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sunarintalkstoomuch · 2 years

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back support

miya osamu x gn!reader. slight suggestive? samu being hot mostly. that’s all.

After hours at Onigiri Miya are always rather quiet.

It’s when all the employees clock out one by one, collect their things and finish up their duties before saying bye to the boss and heading out. And it’s when you always stop by to meet your boyfriend whenever you happen to be in the area during closing time.

(Which, granted, you find an excuse to be pretty frequently. But that’s not the point here).

The bell of the front door jingles as you let yourself in, meeting the last straggler of your boyfriend’s establishment just on their way out. He’s young, working to pay his way through college, Osamu told you. He has kind eyes and a sweet smile, a good kid.

“Hi,” he nods, moves to hold the door open as you finish walking through, points a thumb behind him. “Boss is in the back restocking, he wouldn’t let me stay to help.”

“Figures,” you laugh, shaking your head to yourself. “He’s a bit stubborn.”

And the kid chuckles like he doesn’t want to agree because it’s his boss, but the knowing smile speaks volumes anyways. He gives a quick bow of his head, mutters a polite goodnight, then the bell’s jingling again and you’re left alone in the front of your boyfriend’s restaurant.

You toss your keys onto the counter and push past the little waist high door with your hip to venture to the back of the restaurant. It’s pretty clean, save for where Osamu seems to have flung his hat off by the sink and there’s a familiar black apron pooled in the floor that looks to have fallen off its hook. You collect them both and smile to yourself as you clean up after him.

That’s when you hear it, as you swing by his office to put up the overlay part of his uniform—the slight muffled grunts coming from the storage room. Right, he’s restocking. Lucky you.

And if you were anyone else, you might be annoyed. Because the nights where Osamu stays behind by himself to restock can get long—like right now, with the time pushing midnight when he’s normally snuggled up in your bed by eleven—but, you must argue, it does have its perks. Like him bringing home extra leftovers from the day to make it up to you for being late. Or him giving you sweet sleepy kisses as he plops himself on top of you as soon as he walks in.

Or, and this is arguably your favorite one, you getting to witness the sight of him like this.

Your teeth dig into the corner of your lip as you lean against the doorframe of the storage room, the grunts that lead you to him punching through the air again as you watch the muscles of Osamu’s back flex and release as he tosses a bag of rice under one of the shelves. His work shirt hugs him so nicely, tight across the broad expanse of his shoulders and snug around the definition of his arms. It gets a little baggy past the expanse of his chest, a little looser towards his waist, but it bunches up due to the back brace he has strapped on.

You remember when he got it, albeit begrudgingly as he came home one day shy to show you what he picked up on his run to the store. The faint flush to his cheeks as he mumbled about how he can’t move as easily as he used to, that all those years of volleyball aren’t doing him any good now. You’d just kissed his cheek, told him it wasn’t even a big deal, anything that would keep him from hurting himself.

And as you eye the way the brace squeezes around his waist, does well to accentuate the slight cinch there that’s gotten just a bit wider over the years but is still very nice, you can’t even attempt to fight off the slight swirl in your gut.

Oh yes, lucky you indeed.

“Woo,” you whistle as he straightens up to swipe his forehead with the back of his hand, chewing your cheek as he looks over his shoulder at you.

“Oh, baby.” And he’s breathless, and it shouldn’t sound so fucking attractive, as he turns to walk towards you. He places his hands on your waist, drops his head for a kiss and hums against your lips. “Shouldn’t you be in bed? It’s late. Ya get cranky past eleven.”

“I get even crankier when my boyfriend isn’t in bed with me,” you retort, but there’s no malice in the confinement of the storage room, no tilt to your words. You kiss him again. “But getting to walk in on you like this isn’t so bad.”

Osamu laughs into your mouth, pulling back slightly when you try to loop your arms around his neck. He catches your wrist, kisses your palm.

“Ah, don’t get too close. I’m all sweaty,” he offers up with an apologetic grin, then tips his head with a scrunch of his nose when you roll your eyes. “I just have a few more bags to move, then we can get ya home and in bed.”

“Yeah,” you hum, but you don’t pull away. Instead you trail your hand down his chest, try to bite back your smirk at the way your boyfriend shivers a bit, until your fingertips reach the edge of the tight brace wrapped around his waist. “Guess I’ll just sit back and enjoy the view, hm?”

You give the brace a tug, do your best to swallow the giggle that threatens to slip at Osamu’s over exaggerated groan. His fingers give your waist a squeeze, a signature Miya pout being thrown in your direction.

“Yer evil,” he sulks, stares at you like he’s fighting some terrible inner battle, then grumbles under his breath as he surges forward to kiss you again. “Ya said you won’t pay attention to it.”

��No I said I wouldn’t make fun,” you correct, blow out a light laugh as Osamu pulls you flush against him while peppering kisses down your throat. “Not paying attention to it would be a crime when it makes you look so good.”

His lips pause on your throat. You swear you can feel the flush burning from his cheeks straight into your neck. You thread your fingers into the damp buzz of his undercut, run your nails over his scalp.

“It’s for back support,” he mumbles, low and soft. And maybe you are evil, truly, because the retort is quick from your lips.

“I could use some back support.”

Osamu stops breathing, you press into him a bit more, then suddenly you’re being moved over and pushed back onto the checklist desk by the wall. You can’t help the fit of giggles you fall into as your boyfriend nips at your neck, his fingers squeezing your sides in a mixture to tickle and also to drag you closer all while he berates you.

“Oh you’re gonna need back support by the time I get done with ya,” he chuckles, moves up to kiss you even as his lips curl in a grin and soil the action. He grabs one of your thighs, hooks your leg around his waist playfully. “So mean, comin’ in and distracting me when I’m trying to get work done. I’m busy, yanno. And you just wanna tease and—“

“Sir? Sorry, I think I left my apartment keys by the—“

Both yours and Osamu’s eyes widen, heads snapping to the doorway of the storage room. There stands the sweet, sweet boy from earlier, face going from pale to red to about seven different emotions all at once as he takes in the scene. Then he slaps a hand over his eyes almost comically, turns on his heel to retreat, shouting out sorry’s every step of the way as you and your boyfriend stare after him appalled.

Osamu scrambles after him, you scurry off the desk, and both of you internally curse that damn back brace and the power it holds over your heads.

this is incoherent n idc the point is osamu back brace supremacy goodnight.

#i am in love #osamu miya

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sunarintalkstoomuch · 2 years

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MIYA TWINS 👄❤

I want 1️⃣ miya osamu househusband 💕

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sunarintalkstoomuch · 2 years

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Passionate

Well, with a dig all you’ve got is two arms. But going overhand means you’ve got ten fingers to use. Ten is more than two. More support is better, so I went overhand. ‘Cuz I’m a setter.

There are many words that can be used to describe Miya Atsumu - relentless and single-minded are two among other choice words. To Miya Atsumu, the one word he wants to be described as is passionate. After all, why would he use a dig when he can go overhand and use ten fingers to get more support? Miya Atsumu does not go into anything without being prepared to give it his all. Why should it be any different when he falls in love with you?

~1.4K words. Some slightly suggestive content.

Keep reading

#miya atsumu #thank u to the author #i live for simp atsumu

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sunarintalkstoomuch · 2 years

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You got it all wrong

Character: Miya Osamu x GN reader, Miya Atsumu & GN reader Genre: childhood enemies to lovers, idiots in love, miya atsumu has had enough of yer bullshit, best friend atsumu, suggestive themes

Ever since you were young you and Osamu had been in a weird love-hate relationship. It had all started the afternoon you declared Atsumu to be your favourite twin. Even then Osamu had simply shrugged with his face neutral, exercising great control for a 9 year old, but it obviously got to him because he spent the next 14 years teasing you. As children it had begun with the typical stuff; hair pulling, hiding your favourite pens and stickers, stealing food from your bento when you weren’t looking, jumping out at you from around corners. Into adolescence he stopped the physical irritants and turned to relentless bickering and insults that carefully never crossed the line.

You weren’t sure at what point that your feelings of annoyance toward him changed to feelings of wanting, but it was overwhelming how drawn to him you were.

“Could you two jus’ hurry up and fuck?” Atsumu huffs as he observes you, leaning back in his seat across from you. You snort at his vulgarity, cheek resting against your propped up hand. “I’m trying,” you mutter solemnly.

He bites into his onigiri with a raised eyebrow that reads ‘are you serious?’ and you poke out your tongue petulantly in response.

“Starin' holes into his back is not trying,” he smirks. “Yer such a coward”. Leaning over the restaurant table you lightly smack him upside his head to shut him up, but you knew he was right.

Osamu has always been pretty observant and aware of those around him, or at least you always thought he was. Perhaps his volleyball skills did not translate to real life interactions with other people. Because you had been very obviously flirting with him since you got here and he hasn’t cracked once.

Maybe he noticed and doesn’t reciprocate so he’s not acknowledging it. Maybe he noticed but he’s teasing you. Maybe he really is dense.

Surely not, you think, as he rolls his work sleeves up his thick forearms. No. This is definitely on purpose.

“Do ya blame me? He barely even tolerates me,” you mumble, picking at the rice ball in your hand. Even now as adults your relationship with Osamu hadn’t evolved much, he still took pleasure in winding you up and poking fun at you and you never really spent time alone with him without his brother present. There truly was no indication that he reciprocated you romantic feelings.

“Why do you think he puts so much effort in to gettin’ a reaction out of ya?” Atsumu muses, genuinely curious of your answer. In his mind you were both as blind as the other, and frankly he was getting sick of having to sit back and watch the two of you dance around each other.

Gaze unmoving you watch another customer come in and press their chest up against the front counter, batting their eyelashes at the attractive young restaurant owner. When it's anyone but you he's obviously aware when he's being flirted with.

Atsumu clicks his fingers in front of your face after a few moments of you ignoring his question, startling you. "Oi, would ya stop starin' and listen to me? He's not going anywhere you know, he works here".

Narrowing your eyes you slump back into your side of the booth with reluctance, anxious about what was going on on the other side of the room. "Fine, am listening," you tut, tongue clicking against your teeth.

"Just hear me out, and a know you might think it's ridiculous but it's the truth," Atsumu declares, crossing his arms together in a theatrical show of 'seriousness'. You mentally prepare yourself.

"Osamu is jealous," he hypothesises. "He is jealous of me".

"You're right," you scoff, shovelling the rest of your food in to your mouth, "that is ridiculous". Your best friend rolls his eyes so hard in response his head hits the back of his chair.

"He's jealous because I get all yer attention and the only way he'll ever have it is if he messes with ya," Atsumu explains with a proud expression, as if he had cracked a nuclear code. "Now because you've both been at it so long he has no clue how to pursue an actual relationship wit' ya' so he just sticks to what's familiar".

“Since when were you an expert in psychology?” You ask mockingly, too scared to take his analysis as truth. If he was wrong and Osamu truly didn’t like you then confessing to him would only lead to an incredibly uncomfortable situation for all three of you.

“Whatever,” Tsumu huffs, licking the flavour from each of his fingers after finishing his final onigiri. “If ya don’t believe me then I think ya should just ask him if he really dislikes you. Cause I know you’ve never hated him even when we were kids but still, ya provoked him”.

Mouth agape, you watch him rise from where he’s sitting and pull on his jacket. “W-where are ya going?”

He pushes down on your shoulders when you try to stand. “I’m going home because I’ve got early practice tomorrow. You are gonna stay here and sort yer shit out because frankly it’s disturbin’ having to watch ya eye fuck ma brother every time we come here-“

“It’s not every time!”

"It's definitely every time," he reaffirms impatiently. He takes in your anxious expression and sighs, running a hand through his dyed platinum hair.

“Look, yer one of my favourite people. Do ya really think that I’d leave ya here and encourage ya to do this if I knew he’d just reject ya?”

You shake your head no. You know that underneath his sarcastic hard headed exterior, Atsumu is an overwhelmingly caring and attentive person. You trusted him with anything and everything and you knew deep down that he wouldn’t put you in a situation that would leave you hurt.

Even if Osamu did reject you, Atsumu was atleast certain that his brother did not hate you and you could live with that.

Your best friend leaves you with a light flick to the forehead and calls out to his brother that he’s going home. Exhaling shakily you scan the room and study the few people left sitting at their tables. It was very nearly time for Osamu to close up.

You fiddle uncomfortably with your remaining onigiri, debating whether or not you should just make a run for it. Even if you were to let this discussion happen you weren’t sure that you wanted it to happen here.

Amid the quiet atmosphere of onigiri miya you sit internally scrutinising any and all of the interactions you’d had with Osamu, the ones you could remember anyway. Truthfully you never did detect any kind of malice from the dark haired twin, and he had never said anything sincerely hurtful to you. Maybe Atsumu was right.

You jump when a familiar hand comes in to view, placing another 'giri in your dish. Peaking up at Osamu you find yourself glaring suspiciously out of habit, wondering what his motives were behind his actions.

He snorts a laugh at your familiar expression, black work cap covering his eyes. “Ya know, sometimes I just want to be generous without any evil hidden agenda,” he teases.

Typically you would send an equally sarcastic comment back to him but today your best friends words bounce around your mind vigorously, attempting to attach to anything Osamu says as proof that it’s true.

“I’ll see it when I believe it,” he suddenly mocks, imitating your voice. You stare at him, affronted.

“Sorry but I’m a bit weirded out by yer lack of response so I’m just filling in the gaps here,” he jokes as he pulls out the seat next to you.

Taking in his tired appearance, you recall the day you’d admitted to Atsumu that you had feelings for his brother. Straight away he had asked if you also found him attractive, to his relief your immediate answer was no, but that was still something many people wondered after you told them.

The truth is, to you Osamu and Atsumu look completely different. A persons outward appearance isn’t the only thing that makes them, well, themselves. Osamu and Atsumu may have the same face, minus the current hair colour, but they have complete opposite mannerisms, senses of humour, facial expressions, body language, voices, likes and dislikes. It’s all of those things that add up and create an attraction to someone.

You loved Atsumu as a brother but you had not once found yourself attracted to him the way you were attracted to 'Samu.

“Ya in there? Do I have to be worried?” 'Samu pulls you back to reality, squeezing your cheek between his thumb and index finger. Blinking into focus you bat his hand away and pout, plucking the new warm onigiri from your plate and taking a bite.

To your surprise it is your favourite flavour, and freshly made. Usually Samu’ stuck to his menu pretty strictly and this was not on there, which meant he had made it for you specifically.

‘Is’ good,” you say, words muffled by the food in your mouth. Osamu gives a small grin in response, tilting his head forward to hide his expression with the tongue of his cap.

“And, m’alright. Thanks for asking. Just got a bit lost in my head there,” you admit shyly, hoping he’ll look you in the eye so you can see what he might truly be trying to tell you. He doesn't.

“Was surprised that you were still here, thought you’d leave with ma brother”.

“Nah, he scurried off somewhere with an excuse about practice but am pretty sure he’s seeing someone new,” you share. He shoots you a curious, but cautious expression.

“Doesn’t that bother ya? Since ya like him and all,” he stammers, appearing to be very weary of your reaction. As if he’s truly expecting you to be upset.

He was not ready for you to burst into fits of laughter.

“Jesus, no, ‘Samu. Sure he’s got a pretty face but I don’t like ya brother, not in a million years. He’s told me far too much about his bowel movements and his sexual fantasies for that to ever happen,” you snivel, voice trailing off into a quiet giggle.

Once he’s processed the realisation that this entire time you haven’t actually been pining for his brother, he latches on to the first part of your statement. “Ya think I’ve got a pretty face huh?”

Not even bothering to deny it, still amused by the fact that he’d had entirely the wrong idea this whole time, you simply hum in agreement. “Might just be one of the only things ya have going for ya, ‘Samu”.

The teasing was familiar ground and thus it relieves the tension in his shoulders slightly. “So a man with a pretty face, his own business and good cooking skills isn’t enough for ya?”

You might be starting to understand where ‘Tsumu was coming from when he complained about you and ‘Samu flirting. Restaurant now void of customers it was just the two of you, testing the waters and scrutinising each other’s reactions.

“Does this dream man also happen to be 6’3?” You ask dryly, eyes widening when a pink stripe paints itself across Osamus cheeks.

A few moments of silence pass.

“Why’d ya pick him as ya favourite?” He finally probes, dodging your question.

“Oh my god,” you groan, “you’re still holding that over me?”

“Ain’t nice to pick and choose favourites,” he taunts. “I’m just curious”.

“I guess it’s because you tried too hard ta’ be nice,” you explain with a small shrug, wringing your hands together. “You were known as the better twin, the friendly twin, but I saw right through ya. Ya were always instigating fights, startin’ trouble, breaking stuff, an’ poor Tsumu took the fall for ya every time. Sure he was an ass and still is but at least he was honest about it. Guess I wanted to provoke you in to showing your true colours”.

“An I proved ya right by continuing to be an ass for over a decade,” he chuckles self depreciatively, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. You frown, knocking your shoulders together playfully. “Ya weren’t that bad. It was fun, wasn’t it?”

His eyes glint and narrow under the helpless grin that spreads across his face. “Yeah,” he murmurs under his breath as he gazes down at you with such fondness it makes your chest tight. “It was”.

The air seems thinner after that, and you can’t look away from each other. Nervously you wet your bottom lip and watch him follow the movement of your tongue. You remember what you’d promised Atsumu.

“Did you ever actually hate me, ‘Samu?”

Inching closer to you he cautiously cups his hand against your jaw, pleased when you don’t flinch away from him. His fingers delicately graze the apple of your cheek.

“S’impossible to hate you,” he admits earnestly. “Just wanted ya to look at me more, is all”.

“You’re an idiot,” you breathe, overwhelmed by the warmth radiating from him and the smell of his cologne washing over you. In quiet amazement he glides his thumb along your bottom lip, inhaling sharply when your mouth falls open. Slowly he leans toward you, eyes half lidded in want.

“Excuse me, are you still open?”

You jolt away from each other abruptly at the sudden intrusion, turning to see a couple standing sheepishly at the entrance. Osamu, to your disappointment, gets to his feet and approaches them to bow politely.

“Sorry to tell ya but we closed about five minutes ago. My fault, I shoulda put the sign up”.

The two look so embarrassed to have walked in on your intimate moment, and even from this distance you can see that Osamus ears have taken on a bright red hue. Covering the sound of your laughter with your hands, not wanting to humiliate anyone any further, you watch as they scurry out and ‘Samu quickly locks the door behind them.

“Can hear ya laughing over there!” He growls, flipping the switch for the shutters to come down. Thankfully the loud harsh metal sound covers your spluttering.

He approaches you again, this time with a bashful expression and his hand open for you to take, “come on, I’ll drive ya home”.

Accepting his offer you push your fingers into the spaces between his own and press your palms together. You guess you’ll have to kiss him when he walks you to your door.

#im in shambles #miya osamu #thank you to the author

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sunarintalkstoomuch · 2 years

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warnings: 18+ minors dni, f!reader, oral sex and also kitchen sex with osamu hehe

osamu prides himself on his self-control. running a business means he’s constantly keeping himself in check when dealing with employees and customers alike, keeping calm and composed in the face of any situation.

so, it’s very unfortunate to him that his own body has betrayed him like this so early in the morning.

groaning, he swats blindy at the phone on his nightstand until he successfully hits snooze, rolling over to press himself against you.

(which also presses his very unfortunate erection against your ass.)

“honey,” he whines, pressing soft kisses to the back of your neck, hands gripping your waist tightly. “ya gotta get up and help me with this.”

you just murmur sleepily, a quiet moan slipping past osamu’s lips when you shift a little, unintentionally nudging your ass back against him.

“can’t,” you mumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you turn to face him, wiggling out of his hold and scooting to the edge of the bed. “we’ve gotta get the twins ready to take to your mother’s.”

he pouts when you lean over to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth before hauling yourself out of bed. “but–”

sighing, you lift the hem of the shirt you’d stolen from him over your head to get changed, revealing bare skin that somehow manages to send more blood straight down to his dick. “we can't be late, samu.”

“just a quickie?” he pleads. “i’ll be fast–”

“last time you said that, i ended up pregnant with twins. do you want more children to feed?” when he opens his mouth, you hold a hand up to stop him. “actually– don’t answer that. just take care of yourself in the shower because we just changed the sheets.”

osamu grumpily does as you say, stepping into a cold shower and jerking himself pitifully to the memory of last night’s activities. the way you’d ridden him, the sound of your moans, the way you’d jerked against him whenever he’d tweaked your nipples or thumbed your clit.

by the time he gets out of the shower, you’re already changed into your work clothes, one child balanced on your hip as you make breakfast one-handed as the other twin plays around with cheerios in her high chair.

“don’t forget you’re doing pick-up today,” you tell him, grabbing his jaw to press a kiss to his cheek as you transfer the toddler into his arms. osamu drops a kiss onto her little nose, grinning when she giggles. “what do you want for dinner? i was going to run to the store after work.”

“i can just bring something home from the restaurant,” he suggests, eager to lighten your load (and gain a few brownie points in the process). “i was gonna make some extra for tsumu anyway.”

“oh, lucky us,” you coo to your other daughter, picking up a cheerio and pressing it into her hand. “daddy’s going treat us to his yummy food tonight! you like onigiri, baby?”

she just babbles a little cheer, which the twin in osamu’s arms mimics excitedly at the prospect of food. yup. definitely his kids.

(and he really wouldn’t mind making more)

—

his plan was simple, really, because one doesn’t have to be a genius to impress their wife. they just have to be a good husband.

and osamu likes to think that he is.

which is why he comes home with not just some food from the restaurant, but a nice bottle of wine, and a cute little potted plant for the kitchen windowsill as well.

yet when he proudly sets those things on the counter next to where you’re prepping tomorrow’s lunches, you only notice one thing.

“it seems you’ve forgotten something,” you tell him as he tosses his cap aside, shaking out his hair a little. he then simply wraps his arms around you, trailing slow kisses up the column of your neck.

“i don’t think so,” he breathes, hands already skimming down your waist and the curve of your hips. “got everything i need right here.”

“osamu…” you groan, but you’re pushing your hips back against him ever so slightly. “where are our children?”

he presses one last kiss to that little spot behind your ear. “they’re staying overnight with tsumu.”

your eyes fly open as you twist in his hold, the moment he’d been working towards shattering at his admission. “you left our children with atsumu?”

“ma was busy!”

“you couldn’t have asked kiyoomi? or even driven down to the countryside to shinsuke?”

“atsumu’s not that bad at babysitting!” he lies, simply holding you tighter as you try to escape his grasp.

“he always lets them stay up past their bedtime, and i’m pretty sure he can’t even tell them apart!” you argue, slapping at his shoulder.

“they’re identical twins, sometimes i can’t even tell them apart.”

“you can’t tell your own children apart?!”

osamu’s…really not doing himself any favours right now, so he loosens his hold to give you a little wiggle room, letting you return to your lunch prep and laughing when you huff at him. he’d tried to take it slow, tried to seduce you with wine and a cute little plant and some kisses, but sometimes…the direct approach is the best one.

especially when you’re like this, all huffy and doubting his brother’s childcare capabilities. “you better call atsumu and tell him you’re coming to pick up the girls. i bet he’s feeding them mochi for dinner right now–”

your voice wavers when he lets his hand skim lightly down your sides, fingertips digging into your hips as he pulls you close once more.

“honey, just relax. the girls will be fine for a night,” he assures you, sweeping your hair aside to press another kiss to the back of your neck. “we’ve got the house to ourselves tonight, so…”

osamu grins against your skin, slipping his free hand beneath the waistband of your shorts as pushing aside the lace of your underwear to rub slow, practiced circles over your clit. you fumble with the lid in your hands when he quickens his pace, groaning as you grip the edge of the counter.

“samu,” you gasp, leaning back against his chest. “wait, at least let me put away the food–”

“no,” he interrupts, momentarily dipping a finger into your wet slit to spread your slick. “i wanna eat somethin’ else.”

bento boxes are pushed to the side as osamu spins you around, yanking your shorts and dampened underwear down your legs before hoisting you up onto the counter. it’s instinct now, the way his hand cups the back of your head to pull you into a deep kiss, and the way your legs hook around his waist to force his body closer to yours. he lets you melt into him, parting your lips and letting him muffle any banter you’d had prepared.

his hands are quick to pry your thighs apart, pressing a final kiss to your lips before kneeling between your legs and immediately licking a long broad stripe up your center.

your thighs twitch around his head when the tip of his tongue meets your clit, osamu pulling back an inch when you stifle a moan with the back of your hand.

“hey, none of that. i wanna hear ya, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips as he plunges two fingers into you. his mouth follows, wrapping around your clit and huffing a laugh when your body shakes in a full body shudder.

“oh, fuck,” you breathe, hands fisting tightly at the soft material of his t-shirt. the rough drive of his fingers mixing deliciously with the insistent sweeps of his tongue. “osamu–”

“hmm?” he hums, the vibrations making your toes curl. you whine when he pulls his fingers out, his lidded-gaze meeting yours as he brings his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean before hooking his hands under your thighs to pull you to the edge of the counter.

then he’s nudging his hips between your legs, pants already unzipped and underwear shoved down to press his thick length against you. he pushes into you in one go, your body putting up little resistance as a result of his earlier actions. he lets you cling to him as you adjust to the sudden stretch, snaking a hand between your bodies to press his thumb to your clit. your body jolts in response, osamu groaning loudly as your walls clench around him.

he feels your nails dig into his skin as he begins steadily rocking his hips into yours. his thrusts are rough, fast, a result of the tension that’d been building since you’d left him in such a pitiful state this morning. he crushes his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moans as his hips slam against yours with abandon.

it’s not long until you’re crying out, the pleasure that’d he knew had been coiling in your gut since he’d slid his hand down the front of your shorts crashing into you.

but your hand grips his hair, pulling him back in for more even as your body jerks with sensitivity, begging him for more.

just like he’d planned.

#i love this man #such a shame he isnt real 😭#miya osamu #mdni

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sunarintalkstoomuch · 2 years

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still no osamu Illustration so I drew it myself

#fuck #the way i whispered when i saw this #beautiful boy #beautiful art #miya osamu

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sunarintalkstoomuch · 2 years

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Sakusa Kiyoomi likes to think he’s a decently smart man.

He’d completed his undergrad with honours, whilst also being active in the collegiate league— where he was even voted MVP. Sure he could be blunt with his words, but he didn’t do things impulsively or without careful thought. Like his plays in a match, everything he did in life was done strategically, deliberately, and consciously.

Which is why he shocks even himself when he approaches Miya Atsumu after practice, and says the four words he’d never thought he’d say:

“I need your advice.”

The gym falls silent. Everyone is staring at him.

Atsumu blinks. Hinata raises his brows. Bokuto freezes with his water bottle halfway to his mouth. Even Meian looks a little thrown.

“Hah?” Atsumu breaks the silence, pointing at his chest. “Me?”

Sakusa’s knee bounces impatiently. He doesn’t enjoy being in the center of attention like this. “I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

“I mean, yea—” The setter’s voice is strained, and he pauses to clear his throat a few times. “—yeah. It's just, ya don’t usually ask me for advice, Omi. Ya don’t really ask for anything, actually, unless it’s ta ask me to shut up or stop doing somethin’.”

Oh, he’s dreading this so much already. “You’re right. I don’t think I should take advice from someone who sleeps on sheets with the thread count of a paper towel.”

That seems to snap Atsumu out of it, because he’s suddenly bouncing with excitement. “Wait, c’mon! I wanna help ya!”

Sakusa nods his head to the side, leading Atsumu a little away from where the group is doing their cool down stretches. He’s about to open his mouth when someone approaches in his peripheral.

“Are you guys okay?”

Of course it’s you.

“Yeah,” Atsumu answers before he can be told to shut up. “Omi-omi was about to ask—”

He jabs his elbow into the setter’s gut before he can finish his sentence. “We’re fine. Just chatting.”

You look a little confused, but nod anyway. “Okay. Sakusa, how is your wrist doing?”

“It’s good,” he tells you, truthfully. “It’s less sore after practices thanks to the extra stretches you recommended.”

You hum, scribbling something onto your clipboard before tucking it under your arm, pulling a fresh pair of gloves from your pocket and slipping them on before holding your hands out to him. “May I?”

He rests his hand in yours without hesitation, pointedly ignoring Atsumu, whose bewildered gaze bounces between the two of you.

(Sakusa knows that he’s going to say something stupid.)

He watches intently as you slowly rotate and flex his wrist, smiling a little when he catches the cute way your eyebrows furrow when you concentrate. “No discomfort or strain?”

“No.”

“Not even in your shorts?” Atsumu cuts in, not even trying to stifle his snicker.

(There it is.)

The stupid just can’t help but come out, and now Sakusa wants the earth to open up and swallow him whole almost as much as he wants to punch Atsumu in the face.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” you say with an awkward chuckle, releasing his hand to take a few more notes. (Sakusa thinks one of your best qualities is your ability to ignore Atsumu’s antics, which is a blessing given the current situation.) “Everything seems good, so I’m going to go check on Bokuto. Apparently his back has been a little tight.”

Atsumu nudges him as you walk away, making a noise that Sakusa thinks is a squeal. “That’s what you want my advice for, huh? You have a crush on—”

“Atsumu,” he mutters. “You’re too loud.”

He doesn’t lower his voice. Does he not realize that they’re in a gymnasium that echoes? “But you have a crush on—”

“Shut. Up.”

“A crush on—”

“Stop it.”

His teammate huffs pitifully, crossing his arms over his chest in a terribly childlike manner, then leans in to whisper shout in a single breath,

“You have a crush on our physiotherapist!” He looks like a six year old that’s been told Santa’s left presents under the tree. “Woo! Bokkun owes me and Hinata meat buns!”

Sakusa runs a hand down his face, groaning. Of course the idiots knew. “Yes, okay? I like her in a way that I initially assumed was platonic, but recently learned…was not.”

He’d never really known why Wednesday practices were his favourite. But now he knows it’s because you’re here, checking in and following up on he and his teams wellbeing. With your sweet smile and gentle touch.

His wrist had stopped hurting two weeks ago, but he’d been telling you otherwise in the hopes that he might one day have the courage to ask you out.

Which is where Miya Atsumu comes in.

He regrets this so much. He would have preferred to confide with Meian, maybe Inunaki, but it was no secret that Atsumu had the most success with women.

With a personality like his, he surely had to have an impeccable courting process.

Atsumu claps a hand on his shoulder. “And you came to me for sex advice, right? Smart choice! It’s okay if ya can’t always get it up right away, Omi. Sometimes ya just need to dive into the spank bank for a sec—”

“W— what?” He sputters, face suddenly hot. “No! I don’t have…performance issues.” (That he knows of.) “I just— I need to know how— I want —”

“Want what? Help askin’ her out?”

“Yes,” he breathes, relieved that he doesn’t actually have to ask.

“That’s it? Man, I thought it’d be more exciting than that.” Atsumu scratches his head, shrugging. “I dunno, maybe just…ask?”

“Yes," he sighs impatiently. "But how?”

“Just ask! Have ya never asked someone out?”

Sakusa doesn’t answer. Google might have been more help.

Atsumu shakes his head a few times, muttering something incoherent that he’s sure is an insult. “Alright. Just go up to her, flex your muscles a bit, and give her your best line. Something like, ‘Can I take your temperature? ‘Cause you look hot today.’ And flash her a million yen smile.”

Sakusa pauses, considering this. “Is your courting ritual straight out of a shoujo manga?”

_____

You’re in the process of packing away athletic tape and foam rollers, chatting amicably with Hinata when he suddenly greets someone behind you. A quick glance over your shoulder reveals Sakusa, who is shuffling over to you with all the awkwardness of a shy teen.

You quickly stuff the last of the equipment into your bag, swiping your hands across your track pants before hauling yourself to your feet. “Hey, is everything okay?”

Sakusa hesitates, briefly glancing at Hinata. The single look is probably the most taciturn way you’d ever seen someone been told to ‘go away.’

Hinata gets the hint, scurrying off and for some reason shooting you a thumbs up behind his teammate’s back.

Sakusa briefly glances at your face. Then he stares at your shoes, the ceiling, the wall. He looks...stiff. Almost like he’s--

“Are you flexing?”

“No.”

You give an experimental poke to his bicep, which is, yup, rigid. “I studied visual anatomy and physiology, I think I know when a person’s flexing. What’s going on? Why are you flexing?”

A few feet away, you think you see Atsumu smack his forehead.

Sakusa’s body relaxes, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I wanted to ask you…” he opens and closes his mouth a few times, heaving a sigh before looking at you expectantly. “That’s all.”

Your brows furrow. “You didn’t finish your sentence, nothing came out of your mouth.”

He looks extremely pained for some reason. “Can I take your temp--”

Atsumu is suddenly at your guys’ side, grinning. “Omi-omi has a huge, giant crush on you. Will you please go out with him so he can stop faking wrist pain to talk to ya?” He smacks Sakusa on the side of the head when he tries to argue (a move you think he’s going to regret). “Shut it, scrub, we’ve been on the receiving end those nasty spikes the past few practices. Your wrist is fine.”

You turn to Sakusa, cheeks aflame and heart stuttering in your chest. “Is that...is that true?”

“I like you,” he says bluntly, but his tone is soft with a shyness that’s unfamiliar to him. His tall form is hunched, nervous as he awaits your response.

You smile, placing a quick kiss to his flushed cheek. “Then I'd love for you to take me to lunch.”

#pls this is so cute #sakusa kiyoomi x reader

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sunarintalkstoomuch · 2 years

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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — ROCKSTAR! SEMI X READER

When Semi Eita drops a title track for his new album called ‘Fuck Semi Eita,’ the whole world is shocked and confused. Not you, though. After all, the song is for you.

wc — 1.9k

It’s not easy having a famous ex. His face is on billboards everywhere. His music is in every Starbucks you go to. And worst of all-

“Miss, can you comment on ‘Fuck Semi Eita’, the latest hit single by Semi Eita?’

“Yeah, I have a comment for you. Suck my dick.”

It doesn’t matter that paparazzi have been stalking you through the streets for almost four hours before they had gotten that clip of you, which had been liked over a million times and reuploaded to multiple social media sites, or that they had resorted to borderline harassment to get you to react. All the internet cared about were the lurid headlines splashed over the front page of every trashy gossip magazine. They had practically salivated over this opportunity to make a pariah out of you - but at least it wasn’t new.

Keep reading

#semi x reader #SEMISEMI PLS

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sunarintalkstoomuch · 2 years

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Miya Osamu, wtf.

#did i zoom in to look at the titties #yessss #miya osamu

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sunarintalkstoomuch · 2 years

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in bloom miya osamu/reader (haikyuu!) word count: 2.8k tags: established relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort-ish, grand romantic gestures, vague mentions of mental illness, osamu being The Best man on earth, osamu owning a pickup truck is canon and i refuse to elaborate on this

“Hey.”

Your eyes peel open slowly, your eyelids heavy with the weight of sleep you aren't quite ready to be torn from.

You blink once, then twice, and on the third blink your eyes flutter shut again—slumber calling you back too enticingly to keep them open.

“C’mon sleeping beauty, ya gotta get up now.”

You can smell coffee, the deep notes of the dark roast that Osamu prefers registering distantly in your tired mind. When you open your eyes again, the lamp on your bedside table has been turned on, and your slightly untidy bedroom is bathed in the light of the warm toned bulb.

“I’m tired,” you say weakly.

“I know baby, ya don’t gotta stay awake long—just need to getcha into the truck, alright?”

Osamu is seated on the edge of the bed beside you, fully dressed, staring down at you as you fight the pull to slip back into unconsciousness.

“What time is it?” you rasp out, rolling over a little more under the warm swath of blankets wrapped around you. The clock on your bedside table startles you, your eyes snapping to the boy watching your sleepy face placidly. “Samu, it’s four in the morning.”

“I know that,” he says with a light laugh, brushing some hair back from your face.

“Why are you waking me up?” you ask him, the grogginess of sleep still saturating your words, leaning into the warmth of his touch and resisting the urge to let your eyes shut again. “Thought you had the day off.”

“I do. We’re going somewhere.”

“At four in the morning?”

Osamu pats your cheek lightly. “Yep.”

Maybe it’s because you’re too tired to question it, or maybe it’s the way that Samu pries you up out of bed with careful, gentle hands. He passes you a pair of comfortable leggings that you pull on mindlessly, then one of his old Inarizaki VBC sweatshirts you like so much, and finally he bundles you into one of his own coats before guiding your teetering, dozy form out the door and into his truck.

It’s still dark out, and cold enough that you can see your breath under the streetlights as you crawl into the passengers seat and Samu shuts your door behind you. The truck is already warm and running, and there’s two cups of coffee waiting in the cupholders in insulated travel mugs.

“Put yer buckle on,” Osamu instructs you after taking his own seat, and you do as you’re told as he shifts the gearstick into drive.

You aren’t in the car for more than 15 minutes before you fall asleep again.

When you wake for the second time it’s lighter, though still not quite day break. It takes you a moment to realize where you are, and why.

You watch the scenery outside the window blur past, before sliding your eyes towards the windshield. The time on the dashboard reads 5:15.

“Samu, where the hell are we?” you croak, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” your boyfriend laughs from the driver’s seat, looking over at you with his eyes crinkling at the corner. His hair is bed-head messy, and he has a smudge of white on the corner of his mouth.

Toothpaste, maybe?

“Did ya sleep alright? Hit a pretty nasty hole a ways back but ya didn’t even notice. Snored right through it.”

“I don’t snore,” you lie, sitting up a little straighter in your seat. Your body hurts from sleeping in such a strange position, but you can’t really do anything about the lingering stiffness while you’re still trapped in the moving vehicle. “Where are we?” you repeat your earlier question which Samu had tactically avoided.

“About an hour outside Osaka,” Osamu says, completely unhelpfully.

You’re in the car driving, and the clock on the dash tells you it’s been about an hour since you started driving, so what he tells you is already a given.

“Where are we going?” you ask him.

He tuts. “‘Fraid I can’t tell ya that. Top secret.”

You furrow your brow.

This isn’t like Osamu. He’s never pulled anything like this before. You don’t know what to make of it.

“Yer coffee’s still hot, and I got us donuts.” Samu takes one hand off the wheel to grab a paper bag from the floor by his feet. It crinkles noisily as he hands it to you.

Inside the bag are a few donuts, covered in powdered sugar. You suspect there are already a few missing from within.

That explains the smudge on his face.

You lick your thumb, reaching over the centre console towards him.

Osamu stiffens at the unexpected contact, softening as he realizes what you’re doing. You run the pad of your thumb across the corner of his mouth a few times until the traces of white are gone, pulling away to sit back in your seat.

You lick the sugar off your finger absentmindedly when you’re done, before reaching into the bag for a donut of your own.

“If we’re going to Tokyo, why didn’t we just take the train?” you ask through a mouthful of fried dough and sugar, noting a directional sign that the two of you pass along the highway indicating you’re travelling in the direction of the capital. You had suspected as much, given that the screen of the dashboard said you were travelling north east from your home in Osaka.

“Not goin’ to Tokyo,” Samu replies simply, reaching for his cup of coffee in the cupholder beside him. It’s empty, he seems to remember only seconds after picking it up, and he puts it back down without even taking a sip.

You lick the sugar off your fingers and reach for your own cup of untouched coffee, popping open the lid and holding it out to him.

He takes it from your hand, bringing it to his lips and tilting it back all without removing his eyes from the road. He hands it back to you after taking a long swig.

He winces a little after he swallows, watching from the corner of his eye as you bring the travel mug to your own lips. “Careful, s’still hot, babe.”

You hum, taking a trepidatious sip from the well-insulated cup. He’s right.

“So where are we going, and why did you feel the need to wake me up at the crack of dawn to get there?”

Samu shoots you a look—exasperated but loving—from his seat beside you.

“Can’t anything ever be a surprise with you?””

“Not if I can help it,” you reply back smoothly, earning you a laugh.

“I just… wanted to do somethin’ nice for ya,” he mutters, almost reluctantly. He takes an audible breath—in and out—before adding, “I know you’ve been feelin’ a bit… off lately.”

You stiffen in your seat, eyes fixed unseeingly to the lines of the highway as they flash past on the asphalt.

“-’s nothing wrong with that, but I know you’ve been havin’ a hard time ’n I just-“

“Samu.”

Your strained voice makes him falter, his sentence ending before he can say it in its entirety.

It’s quiet for a moment. A little uncomfortable.

“D’ya mind if I put some music on now that yer awake?” Osamu tries to ease the tension that has settled over the cab of the truck. You nod stiffly.

Osamu reaches to fiddle with the buttons and nobs of the radio, but in truth seems less concerned with finding something he likes on the air than just finding something that will distract from the borderline suffocating stillness in the car between you.

You feel bad.

For more reasons than one.

Firstly, because he was clearly just trying to do something nice to cheer you up. A sincere, heartfelt gesture blossoming from his desire for you to be happy and well. A deed sown, tended to, and grown from his love for you.

Secondly, because he noticed that you needed to be cheered up in the first place; noticed what you had been trying not to let sink its claws too deeply into you; noticed what so much of your mental energy had been going into covering up, pretending wasn’t there, pretending wasn’t sitting on your shoulders like a weight—impossible to see but crushing to bear.

You’d been trying not to let it show how much you’d been struggling lately. You’d been sleeping a lot. Usually in bed before Osamu made it home from work in the evenings, and sleeping in past when he woke up in the mornings. On the afternoons he made it home early (which he tried to do at least three times a week) you were usually too drained to do anything beyond make dinner, clean up, shower, and collapse into bed.

You thought you’d been managing it.

Suppressing it.

Concealing it.

Obviously you were wrong.

The song playing over the sound system is an old love song. One you remember your mom singing along to in the kitchen of your childhood home while she would cook dinner for your family. It was from the soundtrack of a romantic comedy that had come out when you were still too young to know what comedy was, let alone romance, but there’s something nostalgic and comforting about it. In any case, you appreciate the distraction, settling back in your seat and sipping the too-hot coffee for lack of anything else you’d prefer to do.

You drive for another hour, sharing your cup of coffee between you in place of conversation, listening to old love songs playing on the morning radio.

Osamu turns off the highway at an innocuous looking exit, a few minutes past a sign that had told you Tokyo was still more than 400 kilometres away. There’s nothing outside your windows except countryside—no city or town or other civilization to be seen. It’s only seven in the morning, and you pass just a handful of other vehicles on the winding rural roads as you make your way along them.

“Samu, where the hell are we?” you ask at the very moment Osamu turns up a dirt road—a driveway of some sort.

“D’ya remember back when we started dating?” Osamu asks, eyes fixed too concentratedly on the road outside the windshield to be natural. He’s nervous, you can tell.

“Uh, yeah. It was five years not fifty years ago,” you joke, but there’s an undercurrent to it, the implication that you feel like you’ve loved him forever. You know he feels it too.

“I wanted to buy ya flowers,” he ignores your jibe, though not without peeking at you pointedly from the corner of his eye, “spent ages in the flower shop down the road from our first apartment trying to pick them out. I had almost no money to spend and that nice lady that owned it sent me home with a bouquet worth three times what I paid her for it.”

You remember it all. The flower shop; the terrible one bedroom apartment that was all the two of you could afford back then, when you were still a student and Onigiri Miya was just a food stall on a busy road; the bouquet so large you didn’t even have anything big enough to put it into when Osamu brought it home to you, and you’d had to break it up between four different receptacles to house it: a narrow vase, two empty sake bottles, and an over-sized coffee mug. It smelled so nice that every corner of your dingy little apartment was filled with the scent of the flowers for days.

“Ya hated it.”

“I did not!” you gasp, jaw dropping at the accusation, and you turn in your seat to face your boyfriend defensively.

“Ya told me that flowers are a waste of money and that a nicer gift is something you can eat!” Samu laughs as he says it, tossing his head back against the headrest of his seat.

You purse your lips, scratching the back of your neck sheepishly. You don’t remember speaking those words exactly, but it does sound suspiciously like something you’d say.

“I told you I loved them,” you mutter. And you did. You even pressed some of the blossoms between the pages of your heavy text books to save, and now they hang in frames on the wall of your current (and much less austere) apartment.

“I asked what yer favourite flowers are. D’ya remember whatcha told me?” Samu asks, finally turning his head to properly look at you.

You wrack your brain for a moment, and then shake your head. The memory evades you.

“Strawberries,” Samu says. “Ya told me yer favourite flowers are strawberries.”

You blink.

You notice for the first time that the truck has slowed to a stop, idling in park at the end of the driveway. Outside the windows of the truck you see a modest little house, a shed of some sort, and a row of greenhouses dotted along the lush green fields of the property.

“One of my suppliers told me about this place, apparently they grow the best berries in Japan. They sell some of ‘em fer like fifty-thousand yen. The ojisan who runs it’s a nice guy though, invited us down for the day to check it out.”

You blink again, only this time your eyes go a little blurry as you peel them open, something hot slipping down your cheeks.

“I know ya don’t like to talk about it when yer going through stuff,” Samu says quietly from the seat beside you, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. He reaches over and places a hand, warm and comforting, on your knee. “But I want ya to know that I love ya, and I’m always here, s’all.”

Your throat feels tight and dry, and suddenly you wish you had some of that coffee left in your empty travel mug.

“I-“ you choke a little on your first attempt to reply, swallowing hard. “I just know you have so much on your plate already. I never wanna add more to that just because I’m…” you don’t know how to finish your thought.

“Hey.” Samu’s fingers tighten a little on your knee, not painful in any way, but enough to tell you he needs you to look at him, to be there with him right now.

You look at him sheepishly, eyes struggling to meet his level, resolute gaze.

“Lovin’ someone is work. Life is hard, and sometimes it’s ugly, and things aren’t always just gonna work themselves out easy all the time. But I wanna share that with ya: yer whole life, not just the good stuff. So ya can’t just go and decide on yer own what things yer goin’ through you gotta keep to yourself or do alone, because I’m right here. I wanna work on it with ya. Because this is worth it.”

You’re openly crying now, in the passenger seat of Samu’s beloved truck, in the driveway of a strawberry farm in the middle of nowhere, an empty paper bag filled with donut crumbs and powdered sugar under your feet.

Samu leans across the centre console of the truck, wrapping you in his arms as best he’s able to in the slightly awkward confines of your respective seats. He smells like laundry detergent and coffee. He’s warm and solid and right where you need him, like always.

His large hand cradles the back of your head as your tears soak into the flannel shirt he’s got on, letting you cry it out for as long as you need to. When you finally pull yourself together a little bit, he withdraws, wiping at your tears and snot with the soft edge of his sleeve.

“Ya feel a bit better now?” he asks gently.

You nod.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love ya too,” he grins, toothy and boyish. “Now are ya ready to go and pick some flowers or what?”

“Strawberries aren’t technically flowers,” you sniff, but you’re smiling.

“Who cares,” Samu laughs, and the sounds is as warm as the early morning sunlight breaking over the fields and streaming into the widows behind him. “I wanna see what’s so good about these ones that he’s chargin’ an arm and a leg for ‘em.”

“Bet I can pick more than you can,” you say, scrunching your nose up challengingly.

Osamu scoffs, reaching for the handle of the truck door and throwing it open.

“I’d like to see ya try.”

#miya osamu

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sunarintalkstoomuch · 2 years

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Osamu is known for being the quieter version of Atsumu, always in the shadow of his blonde twin and most of the time, it makes things easier for him.

But what about Osamu, who feels that incessant numbing loneliness whenever people only come up to him to chatter on about how great Atsumu is, how handsome Atsumu is, how perfect.

Osamu, who has resigned to being second best. Who works diligently enough he doesn't get called out, who doesn't have that many friends but still offers a helping hand whenever people need it, who constantly skips on volleyball whenever he can to practice his little onigiris in the kitchen.

Osamu, who jumps when he comes face to face with you hiding in the back of the kitchen, blinking at your stuffed cheeks and cookie-stained fingers. Osamu, who can`t decide whether you're good or bad when you swear him to secrecy in exchange of you not tattling about his whereabouts to the volleyball team.

Osamu, who hates socializing and skips parties despite Atsumu constantly dragging him along. Whose youtube is filled with cooking recipes and travel vlogs, food tours. Who actually enjoys Maths because to him it just makes sense. Like cooking does.

Osamu, who slowly starts getting the hang of your presence in the kitchen even if you're a walking danger hazard, always getting in the way or messing his recipes up. Osamu, who realizes his slow disinterest in volleyball during one of Atsumu's rants about how great their new quick combo is. Osamu, who's suddenly terrified because he's never been in a position where volleyball didn't exist.

Osamu, who scribbles down little recipes on the back of his History notebook because why not? Who finds himself getting comfortable, too comfortable, with your shoulders brushing his as you help him mix little onigiri balls, who actually bursts out laughing for the first time in a long while when you crack lame puns and can't get over how adorable you look with your eyes all crinkled and cheeks rosy with embarrassment.

Osamu, who starts cherishing the limited time he has with you because apart from those stolent moments in the kitchen, he has nothing else. Osamu, who impulsively bakes you chocolate cookies in secret on Valentine's day only to chicken out once he sees your face greeting him happily in the hallway. Who decides there and then that his heart can't take it if you're not his.

Osamu, starts being so clumsy around you, who gets his ingredients all mixed up and who misses all his volleyball shots so much that his coach has to pull him onto the bench. And Osamu, who really doesn't give a shit because all he can think about is how to get to your heart.

And it is only when you happen to walk by their volleyball court that his team realizes that shit, Osamu has it bad for you. Bad enough he gets hit right in the face by the volleyball, bad enough he turns beetroot when they ask him what's his deal is.

Osamu, who finally admits that yes, he likes likes you, when Atsumu corners him. Osamu, who wishes the floor can eat him up the moment the entire team starts jostling him in your direction whenever your paths cross.

Osamu, who ties his heart into the bow he places around the box of brownies before he gives it to you with trembling hands. Whose breath stutters when you all but jump into his arms, surprise him with a big big hug that melts his entire heart.

Osamu, who can't help but peck your temple out of pure impulse. And who thinks that nothing else can be as perfect as having you in his arms.

#i need a miya osamu pls and thx

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sunarintalkstoomuch · 2 years

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I want to kiss Miya Osamu on his nonexistent lips

#2:01 thoughts

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sunarintalkstoomuch · 2 years

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[20:32] . . .

“rintarō,” you sneer, “why do you keep appearing in front of me when i don’t want you to?”

it’s a little past eight o’ clock. well, half past it, really. you were in the library of your university, with a certain someone sipping on his chai latte very loudly on the seat in front of yours. he smirks at you, his hair falling over his forehead like a perfectly flowing waterfall. and you can swear you want to slap him across the face when he replies, “can’t i spend my time with my favorite academic rival? you know, so i can look at how you’re doing your homework and memorize the steps. i wasn’t paying attention when the professor was telling us how to do it because i had other important things to think about.”

you could stab your pen in his chartreuse eyes right about now. you scoff, “right, because you’re not smart enough to do it on your own.”

he rolls his eyes. it’s beautiful, but you scold yourself before you can think anything like that further. he retorts, “i’m the most clever person in your life, it’s just fun to see you all worked up and irritated. look at your nose, you look like if rudolph the red nosed reindeer and pinocchio had a baby.”

you gasp before you throw an eraser at his head. he doesn’t catch it; it just sadly hits the side of his cheek as it falls into his lap. he chuckles before mocking you, “ow, i’ve been wounded.”

“i wish you were wounded,” you huff, “you wouldn’t be bothering me if you were.”

he only shakes his head, smiling bitterly. the scratching of your pen continues as you look back down at your textbook, working out a few equations. you then feel suna getting up from his chair, but you don’t bother paying attention to where he’s going. even though you wanted to. badly.

you flinch when you feel someone’s breath on your neck, and you don’t have to turn around to know that it’s him. your eyebrows furrow in anger(well not exactly, but still). but before you can say anything, he cuts you off, “what do you say we get out of here?”

“rintarō,” you hum, a hint of pettiness in your tone, “how many times have i told you not to jokingly ask people out? people as in me, by the way. if you were too dumb to notice.”

you flip a page in your textbook, sighing as you continue. it seems the volleyball player who annoyed you has a bank account full of patience because he doesn’t move from his spot, but only comes closer to you. he leans down further now, his lips barely a few centimeters away from your ear, “who said i was?”

“you, actually.”

“what? when?” his ears perk up, eyes wide. he’s fumbling to form words.

“inarizaki high school, semi-finals, senior year,” you say, “i was in the gym to give atsumu his homework.”

“wait, you heard that? you were there?” he asks, sputtering, “that was a joke!”

you hum again. your tone is nonchalant now, “yeah right, joking with people’s feelings is totally funny. you know, asking out the girl in the class next to yours and whatnot.”

“i said i liked you,” he murmured, “that wasn’t a lie.”

“yet asking me out for five hundred yen totally was,” your face contorts into an expression even he can’t figure out. you pause, lips pursing as you get lost in thought. a bitter feeling pooling at the back of your throat, “was that all i was to you? five hundred yen? that cheap, really?”

“but i liked you,” he said, as if it still didn’t make sense. you sighed, and then you placed your pen in your book before you closed it shut. then, you turned your chair to face him.

gosh, how long had it been since you were this close to suna rintarō? three years? your lips are inches away from his, and his eyelashes are definitely longer now. his hair is completely disheveled at the moment, and his lavender pink lips look so… kissable. he blinked, before you reply, “yet it still took you a bet to ask me out.”

“you rejected me,” he narrows his eyes. you shrug, “i think you brought that upon yourself.”

“no one’s betting me to ask you out now,” he whispers, “what’s stopping you from saying yes?”

“honestly? nothing,” you reply. the library is almost empty. your face is just an inch away from suna rintarō’s. all your rivalry and bitter feelings are fading away for some reason. maybe the feelings were only bitter because of a grudge you held, or maybe they were there because he actually did love you and was just a coward. you don’t know. you probably never will.

“then let me take you out,” he mumbles, “and you pick. coffee shop, dinner, arcade, amusement park—anywhere you want. because at this moment, all i want is you. all i need is for you to say yes. i’m sorry i was a shitty teenager, but i’m willing to fix that now. no bets, no jokes, no money. nothing. just you, and me. what do you say?”

you pause, thinking about it for a moment. you can feel his eyes on you, blinking every few seconds. you let out a long sigh before you look up at him again, “i say pick me up tomorrow and plan the date yourself.”

“wait—really?”

“yes, and text me the details tonight. i’m a busy person.”

you chair swivels again, and now you’re packing up your things as suna rintarō stares at you. he’s struggling to stand straight up, and you fling your bag over your shoulder as you say, “see you tomorrow, rin.”

he thinks his heart just grew wings and flew away. you called him rin—the nickname you had given him in highschool when the two of you used to be some sort of friends. you’d said it sounded cute, and he’d agreed. he had also thought it was a cool name, and soon enough, the entirety of inarizaki was either calling him “suna”, or “rin”.

“wait, hold on a second!” he says, a little loudly. you’re in the middle of putting a book away on a shelf, and he walks towards you. bookshelves on both sides of the two of you as he asks, “you’re not.. gonna back out last minute, right?”

“i don’t joke around with people’s feelings,” you say with a straight face, “if you haven’t noticed.”

“right,” he nods, the strings of his black hoodie looking really good to fiddle with, “so do we like, hug or kiss-”

“i can’t tell if you’re being serious,” you shake your head, “but no.”

“right, right,” he nods, “okay, i’ll see you tomorrow.”

you nod too, before bidding him a good night. he watches you walk away, and as you leave his line of sight, he quite literally fist bumps the air and mutters out a “yes!”.

today was a good day.

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