#osamu miya x reader

[msbyslilbimbo]

the first time you wrap your hand around osamu’s dick, you can’t help but murmur just how big it is, how heavy, and osamu nearly cums on the spot when your glossy, almost intimidated eyes flick up to meet his

[kiyuhai]

It’s normal for your lover to wake up earlier than you. His work required him to, so you treasure these rare moments. As a clingy sleeper, he buries his face in the crook of your neck as he holds you close to him. You move to get up but he tightens his hold on you.

“noo,“ he mumbles, burying his face deeper to your neck. “c’mon, babe, let’s sleep in…“

“day off?“ you slur in your half-asleep daze, turning to face him and he nods. You smile and wrap your arms around him. “mmkay..“ you close your eyes, nuzzling your face into his hair. 

You spend the next hours, with a smile on your face as you lay asleep next to him

note. reposted from main blog, with different tags!

[tteok-bokkei]

LOCO—M.O (based on this iconic video)

You've always hated the closing shifts at Onigiri Miya. You hated cleaning up the customer’s messes, closing down the registers, and making sure that everything was stocked for tomorrow morning.

It was just too much, and you were so tired, and god was it boring. Boring enough that you subtly complained to your boss, and he begrudgingly let you take hold of the playlists so you could listen to…whatever you listened to while working. 

You’ve never agreed to a deal faster and soon enough, the restaurant’s speakers were yours.

Out of respect for yourself and for Osamu, you never played any vulgar music or anything stupid. Still, it definitely gave you a bit more motivation to work, humming along to the tune under your breath. 

But you suppose that was only when he was in the building, doing his own stuff. When he was gone, either to run errands or to pick up more stock, you never missed the chance to play actual music. 

Your music. 

You always keep an eye on the door when you do, though. You’d rather pass away than get caught by your boss. And you greatly pride yourself in the fact that until now, your quick reflexes have never failed you in changing the music before he was even a few steps from opening the front door.

You forgot to look out the door today, though.

Especially when your favorite song abruptly blasts through the sound system and you grin as you mop the floor, fingers twitching against the wooden handle happily. 

Everyone tells you that you’re always too caught up in your head. Too caught up in your actions to even realize what you’re doing.

And before you know it, as the infamous chorus approaches, you drop the broom and the dance that you’ve very tiredly incorporated into your muscles starts to crack. 

The dance itself is very wild, loud, and very energetic, and that’s why you love it.

But it’s also the very reason you don’t notice your boss opening the front doors and freezing in shock. Or the way that his face drops, as he slowly closes the door behind him, and leans back in the middle of the room, quietly observing you as you prance around…er—rather dramatically, performing in the chairs in front of you.

You don’t notice until one of the steps requires you to turn around, and all you see is Osamu grinning at you brightly with his arms crossed over his chest, clapping loudly when you catch his eyes. Fuck. 

You stop—heart falling all the way down to your knees. “I—‘Samu! How long have you been there for?!” There’s a deep warmth that burns your cheeks as you look away from him, unable to meet his eyes in embarrassment. 

He brushes off your shame and takes a step forward, slowly as he softly chuckles, and pulls you into a hug, his ring glinting against the bright lights of the building. 

“Long enough. Didn’t know you could dance like that, baby…” He sighs, cracking up even more when you bury your face into his chest. “Stop it. That was so embarrassing. I’m never coming back here again.” You groan.

He raises a brow at that. “What if your very non-judgmental husband misses you? Hm?” 

“I don’t care. You can see me at home.” 

He rolls his eyes and just hugs you in closer, swaying you side to side before dropping his lips to your ears. “I don’t know why you’re so ashamed. You’re a good dancer…plus I’ve seen you in more compromising positions before.” 

Your husband is able to get away from your grasp before you chuck your shoes at his head. 

[nayahugs]

Late night conversations with your boyfriend !!

"I don't wanna live in a world where you don't exist"

"What?"

Your boyfriend shoots up from the bed to look up at you.

"Are you implying something? Am I gonna die?" He questions, clearly confused.

"What? No, of course not. I think. Or hope."

"What do you mean I hope??"

"Hey, I can't read the future! I can't guarantee that you're gonna live forever!" You shoot back, laughter erupting mid sentence.

Your boyfriend sighs, and lies back down. Sinking into the bed, and feeling your warmth, he begins once more.

"Where did that even come from?"

This time, you remain silent.

"(Name)."

You take a deep breath, wondering what you could possibly say after such an out of pocket comment.

"Uhmm....I'm not sure. It just slipped out of me."

"So it was just your body that didn't cooperate. It was still inside you. Tell me"

You groan "So pushy."

"(Name)."

"It came out of me. I've been thinking, that if you weren't here, I wouldn't feel this type of comfort. So in the case that you disappeared, I don't know what I'd do. I don't think I'd get over it."

If he wasn't intrigued before, he certainly is now.

It's silent for a moment. You begin to think to yourself, thinking along the lines of "Why did I say that in the first place?? It's such an odd thought, why would anyone want to heat such a thin-"

"I'm not leaving."

You lose your trail of thought immediately. You blink once. Then twice. Then that familiar warmth in your chest kicks in. Your gaze goes to his eyes, to listen to what he has to say head on, as he doesn't quite seem to be done talking, despite how he made a full statement.

"If I die, I'm haunting you. If we get separated physically, then I'm always having a piece of you with me. No matter if it's a bracelet or a rock you gave me for no reason. I won't leave."

He found the most important thing in life. You're a part of him now. Losing you means losing a piece of himself.

"I might as well marry you already."

You grin. A grin so wide and so genuine. Who knew you were so lucky to have someone like him?

"I wanna stay like this forever."

"Me too." He mumbles, arms wrapping around you tighter and pulling you in closer, as he plants soft pecks on to the top of your head, drifting slowly to sleep along side you.

You don't wanna live in a world where he doesn't exist, huh?

Well good thing you don't have to.

OSAMU MIYA, Suguru Geto, Yatora Yaguchi, Kei Tsukishima, Tadashi Yamaguchi, KEIJI AKAASHI, TETSURŌ KUROO, Kôshi Sugawara, Hawks (Takami Keigo), Tamaki Suoh, Nishinoya Yuu, Rintarō Suna, Daichi Sawamura, Toji Fushiguro, + Any of your other favs !!

Divider from pinterest!!

[qardenofeden]

contrary to popular belief, osamu miya is not any better than his twin brother, especially when he’s with you.

this must be your fourth date this month, and it’s barely even two weeks in. so, in order to save money, osamu proposes a little life hack. a cheat code, if you will.

“baby, i got this ring at a pawn shop,” he takes a small, rusty ring from his pocket and presents it to you as he continues, “i’ll pretend i’m proposin’ to ya and all ya gotta say is yes, okay? free dinner, easy peasy.”

you sigh, holding back your laughter as you pinch your temple. “‘samu, that’s unethical.”

“whaaaat? no way, come on, baby. we’ll get to go on dates more often if we do this,” he says, and you know you shouldn’t say yes. you should be the angel in this scenario, guiding him towards the right path. the path of the just and the good.

...but then again, why would osamu date you if you weren’t at least a tiny bit similar in terms of thinking?

“fine.”

“hells yeah!” he celebrates, looking around and waiting for one of the staff members to enter your vicinity. luckily, it doesn’t take long until a blonde girl walks to the table next to yours and starts cleaning up the leftover dishes the previous party has left behind.

osamu looks at you, grinning before he gets off the chair and gets on his knee. you cup your mouth with both your hands, seemingly in shock; though in reality, you’re doing it to prevent yourself from laughing like a madman.

“my sweet, beautiful, gorgeous girlfriend. i’ve loved you since i’ve known you, and i’ll love you for as long as i do. will ya marry me?”

and the restaurants’ guests just eat. it. up. the crowd cheers, much like how they do in his games, and they chant “yes, yes, yes!”

“yes!” you burst out in laughter, jolting out of your seat and hugging him. he lifts you up slightly before putting you back to the ground and kissing you, lips soft and at your mercy.

osamu puts a ring on your finger as the crowd yells and howls, and later that night, the manager approaches the two of you and tells you not to worry about the bill.

atsumu’s been rubbing off on your boyfriend too much.

and so this becomes a ritual, though you’re both careful not to overuse it. you reserve it for anniversaries and small celebrations, like his team winning a big tournament or you getting a high score from a grumpy professor.

and though it doesn’t always work, you guys at least get a little dessert on the house.

until one day, when you’re a high end, fancy restaurant. you’re wearing a silk, red dress with so much jewelry, you’re practically shining. the chandelier lights reflect off of his rolex watch, and you both have just finished eating.

“this place is really good, osamu. we should come here more often.” you take a sip of the wine, drinking in delight.

“yeah... hey babe, what’s that?” he points behind you and you turn immediately in curiosity.

“...huh? ‘samu, i don’t see anything,” you turn back around to face him, but lo and behold, osamu miya is down on one knee.

your eyes look around in shock, clearly taken aback. “wha— babe, we didn’t plan this?!”

“i know,” he chuckles, pulling out a ring similar to the one he bought at the pawn shop, except brighter, cleaner. with more diamonds than you could ever even imagine. “my love, i’ve loved you since i’ve known you, and i’ll love you for as long as i do. will ya marry me?”

sure is a good thing osamu’s got practice.

@deardoelle mwah

[mourvii]

osamu miya x reader – “2:37 a.m.”

summary: it's 2:37 a.m. and you're still studying. he thinks that's stupid—but he also thinks you're brilliant, even when you don't believe it yourself.

you don’t mean to wake him.

you’re trying your best, actually—being quiet as a mouse while your highlighter glides across your notes, soft lamp barely flickering in the corner of his room. you're curled up in one of osamu’s oversized shirts, legs tucked beneath you, hair messy from rolling around with your thoughts.

your textbook stares at you like it knows you're about to fail. and you’re just about ready to cry over a single sentence that refuses to make sense.

“you’re gonna burn a hole through that page, ya know.”

his voice—raspy, half-asleep, laced with teasing—comes from behind you. you jump a little, eyes wide as you turn. he’s sitting up now, hair a mess, sleepy lines etched into his cheek from the pillow. he squints at you through the darkness, clearly unimpressed.

“go back to sleep,” you whisper, trying not to sound guilty.

he yawns, ignoring you completely as he swings his legs over the side of the bed and trudges over to you like a grumpy cat.

“you’re still studyin’?” he mumbles, kneeling beside you on the floor. “it’s like… 2:30.”

“2:37,” you correct automatically, and his face says girl, that is not the flex you think it is.

“you’ve been doin’ this since we went to bed.”

“i have a quiz tomorrow—”

“monday quiz?” he interrupts, brows furrowing like he's offended on your behalf.

you nod. he sighs like it’s the biggest tragedy he's ever heard.

“you’re killin’ yourself over somethin’ that’s worth, what, ten points?”

you pout, and he softens—just slightly. his hand reaches up to tuck your hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“i just…” you start, voice suddenly smaller, iI don’t wanna mess this up.”

and that’s when he knows. this isn’t just about the quiz. it’s about everything. about how you always try too hard. how you want to be enough in every way. how no one ever taught you to rest without guilt.

he leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, lingering there longer than usual.

“you’re enough even if you fail that quiz, y’know that?”

you don’t answer. you blink back a tear instead.

so he takes the notebook gently out of your lap and closes it with a soft thud. “quiz ain’t goin’ anywhere. but if you crash, i’ll have to carry you through school, and i’m not built for that.”

you laugh, a watery little thing, and he grins because he got you to smile.

“come back to bed,” he says, tugging at your hand. “i’ll let you drool on my shoulder. free of charge.”

“osamu.”

“i’m serious. c’mere. i’ll even quiz you with my eyes closed.”

you sigh, but your body follows. he pulls you into his bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. tucks you under the blanket, wraps an arm around your waist like you’re the only thing that matters.

and when you finally rest your head against his chest, his voice is barely a whisper against your hair.

“get some sleep, baby. you got this. i believe in you more than any quiz ever could.”

and you do.

you sleep.

safe, warm, and loved at 2:37 a.m., in the arms of a boy who would stay up all night just to make sure you did.

[bowtiepasta]

osamu god of aftercare miya who doesn’t know what leaving is. in gray sweats, shirtless, a ‘kiss the cook’ apron on while he’s making you breakfast the morning after? you don’t really want him to leave anyway.

butter, pancakes, and some secret third thing, pulls you from the haze of sleep before you even open your eyes. the sheets beside you are empty but still warm, proof that osamu hasn’t been up for long.

when you stir, stretching lazily, the first thing you see is him: standing by the stove in nothing but his sweatpants and an apron that hangs loose around his bare chest. he rolls his shoulders back, muscles bunching, the former act to perfectly flipping a sunnyside egg — yolk intact.

“you’re starin’,” he drawls, not looking away from the pan. who wouldn’t be? sleep is evident in his hair, apron dusted lightly with flour, and there’s a faint pink mark on his shoulder turning purple, one you don’t remember leaving but feel smug about anyway.

“you’re in my apartment, my kitchen, making me breakfast,” you manage to carry the tone through a mumble, “I think I’m allowed to look.”

he huffs out a laugh, setting a fresh pancake onto the growing stack on the counter. “fair enough.”

“planning on leaving anytime soon?” you ask, tucking your hair behind your ear and drizzling syrup over your portion. he stares a moment, eyes soft and crinkling at the ends, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I ain’t leavin’ until you're full.”

[aeonmnei]

— osamu quietly sighs to himself as he hears an irritated grumble from your side of the bed, along with the soft huff of the bedsheet as you shift uncomfortably. his mild exasperation dissipates quickly, however, when he hears you whimper and sniff.

osamu tosses a pillow aside as he turns over to check on you, spread eagle on the bed with your forearm over your eyes. “what’s wrong?” he asks in a hoarse whisper. 

you’ve got an awful pout on your face, and he can see a tear slide down your cheek and onto your lips in the faint light. osamu watches in slight amusement when you lick it off. he clears his throat. “what’s wrong?” he asks again. 

there’s a pause as you sniff loudly. you dig your palms into your eyes. “it’s hot,” you say, finally. osamu’s deadpan as he leans on his elbow to look at you. that’s all?? “well, yeah, baby,” he replies plainly. “t’s summer.” 

“it’s so hot, i can’t sleeeeep,” you groan, your leg swinging over to land on top of his. “‘m so tired, ‘samu. and that fan’s doing jackshit.” “it’s literally in yer face, babe,” osamu tries, but you let out another weary sob that makes him roll his eyes as he starts to get up, peeling your sticky leg off of him as he does.

“where’re you going?” you mumble, still sniffling. “gettin’ ya a fan,” osamu grunts, feet dragging sleepily across the wood floor.

he comes back a few minutes later with a large handfan, lying back next to you on his side. osamu snaps it open and starts fanning you— face, chest, stomach, and back up again. you relax, settling into the bed contentedly, and he can’t help but scoff.

“yer sucha drama queen, ya know that?” he tells you, his voice full of affection. “seriously.”

note: i think i spent more time debating between a colon and an em dash than i did writing the damn thing

[bonniepop]

another night where you fight, another night of silence. another night where miya osamu sleeps with his back to you.

the realization that there is not much more you can do to save your relationship clutches at your chest with an iron grip.

the gravity of it makes you whimper. pressing your lips together, you shakily push yourself up to sit blinking back tears while blindly stepping around for your slippers, willing yourself not to sob—not here, not where he can hear. your toes touch the fluff of them, and you hurry to slip them on. you need to get out of here.

as quiet as possible, you leave your boyfriend in your shared bedroom.

you stumble to the couch and kick off your shoes, blindly searching until your fingers catch the lampshade switch. you yank it to provide some light, rattling as it flings back into place.

you pull your knees to your chest and press your forehead against your kneecaps. a numb part of your brain thinks oh, so this is where this was, when you think of the misery that quieted itself, replaced with a numbness that overtook you during the fight you had with him earlier.

the numbness that made your limbs feel like ice when he clicked off the phone call without even hearing you out.

you wanted to tell him so much, but in the face of his blank gaze and dismissive demeanor, you shut off. you have more fight in you, you know that. but tonight you just couldn’t. couldn’t listen to him tell you that he needed more from you—more support, more time, more patience.

you’ve given him that, right? your brain runs with thoughts you can't keep up with. you gave him yourself. you have, for months, for years. you did what you could. you’ve withstood lonely anniversaries, forgotten birthdays, broken promises. you’ve done everything you could. you gave what you could. you gave everything you could.

i want you to come home, you wanted to tell him eatlier tonight. come home. you’re never home. i know you’re busy at work and you’re doing what you love but please, ‘samu. please. 

love me, too.

your body wracks with a sob, the hurt fresh, as if the words that you never got to say wounded your insides instead. you wanted to tell him that, you wanted to beg for it, beg for his time, beg for his attention, beg for him to love you back. but time and time again he just turns and says he’s tired, he doesn't want to hear it, and the moment is gone, and now the fear of knowing that leaving things unsaid will destroy you, will destroy him. will destroy both of you.

you huddle closer into yourself and sob, a sharp sound in your ears making your head pound.

“babe?” you hear through the ringing in your ears, and suddenly warm hands are on your arms. “babe, what’s wrong?” his voice is calm against your turmoil. “are you having a panic attack?”

“’samu, i’m—” you shudder and he leaves for a moment, flitting to the kitchen to grab you some water. 

“drink, please,” he tells you, gently unfurling you to sit. you comply with shaky limbs, taking the water he’d given you in your delicate grip. a few sips are enough to calm you down, but the fear is still there.

he gingerly takes the glass and sets it aside. he kneels in front of you, taking your hands and soothingly rubbing his thumbs against your skin. his fingers are hot, almost like a furnace, but when you realize that he's not, he's fine, your hands are freezing, you resist the urge to pull away as he warms your palm.

when he looks up to smile at you, you see the exhaustion on his face, and, instantly, you hate yourself for it. for this.

"i'm sorry," you blurt out, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over.

his hand leaves yours and cups your cheek. "for what, baby?"

“i love you so much, osamu,” you tell him without thinking, voice thick and wet and miserable. you press the palm of the hand he let go of against his cheek, hiccuping when he closes his eyes to lean into your touch. 

“i love you, too,” he says, ready to apologize for the fight, but it's not about that.

not anymore.

you pull away. the confusion and hurt on his face is making everything worse.

“i love you so much,” you tell him, desperately wishing that he could understand. “but i—” you sob, “but, osamu, i can’t anymore.”

osamu presses his lips together, saying nothing. you hear him sniffle, and his fingers come forward to brush at the tears on your cheeks and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.

“i love you so much,” you confess. “i would do anything for you. and i have, i have for years. i’ve tried my best, but osamu, i’m so tired,” you sob. your voice feels like its giving out but the desperation makes the words claw themselves out of your mouth. “i’m so tired, i'm so tired and i'm so lonely, and—and—and i love you so much, but i have nothing left to give.”

you pull your hands away to hunch over and cry into your palms unable to face him. messily, you wipe at your face and push your hair back. you give him the most apologetic smile you can muster, but you're unable to see his face through your tears. “i’m so sorry i can’t give you more, osamu.”

you hear him sniffle and when you wipe your tears away with the backs of your hands, his eyes are glassy. then he closes his eyes.

the pain that washes over his face is absolutely unbearable. the furrow of his brow and the wrinkle of his chin, the lines by his scowl that you know is him trying his best to keep it together.

when he opens his eyes to look at you, his eyes are no longer glassy. your heart breaks for the pain he refuses to show. “what’s next?”

your smile is sad and wet with tears. “i think you know.” you brush his hair back and cradle his face with your hands. “let’s… let’s do this in the morning, okay?”

he nods, looking away. he licks his lips and shakes his head, and he turns to face you with a furrowed brow and a little more composure despite his watery gaze. but it doesn’t take long before his face crumples and he rushes to hide his face against your legs. his quiet sobs are pained and miserable, his chest shaking as he cries. 

you press your face against his hair and cry with him.

—

the morning greets you kindly, the soft sunlight bathing your room in a sweet glow. it’s early, but you can’t keep sleeping. there’s a lot to pack.

your eyes feel hot and swollen, and bones feel heavy beneath your skin, weighing you down from getting up from the bed. still, you fight. you push yourself up to sit and notice that you’re alone. unsurprising, really; osamu has been leaving earlier and coming home later. onigiri miya needs care, needs nurturing, so it’ll blossom and grow. you need to stop begrudging him for it.

you finish your morning ablutions in the bathroom and head out to the kitchen, but when you open your bedroom door, the smell of food hits your nose like a smack to the face. your stomach twists when you see a familiar broad back—osamu didn’t leave—and your fingers turn cold.

the door slides shut behind you and he turns. “good mornin’,” he says quietly, shutting off the stove.

“good morning,” you say, walking to your kitchenette. when you see the spread on the table, you gape despite yourself. “osamu. what is—what.”

he flushes, sliding a delicious looking steak unto a plate and setting it alongside the other plates—nearly every single plate you own, you note—and your dining table is bursting with food. “cooked breakfast.”

“for how many people?” you ask, incredulous. “i tried t'remember everythin’ you liked,” he said with a sniff, and your heart crinkles at the edges, because that means something.

“thank you,” you whisper, and you quietly take a seat while sets aside the dishware he used. 

when he finishes, he turns to look at you, leaning on the counter. it takes him a while. “when you leave,” he says, “i’m going to try again.”

you stare at him, confused. you say nothing and wait for him to continue.

“i don’t want you to leave,” he says, and he rubs his face in frustration. “but i know i’ve—i know i fucked up. i love you, and i never should’ve hurt you.” he inhales through his nose. “but i did, and i can’t change that.

“but i’m not giving up on you. not on us. you—” he clears his throat, and the dark circles beneath his eyes makes your heart feel tight. “i’ll… if i have to start all over again, i’ll do it,” he whispers, walking closer and taking your chin in his hand, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “i’ll win you back.”

“osamu,” you whisper, and his face crumples again.

“i love you too much to let you go,” he says, voice breaking as he fights back tears. “and i know that makes me a jerk. but i’m… i love you, so much—so fucking much, and i hate myself for not making you feel that. for hurting you.”

he gets on his knees and tears are streaming down your face. “leave me if you have to,” he says brokenly.

“if you need space, i’ll understand. but please,” he begs. “please don’t give up on me.” 

he does the unthinkable. he curls over and bows, back curved and forehead pressed against the backs of his hands, pressed against the floor.

the horror that overtakes you is beyond words. 

you drop to the floor to pull him upright, not letting him do this. he won’t do this to himself, you won’t let him. not for anyone, not for you. you pull his face against yours and kiss him as hard as you can, crying as you do.

you won't let him do this.

later, you sit on the couch, arms around osamu’s middle as you lie on his chest. the idea that this could be the last time you held him like this made you want to burst into tears again.

“i’ll make it up to you,” he promises, pushing your hair out of your face, gently guiding your chin up. “please, just… give me another chance.”

you look up at him, and your eyes meet.

—

“hey!” atsumu greets warmly as soon as you enter the restaurant, spreading his arms wide to engulf you in a hug. “it’s so good t’see you!“

“hi, ‘tsumu,” you greet, returning the hug. 

he motions for you to sit as he picks up the menu. “know what you want?”

you nod, not even bothering to pick up the menu. “how are you? how’s training?”

“’m good! training’s good. teammates are pretty good, too.”

"yeah? like who?"

atsumu makes a show of looking at the menu. "oh, i don't you know them."

you roll your eyes at his obvious ploy to get you to start talking. “fine. ask me.”

atsumu instantly leans in, conspiratorially covering his mouth with the menu and whispering, “how are you two? it’s been over a month now, right?”

“oi.” you twist your head to smile up at the newcomer. “stop bothering them, ‘tsumu.”

atsumu glares at his twin. “i’m the one who invited ‘em to lunch!”

osamu rolls his eyes and lays down a platter of onigiri in front of you. he snatches the menu and smacks his brother’s wandering hands with it before they get to close. “these are not for you.”

“but that’s a lot!" atsumu whines. "can’t i have any?”

“no,” osamu says resolutely, then turns to you and gives you the softest smile he can muster, pinning the menu by his side and arm.

"i haven't even ordered yet!" atsumu complains.

osamu ignores him. “let me know what you think.”

“okay,” you say with a smile. 

“and let me know if you need to take out anything,” he continues, “i’ll wrap it up for you.” he leans forward and presses a kiss to your temple. “enjoy.”

“thank you, ‘samu,” you tell him before he turns to leave. 

he smiles back at you and heads back behind the bar.

atsumu has evidently forgotten about ordering, because his eyes shuttle back and forth between you two before nodding considerably. “so i take it things are going well?”

“yeah,” you admit, picking up an onigiri. “going really well, actually.”

“you’ve been…” atsumu searches for the word, “is it still called ‘dating’? you broke up. but… entertaining each other…?”

“don’t hurt yourself,” you joke. “but yeah. let’s call it dating. and it’s going well, thanks for asking.” you take a bite of the onigiri.

“does he still have a chance?” atsumu asks, genuine curiosity on his face.

you chew thoughtfully as you look back at osamu, who’s smiling at a customer. you remember that bright morning, when he helped you pack, helped you move into your friend’s apartment. when he cooked all that food, and you found it neatly packed away in a thermal bag that had a handwritten note, reminding you to eat well.

you remember the next day, when he showed up at your friend’s door, holding flowers and inviting you out to get some ice cream. you remember his messages, his calls, his check ins on you, littered across the days, asking you how you are or if you’re eating or if you need any food.

you could call him if you needed any help, if you needed anything at all.

but reality sets in when you think of how one phone call could be a mistake, it stops you from searching his name each time you pick up the phone.

in your mind, you see his bent form, his begging, his tears. you remember his smiles and his hugs and his ‘see you later’s, his gradually growing list of unbroken promises. you remember the effort, the time he’s putting into you, putting aside for you. you remember how hard he tries for you.

it's like everything is new again.

his eyes catch yours and he gives you a small wave, and you wave back, your stomach fluttering.

it's not new, you think. it's better.

you swallow your food. it's delicious.

“yeah,” you say softly, “he does.”

[freshlyboughtgoldfish]

Atsumu bursts into the room 

“[Name]! Are you seriously gonna marry my brother?! I thought it was a joke!” He yells at you after he comes barreling into the room. 

It was the night before you and Osamu were going to be married. You open your mouth to respond before Osamu comes barreling into as well but unlike his brother he has his eyes set on Atsumu. 

Osamu lunges and takes Atsumu down and tries to pin him to the ground. And Atsumu in a panic starts yelling.

“I mean I like you, and I’m excited to have a sister but like… you’re gonna have kids!! He can’t be trusted around kids!” 

Osamu pushes and shoves Atsumu while they writhe together on the floor. 

“Shup your trap Sumu!”

Atsum yelps as he feels and elbow dig into his kidney but doesn’t relent. 

“He made me eat worms, and he chased me with wasps. And you think that’s an appropriate man to be raising kids with???” He gets out while trying to get his twin off of him. 

“Sumu, I like your brother, he’s such a great guy and I’m excited to marry him.” You say gently like you’re trying to calm a feral cat. 

“He tried to stab me with knives! He can’t be that nice.” He pants, finally extracting himself from Osamu’s grip. 

He gets off the ground and dusts himself off dramatically and makes his way to the door. He gives you a pained look. “Well if he makes you happy…” he says reluctantly. “Just know that if he gives you a gummy worm don’t believe him.”

And with that his gives Osamu a solid kick in the side before bolting out of the house. You watch your fiancé chase him out of the house and hear a car peel out of your driveway. 

Osamu comes back in and collapses down next to you. 

“So did you actually feed him worms?”

“…he was a very gullible kid. I got him like 4 times.”

“…that’s… oh…”

inspired by this ticktock. Here

[rosierin]

caught in the rain | osamu miya

synopsis; (y/n) is on her way back to the inarizaki dorms when she gets caught in the rain, and ends up stranded under a shed with one of the miya twins

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series!

back when they were still in high school 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

The downpour came out of nowhere.

That's the thing about April—the weather is always unpredictable. One minute the sky was an almost perfect blue, the sun shining with the promise of spring; the next, the sky had opened like a bucket tipped from the clouds. A fine mist clung to the ground where heavy sheets of rain crashed onto the tarmac, kicking up the scent of wet asphalt and earth. Even the temperature had taken a turn, dropping enough to raise goosebumps along her arms.

And of course, today of all days, (y/n) had forgotten to bring her umbrella.

Her shoes slapped against the wet pavement as she hurried for shelter. Her damp skirt brushed against her thighs, arms wrapped tightly around her schoolbag as she sprinted toward the nearest cover: a small, tin-roofed rest stop at the edge of the school’s walking trail. It was a ruddy old thing—just enough space to duck under and breathe—but it was better than being caught in a storm.

She burst beneath it, chest heaving, hair plastered to her face, and let out a startled gasp when she nearly collided with someone already standing there.

The boy blinked, just as startled. His silver hair was damp and messy, darkened at the ends where the water hadn't dried. Like (y/n), he was wearing an Inarizaki school uniform, the fabric a little wrinkled where water had soaked through.

I know him, she thought.

Well, not exactly. She’d seen him earlier during volleyball practice—one of Suna’s teammates. More specifically, one of the twins.

Luckily, not the blonde one.

His eyebrows lifted in recognition. "Oh. It’s you."

His voice wasn't hostile. Though it wasn't particularly warm, either. It was flat, maybe a little blunt. But at least, unlike his brother, he didn't look particularly displeased by her presence.

Imagine if I'd have bumped into the blonde one.

(Y/n) attempted to make herself more presentable as she fussed with her uniform. The fabric was soaked through, clinging in all the wrong places.

“You remember me?" she asked.

He nodded, tilting his head a little in recollection. “From earlier. Ya came to watch Suna, right?”

She hesitated, wiping water from her cheek with her sleeve. Remembering names and faces hadn’t always been her forte, but theirs had definitely stuck.

Hard to forget such loud presences.

Nodding, she offered a polite smile. “Mhmm. You're Miya, right?"

“Osamu.”

His response came out quick, but not sharp. More like... corrective. Like he was used to making that distinction.

(Y/n) paused, a little stunned by the first-name basis. At first she thought he was acting bold, but then she figured... yeah. If she had a twin, she’d probably want people to call her by her first name too. Probably easier for everyone.

She wondered absently if that’s also why they dyed their hair different colours.

“Sorry—Osamu," she tried to familiarise herself with the name. She'd be seeing him every day at school, then at practice, so she might as well. “Got it.”

Osamu hummed approvingly, then shifted to the side without a word, giving her more space beneath the overhang. She hadn’t even realized how narrow the shed was until the small gesture brought her just out of the edge of the rain.

Now they stood shoulder to shoulder, close but not quite touching. Close enough to hear the rustle of his uniform as he tucked his hands into his pockets.

“Some weather, huh,” he murmured.

“Some weather,” she echoed, exhaling softly.

Outside, the neighbourhood had turned an almost eerie shade of dark grey. Like dusk had crept in early, dragging the clouds with it.

The steady beat of rain drummed against the tin roof, accompanied by not much else.

Should I speak? (y/n) asked herself. She could talk about the weather—now would certainly be a good time—but Osamu had beat her to it.

So, now what? Standing in silence just felt so awkward. They were in the same class, and technically they had met before. Although they hadn't exactly spoke much—if at all. Still, the fact that they were acquaintances made her feel as though she needed to fill the silence.

"I take it you got caught in it too?" she offered at last, looking out at the downpour. She realised a second too late that that had been a stupid question.

"Nah. I love takin' walks in rainstorms."

(Y/n) pursed her lips, feeling dumb indeed. But Osamu didn't rub it in, just chuckled as she shook her head at her own social inaptitude.

"I'm not usually this awkward," she sighed. "I just couldn't think of anything better to say."

Osamu's lips quirked into a faint smile. "Yer fine," he said. "I was tryna think of somethin' to say, too."

(Y/n) relaxed at that, feeling relieved... and a little flattered, too. He was giving her the time of day—something she hadn’t really expected from him. Not because she thought he was a bad person, but because his twin had acted like he wanted nothing to do with her. She’d assumed he’d be the same. Only now did she realise maybe she’d been unfair to think that way. So, she let her guard down a little.

It was then that she noticed him rummaging through his duffle bag. She glanced sideways at him, curious, and blinked as he pulled out what looked to be a sports jersey. Burgundy, a little wrinkled, and—if (y/n)'s memory was correct—the same one he'd been wearing during practice.

"Here," he said, handing it to her. "Sorry if it's a little damp, I was usin' it to dry my hair."

(Y/n)’s lips parted in genuine disbelief. Kind—this boy was being so kind. Now she just felt worse for lumping him in with his ass of a brother. “Are you sure?”

Osamu offered a light shrug, then jerked his head at the outstretched jersey, hinting at her to take it. "Might as well. Yer pretty soaked."

(Y/n) gingerly took the jacket off him and began running it through her wet hair. Indeed, the fabric was cold and still a bit damp as it brushed against the back of her neck, and it smelled like a typical boy, too. Like deodorant and fresh laundry detergent. However there was a warmth to his scent she couldn’t quite place. A faint trace of food, like he’d left the jacket hanging in a kitchen while someone was cooking.

"Thanks for this," (y/n) smiled, squeezing the lengths of her locks. "Makes me feel icky when I have wet hair."

Osamu gave a soft hum, a dismissive little sound. “All good. Ya looked like ya needed it.”

They both laughed quietly at that. Then, as an afterthought, he added, "Plus I'd be guilty if ya caught a cold, or somethin'."

"You would?" she asked, curious.

Osamu suddenly sounded playful. "Yeah. I mean who else would come n' watch Suna practice?"

(Y/n) bristled. Paused mid-wipe. And turned to look at him.

Osamu only offered a little smile, perhaps a coy one. Or maybe she was just being paranoid.

"He asked me to come, for the record," she defended mildly. Though it wasn’t a lie. Suna really had invited her to come and meet the team.

"Cute," was all Osamu replied. But when (y/n) narrowed her eyes at him, he gave a light chuckle and held his hands up placatingly.

"I wasn't bein' condescendin'," he clarified. "I meant it—you and Suna seem close. It was cute seein’ ya cheer him on.”

He sounded sincere, though maybe that was because anything sounded friendlier with a Kansai accent. It was charming, and perhaps (y/n) was feeling just a little bit charmed.

"We are," she smiled. "We've known each other since we were kids. Went to the same schools and everything. That’s why I came to Inarizaki, actually—because Rin—Suna—got scouted here."

She regretted saying the last part. But if Osamu picked up on her sudden bashfulness, he didn't let it show. He did, however, seem genuinely intrigued as he glanced down at her from the corner of his eyes.

"So are you two..."

He trailed off, but the implication was clear.

"No."

The word came out fast—too fast. And a little too blunt.

Osamu turned to look at her, eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“We’re just friends,” she amended, forcing her voice steady. She was thankful that the rosiness on her cheeks could be blamed on the chill in the air.

Osamu didn't press any further. Didn't comment on her little outburst. Instead, he just turned back to the rain with a thoughtful nod.

“Got it,” he said. “Just friends.”

He didn’t sound all that convinced, but (y/n) was thankful he didn’t pry. Thankful, too, for the jacket in her hands—something to keep her occupied, to stop her from thinking too hard about Suna or how flustered she might’ve looked.

She gave her hair a final pat-down, the strands likely frizzed beyond repair. But honestly? She couldn’t bring herself to care. Osamu didn’t seem like the type to notice, let alone judge.

He’d been… nice. Surprisingly nice.

Maybe that’s why she hesitated, then pulled the jacket a little closer. The wind had picked up again, sending chilly waves beneath the overhang, and before she could overthink it, she draped the jersey over her shoulders.

Something told her he wouldn’t mind.

“Sorry if my brother gave ya a bad first impression," Osamu said out of nowhere.

She glanced up at him, about to respond, but he cut in before she had the chance. "He's not always like that."

"He isn't?" (Y/n) couldn't quite believe that. His brother—Atsumu—seemed like the type of guy to always run his mouth. Your typical arrogant jock that ought to be put in his place.

"Well," Osamu continued, his voice a bit strained. He seemed to search for his words.

"Just most the time?" (y/n) tried to finish for him. She hoped that wouldn't offend him. They were still brothers, after all.

"Yeah," Osamu eventually conceded. "Most the time." And at that, his voice turned a tiny bit softer.

As for the rain, it seemed to soften a little too. The storm had turned into a manageable drizzle. Above, the dark clouds were beginning to disperse, thin rays of sunshine making the wet tarmac glisten prettily.

"Thanks for this, by the way." She shrugged her shoulders, bringing attention to the jacket draped over them.

Osamu looked down, only now noticing. He smiled the way she'd expected. "Suits ya."

The way he said it sounded a lot like, you don't have to give it back just yet, so she didn't.

She stepped out from under the shelter, careful not to slip on the wet concrete, and breathed in deep. The air was fresh and clean now, scented with petrichor and moss. The path ahead glistened under the faint glow of returning sun, raindrops clinging to tree branches like little silver ornaments.

She barely made it two steps before Osamu fell into pace beside her.

“Yer headin’ back to the dorms, right? I can walk ya,” he offered, looking at her for confirmation.

(Y/n) was taken aback by his gallantry. The walk wasn't far by any means, nor was it a dodgy area. She could easily make her way back on her own. But for some reason, she didn’t feel like protesting.

She’d actually enjoyed her little encounter with him. It’d be a shame to cut it short when he was offering to spend more time with her.

“You’re quite the gent compared to your twin, aren’t you?” she teased.

Osamu chuckled at that. “Someone’s gotta make up for his crappy attitude.”

(Y/n) gave a little laugh.

They walked in silence for a little while, their footsteps thudding against the damp trail. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, though. In fact, it felt surprisingly easy. Like neither of them felt the need to fill the quiet.

Osamu didn’t seem like the type to talk just for the sake of it, and (y/n) found she liked that about him. It reminded her of Suna.

Her eyes flicked sideways at him every so often, taking him in quietly. His posture was relaxed, hands tucked in his pockets again, eyes on the path ahead. There was something grounding about him. Something easy-going and kind without being performative.

A stark contrast to the other Miya, she thought.

It's funny how two people could look identical and yet feel completely different. Atsumu had been nothing but loud and cocky from the moment she’d met him. All sharp smiles and an even sharper tongue.

But Osamu? He didn’t seem like that at all.

At least, that’s what their short interactions had led her to think.

By the time they reached the dorm gates, the sky had cleared into a soft blue, streaked with the last remnants of grey clouds.

She stopped by the gate, turning to face him. “Thanks for walking me back, Osamu. And for your jacket.” Her smile was genuine as she handed it back. “It was nice seeing you again.”

“No worries,” he said, giving her a small nod. “We didn’t get to talk much earlier so ‘m glad I bumped into ya. Or ya bumped into me, rather.”

(Y/n) bit back a laugh at the recollection of her almost colliding into him at the shelter.

For a second, she thought he was going to leave it at that.

“I assume I’ll see ya at practice?” he asked, but the question was all mischief—the corner of his mouth quirking in that coy, knowing way.

He meant Suna’s practice. And after today, it was probably obvious she’d show up again.

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help her smile. She had to admit, his wit was a little amusing. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Osamu ducked his head, chuckling under his breath. The wet tarmac slapped beneath his heel as he hopped down the steps.

“See ya later, (y/n). Was nice meetin’ ya properly.”

He gave her one last wave, and just like that, he turned and headed off down the path.

(Y/n) lingered a moment longer, watching him go. Then, with a quiet smile tugging at her lips, she slipped into the dorms.

[cxvii666]

no-context boyfriend txts w/ ten

FEATURING!

YUJI ITADORI, DENKI KAMINARI, HANTA SERO, hitoshi shinsou, eren yeager, ryuunoske tanaka, KEIGO TAKAMI, takuma ino, connie springer, hajime iwaizumi, issei matsukawa, (i could see) yuuta okkotsu, osamu miya, tetsurou kuroo, satori tendou, yuu nishinoya, koushi sugawara, satoru gojo, also suguru geto (he gives closet weirdo), jean kirstein, yuuji terushima, togata mirio + ur faves ofc x

[riddlesrose]

osamu miya who believes you’re close to him because you’re interested in his twin. it takes a while for him to fully accept that you don’t want atsumu, you want him. it really set it when you start bringing him the snack he pointed out in your lunch, setting it in front of him while you basically ignored a whining atsumu.

post graduation osamu who was so sad when atsumu was mad at him for quitting volleyball, he comes to you with his troubles, hoping you can help. you let him spew all of his feelings uninterrupted while pressed together on your bed. you wipe a stray tear from his eye and pull him impossibly closer for a hug.

college osamu who calls you almost every night, complaining about the work load he’s been given, or the fact that he wants to come back. when he does it’s the holidays and he celebrates with you first, then his family, and yes you’re there too. (his mother is a huge fan of you, she loooves you like her own:((( )

onigiri miya owner osamu who brings home extra food from his shop because he knows you love it. he totally didn’t make extra before closing. nope. you come to onigiri miya most days to visit him, despite living together. something about him and his uniform does something to your mind.

osamu miya who’s loved you since highschool <33

masterlist

[xoxojisu]

"YOU'RE PREGNANT?!"

synopsis: you're pregnant with osamu's baby! you need to break the news to atsumu, but he somehow spoils it.. for himself?

notes: afab reader if that wasn't obvious

you and osamu had rehearsed this like three times on the drive over.

well, you rehearsed it. osamu just kept nodding and saying, “he’s gonna be loud either way,” which… yeah, fair. but this was a big deal! atsumu may have been chaos incarnate, but he was still osamu's twin brother, and you both wanted him to be one of the first to know!

so here you were, sitting in a booth at a quiet ramen place, the twins across from each other like always, bickering over toppings like they weren’t in their thirties.

“who the hell puts corn in ramen?” atsumu griped, making a face.

“people with good taste,” osamu muttered, not bothering to even look up from his bowl in favor of continuing eating. "corn in ramen's tasty. it's sweet and crunchy and buttery. yer just not refined enough to get it. got the taste buds of a toddler."

"it's actually pretty good! osamu put me on." you chimed in.

“he look like he is the corn in ramen,” atsumu grumbled. “fuckin' fatass. what, ya pregnant?”

you froze.

osamu froze.

atsumu… kept eating.

you and osamu turned to each other in perfect sync, wide-eyed, identical expressions of did he just..? before you could even stop yourself, you blurted:

“how’d you know?!”

atsumu blinked. “huh?”

osamu reached over to hit atsumu on the head with his chopsticks, not saying anything, just staring at him in disbelief.

"wait, what?" atsumu said, "hold on-"

"is twin telepathy actually real?! holy shit! samu, why didn't you tell me that he could fucking read your mind?"

“i- huh? what? wait,” atsumu stuttered, eyes darting between you two, hands raised in shock. “you thought i meant you-” he pointed at you. “you’re pregnant?!”

you nodded slowly, still stunned. “we were literally about to tell you.”

atsumu opened his mouth. closed it. opened it again. “what the hell, i.. i was callin’ him fat!”

“i’m not fat,” osamu hissed. “i’m-”

“i was makin’ fun of him! i didn’t think i had mind-readin’ powers! holy shit!”

“well clearly you do!” you exclaimed, gesturing wildly. “you just predicted a whole pregnancy announcement! twin telepathy is real!”

atsumu leaned back in the booth, looking like he just got hit with a volleyball straight to the face.

“yer seriously- like, for real- like- like, actually pregnant?”

you nodded again, this time with a soft smile. “yeah. just a couple months.”

atsumu stared for another beat before his face completely split into the biggest, brightest grin you’d ever seen.

“no freakin’ way! i’m gonna be a uncle?!” he launched halfway across the table, practically knocking over a bowl in the process. “holy shit, i was jokin’! samu, ya really did it, ya old sap!”

osamu groaned as atsumu pulled him into a squeeze. “let go of me.”

“never! i’m gonna tell everyone!”

“you’re not.”

you laughed, the moment finally settling into the warm, chaotic joy you’d expected from the start.

atsumu finally let go, eyes still sparkling. “i can’t believe i called it. like—psychic level. maybe i should open a side hustle. chicks would pay big money for a hot guy to read their fortune.”

osamu looked at you. “i told ya he’d be loud.”

you grinned. “he was also kinda perfect.”

“damn right i was,” atsumu said, already pulling out his phone. “now what’s the name gonna be? ‘tsumu’ is a gender-neutral option, just sayin’-”

osamu reached across the table and finally flicked him on the forehead.

later, after the chaos had simmered down and the three of you stepped out into the evening air, atsumu was quiet in that rare way that made you glance over to make sure he was okay.

you were halfway to your cars when he slowed beside you. “so,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “you, uh… got any pictures yet? like, baby ones?”

you smiled and pulled out your phone. “only one so far. first ultrasound.”

you handed it over and he took it a little too carefully, like he was afraid to drop it. the black-and-white image flickered faintly on the screen, and he just… stared.

he didn’t smile. didn’t joke. he looked at that tiny shape like it was the most real thing in the world. like it had just hit him, really hit him what this meant.

“that’s… them?” he asked, voice quiet.

you nodded. “yeah. that’s your niece or nephew.”

atsumu blinked. “they’re so small.”

you and osamu glanced at each other—your heart a little full, his eyes a little softer than usual.

then atsumu looked up, meeting your gaze. “thanks for tellin’ me. first, i mean. that you wanted me to know first.” he cleared his throat, suddenly awkward. “i’m… real happy for you guys. both of ya.”

“you’re gonna be an amazing uncle,” you said, nudging him gently.

he gave a little laugh. “yeah? little corn junior?”

“no,” osamu said flatly. “absolutely not.”

but you were smiling, and so was atsumu, and osamu had that small, quiet look he only ever got when he was really, truly happy.

atsumu looked back at the photo one more time. then, without a word, he stepped forward and hugged you. not a joking one. not a one-arm squeeze. a real one.

“i’m proud of you,” he mumbled. "this is crazy."

you hugged him back. “we love you, ‘tsumu.”

osamu snorted beside you. “gettin’ soft in your old age.”

“shut it, old man. i’m still prettier.”

they started bickering again as you all walked down the street—arguing over who had better genes and whether the baby would inherit osamu’s cooking or atsumu’s hair.

you stayed a step behind for just a moment. hand resting over your stomach. heart full.

this little one was already so loved.

..and also so doomed to a life of chaos.

but mostly? so, so loved.

masterlist

[yamsfrecklvs]

cw: implied fem reader, spanking, fingering, biting, post-timeskip - not proofread

thinking about osamu miya and his big strong hands and his sudden discovery of the fact that he likes to spank you - but most importantly, that you enjoy it. it all starts out as a joke, really. you two love to playfight - in a way that never ever results in you getting hurt, of course. but this one particular time, you’re pretending to fight on the couch, laughing ‘til your ribs got tough, until he yanks you up by your waist and sprawls you on his lap, face down, ass up. he playfully bounces you on his knee before he lands a sound slap to your ass. it’s hard. a little too hard, somewhat painful, even. sure, it’s not the first time he’s ever smacked your ass - it’s a habit of his. he does it when passing by you around the house, if you’re laying on the bed, during sex, of course, or whenever he feels like it. but it was never like this, mostly because he’s aware of his strength. but today, he didn’t control the amount of force he put into the slap properly. it hurts - but oh, you love it.

you wince a little, a loud gasp coming from your mouth, eyes wide from surprise because why are you even enjoying it?

mistaking your mildly confusing pleasure for pain, his expression immediately softens, pretty eyes staring at you in worry.

“i’m so sorry, angel, did that hurt?”

it’s a little embarrassing, really. you shake your head no while he coos in an almost condescending way, his hand rubbing the reddened spot on your butt. but osamu knows you, and the fact that you’re not cracking a joke or turning to look at him in annoyance is absolutely telltale. and when he realizes it? oh.

so he tries again — he spanks you hard, exactly as he’s done instants before, and carefully observes your reactions. when he hears that cute little sound you make again, something inside him snaps. he gets it.

“you liked that, didn’t ya?”

and oh he’s such an asshole about it too, in his own, little sarcastic way. when you turn to look at him, lips in a pout and eyebrows furrowed in a mixture of embarrassment and admission, you see a flicker of sheer joy in his irises.

“don’t make a big deal out of it, ‘samu, i swear-“ you begin, only getting cut off by him spanking you again. and the little post-smack burn feels so good that you can feel the heat pooling between your thighs and you instinctively arch your back a little. he says nothing, but he takes the sight of you like this in like he’s never gonna get another chance like this, knowing damn well that yes, he will, because you can’t resist him anyway.

two minutes later, you’re still bent over on his lap. but your panties are around your ankles and he so surprised at just how wet you are from him doing so little. he’s got two fingers knuckles-deep inside you while his other hand lazily spanks you. and you could swear that it’s heaven, the way his fingers curl up inside you so perfectly, how he knows how and where to touch you. and while he says nothing, you can definitely feel his bulge poking against you. but this is not about him, no. it’s about you. it’s about making you feel good, the way you can’t help but let out gasps and moans at every single touch he reserves for you and you only. of course, it’s also about the way he can’t wait to see the purplish imprint of his hand on your ass tomorrow.

when he makes you cum on his fingers, you can tell he’s just so satisfied with himself. his hands, so big and rough now gentler against your bruised skin, cup at your ass once more. but then, he clicks his tongue in… disappointment?

you turn to him, breath still hitched. “what?”

“one sec.” he says, and he just stares at your ass for a couple of seconds before he leans down. then, a sharp pain - his teeth sinking into you. he’s biting you, the soft flesh already bruised by his digits now marked by the crescent moon of his teeth. he’s so mean and smug with it that his amusement is almost infuriating.

“sorry, baby. looked way too pretty. had to leave m’signature.”

@yamsfrecklvs i hate this but i haven’t posted in a while so ummm here ya go ig ALSO check out the lorde ref at the beginning lol

[morosluvbug]

osamu miya who falls in love with a picky eater

osamu miya who learns from a very young age that you’re not willing to touch most foods. he (not so) secretly watches at lunch everyday to see what parts of you lunch you end up neglecting.

osamu miya who never teases you about being picky, after all that’s what makes cooking for you more rewarding right? nailing the flavors that you love and hiding the ones that you have no taste for.

osamu miya who attempts (and succeeds) at wowing you through bringing you lunches that he knows you’ll enjoy.

osamu miya who spends the rest of lunch trying not to grin ear to ear while watching you happily eat the lunch he brought you.

osamu miya who knows it’s now his life’s mission to make sure you enjoy food as much as possible.

osamu miya who loves the way your face lights up when he finds a place with lots of options for foods you like. whether its due to dietary restrictions, allergies, or a distace for certain foods, he will make sure there’s many options for you everytime you eat out.

osamu miya who cooks for you as often as you like. if you're ever feeling unmotivated and unwilling to cook he will show up and help you.

osamu miya will reach out to your parents for childhood recipes and loved dishes you may not have told him about. he wants to have your comfort foods at the ready whenever you're craving them.

osamu miya who never fails to wow you with how well he remembers your favorite foods. craving a certain cuisine but don’t know what you want? trust me, he knows way before you do and politely suggests it.

osamu miya loves seeing your reactions to new foods you discover. he’s always so proud when you try something new, and is even happier when he watches your face light up from the flavors.

osamu miya will order for you if you need to sub out items on a dish but are to embarrassed! food is meant to be enjoyed! not picked apart to avoid certain aspects of it.

osamu miya who will do anything to make sure you’re happy, healthy, and not hungy!!

A/N: projecting so hard onto this fic i am so picky about foods!! trying to be better but i fear i am doomed for life :( osamu save me