation. You draw a blank, wanting to enjoy every second, but being all over the place. And you’ve only started.
It’s when he eventually pulls away to remove your dress do you realize this is actually happening. The fabric drops to your feet, leaving you in ruined panties, and the cool air does little to fight the heat you feel all over. Large hands, roughened from years of volleyball, carefully hold you up to place you on the table, taking their time moving away from your exposed body. Those same eyes that seemingly hang in a drooping shape with indifference now do so in a hunger that has you subconsciously clenching your thighs.
“Fuck,” Osamu rasps deeply, eyes never leaving your frame as he hurriedly unbuttons his shirt and throws it aside. You’re blessed with the sight of ripples and valleys of soft skin over hard muscles with small clans of stretch marks highlighting his upper arms and what little you can see of his hips. His belt disbands with a clink, and he’s panting when he removes his slacks. “D’ya have any idea whatcha’ do ta me?”
The Kansai in him seems to shine through when he gets needy; that thought flies through your head, barely giving you time to process it. You don’t care to, not when your date approaches you once more to hook his fingers past the waistband of your underwear. His gaze peers up at you, starving, but patient enough to check on you. Your response is the rising of your hips, allowing him to slide the flimsy material down your trembling legs.
Why are they doing that? Nothing you haven’t done before. Not something you do often, either. The last time you had sex was in… college? Last year of college. Yeah, with some guy in one of your classes. His pace wasn’t all that different from this one right now. You refrain from showing your displeasure when you recall how he thought penetration alone was enough to get the job done. (It was, just not for you.)
Why these memories are choosing to return, you don’t know. Maybe you feel out of practice, or because it’ll all be over before you know it, and the handsome shop owner who made the best onigiri you’ve ever tasted will probably just be that and nothing more after this. That latter possibility makes your stomach plummet, and you bite your lip. It’s just dinner. Dinner with a crush. Most of what you know about him came from an interview.
You catch yourself looking at him when you realize he has yet to make a move.
At first, you feared it was due to disgust. It isn’t until you find him zeroing in on your dripping cunt like a man starved does your body relax a bit. His calloused hands grab hold of your thighs, lightly squeezing their fat as he drops to his knees.
“Gonna take care of ya,” Osamu mutters, seemingly more to himself than you, before swiping his tongue across his bottom lip and leaning in. “Gonna take real good care of ya.”
Settling your thighs onto his broad shoulder, the ravenette then licks a long, slow stripe up your cunt, tasting your essence and flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit. You exhale shakily, which is enough encouragement for your date to proceed with his ministrations.
“‘Samu,” you whisper, your fingers returning to his charcoal locks as his tongue’s movements against your clit increase in speed. You’re rewarded with a groan as you buck your hips into his face, and his hold on your upper thighs grows stronger to keep you grounded. With the added stability, you bring one of your hands to tweak at your nipple, adding to the pleasure and making you mewl.
Your eyes are fluttering closed until you feel Osamu’s tongue move to thrust into your cunt. You squirm in your spot with a gasp, eyes snapping open before your head drops to face the culprit. Pools of lust for irises greet you in a hazy connection, having been zeroed in on your expressions since their owner got his first taste of your essence. You’re already hot all over, head to toe, but the gaze you can’t look away from sets your face on fire—though that’s nothing new, now is it?
“Better than any meal I’ve ever had,” he mumbles against you before wrapping his lips around your puffy clit and suckling hard. Your head draws back as you wail, your hips failing to escape his grip no matter how much they writhe. That familiar build-up in your lower stomach makes itself known, causing you to whisper pleas and your date’s name repeatedly. He’s pressing his face further into your cunt, his mouth working overtime on your clit as your orgasm only hangs on by a thread.
And then, it’s gone.
Your eyes–which were apparently closed–blink open as your brows knit together. Peering down, you see Osamu slip out from your hold on his hair, that same unbothered expression back on his handsome face (save for your slick coating his lips and chin, of course).
“‘Samu!” you whine in frustration as you watch the ravenette stand up and brush the invisible dust off his knees. You don’t let his (very) noticeable bulge distract you from your stolen reward. “I was so close! What’re—”
He removes his boxers in one motion, letting them drop to the floor and wipe your brain clean of whatever you were about to ask him. Osamu observes you freeze from the sight of his girth, his face in its usual neutral stature while his gaze grows even heavier with lust and his chest and ego swelling with pride.
“Wanna make ya cum on ma cock,” he answers a little too casually, regardless of whether or not it actually answers your unspoken question. With his hand wrapped around his shaft, he swipes some of his precum, using it as lube as his focus lays on your naked form. “That all right with ya, princess?”
You nod mindlessly, your eyes never leaving his thick cock. Watching him touch himself, because of you no less, makes your hand wander south, gathering your essence and his spit before sliding a finger into your weeping hole. You shakily exhale as you catch his dick twitch, and it’s not long until you add another digit to massage your insides.
It’s also not long until a much larger hand grabs your wrist to make you pull your fingers out. Being so focused on his lower half, you didn’t realize Osamu approached you once you started pleasuring yourself. He brings your hand, wet with your slick cascading down your palm, to his mouth, languidly licking up the mess while his eyes burn a hole into your very being.
“As much as I enjoy the show,” he drawls, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, “I made ma intentions pretty clear. Unless ya suddenly changed yer mind, yer cumming on ma cock, doll.”
With that, he gently pushes your shoulder, making you lie on the table. Not exactly comfortable, but you consider it worth it as you watch Osamu position himself between your legs with his cock aimed at your entrance.
Time flies when you’re having fun, and while you were worried about this night ending far too soon, you can’t say the feelings are still there as the painful stretch consumes your body. You appreciate him taking his time for you, though it only makes the process all the more apparent: every ridge and vein making itself known as they leave their mark inside you. It isn’t until his hips meet yours do you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in.
He says your name, and you peer up at him while slowly propping yourself on your forearms. With gentle hands resting on the apex of your thighs, your date leans down you plant a kiss on your lips. You return the affection, feeling yourself relax a bit and noticing the subtle taste of you on his tongue.
You find your head following his when he pulls away, earning you a chuckle before bringing one of his hands to your crotch. Collecting your slick, he then rubs slow, tight circles on your clit. Your hips buck, and you sigh, whimpering his name in gratitude.
“You can move,” you utter. “Doesn’t hurt as much now.”
With a curt nod, Osamu grabs hold of your legs to wrap them around the small of his back. He thrusts gently, allowing you to accommodate and testing the waters to see what you like. You hum contently, though your eyes don’t seem to know where to look. Part of you wants to admire his face, but you worry about the intimacy behind the action. Marvelling at his physique, as fun as that would be, would probably make you drool; sex or no sex, you’d like to avoid that. Or, stare at where you two connect, but you’re certain you’d cum on the spot. You can’t do that. Was this always so difficult?
“Hey.” The ravenette glides his hands up and down your torso before finding their place on your breasts. “Easy. Want yer eyes on me, ‘kay? Wanna watch you fall apart.”
Your gaze shyly makes its way up to meet Osamu’s, his eyes soft while he smiles down at you. With a deep breath, you let him know he can pick up his pace. That smile of his widens as he complies, morphing your insides into the shape of his cock as he reaches deeper. The air is knocked out of your lungs, your voice choking up as you cry his name like a mantra.
“‘Samu!” you wail, tightening your hold on his lower back. “Feels good! Feels so f-ucking good! Don’t stop!”
That glimmer flashes in his eyes as you beg for him, and Osamu swoops down to crash his lips onto yours. This kiss was more tongue than anything else, and you moan wantonly as you messily taste him.
You’re hot. Everything is like touching a sizzling stove. The makeout session, the cock splitting you in half, the squelching from between your legs. There’s fog between your ears, far from clearing and presenting any sort of rationality as your date finds your sweet spot.
“There!” you pull away from him to shriek. “Keep fucking me like that! More, more!”
He can’t deny you when you plea like that, and he holds you in that position to ram into you the way you need him to. Your throat hurts from whatever noises claw out of it, though it doesn’t stop you from slurring “moremoremoremoremore” as your orgasm bubbles in your lower stomach. Or maybe all that begging is playing on a loop in your head? You don’t hear yourself; all you know of is the ecstasy between your thighs and Osamu stalking through the windows of your soul. Open for him in more ways than one.
“‘M close,” he grunts, his movements becoming sloppy. “Ya cummin’, princess? Can ya do that for me? Make a mess on ma cock like a good girl?”
You nod before processing, but you consider it the right choice when he breathes out a laugh and changes his position to lean on his forearms. There are barely a few inches between you two, and he’s quick to fix that problem by kissing you once again.
You’re squealing against his mouth when your orgasm finally hits you, your body stiff as you clamp down on his shaft. You feel heavy, rigid as your senses kick into overdrive, and you’re floating, vision grows spotty. Your head is thrown back out of necessity, your lungs in desperate need of oxygen, and Osamu’s presence alone is dizzying.
He’s still messily pounding into you once you’ve calmed down, and your legs shake against him from overstimulation.
“Too much,” you whine, “too much! ‘Samu—”
“I know, doll,” he grunts. “I’ll be done soon. Promise, I’ll—”
He cuts himself off with a curse before hastily pulling out, wrapping a large hand around his cock and pumping until he cums on your stomach with a drawn-out groan. Through hazy vision and a complimenting puddle for a brain, you watch in awe as his jaw goes slack and eyes flutter shut with furrowed brows; he almost looks soft.
Now, you’re both spent, breathing matching in rhythm as you recall your surroundings. The first thing you notice is the pain in your lower back: sex on a wooden table will do that to you, you suppose. Worth it.
Then, you’re being picked up, your body limp like a ragdoll as you yelp from the sudden movement. “‘Samu!”
The ravenette hums. “I’ve gotcha.”
Your arms, weak from carrying your weight, reach to wrap around his neck. All he does is sit on his chair with you on his lap, and he exhales.
“Is this what you meant by ‘dessert’?” you quip tiredly, leaning against him.
“Nah,” Osamu buzzes, rubbing your back soothingly. “I got somethin’ ready for after dinner, but this works, too.” You snicker weakly at his humorous tone at the end until it fades into a heavy silence. Not awkward, no, but relaxing doesn’t seem to quite fit the description, either. “It’s a date.”
You sit up too quickly, and you wince from soreness. Not that you could help yourself, what with his sudden comment. “Huh?”
“Tonight,” he clarifies, “I planned on it bein’ a date, since I think yer cute and ya helped me with ma shop—and don’t try ta argue otherwise. But with ya being so shy, I figured I’d let you decide, or maybe play into it if I thought ya were interested.” He pauses as if he were wondering what to say next. “All good if you weren’t lookin’ for that.”
You’ve never seen him blush before, and yet you find yourself regaining some energy when you catch the pink tint on his cheeks.
You giggle. “I think it’s a little late for that now.”
Osamu pulls you back into his embrace, burying his face into your neck. He tries to ignore the mess on your stomach pressed against his, though he couldn’t stop from wincing. “Guess so.”
More silence, though on the scale of comfort, it leans closer to a sense of ease.
“So,” you hum, “do you sleep with all your loyal customers or just the ones that’ll promote your business?”
Your date snorts, making the corners of your lips twitch upwards.
“Nobody else… yet.” He then pauses, pursing his lips as if to ponder. “Though ya just gave me a pretty good idea. Might help the business.”
You lightly slap his arm, earning a laugh from both of you. You try to sit up again, this time more slowly, and stretch.
“We should probably clean up,” you remark, turning to look back at where you laid back and got your guts rearranged; it makes you shiver.
“I can deal with that later,” Osamu shrugs, shifting in his seat and looking down at the creamy white now on both of your torsos. “Let’s get ya cleaned up first.”
Your heart flutters as his tone softens, and when you look back at him, his eyes carry adoration.
“And then dessert?” You ask sheepishly.
He smiles warmly. “And then dessert.”
© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify
#fanfic#fanfiction#hq#haikyu#haikyuu#haikyu!!#smut#haikyuu x reader#inarizaki#miya osamu#osamu smut#osamu x reader#miya twins#onigiri miya#haikyuu smut
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Then & Now. ♡
——— ♡ ———
Pairing: Osamu Miya x Reader
Genre: Fluff! Angst if you squint? Maybe? High school sweethearts who reunite as adults. ♡
——— ♡ ———
Growing up, the idea of a first love was embedded into your mind with theatric-like imagery. A dramatic, beautiful first kiss. Loud, screaming arguments over unwarranted jealousy. Passionate, intense declarations of love for the entire world to hear. A love that felt so real it physically hurt. A love that, when it came to it’s inevitable demise, would stick to you for the rest of your life, leaving you wondering “what if…?”.
That’s what you thought, anyway, until you’d experienced it first-hand.
Your relationship with Osamu was nothing like that. In fact, it was almost too easy. A fast forming friendship in your first year blossoming into a romantic relationship as high school seniors. You two just… clicked.
When the two of you made things official, it wasn’t the grand proposal you’d hoped for. Instead, it was Osamu waking up next to you with a sleepy smile and incoming hangover asking you the classic “what are we?”. You simply smiled back, knowing damn well the night before that the liquid courage had run through both of you to the point of confessing your true feelings and realizing they were mutual.
Osamu was comfortable. He was carefree, but not recklessly. He paid attention in school and had priorities, but didn’t let small things bother him. “Don’t worry about it” he’d say, pulling you against him with an arm around your waist. “I’ll take care of it.” “It’s no big deal.” “It’s fine.” “Just leave it to me.”
Dependable, reliable Osamu who always seemed to fix any major or minor inconvenience in your life with a simple solution and saving you from yourself for the zillionth time.
Despite the positives of your relationship, even you couldn’t dodge the cliché “we’re going to different colleges, so let’s break up” trope. You talked it over, mutually deciding it’d be too stressful to continue your relationship when you were going to school 6 hours away. You spent your last few days together as if everything was normal, and then you just… left.
“Too bad.” His gaze dropped to the floor, a bittersweet smile crossing his lips. “We coulda had a real nice life together.”
You nodded and laced your fingers in his.
“It was nice while it lasted, though.” Osamu sighed, looking down at you. Your eyes met his, only for a moment, before you fully embraced him and soaked in every ounce of him. Muffled, barely audible words came from your lips as you pushed your face into his chest.
“It was nice while it lasted.”
But it didn’t hurt like you’d expected it to. You didn’t want it to. Your relationship with Osamu was wonderful. He was perfect for you, and the two of you shared so many incredible memories. You smiled when you thought back to one of your silly inside jokes. Felt warm when you saw anything that reminded you of him.
While you started casually dating other people in your second year of college, Osamu didn’t do the same. He was busy opening a restaurant and supporting his brother, information that you’d collected from his few and far between Facebook updates. Other than that, you hadn’t really spoken since the day you’d left.
The years flew by, and just like you’d promised your family, you moved back home the day after your college graduation.
Various relatives cooed over you, commenting on how different you looked, how proud they were of you, hurling questions at you the moment you stepped inside that you instantly regretted returning after such an eventful week.
“Where are you going? You just got home!” You mom called as she watched you lace up your shoes from the other room.
“Out. I’ll be back soon.”
That stressful evening is how you’d ended up at a dodgy, dimly lit bar two streets down that had always piqued your interest as a teenager. You and Osamu had promised to go there together when you were younger, both of you making up silly theories about what lied beyond the doors.
You chuckled into your drink as you remembered the conversations and compared them to reality.
“I wonder if it’s some kinky strip club.” Osamu smirked, “Ya know, like with ropes and handcuffs and stuff?”
“Do those exist? Strip clubs just for stuff like that?” You squeezed his hand and jumped up on to the sidewalk.
“I dunno. Anything’s possible. Better than your theory.” He teased. “An illegal animal sanctuary? Where’d ya even come up with that one?”
“Hear me out! I bet there’s some old man who has like, 17 tigers, an alligator, and a polar bear. Nowhere to keep them.” You stopped at the crosswalk, grabbing his cheeks so he looked straight at you. His eyes were wide with amusement and a massive grin was plastered across his face. “Picture it, ‘Samu. Really think. Can you see it? He probably lives there and just takes care of his exotic animals in secret.”
“Right.” He snorted, “And how do you explain the customers?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever actually seen anyone enter or leave that building?”
“Well, I-“ He stopped, pausing to think for a moment. “Ya know what? No. I haven’t.”
You tugged him into the crosswalk when the light changed and marched away proudly. “Exactly. Point proven. It’s a front.”
The two of you spent the rest of your walk home from school that day laughing and debating what kinds of animals the theoretical old man was hiding in the fake bar.
Osamu’s laugh was something you’d heard many times, but never gotten tired of. His laugh was infectious; deep and loud and right from his chest. A laugh that would cause anyone to smile just from being around it.
A laugh that you recognized the moment you heard it.
You spun around on the bar stool, drink still in hand, in complete disbelief as the man who you were just thinking about was practically summoned in front of you. What a coincidence - you made a mental note to call your old roommate and tell her that her manifestation theories might not be bogus after all.
“Ain’t that somethin’,” Osamu whistled, taking off his hat to reveal his natural hair colour and giving you a playful nudge. “Didn’t know I’d run into ya here.”
“You didn’t?” You smiled.
“Had no clue.”
You pulled out your phone, showing him your most recent social media post. It was a photo of your drink, the location tagged with a passive caption about returning home.
“You didn’t see this?” You snorted when he shook his head no.
“Osamu Miya liked your post. Explain that.” You pointed directly at your most recent notification, showing that Osamu had definitely seen it 20 minutes prior.
“Hackers. Gotta be.” You felt a wave of nostalgia wash over you as you indulged in his sarcastic banter. “‘Cuz it’s clearly a coincidence that I just happened to show up to the same shitty bar on a certain Tuesday night.”
“You’re such a fuck.” You laughed, “Be serious.”
“Obviously I knew.” He rolled his eyes playfully and waved down a waitress. “Just wasn’t sure if you were gonna talk to me.”
“Why wouldn’t I talk to you?” You took a sip of your drink and watched him as he ordered his own. The way he carried himself was different. Subtle, but different. Confident and unapologetically himself.
He shrugged. “Just didn’t think you wanted to. I never heard from ya after you left.”
You blinked at him. “I kinda thought that’s what you wanted. That’s why I never reached out.”
“Why would I want that?” He thanked the waitress and took a sip of his drink the moment she handed it to him.
“I dunno. I just assumed since you didn’t say anything to me after I left.”
“So you’re tellin’ me we didn’t talk because we both thought the other didn’t want to?” Osamu’s question wasn’t really even directed to you, if anything, he was talking out loud to himself.
You were the first to crack up. “I guess so.”
“Hah.” He chuckled, “How stupid is that?”
“…Pretty stupid.”
He shook his head, smiling and silently cursing himself for allowing a little breakup and a few hours distance ruin the best relationship with someone he’d ever had, dating or not.
“Well, whatever. We’re here now. Wanna hang out?”
You almost choked on your drink. You weren’t expecting to see Osamu at all, let alone expecting to be hanging out with him on your first day back after four years of radio silence.
But you didn’t even think twice.
“Of course I do.”
The two of you picked up where you left off and it was as if you’d never even gone away. The connection was instant.
“You dyed your hair brown.” You smiled, reaching up and ruffling it in between your fingers. “It looks good.”
“I’d be worried if it didn’t.” He smiled wide but got lost in your gaze for a few seconds, studying your expression carefully. He took a careful look at you while sipping his drink. “You look good. Every bit of ya.”
“Thanks, ‘Samu.” You felt your cheeks get warm and turned away. A feeling you hadn’t experienced since high school.
“Wanna go for a walk?”
Before you could answer, Osamu set some cash on the bar and grabbed your hand. Again, it was familiar, but felt different. Stronger. Bigger. His hand completely engulfed yours and you wondered if he knew how tight he was holding you.
The two of you walked down the road for a few minutes, silently, soaking in the past two hours spent catching up with each other.
He stopped in front of a building a few blocks down, nodding up at it so you’d take a look. You knew instantly where you were.
“I still can’t believe you actually did it.” You looked back and forth from his proud stance to the large sign above the door reading “Onigiri Miya”.
“Let me show ya inside.”
He took you around the back, unlocking the door and flicking on the lights as he came in. The light was warm and the restaurant was inviting. Warm, inviting, comfortable… everything Osamu had always been.
“It’s so cozy in here.” You ran your hand across the clean countertop. As you paced through the kitchen, you walked around the barrier separating the staff area from the main dining room. “Reminds me of your Mom’s house in here.”
“In a good way, right?” He followed closely behind, not wanting to interrupt your first impression too much.
“Of course.” You turned around, beaming a smile at him. “I always loved coming over. You know that.”
He nodded. “Guess I’ll have to have ya over again sometime. I’m sure Ma would love to see you.”
“I’d love to see her, too.” You picked up and put down all of the little trinkets and decorations Osamu had laid out in his restaurant. A small MSBY mascot bobble head, various culinary contest awards, cute little stickers with the restaurant logo, and a stuffed alligator eating a mini onigiri.
“Hm.” You hummed, picking up the alligator. “Now all you’re missing is 17 tigers and a polar bear.”
Osamu blinked at you.
“Sorry.” You laughed awkwardly, “You must not remember. It’s nothing-“
“That’s the exact reason I have that.” He smiled, walking over and taking the alligator from you. “I had it handmade. Even named it after ya.”
“Shut up.”
“M’serious.” Osamu’s confident demeanour almost disappeared as he appeared bashful for just a moment. A small moment, but you still saw it.
Osamu ended up pouring you a drink while you continued to talk. He leaned over the counter as you sat at the bar opposite of him, your faces only a few inches apart.
“I still can’t believe you remembered that.” You said quietly before taking a sip.
“Of course I remembered it. I couldn’t forget the silly shit you say even if I wanted to.” He teased, “Plus, I had to walk by that place every day after you left. Made me think of ya every time.”
“Silly shit, huh?” You raised an eyebrow, “You’re the one who thought it was a strip club.”
Osamu blinked at you. “That’s much more believable than being an old man’s exotic animal sanctuary.”
“Okay, okay, fine!” You didn’t realize how stupid the conversation was until he said it like that. The two of you broke into a fit of laughter just like you used to.
You looked at Osamu, the top of his cheeks squishing just under his eyes, loud, deep laughs filling the room and suddenly you’d never felt such an overwhelming feeling of… home.
Osamu looked back at you. His ash-coloured eyes studied your expression.
“Hey, do ya need a job?”
You hadn’t been home long, so you’d barely even thought of that. You had planned to take things a day at a time and try to find a career with your education, but your degree was hard to find employment with right away. Opportunities and internships were there, but there was no way you’d be getting an actual, paying job right away.
“…Yes?”
“Wanna work here?” He leaned in closer, “I don’t go around offerin’ just anyone a job at my high class establishment, ya know.”
“Something with the way you said that makes me feel like this is a joke.” You smirked.
“I’m just foolin’ around. I do need someone though. Wanna try it, at least? Tomorrow for dinner? I’ll show ya what it’s all about.”
You agreed. If anything, you wanted to see how Osamu ran his restaurant.
——— ♡ ———
The next evening, you entered through the back door just like he’d told you to.
“Osamu?” You called, immediately met with a response to come in the kitchen.
“Sorry, darlin’, couldn’t meet ya at the door. Doing prep for tonight.” He gestured down to the cutting board in front of him, “Wanna try?”
You quickly put down your things and washed your hands. When you took the knife from Osamu’s hand, he hesitated for a moment before giving it to you.
“It’s sharp.”
“I know.”
“You gotta be careful. It’s a real chef’s knife.”
“I know.”
“Go for it, then.”
You held your breath before getting to work, chopping up the onions quickly and stopping when you felt a hand on top of yours. Osamu was directly behind you, towering over you and pressing his chest into your back.
“‘Samu-“
“You’re gonna slice your hand off if ya keep cutting like that.” He muttered. You could feel the vibration of his low voice and were suddenly hyper-aware of the current situation.
“What’s wrong with my technique?” You huffed.
“You don’t have any technique.” Osamu snorted, “Don’t ya remember when I taught ya like… a million years ago?”
“I do remember you teaching me.” You leaned back into him, “I also remember you never letting me prepare or cook any food ever again after that day. So I could never practice my new skill.”
Osamu hummed in amusement. “Not even in college?”
You spun around, Osamu set the knife down safely on the table but caged you in with his arms. He looked down at you with a smirk. “Hm?”
“I’ll have you know, I didn’t cook a single time in college.” You declared. “You’d know that if you’d talked to me.”
Osamu sighed, hanging his head down on your shoulder. “We’ve already gone over this.”
“I know, I know. I’m just teasing you.”
He lifted his head back up, only a few inches from your face. You felt like the breath was taken directly out of your lungs when all you could think about was kissing him. You wanted to reach out and touch his muscular arms just for him to get greedy and grab you wherever he wanted.
“Miya-san?”
You froze, both of you wide eyed in surprise at the sound of a much younger voice. A young man, most likely freshly graduated from high school, stood beside the two of you as you remained in the compromising position.
Osamu pulled back, and both of you stood up straight.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt-“
“It’s okay, ya didn’t interrupt.”
He did, you thought, but you were silently thankful for that. Every ounce of self control that remained was about to fly out the window had you stayed like that for even a few seconds more.
His small group of employees started to file in and prepare the restaurant further for dinner. You retreated to Osamu’s office and laid down on the couch.
Osamu would have a couch in his office.
You listened as Osamu instructed his team. Taught the younger staff how to tune their skills, taking the time to show them with nothing but patience and positivity. The same comforting presence he always had.
You missed that.
You missed him.
“Hey.” Osamu walked into his office and shut the door behind him. “Finished prep, sorry it got a bit crazy. Didn’t realize we were so close to workin’ hours, thought we would’ve had more time before everyone else got in.”
“It’s fine.” You shook your head, “No need to apologize. It’s really cool seeing you in your element.”
“Ya think?” He couldn’t hide his grin. He stood in front of you, leaning back slightly with his hands on his desk behind him. “I like workin’ here.”
“Well, that’s good. I’d hope so.”
Osamu agreed with a chuckle and sat down next to you.
“Can I tell ya somethin’?”
He sat with his arm around back of the couch, which was technically around you, now. You looked up at him and nodded silently.
“I, uh-“ He shook his head, it was clear he was trying to say something but it was difficult. “I really missed ya.”
“I missed you too-“
“No, like…” He sighed, “I really… really missed ya. I tried goin’ on dates with other women. Didn’t get along with any of ‘em. I always compared ‘em to you. I waited for you to finish school, to see if you’d come back home, and you did. It felt like a sign or somethin’. So when I saw you at the bar last night,” He paused, “Totally, completely coincidentally, I may add.”
His serious tone turned lighter as you smiled at his words.
“I just had to talk to ya. And now that I did, it feels like when we were kids, ya know? Just the way that I always wanted you around. Wanted to spend time with ya, hell, you have no idea how badly I just wanted to kiss ya when we were in the kitchen earlier-“
“‘Samu.”
“I don’t even know why I let our breakup happen in the first place. Usually I would’ve just said we could work through it. But I guess I wanted ya to grow on your own, too. To not have me encourage ya every step of the way. Not that I don’t like to do that, but I wanted to show ya that you don’t need me either. That you’re incredible and strong all on your own.”
“Osamu.”
“But then I realized I didn’t have to do that. We didn’t have to break up for us to grow into who we are on our own. By then it was too late, though. But you just looked so happy. I never wanted to mess with that. So I didn’t bother ya, and now that I’m lookin’ at ya as an adult I’m just so fuckin’ proud of ya, of all of your accomplishments and the way you carry yourself. You’re just-“
“Osamu.”
“Yeah?”
You reached up and wiped a single tear drop falling down his cheek.
“You’re crying.”
“Oh, shit.” He turned away, wiping his eyes quickly and looking back at you. “I’m sorry. Man, I just started pourin’ my heart out to ya and couldn’t stop.”
“It’s okay.” You leaned in, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You felt him let out a heavy exhale as he pulled you on top of his lap and right against him.
“I missed ya.” He sighed, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “So much. Fuck.”
You tried to respond but you were choked up. You hadn’t realized you were crying, either.
He lifted his head up and looked directly at you. Osamu’s smile was kind, his expression vulnerable and it warmed your heart just looking at him.
“I missed you, too.” You said quietly.
“Really?”
“Yes, really!” You pulled back, planting the palms of your hands on his chest. “You have no idea how much I missed you, ‘Samu. Every day I waited for you to call me. But I thought you didn’t want to. So I finally accepted it and tried to move on. But like you said, I couldn’t actually do that. Nobody compares to you.”
Osamu hummed in agreement, resting his hands comfortably on your hips.
“It’s nice to hear ya say that.”
“Speaking of that,” You smirked, “Did I hear you say you wanted to kiss me in the kitchen?”
“Oh, yeah, you did.” He blinked up at you, absolutely no hesitation in his response. “I wanted to real bad.”
Your last strand of self control snapped the moment you heard those words. You leaned down, pressing your lips to his and instinctively tangling your fingers in his hair.
His voice rumbled low in his throat as he wrapped an arm around your lower back, pulling you against him as tight as possible while he stood up.
“Osamu!” You giggled, wrapping your legs around him. “Don’t-“
“I won’t drop ya, baby.” He assured you, pressing his lips back to yours. The sweet name of endearment made your heart melt and all you could think about in that moment was him. “Not now, not ever. Never again. You’re stuck with me.”
———
AN: Thanks so much for reading! I didn’t proofread this more than once, so please excuse any mistakes. I wrote this two years ago and forgot how much I loved it. God, timeskip Osamu is such a husband. ♡
#haikyuu x reader#miya osamu fluff#osamu miya angst#osamu scenarios#osamu#miya#miya osamu x you#osamu x reader#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu drabble#miya osamu x reader#timeskip osamu#haikyuu time skip#onigiri miya#osamu fluff
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one thing u gotta know about the miya twins is that they will show UP when one of them is going through something. none of that ‘oh i don’t wanna bother them/suffer in silence’ bullshit. msby loses a match on atsumu’s missed serve? u fuckin bet he’s calling osamu and osamu is on the next train over within minutes. onigiri miya gets a bad review? atsumu is already on his way there before ‘samu even calls. sure they might not even mention what happened for hours or sometimes not at all, but they show tf up for eachother, always.
#anyways miya twins brainrot hours#haikyuu#miya twins#miya atsumu#miya osamu#hq msby#onigiri miya#original overanalyzing
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shelter 🌧
#them <333#brainrot still going strong#miya osamu#osamumiya#akaashi keiji#keijiakaashi#osamu#akaashi#onigiri miya#osaaka#haikyuu#haikyu#haikyū!!#haikyuu!!#ハイキュー！！#hq#hqart#haikyuu art#fanart#digital art#my art
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first kiss. miya osamu x reader
+ tags & warnings; not proofread & v rushed </3 also like quiet a lot of swearing (mainly just the use of the word 'shit')
+ a/n; day 6/7!! one more day to go before i go take a LONGGGG nap (i wish :<) but yeah this isn't the best written but here u go bc im on my osamu shit atm <3
“So you’re seriously telling me, THE Miya Osamu has never kissed anyone?” You teased the now embarrassed dark harder boy. “Like THE Miya Osamu, like brother to like the schools biggest flirt Miya Atsumu? What’s next your brother hasn’t either? I always knew the Miya twins were FULL of surprises but this, THIS is new.”
“Ew, I don’t wanna know who my brother is kissing and shit.” He said defensively.
“Why?” You questioned.
“Whaddya mean why? Because it’s weird he is like my brother I don’t wanna know what girls he’s snogging and sh-”
“No, I mean like why haven’t ya kissed anyone ‘Samu?” You cut his ramble off, “like I’m sure there's plenty of girls willing to, you have just as many fangirls as Atsumu, just his are louder and more annoying. And apart from that there’s no denying you're an attractive man. I mean you take care of yourself as well.”
“I-I don’t know, Y/N. What I do know is I don’t wanna kiss some fangirl or some shit, I want it to be with someone I care about I guess.”
“Awww 'Samu, that's so cute.” You gushed at his response.
“Shut it, Y/N.”
As the conversation comes to halt the school bell rings, ending your first break of the day. “I’ll see ya later, ‘Samu. You smile walking down the hall to your class. You sit in your seat next to Osamu’s twin brother, Atsumu.
“Hey, Y/N-chan~” He says as you sit down.
“Hey ‘Tsumu? Ya know ‘Samu has never kissed anyone, like isn’t that just kinda bizarre. Like he’s funny, a good cook, handsome, good at sport ya know what more could a girl want? Like I know he’s seen women and shit but I dunno it’s just weird, I kinda feel bad.” You say towards Atsumu.
“If ya care so much Y/N, why don’t you just kiss him or something? I’m sure that’d shut him up. Ya both never shut up about each other, it’s kinda annoying.”
“He talks about me?!” You say with a pink stain spreading across your face.
“Did ya hear what Y/N-chan said earlier, did you see Y/N-chan today, I think I’m gonna bring Y/N-chan some food tomorrow, Y/N-chan this, Y/N- chan that and every time I tell him to shut his trap.” Atsumu sighed, placing his head in his hands, “and yer not any better Y/N.”
“I don’t talk about him that much.” You say crossing your arms, frowning at Atsumu. Atsumu just rolled his eyes in response. Not long after your teacher began teaching her lesson, you couldn’t stop thinking about the twins' words. “If ya care so much Y/N, why don’t you just kiss him” “to be with someone I care about I guess” “Ya both never shut up about each other”. There was certainly no denying your attraction to the silver haired twin. But in your years of knowing him, neither of you showed any romantic interest in each other. You had both seen a range of people, every breakup the same. Ending with one comforting the other, “they were such a dick anyway” or “I never really liked them to begin with.”
As the school day concluded, you decided to watch the volleyball teams practice. A common occurrence at this point.
“Oh hey, Y/N.” Suna said as he entered the gym, Osamu behind him. Osamu looked up to give you a smile, which you returned. No hey or hug like you were used to. There was something different about Osamu this time.
As you watched the boys practice, you would have some casual conversation with the team. Giggling and smiling, but never Osamu. It was always Osamu, but not since your conversation earlier.
Eventually Osamu was alone for the first time the whole practice, so you decided to confront him on his weird behaviour. “‘Samu?” You ask softly, his head poking up to look at you, “you’re acting weird, is everything okay?”
“Yeah I’m fine, Y/N. Just a little stressed, school and all that,” He mumbled softly before returning back to practise leaving you dumbfounded.
“You know that’s not the reason right, Y/N?” Suna said from behind you. Causing you to look behind you, giving him a look of curiosity. “Apparently Atsumu sent him a message earlier, I dunno what it was exactly about but it was something about you that’s for sure.” After Suna finished speaking he grabbed his water bottle and walked away.
You couldn’t focus on the last part of their practices, instead you were left wondering from Suna’s words. As practice concluded, you could hear the Miya’s bickering as you began leaving before Osamu called out to you, “Y/N-chan!” You stop in your tracks turning to face the twin jogging towards you, “can we talk for a second, please?”
“Oh sure.”
You and Osamu walked in silence, an awkward silence in drastic contrast to the usual comfortable silence before reaching a private area.
“I uhm- about earlier I’m sorry for like acting weird…” he said fiddling with his fingers, “it’s just ‘Tsumu sent me a stupid text and It’s just like bothering me and-”
“Osamu.” You cut him off, looking at him in the face, “can I kiss you? I know you said you wanted it to be someone you care about-”
Your words were cut off as Osamu placed his hand on your chin, pulling you closer before your lips collided. The world seemed to fade away as your lips met, a fusion of unspoken emotions and shared history. As you both pulled away, heat rising on both of your faces. Before Osamu let out a chuckle, “did ‘Tsumu get you too?”
“Mhm. Glad he did though.” You say wrapping your arms around, Osamu.
“Fucking finally. You owe me some puddin’.” Atsumu said towards Suna, who just rolled his eyes in response.
©slut4msby.
#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu#hq x reader#haikyuu smut#lea's stories :3#slut4msby#osamu#osamu x reader#miya osamu#osamu miya#miya twins#onigiri miya#osamu miya x reader#osamu fluff#miya osamu fic#miya osamu x reader#haikyuu drabbles
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Welcome to Onigiri Miya
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Taking a break~ 🍙
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who what are you looking at, 'samu?
#not proud of this as a whole but#I LIKE HOW I DID THE HANDS#I WAS SO BAD AT IT BEFORE BUT IT LOOKS BETTER NOW#tsumu behind him#heh#he always has to be squeezed in my artworks somewhere#atsumu miya#art#artists on tumblr#illustration#digital art#fanart#my art#haikyuu fanart#haikyuu#haruichi furudate#osamu miya#osamu#haikyuu!!#haikyuu osamu#ハイキュー!!#onigiri miya
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It's my 3 year anniversary on Tumblr 🤍
#3 year tumblrversary#haikyuu!!#hq#inarizaki#miya twins#osamu miya#sunaosa#sunart#suna rintarō#suna rintaro x reader#haikyuu osamu#hq osamu#onigiri miya#miya osamu#suna rintaro x you#hq art
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wasted
aged up osamu x gn reader
“what would you do if you could go back in time?”
you began, blinking slowly at the ground.
“way, way back. before me, before us. what would you do?”
the silence you were met with wasn’t at all surprising. a low, deep growl of thunder reverberated through the sky and into the ground. it startled you, so much so that you pushed yourself up to your feet.
“would you walk right past me? look the other way? pretend you didn’t see me so you wouldn’t have had to hold that door open?” not being answered boiled your blood.
it was a helpless kind of frustration, one that made the back of your eyes and the tips of your fingers burn with impatience. ultimately, you couldn’t help but yell.
“would you follow your dream anyways? be able to run the restaurant so much easier without me here?” you demanded, fists clenched tightly at your side, so much so that small crescents were forming on your palms, “you’d be able to go all around the board, pass go, and collect that $200, huh? all without me.”
your tears didn’t get the memo your brain was desperately trying to send.
be angry. not sad.
yet, you couldn’t truthfully say your tears were ones of anger—instead those of grief.
“that’s what you said you wanted, right?” you whispered, a ball forming in your throat, “you wanted your business to thrive, and that just wasn’t possible with me there.”
“y/n—”
“no, shut up.” you bit out sharply, hands trembling at your side, “you don’t get to talk. not after you cheated.”
his entire expression faltered, mouth gaping like a dumbfounded fish. a stupid goddamn fish that had been caught and was about to be reeled in and grilled.
“it’s bad enough that i had to hear it from atsumu, but with them? we hit a rough patch and you run to them? that’s fucking,” you sucked in a breath, hating the crack in your voice, “that’s fucking pathetic. onigiri miya isn’t stagnating because of me, because you think i’m holding you back. it’s because of you.”
you clenched your jaw to keep your lip from trembling. your entire body was lit up like a christmas tree, anger and betrayal running hot down into your fingers. every force in the universe compelled you to scream, cry, hit something, but you didn’t. you attacked him with your words, your pain, your broken heart.
“it’s because you have some war waging on in your mind, perceiving everyone else as the problem, the—the issue.” you stammered out, suddenly feeling so liberated, so free of the sheer weight of the truth, “newsflash, you’re not fucking perfect.”
“y/n, please, just let me—”
“shut the fuck up! you’ve talked over me, suppressed my opinions, dismissed me—for too damn long.” you hissed, stepping forward to jut a finger into his chest, “you’ve wasted my time. three years of my life that i’m never gonna get back. do you realize the gravity of that? three whole fucking years.”
you stared up at him, watching him cry and savoring it. you’d never felt so powerful, so alive. you drank in his pain, his regret, the wounds you were creating with the sole force of your words.
“don’t ever, ever contact me again. don’t have atsumu or suna or fucking aran ask how i’m doing. stay the fuck out of my life.” you dropped your hand, shaking your head, “i hope this restaurant, the little stress relief you felt when you were with them—i hope it was worth losing one of the only people that’s stood by your side.”
a feeling of calm accompanied you out the door as you stepped into a world of freedom and opportunities.
#my.archive.¥#anime#haikyuu#angst#drabble#y/n#miya osamu#miya osamu x reader#osamu miya#osamu angst#miya twins#onigiri miya#haikyuu osamu#haikyuu fic#haikyuu x reader#haikyu x reader#haikyuu!#haikyuu drabbles#grapeflop$
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ᥫ᭡ osamu miya as your boyfriend . . .
⊱ cw: fluff, teeny tiny out of charecter, relationship stuff in general
⊱ a/n: this is kinda short im sorry </3 ,, he’s so cute i will put him in my pocket
⊱ masterlist
boyfriend osamu who would stay up late to spend time with you, even if it meant you two sit in silence or talk about whatever comes to mind
boyfriend osamu who would try to be as close as he can to you at all times wether you’re in school, public, or even in the same room
boyfriend osamu who’d always come to you after a fight with his brother or any inconvenience that occurs with him, knowing that your presence alone is comforting enough
boyfriend osamu who loves when you play with his hair; ruffling it, massaging his scalp, or even doing silly little hairstyles with it
boyfriend osamu who has a note in his phone of all your favorite stuff : flowers, food, desert, color, interests, shows all of that and everything you seem slightly interested in
boyfriend osamu who according to all that, will bring you whatever you like without you asking, cause according to him seeing you smile is the best thing he could ever ask for
boyfriend osamu who was hesitant about introducing you to his friends because he was afraid you’d shift your attention to them and forget about him (he’s literally so precious you’d never do that)
boyfriend osamu whos addicted to your touch so much that he takes up any opportunity to be in your embrace, to the point pda means nothing to him if he can be in your arms
boyfriend osamu whos addicted to giving u nose & cheek kisses, he’d kiss u until u start laughing uncontrollably at the ticklish feeling
boyfriend osamu who would talk to you about whatever he’s interested in, from volleyball to cooking shows to future plans, and you’d be in awe everytime from how enthusiastic he is about his interests
#daetko#haikyuu#miya osamu#miya twins#inarizaki#osamu headcanons#headcanon#boyfriend headcanons#boyfriend osamu miya#i love him sm i’ll cry#onigiri miya#fluff#haikyuu fluff
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