#hq osamu

[moontraumm]

Osamu ! 🦊

[Also!! I'm working on the requests, but because I'm out of time, it's taking me a little longer. and thanks for the support ᡣ𐭩]

[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

[swtnjk]

bf osamu things (time skip au)

[bokutoko]

ᴏꜱᴀᴍᴜ didn’t really have a favorite color.

it wasn’t until he saw you after school one chilly autumn day, your face lighting up with the question, “is that jacket new, ‘samu?”

he nodded—he didn’t think too much of it when he got it for his birthday, so he surely didn’t expect anyone else to notice. “a gift from ma.”

“i like it, it’s my favorite color,” you took in his full appearance, your eyes looking him up and down, “it suits ya.” a cackle escaped you at osamu’s flustered face, only growing louder with him grumbling, “shaddup.” osamu’s biggest tell was always his accent thickening, and you knew it.

as winter came, osamu found himself wearing that same jacket to and from school every day, ignoring atsumu’s relentless “whadda simp” comments, as a part of him hoped you’d one day be chilly enough to need his coat.

and when that day came, with his jacket hugging your figure as you nuzzled in his leftover body heat, osamu found it hard to breathe.

in that moment, he realized he’d found his new favorite color—yours.

a/n: sorry osamu if reader’s favorite color is pink😔 bro’s looking like pepto-bismol.

masterlist | navigation

please do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bokutoko 2024.

[wordsofelie]

when you started dating atsumu, you didn't realise it meant getting to know not one, but two people. you've been together for a little over a month now and even if you haven't yet met osamu, you sometimes wonder which twin you actually know better.

logically, it should be your boyfriend, right? but then one evening, while cooking red beans, you pause and think, ‘ahh osamu probably wouldn’t love that seasoning’. that's when it hits you—your boyfriend has the habit of bringing up his brother way more than he’d ever admit. only a few weeks into your relationship and you’re already stocked with random facts like: “ya know ‘samu loves matcha cookies, but it's disgustin' right? chocolate cookies are just better” when you’re at the grocery store. and “those are 'samu's favourite snacks. he hit me once just 'cause i ate 'em. they're not even that good. he's such a dickhead.” when you're watching a movie.

every time, he insists on the fact that he likes the exact opposite of whatever osamu does. but you don’t say anything. because, well—deep down, you realise that's just his way of loving his brother, fondly and absolutely.

so when you finally meet the infamous osamu for the first time, you make sure to prepare him his favourite dish (too bitter to atsumu's taste), get his favourite beer (“'samu loves kirin, i prefer asahi!”) and even light a candle with his favourite scent (apple pie; even though atsumu would have chosen salty water).

“that's so good. how’d ya even know i liked that?” osamu asks, his eyes wide.

you steal a glance at your boyfriend, who’s completely clueless, and smile.

“hmm, just a lucky guess.”

[makkir0ll]

private chef! osamu x ceo!reader.

you hired him because you had little to no time to make healthy meals, living off of microwave ramen most of the time. incredibly unhealthy so you hired a private chef. you didn't see him often, only in the morning for a couple of minutes as you ate your breakfast and occasionally he would stand across the counter preparing your lunch.

you can't deny that he's cute, brown hair and big biceps that are constricted from his black compression shirt, the way his muscles are flexed every time he moves. his cooking skills are an added plus. you thank whatever angel is watching over you to give you such a hot man who can cook your meals. but obviously, you had to keep it professional but that doesn't stop you from ogling at him and he doesn't notice either so there’s no harm. (he has noticed.)

and he's not one to complain either. he particularly likes it when you come home late. hair in a messy bun, the first couple of buttons from your work shirt unbuttoned a little bit and at certain angles he can get a peek of the lacy black bra you decided to wear that day.

but his top favorite is when you come out of the shower on those late nights, dressed in your victoria secret silk pajama set, hair wet, and cheeks red from the heat of the shower. you smile softly at him as you take a bit of the dinner he cooked that night and he always falls to his knees weak at the sight of your smile rather than the usual scowl on your face due to the annoying people you have to deal with at work.

and when you fall asleep on the couch as he cleans up the dishes he freezes, he's never seen you so peaceful. would it be breaking boundaries to carry you to your bed? no he thinks, i mean you back would hurt if you slept here all night he justifies as he slowly picks you up and places you softly on your bed.

one day he will get to do that and sleep with you in his arms. but right now he had to plan out your breakfast for tommorow.

@cottonlemonade bc it’s infesting my brain

[kurooh]

would literally risk it all for muscly osamu...like when he has you trapped under him and he has his biceps around you in a headlock...could you please write a little drabble on osamu muscle brainrot 🙏

being manhandled… 🧘‍♀️ you are onto something babes

osamu doesn’t take it well when you, as he puts it, try to ‘run’ from him. dragging your hips away and whining his name, complaining about how it’s too much so many times that your words start to run into each other—he doesn’t want to hear it.

he arches a brow and loops his arm around your neck in a way that makes you gasp. “stop kiddin’ yerself, babe.”

“‘samu,” you wail, sounding more pathetic than you intend, “wai—wait, it’s too much . . o-oh, i can’t.”

his abs flex against your lower back as he presses himself into you, nibbling at your neck. osamu’s got no idea as to why you doubt yourself so much, but it’s probably just a side effect of being fucked so well—you’re drunk on him, and getting dumber with every inch.

cream spills from your overflowing cunt, sloppily running down your inner thighs in thin rivulets while the rest squelches at the base of his cock. he almost feels bad for you, although he looks over your wrecked body with a sense of primal delight.

fuck, you’re shaking from the sting of having your ass slapped sore and then because of the way he’s fucking you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to.

thick muscle ripples under his skin, and osamu’s arm gets a little tighter around your neck. “yer talkin’ too much, baby. ya know ya can, and ya will.”

you moan deliriously, arching against him as if that was all you’d been waiting to hear. the corners of his lips lift in amusement, and he nips at your skin, hard enough to leave a bruise.

“like it when yer told what to do, huh?”

tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you whimper, called out. the tip of his cock kisses deeply, passionately against that sweet spot inside you, and it doesn’t help you to stay steady on all fours. osamu’s arm flexes again, and he rears back onto his knees, keeping you pinned against his chest.

you’re so cute, shaking like a leaf and mumbling his name now that his cock is able to go much deeper. “ya do, don’t ya? fuck, my baby’s so nasty.”

“all yours, osamu,” a sob leaves your parted lips and you reach desperately for your clit, “just don’t stop, ngh—right there, gonna make me cum.”

all his, huh? just for saying that, he’s gonna give you the most euphoric orgasm humanly possible. osamu’s faster than you, getting his fingers on your clit and touching just the way you like—you grasp at his fingers and grind into them.

it’s hard to say anything coherent when you’re seeing this many stars, and osamu’s cock twitches, just a little further from the edge than you are.

“f-fuuuck, oh my god—cumming, ‘m cumming!”

you ride the blissful wave, squeezing hard around his cock and dripping more sweetened slick. still rocking his hips into you, osamu holds you like a doll, mapping your body out with his touch and committing everything to memory. you’re shuddering by the time you come down, panting into his bicep and sinking comfortably into his grasp.

“good, baby. that was good,” he murmurs against the nape of your neck, feeling the pressure grow tighter in his body. “wanna be a doll ‘n give me another?”

[eeveebooart]

MIYA TWINS 🦊🦊

[iwaaizoomies]

osamu fucks you on call

osamu miya, owner of a popular onigiri store, has got a thing for the newly employed cashier— you.

you show up to work in tight little tops that do nothing to shield your body from his imagination: he wonders just how tight you are down there.

with a store as small as his, 2 workers are more than enough to conquer rush hour. no way it’s intentional when he goes behind you and “sorry— just have to get something,” neither of you say anything about the hard outline of his dick that pulses against your clothed pussy.

it takes 2 weeks for him to fold. his brother thought it’d take shorter but the fact that your toxic boyfriend decided to cheat on you now out of all time, he can’t help but thank god.

“come on, baby, pick up the phone,” osamu teases, his cock rips into you, leaking pre-cum as he bends you over the cashier counter.

the store closed an hour ago. an hour ago, he overheard your ex greeting you at the door with insults and degradation that you don’t deserve. now, “let him see just how gorgeous you look when i cum inside you, doll, go on.”

your trembling fingers somehow manage to land on the green receiving button, and the reaction is immediate— the caller begins to speak, but before the entire word can be finished, he pauses— osamu smiles wider at his expression: mouth open like a goldfish, eyebrows slowly drawing up in disbelief. “what the fuck are you doing?” he asks, tell-tale anger evident in his voice. “fuck—! o—osamu i’m gonna cum!” you don’t really register who you’re talking to, but he chuckles, pace rampaging up until you turn into a crying, shaking mess below him, orgasm no doubt following, he picks up the phone, hips thrusting roughly until even your ex can hear how it echoes in the empty stall, “i’m gonna put a baby in her.”

[clawsdevour]

hold the phone

wc: 0.8k content warning: post-time skip, established relationship, osamu x reader, smut, osamu's on call with atsumu but also in you, mating press, not proof read

𓂅 ‧₊ ˚

osamu's large smoldering hands push behind your knees down closer to your chest, as if flattening you into a pancake. a mating press compacted under his large throbbing figure that reeked of lust the more osamu's cock shoves itself in and back out of your sopping cunt that yearned for more.

heaving moans being exchanged amidst the heat and built-up sexual tension in the air while the squelching sounds of your fluids combining rapidly grew louder by the second amongst your damp skin slapping against each other.

however, just when you felt him poke at your g-spot, a buzzing sound that vibrated in the sheets glowed a white screen under the thin fabric.

bzzzzzzz, bzzzzzzz..!

coming to a quick halt, slowing his strokes to become gradual and sensational pace as his rippling torso reaches to your side to check who's calling at this ungodly hour.

"should i pick up? it's my brother atsumu, ugh what does he want?" he groaned in exhaustion, showing you atsumu's contact ringing in the palm of his hand.

"yeah but make it quick 'samu.." you cooed out, eyebrows furrowed as his throbbing cock continued to leisurely move in and out of your overstimulated slick folds.

"m'kay," osamu's husky deep voice trailed along with a slight smirk creasing on the right corner of his mouth, a finger in the middle of his lips subtly signifying you to be quiet.

pressing the receive button with his large thumb, then the speaker icon. osamu's bringing his cell closer to his ear, placing it in the crook of his neck supported by his broad shoulder.

"y'er on speaker," averting his eyes back onto the holy sight under his muscular stature, returning a hand back under your knee with the other drawing tiny circles on your pulsating slippery clit.

"'samu..!" you discreetly squeaked out when you felt his fiery imprints on you.

osamu's looking down on you with his droopy sinful eyes, the plastered smirk on his lips spreading to the ends of his face when he started to slowly click his hips with yours, your hands finding their way to your face to block out any noise that'd soon escape from your lips.

"did my package get to y'er address by any chance? it said it was delivered, but i ain't see it at all," hearing his twin on the other side of the call.

"mm.. it might've. i can check after i'm done with what i'm doin'," a chillingly calm response to suppress his grunting.

"aight, just let me know if it came. i'll head over tomorrow mornin' to pick it up," listening to atsumu sigh before a shuffling noise, thinking he's about to hang up.

"soo.. 'samu, how's ya girl been?" questioning his twin with a playful tone, almost taunting him.

it's like that question made osamu harder. just the bare thought alone of watching you get stuffed full of him whilst having a conversation on the side ignited something in him. it just made osamu want to tease you even more.

"goin'– ...great" osamu visibly grunts, hoping the audio caught onto atsumu's end, "she's with me right now actually.. d'ya wanna say hi to her?"

eyes widening in shock as your jaw dropped when you hear osamu suggest that you say hi. making out a 'sure!' from the other end of the line, osamu's releasing his grip on the back of your knee to bring his phone closer to your mouth.

"h-hey..! how you been atsumu..!" you breathed out, trying to steady your heart that raced out of your chest despite osamu's thrusts starting to increase in speed.

"what's good, is 'samu treating ya like royalty?" atsumu joked, replying with a simple, "mhm–!"

shit. you just accidentally let a moan slip by on speaker. looking up at your boyfriend in a blazing red shade, he's got the biggest grin on his face from how flustered you are before taking the phone back.

"sorry 'tsumu, we're in the middle of something. pick it up in the mornin', yeah?" immediately coming to a close to finish what he started.

tossing his phone back into the tangled crinkled sheets, he's going at you with full force making you yelp out loud from the sudden change in pace.

osamu's hot face peppers your pink complexion with his gentlest kisses like a reward. moving down to press sloppy wet hickeys on your neck while you whimpered in pleasure.

"so that's why y'all was acting weird.." atsumu loudly gasped despite being muffled in with the sheets.

osamu forgot to press the end call button.

masterlist here

[ctrlkenma]

☆ TEXTS WITH SAMU!

ʚ f!reader, pre-established relationship, tsumu vapes (lmao), mentions of virginity loss

© 𝑪𝑻𝑹𝑳𝑲𝑬𝑵𝑴𝑨, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓. ☆

cookie ★

[megapteraurelia]

nom nom.

“i’m gonna need my fingers back.” 

miya osamu stared at you blankly, though made no move to remove his digits. 

your tongue swirled around the tips of his fingers, teeth digging into his flesh lightly, but with enough pressure to make him give you a long look. one that made you slightly open your mouth to allow him to take his hand back. 

“spoilsport,” you pouted, “it’s not my fault you taste delicious.”

“yeah, yeah,” he hummed non-committedly, washing his fingers before going back to preparing food, wrapping another rice ball in a strip of nori. 

osamu was careful and painstaking while handling the food, brows slightly furrowed in concentration, lips slightly pressed together. 

he set down the finished food and made a second one with just as much care, just as much love, just as much attention to detail, and you watched him scuttle around the kitchen as your legs swung back and forth, heels of your feet hitting the cabinet you were sitting on lightly and with a quiet thud.

when he settled next to you again, he finished up another rice ball before holding it out to you. delightfully, you leaned forward and popped it into your mouth, allowing the rice with the filling to melt in your mouth, your lips nipping at his fingers to catch the taste of the sweet vinegar from the rice.

“cheeky,” he narrowed his eyes at you, his hand retreating from your mouth to grip your jaw tight, squishing your cheeks together. osamu’s eyes flitted over your face, the puckered lips, the teasing glint in your eyes, one of your hands sneaking to grab another rice ball from the glass cutting board. 

but before you could grab anything, he had already intertwined his fingers with yours, tugging your hand away. a scolding raise of his eyebrows at your attempt, a huff at the butterflies that erupted in the chest when you winked at him in response.

“yer lucky,” he murmured, dipping his head to press a kiss to your pursed lips, “that i love ya somethin’ mad,” before letting go, allowing you to rub your jaw with a grin.

then, osamu sighed, met your knuckles with his lips before feeding you that stray rice ball you had been eyeing, too, though this time pulling away before you can mess with his fingers some more.

[allthatjazz416]

Osamu NSFW 🌹

"Kiss the cook" A Miya Osamu TIMESKIP fic Tags: Fem!Reader! Creampie! Squirting! Spanking! A lil nipple play! Manhandling! Brief!Cockwarming! Implied!Breedingkink! Praisekink! Dom!Osamu! Sub!Reader! Established RS! Cockdrunk! Cunnulingus! MarriedCouple! LovingDominance! Word Count: 2.9k Note: MDNI! Porn with like a lil plot. Inspired by this header lol which divider crdts: @/cursed-carmine

The smell hits you first.

Garlic. Onion. A little soy sauce. It hits like a warm hug the second you step through the door, bags in hand and shoes half-off. You sigh, stretching your arms over your head, sore from work but already relaxing because he’s home. And he’s cooking.

You round the corner and find him there—in a loose gray shirt, apron tied around his hips, sleeves rolled up, stirring something in a skillet.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says without turning around, voice casual, warm. “You’re home early.”

“I missed you,” you hum.

He laughs softly under his breath. “Didn’t even text me.”

You walk up behind him and snake your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades. He’s warm. Solid. Smelling like salt and dinner and Osamu.

“Wanted to surprise you,” you murmur, nosing at the back of his neck. “Smells amazing.”

“Y’better be talkin’ about the food,” he teases.

You smile. “You know I’m not.”

He goes still when you kiss just below his ear, and stay there. His knuckles tighten on the spoon. You know that look—that tiny shift in his stance. He’s trying not to react. So you push it.

Your fingers dip under the hem of his apron. His cock’s not hard yet, but he shifts when you press your palm over his waistband, groaning low in his chest.

“…Now, sweetheart,” he warns, gently, “you start that and I’ll burn the whole damn thing.”

“Then maybe you should turn the stove off.”

He snorts, but it’s breathless. He does turn it off. And the second he sets the spoon down, you spin him around, eyes already on his mouth.

Osamu tastes like soy and garlic and the tiniest hint of sake when you kiss him. He kisses like he cooks—slow and sure, knowing exactly what he’s doing. His hands find your waist. Then your hips. Then your ass.

“Been wantin’ you all day,” he mutters against your lips. “Got this picture in my head of you bent over the kitchen counter in nothin’ but a smile—”

“That so?” you whisper, tongue flicking the corner of his mouth. “Think you can make it happen?”

He doesn’t answer.

He grabs your thighs, lifts you like you weigh nothing, and sets you on the counter in one smooth motion.  You blink—pulse quickening—not expecting him to actually drop to his knees. He never does this without teasing first. Without dragging it out. But this time—

He kneels. Right there on the kitchen floor.

“Samu—!” your hands reach for the edge of the counter, breath catching. “I’ve been out all day, I’m probably all sweaty down there—”

“Good,” he growls, spreading your thighs. “I wanna taste all of it.” eyes locked on your soaked cunt. “Fuck, look at you.”

You freeze, pulse hammering in your throat. Heat crawls up your chest. You weren’t expecting this—weren’t expecting him to want you like this, right now, raw and unfiltered. Part of you hesitates, skin flushed and prickling with the awareness of the day still clinging to you.

But the way he looks at you—hungry, reverent, fucking possessed—melts every ounce of self-consciousness. He wants you. Just like this.

Your breath catches again, this time for a different reason. You relax back into your elbows, thighs falling open.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “Okay…”

He spreads your thighs, hooks them over his shoulders, and drags his tongue through your slit like he’s starving.

And god—he doesn’t stop.

Osamu eats pussy like it’s his job. Like you’re his last meal. He licks up your folds, slow and wet and filthy, then swirls his tongue around your clit until your thighs twitch. His hands keep you open, thumbs pressing into your hips just enough to bruise. You pant, moan, try to grind down—but he pins you there.

“Stay still,” he growls, voice low against your core. “Lemme take my time.”

His mouth seals around your clit and sucks. You yelp, clapping a hand over your mouth. He hums into you, sending vibrations straight through your cunt.

“Osamu—fuck, that—ah—”

“You’re already drippin’, sweetheart,” he groans. “This little pussy missed me?”

You nod helplessly, hips twitching. “Y-yeah… I missed your mouth…”

He groans into your cunt, like that does something to him. And then he gets meaner. Hungrier. His fingers come next—one thick finger pushing inside while his tongue works circles around your clit. Then another. Curling just right.

You feel it building—hot and tight in your belly, your thighs clenching, every muscle on edge. But just when you’re about to tip over—

He stops.

You whine, loudly. “Samu!”

He smirks up at you, fingers still buried deep, glistening mouth pressed to your thigh.

“You were close, huh?” he teases, curling his fingers just enough to make your body jump. “You gonna cum all over the counter for me?”

“Please,” you whimper. “Please don’t tease me—need it so bad—”

He grins, slow and filthy.

“Say it again.”

“Need your mouth,” you gasp, hands fisting in his hair. “Need to cum for you, Osamu—fuck, please—”

He goes in.

Tongue on your clit, fingers curling hard and fast—right there, over and over—and the pressure snaps.

Your back arches. You scream, thighs clamping around his head as you squirt hard, soaking his mouth, his chin, the front of his apron.

You’re gasping, shaking, crying out—helpless against the wave of overstimulation.

Osamu groans like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever felt, grinding his face into you like he wants more.

“Fuckin’ love makin’ you squirt,” he pants. “You always make a mess for me, don’t you?”

You’re still shaking when he stands—licking his fingers like he’s tasting your orgasm, his cock hard as granite behind his sweats. His mouth and chin are slick—glistening with you.

Then he grabs your face.

Big, calloused fingers wrap under your jaw, thumb pressing just under your lips as he tilts your face up to his. His eyes are dark. Hungry.

“Open.”

You do.

He kisses you—filthy. Deep and slow, no warning. His tongue pushes past your lips and you taste yourself, still dripping from his mouth. He groans into the kiss, hand gripping your chin like he owns you.

“That's you,” he growls, pulling back just enough to pant against your mouth. “So fuckin’ sweet. I could live off this cunt.”

You whimper, clenching around nothing. He must feel the heat radiating off you because he grins, smug and slow and dangerous.

Then his hand slides down. Between your legs. He cups your pussy—still wet, still messy—and moans into your cheek.

“Still so fuckin’ wet,” he mutters, grinding his palm against your clit. “Y’gonna let me fuck you now, sweetheart? Let me fill you up?”

You nod. Fast. Breathless. “Yes. Please.”

“Not beggin’ pretty enough,” he growls, licking into your neck, one hand gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. “Want you to ask me. Like a good girl.”

You whimper, arching your back, rubbing against him. “Please fuck me, Samu. Wanna feel your cock. Wanna feel you inside.”

“Where, sweetheart?” he presses, cock hard against your thigh now, rubbing through the front of his sweats. “Tell me where you want it.”

“Inside,” you pant, eyes fluttering. “Need you to finish inside me.”

He lets out a sound—deep, dark, filthy. Then he hooks one arm around your waist and lifts you, making you yelp. Not rushed, not rough—just strong, decisive, possessive.

“Counter’s too small,” he mutters against your neck. “Need more room to fuck you proper.”

He carries you across the kitchen and lays you back on the table like you’re made of something precious and his. The wood is cool against your back, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body as he looms over you, staring down at you like you’re his next course.

His eyes drop to your chest, still hidden under your shirt, and he growls low—like he’s just remembered what else he’s starving for.

“Lift your arms, sweetheart,” he murmurs, tugging your shirt up and off. “Wanna see all of you.”

He palms your breasts with both hands, rough but reverent, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they harden under his touch. You arch up with a soft gasp, and he groans—low and filthy, cock twitching against your thigh.

“Fuck, these tits,” he mutters, bending to mouth at one nipple, sucking slow and deep until it makes your toes curl. “I missed these, too. God, you make me crazy.”

He bites—just enough to make you yelp—then soothes it with a slow lick. His hands never leave your body, one still cupping your breast while the other slides down, trailing heat along your side.

“Keep lookin’ at me like that,” he mutters, tugging his sweats down just enough for his cock to spring free—thick and flushed and already leaking, “and I’m not gonna be able to take my time.”

“Then don’t,” you whisper, hips lifting, legs parting. “Samu, I need it.”

He groans, low and hungry, and steps in closer—running his cock through your folds, dragging it over your clit, tapping it against your soaked entrance just to hear the obscene slick of your arousal.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You’re drippin’—you this messy just from gettin’ eaten out?”

You whine, squirming. “M’still sensitive—”

“I know.” His smirk is slow. Dangerous. “That’s why I’m gonna make it worse.”

He strokes his cock once—twice—then presses the blunt head to your entrance.

But he doesn’t push in.

Not yet.

His hand slides up your chest, under your shirt, up your neck. Grips your chin.

“Kiss me.”

You do, panting into his mouth as he leans over you—his tongue slow, dragging, dirty. He kisses you like he owns every part of you.. Like you belong to him.

Then—only then—he starts to push in.

“Just a little,” he murmurs against your lips. “Let me feel that squeeze…”

You moan, loud and helpless, as he sinks in—slow, steady, inch by inch.

“Big,” you gasp. “You’re so—fuck—you’re so big…”

“That’s right,” he growls. “Wanna feel me stretch you out. Wanna ruin this pussy nice and slow.”

He stops halfway in. Just stops—and starts grinding.

Not thrusting. Just deep, tight circles of his hips, the thick weight of his cock rubbing right against the spot that makes your toes curl. Your hands fly up, clinging to his shoulders, his apron still bunched around his waist.

You whimper. “Samu—need all of you—please—”

“I know, baby,” he mutters, cock twitching inside you. “You’re takin’ me so well. Almost there…”

Another inch. Another grind. He watches your face—eats every gasp, every twitch of your lips, like he’s feasting on your need.

And then he bottoms out.

All of him. Buried to the hilt.

You both moan.

You swear you see stars for a second.

“God, I feel so full—”

“That’s ‘cause you are, baby,” he pants, forehead pressed to yours. “Look at me. Let me see your face when I fuck you.”

He pulls out just a little—then thrusts back in.

Deep.

Slow.

Like he wants to mold your insides to his shape.

He does it again. And again. Each thrust deeper than the last, each one building that low, aching heat between your legs. You wrap your arms around him, thighs trembling, biting back moans that only make him grin.

“You love this,” he growls. “Love bein’ fucked like this, huh?”

“Yes,” you whimper, tears pricking your eyes. “Love your cock—fuck—don’t stop—”

He doesn’t.

His thrusts stay deep, slow, and dirty. Every inch of him feels like it’s made to ruin you—hot and thick, dragging against your sweet spot with a precision that makes you clench down and moan his name like it’s the only word you remember.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, leaning over you, his chest pressed to your back. “You hear that? That’s your pussy talkin’ to me.”

He’s right.

It’s wet—obscene. Every thrust sounds like filth, slick and messy, your cunt fluttering greedily around him. You gasp as his hips press flush to your ass, his cock buried to the hilt, and he stays there—grinding. Deep and slow. Like he’s savoring how tight you are around him.

“God, I can’t get deep enough like this,” he growls, pulling out slow. “Turn over for me, baby—lemme see that ass.”

You moan, dizzy with need, and roll over—cheek pressed to the table, arms braced, legs trembling as he slips back in.

Then—

Smack.

You yelp, jumping slightly as his hand lands hard on your ass. The sound echoes through the kitchen. Your cunt clenches around him.

“There she is,” he growls, rubbing the sting in with a big, warm hand. “Always gets tighter when I spank you.”

“Samu,” you moan, shivering. “Again—”

Another smack.

You whimper, arching your back, presenting for him like a good girl.

“You’re filthy,” he pants, fucking into you again—slow and thick. “Come home from work all sweet and polite, then turn into a cockdrunk mess the second I get you on the table.”

“I missed you,” you breathe, voice trembling. “Missed your cock. Missed this.”

“Yeah?” His hand slides up your spine, fingers winding into your hair to gently tug your head back so he can kiss the side of your face. “This pussy miss me, baby?”

You whine—high, needy—grinding back into him. “So much.”

He groans into your skin, then pulls out slow—just the tip inside—and slams back in, hard enough to make the table creak beneath you.

You cry out, nearly folding over the wood, but he catches your hips.

“That’s it,” he grits, rutting into you again, hips smacking loud and sharp. “Let me fuck it better.”

His thrusts pick up, sloppy now—wet and deep, the sound of skin on skin echoing in your little kitchen, obscene and delicious. He’s panting into your neck, hands bruising on your hips, buried so deep inside you it feels like he’s touching your fucking soul.

“You love this, huh?” he growls. “Love comin’ home and gettin’ fucked dumb like this?”

“Yes—yes, baby, I love it—”

“You were so fuckin’ sweet walkin’ out the door this morning, actin’ all innocent in that cute little work outfit,” he pants, one hand coming down again—smack—harder this time, making you jerk forward with a cry. “Bet you were thinkin’ about my cock the whole damn day.”

You nod frantically, gasping. “Wanted your cock all day—”

“Should’ve told me,” he growls, grinding deep. “I’d’ve bent you over this table before you even get your keys.”

You moan, loud and unfiltered, your thighs shaking again.

His pace doesn’t let up. He keeps fucking into you like he owns it—your body, your cunt, your sounds. His cock drives in deep, again and again, that perfect spot hit over and over until your vision starts to blur.

You’re soaked. Gushing around him. So wet it’s dripping off your thighs onto the floor, messy and hot and loud. You feel another orgasm building fast—sharper this time, tighter, like a spring wound to the breaking point.

“Fuck—Samu—I’m gonna—”

“You gonna squirt again for me, baby?” he groans, thrusting harder. “So fuckin’ greedy tonight—”

He slips a hand between your legs, thumb rubbing your clit in tight circles, fucking you through it—hard and fast, like he wants to feel you fall apart again.

And you do.

You break with a scream—back arching, mouth open, body going rigid before you gush, helpless and messy, your juices spilling around him in hot waves. You feel it spray out, feel the slap of it against his thighs, the flood between your legs soaking the front of the counter.

Osamu groans like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Look at you,” he pants, never stopping. “So fuckin’ wet, baby—fuck—feel that? You’re milkin’ my cock—fuckin’ made for it—”

You’re limp. Wrecked. But he’s still going.

You moan, weakly now, every thrust sending aftershocks through your nerves. And you feel him twitch inside you, cock hard and pulsing, hips starting to stutter.

“Tell me where you want it,” he grits, hand clutching your waist. “Tell me where to finish.”

“In me,” you whimper, “Osamu—inside—wanna feel it. Wanna keep it in—”

“Fuck—fuck—”  he grits out, voice cracking.

He slams in deep and stays, hips locking against yours as he cums with a growl—low and broken and possessive. You feel it fill you, thick and hot, pumping inside until it leaks around his cock and drips down your thighs, mixing with everything else you’ve spilled.

And still, he doesn’t pull out.

He bends over you, chest to your back, both of you trembling. He kisses your shoulder. Your cheek. Your neck.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice soft now, tender against your ear.

You nod, still panting. “I’m so full…”

He grins, slow and wicked, cupping your mound with one big hand, with his cock plunged in to keep it all in. “Damn right you are.”

And then he laughs—soft and low, one hand sliding up your spine to stroke your hair.

“I ever tell you how much I love it when my wife comes home to me?”

You laugh, exhausted. Wrecked. Soaked in love and slick and everything that’s his.

“Only every time you fuck me like this.”

[seumyo]

BOYFRIEND TEXTS ✰ INARIZAKI TRIO

NOTE. Suna’s the only version to be set in high school (Aha, I forgot to make his a college version like Atsumu and Osamu’s) </3

MIYA ATSUMU

SUNA RINTAROU

MIYA OSAMU

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[bokutoko]

it was still dark out when ᴏꜱᴀᴍᴜ felt the empty bed next to him.

he slowly blinked awake, noticing that your side was still warm from where you laid. your pillow still smelled like your shampoo from your shower a few hours prior. rolling over, he saw the bright red 3:21 AM on the alarm clock.

he slipped from bed, quietly padding on the hardwood floor to the kitchen.

you leaned against the counter, drinking some water. he noticed the sheen of sweat decorating your forehead and the subtlest tremble to your hand as you raised the cup to your lips.

his voice was quiet as to not startle you. “another nightmare?”

with a small jerk of a nod from you, osamu took a step closer. “wanna talk about it?”

when he received a shaky “no,” his eyes immediately softened. his heart just ached for his love.

“c’mere, darlin’.”

he guided you to him, one hand resting on your waist while the other intertwined his fingers with yours. “samu?” you questioned, “what—”

a smile graced his lips, and you didn’t even need to see him in the darkness to know that little dimple you absolutely adore formed on his cheek. “dance with me.”

god, he said like it was the simplest thing in the world. who are you to refuse?

“i’ll step on your feet.”

he couldn’t help but to snicker. “i think i’ll survive, sweetheart.”

and there you two were, quietly slow dancing in the dark, the only thing illuminating the two of you being the time displayed on the stove. he kept you against his chest, letting his own steady heartbeat guide yours to slow down, to match his.

“ya wanna know somethin’?” he whispered.

you hummed, prompting his response. he leaned in to your ear, his lips brushing against the lobe.

his voice was hushed when he murmured, “i love ya.”

you giggled, shaking your head. “shut up. so corny.”

you felt the vibrations of osamu’s laugh in his chest before you heard it. “can’t a man yearn or profess his love anymore?” he huffed with a faux pout.

with you both smiling and laughing as you gently sway, he was glad to take your mind off of the thoughts in your mind. he felt your tremble slowly subside as you two danced, and your lips soon met in a light and sweet kiss. when osamu pulled away, he had only one thing to say.

“come back to bed,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours, “i’ll hold you for as long as you want and need.”

a/n: i’m on an osamu kick IM TWEAKING also uh not beta read sorry idgaf anymore

comment to be added to the taglist.

masterlist

please do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bokutoko 2025.

[rosierin]

serving looks and trouble | atsumu, osamu

synopsis; (y/n) works as a barista and the twins decide to pay her a visit. cue the gossip, the questions, and atsumu being atsumu.

a/n; if this isn’t the most “y/n” scenario ever idk what is

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

It started with the jingle of the café door.

Then a pause.

Then a collective gasp from behind the counter.

“Ohmygod,” one of (y/n)’s co-workers whispered, eyes almost bulging out her head. “Who are they?”

Another peeked over her shoulder, milk jug still in hand, jaw slightly slack. “Are they celebrities or something?”

The sound of milk frothing and mugs clinking didn’t stop, but it definitely slowed, as if the entire café had turned its head in unison. Even the indie pop playing overhead felt like it dipped in volume.

(Y/n) was elbow-deep in seasonal syrups and foam art when one of her co-workers eagerly tugged at her sleeve. Thing was, she didn't even bother looking up.

The shift in atmosphere was unmistakable—bolder than the espresso in the air and louder than the hiss of the steamer.

She could recognise those twin sets of footsteps anywhere. Those unhurried, confident steps paired with a presence that filled the room, the kind that stated we’re here without so much as opening their mouths.

Still, she smiled, lighting up at the sight of them as they walked through the door. “Hey, guys.”

Her greeting was met with a pair of lazy waves and even lazier smiles.

Atsumu leaned against the counter first, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, his expression as casual as it was intentional. His eyes found hers instantly—like they always did.

“Afternoon, angel.”

Right behind him, Osamu matched the pose but with a quieter presence, one hand in his jacket pocket, the other resting on the edge of the counter. His smile was crooked and warm, but no-less smug.

“How’s our favourite barista?”

(Y/n)’s co-workers—two Uni students and one high schooler doing weekend shifts—were frozen. One of them dropped a spoon with a curse. Another accidentally messed up her latte heart. The third turned away and giggled girlishly into her sleeve.

“Don’t encourage them,” (y/n) muttered, face warming as she wiped her hands on her apron. She gave the twins a weak glare as she walked over, but her voice was far from scolding. “You guys are doing too much.”

Both claimed to have no idea what she was talking about. Merely exchanging a glance before shrugging in almost perfect sync.

Freaky twin telepathy things, she supposed.

"What brings you two foxes here anyway?"

Neither twin flinched at the nickname. She found herself referring to them as such ever since she met them in high school. Cunning minds, sharp tongues and charming faces.

In fact, she was pretty sure they enjoyed the shared title, if their award-winning smiles were anything to go by.

She would've rolled her eyes, but Atsumu stepped forward and propped his chin on his hand, watching her with the kind of shameless awe that made her want to melt and throw a towel at him at the same time. “We came for a pick-me-up.”

“And maybe a pastry,” Osamu added, already eyeing the display case. “Whaddaya recommend?”

That earned a muffled squeal from one of her co-workers, who instantly perked up and bounded over to assist him—suddenly very enthusiastic about describing each of the monthly specials in great detail. Osamu listened politely, even throwing in a follow-up question or two, and offering the occasional quiet joke that made the girl giggle, cheeks flushed pink.

(Y/n) shook her head fondly, watching the scene unfold. Turning up the charm, I see. She bit back a smile, amused.

She watched them for a heartbeat longer before her gaze naturally drifted to Atsumu, already bracing herself for whatever antics he had planned.

The small sigh she let out was almost instinctual as she asked, “You. What do you want?”

Atsumu tilted his head, a slow, amused grin pulling at his mouth. “That how ya talk to all yer customers?”

(Y/n) blinked, realizing belatedly that her tone had been a little too dry and quickly plastered on a sunnier smile. “No,” she said sweetly, hoping to cover up her little slip-up. “Just the ones who flirt with staff.”

A brief flicker crossed Atsumu’s face—something entertained and boyish—before a laugh spilled out of him, as bright and easy as the sunlight pouring through the picture window.

“Hey, I barely said anythin’ yet," he held his hands up in mock surrender, the sparkle in his eye unmistakable.

“Yeah, and it’s the yet that’s worrying me," she said, grabbing a pen and paper. "Anywho..." She clicked it once and put on her best customer service voice and smile. “What can I get for ya?"

Atsumu was clearly enjoying their little roleplay, because the grin on his face didn’t waver once. If anything, the glint in his eyes only seemed to brighten, like he was waiting for something she wasn’t quite catching.

When her eyebrows quirked up in question, he merely shrugged, his voice dropping just enough to make it feel oddly intimate. "Alright, alright…" he drawled, "I’ll get whatever the pretty barista recommends."

An eyeroll was her only response to his flirting. She began jotting down his order, pretending not to flinch at the heat crawling up her neck.

You'd think she'd be used to it by now, but with her friends-slash-co-workers all hovering nearby, all trying a bit too hard not to listen in on their conversation, it was hard not to feel even the slightest bit flustered at all the compliments and smiles he was tossing her way.

“How do ya know I was talkin’ about you?”

Her hand froze mid-scribble.

"'Tsumu—Seriously?"

His attempt at innocence was appalling. Especially with how he was practically soaking up the chorus of giggles her co-workers had the audacity of sparing him.

The blush on her cheeks worsened as he chuckled along with them, the sound doing little to quell the heat blooming across her features.

“God,” she muttered, swatting at one of the girls who was already fanning herself with a receipt pad.

Atsumu just beamed, looking far too proud of himself.

“Go sit down,” she ordered, jerking her head toward the seating area where Osamu had already claimed a window seat with a perfect view of the counter. When Atsumu didn’t budge, she gave him a gentle shove on the shoulder. “Go on. Shoo.”

“Alright, alright, no need t’ push,” he chuckled, stepping back with that dopey smile of his.

(Y/n) shook her head, but a small laugh escaped before she could stop it. She watched him retreat across the café—bright with sunlight and chatter—to where Osamu was already sitting by the window, peeling the wrapper off a muffin with the look of a man who hadn't eaten in days.

Her co-workers were on her instantly.

As she turned to prep their drinks, they leaned in with laser focus, like they were dissecting a secret romance novel.

She focused on the task in front of her—anything to ignore the way they were practically vibrating behind her. Two iced lattes. One with a single pump of vanilla for Osamu—classic, smooth, no fuss. The other with two generous pumps of caramel for Atsumu—of course. She added ice, poured the shots, topped both with cold foam, then reached for the lids.

She was just about to slide them across the counter when a hand grabbed her wrist.

“Conference room,” her co-worker whispered urgently, tugging her into the back prep corner like they were about to discuss classified information.

The three of them circled her like cats cornering a mouse.

“So…” one began, eyes wide and burning with gossip. “Are you gonna tell us who they are, or what?”

(Y/n) felt the weight of the question loom over her. “...Friends?”

“Friends?” another echoed, voice rising an octave. “Plural? Girl, what did you do in a previous life to end up with two friends who look like that?”

“I—what?” (y/n) spluttered, a laugh threatening to break through. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I mean—no, I do. But it’s chill. We’ve been friends since high school, that’s all. We're pretty close but that's about it."

“Pretty close,” the highschooler probed, narrowing her eyes with a teasing smirk. “How close?”

(Y/n) groaned, but affection tugged at her lips. “Just friendship close. Seriously. They look all charming now, but they’re more of a handful than they’re letting on.”

She tilted her head, glancing toward their table. Osamu was holding his muffin just out of Atsumu’s reach, stretching his arm above his head like a protective parent while Atsumu made multiple attempts to steal it, getting kicked in the shin each time. They were already arguing—hands waving, faces animated—even though they hadn’t been in the café ten minutes.

“Not to mention noisy,” she muttered.

“Wait,” one of the girls said suddenly, eyes lighting up. “Are they… single?”

(Y/n) hesitated. “Uh… yeah. They are. But I don’t think either of them are looking for anything right now—”

A round of the most judging, disbelieving glances followed, enough to make (y/n) slightly curl in on herself.

“Whattt? How do you know that?”

“Yeah, (y/n). C’mon, don’t gatekeep.”

“I’m not!” she laughed, exasperated. “But if you’re seriously interested, why don’t you just ask them yourself? I dunno, write your number on their cup or something.”

That sent her co-workers into an absolute spiral.

They all started fussing—giggling, whispering, glancing over at the twins’ table a few too many times. The air felt warmer, buzzing with curiosity and far too many hormones.

And as if Atsumu could somehow smell the pheromones from across the café, he rose to his feet and sauntered over.

He plucked up his iced latte with a lazy grin plastered on his face. Then he took one sip and asked to nobody in particular, “What’s all the fuss about? Saw ya glancin' over a coupla time."

One co-worker opened her mouth to speak—then immediately closed it again, already red-faced and flustered.

(Y/n) took this as her cue. “Yeah, actually. The girls wanted to know if you were both single.”

A chorus of gasps echoed around the bar.

“(Y/n)!” one of them hissed, scandalized.

She just shrugged, completely unbothered, sipping her own drink with the calm of someone watching the world burn.

Atsumu jerked a thumb at his brother. “He is." He took another long sip of his drink before his eyes flicked back to (y/n), practically gleaming. “I’m not.”

She cocked an eyebrow, arms folding. “Oh, really.”

He didn’t elaborate—he didn’t need to. The implication hung in the air like steam from a fresh cappuccino. But just in case it wasn’t painfully obvious, he winked.

She hated the way her heart skipped a beat.

God’s sake.

In front of her co-workers? Seriously?

(Y/n) was about to retort something when Atsumu suddenly turned to leave, Osamu trailing after him with an amused shake of the head.

“Anyway we gotta bounce," he shot over his shoulder. Osamu lingered at the door, propping it open with his foot as he waved. (Y/n) returned the gesture, head tilting as Atsumu flashed her one last cheeky grin.

"See ya later, babe. Text us when ya come home!"

And with that, they left the store with the same swagger they had entered it with.

Finally, the café could breathe again.

The silence behind the counter, however, was nothing short of deafening.

Well. It was.

Not for long.

"'Babe?'" one of them gawked, holding her hands up like she'd just made a world-shattering discovery. "And hang on a minute—you live with them? I like how you conveniently left that detail out. God, I have so many questions—!”

And in came the flood of inevitable interrogations...

"Wait, so you are dating him, then?” another gasped, leaning dramatically over the counter.

"Be honest," the youngest chimed in, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Just blink twice if it’s complicated."

“(Y/n), I can't believe you didn't even TELL us??” the first girl cried, clutching her chest in betrayal.

"Giiiirl—" the second chastised, "you're living the dream for real."

(Y/n) buried her face in her hands.

“We’re not dating," she groaned into her palms. Then, almost completely glossing over the unexpected lore-drop, she added, "We do live together though."

A synchronized gasp.

"Since when?! You never told us that!" one of them demanded, arms thrown wide.

"Since we started Uni! Have I never told you?"

She peeked up sheepishly as the three of them shook their heads, scandalized. Whoops. She could’ve sworn she had.

"Oh— Well, you know how I live with Rin, right?"

This time, they all nodded vigorously.

The youngest, almost reverently, murmured, "Ohmygod, Rintarou Suna, how could I forget?" which earned a laugh from (y/n).

She recalled him being equally as popular among some of her co-workers in the past.

"Yes, Rin—anyway," she continued, gathering what remained of her dignity, "basically we all moved in together during our first year. And… that's it, really. I swear I told you guys."

"You didn't," one said flatly, voice comically grave. "I'd have remembered."

Another leaned her elbows on the counter, flashing her a mischievous grin. "So you're telling me you're living with not one fittie, but three? And two of them are twins?"

(Y/n) tried not to flush at the implication. She shook her head with a huff, flicking a towel at the offender.

"Girl, you must have some fuuun," the high-schooler teased, nudging her with an elbow.

"That's so gross—no chance," (y/n) retorted, shaking her head.

One of them sucked in a breath and let out an almost envious sigh. "You're better than I am..." she said dreamily.

"Pffft," (y/n) snorted, rolling her eyes.

She brushed off her friends' teasing, already expecting as much. But under the mortification, somewhere deep beneath the surface, was a smile she couldn’t quite fight off.

Because maybe Atsumu wasn’t her boyfriend.

But he really liked to act like one.

And maaaybe she didn't actually mind.